Thanks for the alerts, the favorites, and especially the reviews! Arsinoe de Blassenville, Biff McLaughlin, zevgirl, Eriana10, mutive! I've also noticed a C2 for this story (have no idea what that is!) and that more favorites keep coming up on a near regular basis. Folks, you have no idea how much that means to me. That something came out of my head and folks actually like it? Too cool for words, I tell you!

This chapter was very difficult to write. I know it's a little confusing as we follow the whole puzzle solving steps, but hopefully it will make sense in the end.

The Halla Reborn

Chapter 32

She could hear shouting and screaming ahead, and pulled her bow from her shoulder as Roland and the Sten pulled their own blades free of sheaths. Hafter crouched low, a deep rumble starting from his chest and escaping quiver lips in a menacing growl. Without a glance to each other, the four raced toward where the sounds of an unbalanced battle came from.

Racing through snow proved slightly daunting for the larger men, but the nimble bard and agile war dog had no such problems. Arriving ahead of the warriors, Leliana took note of the battle as she quickly nocked an arrow, sending it flying at the hurlock closest to the dwarven man who seemed barely able to hold the sword he now wielded. A smaller dwarven male, barely more than a child if she guessed correctly, stood off to the side, firing off a crossbow into the midst of the darkspawn attackers.

Growling, Hafter launched himself at an approaching hurlock, his powerful jaws clamping down, sinking massive teeth into the unarmored flesh of the monster's neck. His weight bore the creature down to the ground, and, with a quick savage shake of his head, tore the throat of the hurlock out. Wasting no further time, the great warhound pushed off the flailing body, leaving the darkspawn to bleed out as he sought another victim.

As Leliana felled three darkspawn, Roland and the Sten barreled their way into the fray. She heard rather than saw Roland's shield impact with the face of an oncoming darkspawn, and the Sten's great war cry echoed off the naked trees surrounding them. An arrow planted into the eye of the hurlock fast approaching her, and she twisted, nocking another arrow as she targeted on another foe.

The young dwarf held his own against the darkspawn, gleefully shooting bolt after bolt into any that approached him or the older dwarf. The one holding the sword seemed to have recovered from his fright and, perhaps bolstered by the arrival of skilled reinforcements, started to whittle away at the hurlock that taunted him.

An arrow whizzed by, embedding itself deeply into the chest of a hurlock the bard had not noticed. Confused, she retraced the arrow's trajectory, somewhere deep into the surrounding trees. Skilled eyes scanned for any movement or shape, but could not discern any. Frowning, not about to curse her savior, the bard turned back to the fray, firing off shot after shot with skill, mindful of any other foreign arrows that sped into their midst.

The battle, if it could truly be called that, was over in mere minutes. The four accomplished killers of darkspawn looked around, satisfied that all were dead. The bard shook her head; they would need to build a pyre and burn the bodies before they continued. If Adela learned they simply left bodies unattended to blight the land…

The bard sighed, trying to shake herself of the melancholy she felt when her thoughts shifted to the elf. Adela was strong, she reassured herself as she slipped her bow back over her shoulder and stepped to join Roland's side. The former knight stood in front of the dwarves, talking the situation with them.

"Mighty timely arrival, my friend," the dwarf spoke in friendly, genuine tones, the younger one gazing up at Roland in near hero worship. "Mighty timely. Name's Bodahn Feddic. This here," he gestured toward the young dwarf. "Is my son, Sandal." He smiled up at the three as they stood in a protective semi-circle around the dwarves and their wagon.

Roland bowed his head slightly. "I'm Warden Roland," Ser Gilmore apparently decided to take the title of Warden rather than Recruit. Leliana grinned at that. "These are Leliana," the bard offered her sweetest smile, and both dwarves responded with pleasant ones of their own, "and the Sten." The giant merely offered the slightly of glances, his eyes going back to their scanning of their surroundings.

"Warden, eh?" Bodahn's pleasant demeanor took on an even more respectful mien. "An honor, absolute honor to make your acquaintance."

Leliana almost giggled when she saw the blush come across Roland's features. "Well, I'm merely a recruit at this time," he just could not allow it to lie, she thought.

"Recruit or not, the Wardens are a well respected organization," Bodahn responded with a smile. "The only surfacer order that understands on any level the true nature of the darkspawn."

After taking a few minutes to talk further, whereupon they learned that the Feddic men were merchants without a clear destination, the group, aided by supplies from the merchant's wagon, set about building a pyre and set the bodies of the darkspawn ablaze. By the time the final embers failed, it was decided that Bodahn and Sandal would accompany the group to Redcliffe, there to either wait out the storms or plot a new route that avoided the darkspawn held south.

As the dwarven pair turned to repack their wagon, Leliana pulled Roland aside, leading him to where the alien arrow remained, embedded in the darkspawn's chest. His red brow furrowed as he tore the projectile free, studying the length and fletch - green and white - of the missile. Leliana noted a confused look cross his face, and decided to question him further once they were safely away or carefully ensconced at Redcliffe.

DA:O

The lock was difficult to pick, but her efforts were rewarded by the clicking sounds of the tumblers falling into place. Rising, she twisted the brass knob, breathing a sigh of relief when it twisted, unlatching the door. With a quick glance around, Adela stepped into the room, pulling the door quietly shut behind her.

Her eyes did a quick scan of the room, noting that a warm fire blazed in the fireplace, and that at the table laden with food sat the bowed figure of Loghain. A frown crossed her face as she paced her way to stand at the opposite end of the table. If he heard her approach, the man made no sign of it.

"Loghain," Adela quietly said, remaining in place, not wanting to approach the man. The Teyrn raised his head from his hands, staring up at the astonished elf.

Loghain looked…horrible. His skin had taken on a yellow pallor and his face was etched with more lines than she ever recalled being there. Worry had mapped its way across his normally stoic features, and she noted that his face was thinner than usual. His hair, normally dark, glossy and neatly in place, fell in lank locks about his face. His clothing were rumpled; his posture slumped. Yet his eyes remained as they always were: alert, clear, intelligent and scrutinizing.

"Loghain," the elf repeated her eyes full of sympathy for her old friend. "What has happened to you?"

Those same eyes narrowed slightly as they scanned the young elf from head to foot. "The same may be said of you, Adela," he said gruffly, obviously taking note of the thinner lines the elf's body had taken.

She frowned, offering a slight shrug. "I fell to a high dragon," she offered as explanation, watching as Loghain's eyes widened slightly. "Not that I think I'm dead." Her own blue eyes, deep and penetrating, gazed around his room. "Strange," she murmured as she stepped around, noting that the once nearly empty book shelf now housed several volumes, mostly containing Fereldan history. "The palace seems to be in ruins, and yet your room remains intact." Her eyes settled upon Loghain once more, taking in the surprised expression upon his face.

Loghain remained silent, watching as the elven woman took in the condition of him and his room. Her eyes settled upon his fully, watching as he sat silently. A thought came to her mind, and a frown formed between her brows.

"Who was that man I saw leaving your chambers?" she asked as she took the chair opposite the silent man.

A fierce scowl formed upon Loghain's face, and Adela was actually pleased to see some of Loghain's strength come through at last. "That," he spat, leaning forward, his eyes intense and set upon the elf's, "is Arawn."

"Another son of Maric?"

Apparently, her perceptiveness surprised Loghain for his brows shot up. With a slow nod, he replied, "Indeed."

She could not stifle down the bitter disappointment she felt for the dead monarch; the man who had been briefly a friend and a link to her mother's past, the man who had been their king, who had liberated them from Orlais, and ruled as best as he could. The bitterness was tinged, she knew, with the knowledge that Alistair had been all but abandoned, and he had been conceived and birthed long after Queen Rowan's death. This one, this Arawn, appeared to be of an age to Cailan, which meant that Maric had an affair during his noble queen's life. She knew her own disappointment well; it was reflected in Loghain's eyes, even now, after he had lived with this knowledge for so long.

Given what she had seen thus far, heard, and witnessed, Adela believed that Niall was correct. Staring at the Teyrn, she reached over and placed her small hands upon his, clasped before him tightly. His pale blue eyes shifted downward, staring at her tiny hands.

"This is your prison, isn't it?" she finally asked, startling him out of his reverie. She continued to watch his reaction. He slowly raised his head, his eyes once again meeting her own. When he did not reply, she continued. "Niall, one of the mages I travel with, is convinced that I am Fade sensitive." She shrugged, giving a slight laugh. "He's amazed and keeps hounding me to let him test the theory." She leaned forward, brushing a hand across Loghain's face. He blinked, but remained silent. "I'm thinking that I don't need to do that."

She leaned back in her chair, frowning. "So, what, exactly, is Arawn up to?"

The fire in the fireplace crackled, the only sound in the room for several moments. Loghain was obviously fighting against his nature to remain silent and not to give in to what he obviously believed was a mere illusion. Adela silently scolded herself for not noticing before how much like Sloth's Fade this felt like. The complete awareness, the lack of the dreamy unreality of it all. She felt like she was, physically, sitting in Loghain's rooms, and she quickly squelched the thought that rose to her mind of other dreams. After all, since that time she had found herself dreaming and thinking of a different man entirely.

Yet, here sat Loghain, a prisoner, obviously, and not some simulacrum created by a malevolent denizen of the Fade. His haggard appearance and stoic silence, told her that this was Loghain. Trapped in a torment that he could not break free of.

After a time, Loghain finally spoke, and told the elf, in detail, what he knew of Arawn. She was surprised how much Loghain knew of the man himself, but how little he could tell her of Anora's well being, the occurrences in the Alienage, and the general state of the nation as it faced a Blight. For her part, Adela told Loghain as little as possible, merely confirming that she and Alistair yet lived, and were working on gathering allies in an attempt to stop the Blight.

Loghain pressed for her location. She shook her head, "I can't tell you, Loghain." She frowned at the scowl that formed on his face. "If you are being controlled by this maleficar, then it is possible he will be able to get this information from you." She tilted her head slightly at him. "We just cannot risk that." The Teyrn's face settled somewhat, nodding his agreement.

"Do you truly believe this is a Blight?" the Teyrn asked, his eyes sharp, the haggard look upon his face easing slightly.

With a firm nod, Adela responded, "The skies have not yet blighted," she replied confidently, "but I believe that, by winter's end, more physical signs, other than the darkspawn running around the countryside, will be evident."

The chair creaked as Loghain settled back, never taking his eyes from Adela's face. "Neither Cailan or I truly believed that this was a Blight," he conceded, his voice rough and gravely. "It seems that we may have been wrong."

"Does this Arawn believe it is a Blight?" Adela asked, a frown forming on her lips. If this blood mage did not believe it was a Blight, then they would continue to be fighting two fronts. Loghain's response was a mere shrug of his broad shoulders.

Adela rose and began pacing the floor. So, Loghain was not acting against them, but was some blood mage's puppet. She had seen blood magic at work - both at Redcliffe and then again at Haven. Growing up, she had heard stories and rumors about how a mage could control a person, and that was the reasoning behind the Chantry's imprisonment of all mages. Her feet stopped, and she turned to study Loghain.

During their visit, his appearance had become less haggard and more resilient. He sat still, watching her. "Have you tried to leave your rooms recently?" she asked, tilting her head.

"Once," he admitted, his eyes searching the girl's face. "I had awoken after the last dream I had of you," she felt her face heat in a flush, and Loghain's dark brow rose. "The door, of course, was locked."

"How about here?" she pressed, ignoring her embarrassment, hoping Loghain did not notice.

"I saw no reason to attempt it since my earlier days spent in this prison," he admitted.

Dumbfounded, she stood there, staring at her friend. "Maybe I was wrong," she finally stated, more heat in her voice than she intended. "Perhaps this is just a dream. After all, the Loghain I know would never just give up on a possible escape!" These last words came out as a hiss between her teeth, and she was surprised at how angry she was at him.

"What escape?" Loghain asked, rising to his feet, yet maintaining a calm that surprised the elf.

"There is always a way out of the Fade," Adela explained just as calmly, letting her initial anger and disappointment fade. "That's why demons and other Fade denizens will work so hard to keep you in one place. Because if left on our own, we will eventually find the exit, and, once in the prime plane, they can't touch those of us who are not mages."

"You can't be Adela," Loghain remarked. "How would you know so much about the Fade?"

"Niall has been instructing me since I pulled him free of the Circle Tower," she admitted smugly. "Since he's convinced I am Fade sensitive he's been almost fanatical about my learning as much as possible so that I won't get trapped." She tilted her head at Loghain. "Come on," she held her hand out to him, gesturing him to follow. "I think that it's time for you to start seeking your own exit."

She turned away from him, not waiting to find out if he would, indeed, follow. She opened the door, relieved that the corridors continued to remain empty. She heard Loghain move behind her, and she hid a grin. Without a word, she stepped into the hallway, glancing up and down the length of it before turning to where she knew Loghain's study stood.

The man's firm steps resounded behind her, and she was glad that he did not question her decision but merely followed. She was certain this was Loghain; his time trapped in the Fade, loosing so much of him to the blood mage, and being isolated from everything and everyone else had taken its toll on the stubborn man.

They found his study to be in the same shape as his room - untouched, unscathed, completely as it appeared in reality. Loghain headed straight for his desk while Adela roamed the room, staring at the maps she had stared at since childhood. She could hear Loghain rummage through papers in the drawers of his desk, but did not stop to ask what he was looking for. He had obviously gotten over his idea that being the Fade made him helpless. She paused in front of an old map, one that detailed a Fereldan as it was drawn out at the time of the Silver Knight, Calenhad. This had always been her favorite, with Highever being the only discernable feature. However, the elegant sweeps of quill gave her an insight as to the ancient cartographer's idea of how Fereldan appeared. A bit unrealistic, with larger land mass and higher mountains, but lovely none the less.

She noticed that the shuffling of paper ceased, and she turned to find Loghain holding a piece of parchment in his hand. Frowning, curious, the elf stepped closer, staring at the paper.

It appeared blank to her. She raised questioning eyes to Loghain. His face is still, stoic, but she thought she could see a hint of despair therein as well. Whatever he had expected to be on that paper was gone.

"This is the Fade," she reminded the man as he tossed the parchment down upon the desk. "Most of what is here are from your own memories. You," she pointed a finger at him. "brought me here. The palace as it is…Anora in her chambers…they are all a result of your own mind telling you what is happening, even if you cannot see it or remember it." She glanced down at the parchment, frowning. "What was on the parchment?" she asked.

Loghain scowled at it. "You recall Maric's adventure with the Grey Wardens, the one that caused a whole slew of things to happen," she smiled weakly at that. The Grey Wardens being allowed back into Fereldan; Maric's rejuvenated rule of Fereldan; his frequent communications with the Grey Wardens…

"Of course," she replied, "it was one of Maric's favorite stories to tell me."

Loghain turned to the girl. "I was placed as regent during his little escapades. Each time he felt the need to go off away from the throne, away from his duties, he would saddle me with the responsibilities. When he went on that fool voyage…" his voice trailed off as he got lost in memories, recalling how, months after the reports that the vessel he had been on had been lost, wreckage found along a string of islands, he had to call the Landsmeet that would start the process of putting Cailan on the throne. He bent his head down, sorrow and grief suddenly flooding his senses.

He felt Adela's hand on his arm, tugging at him. "Stop that, Loghain," she scolded harshly. "That's how Arawn retains hold on you. Your memories, grief, regrets…powerful emotions that the mage can latch onto, weaken you as you weaken yourself."

Dark head rose, blue eyes settled upon the determined features of the little elven Warden. He smirked. "So it would seem," he admitted, glancing back at the empty page. "That," he indicated the sheet, "held instructions of which I was to follow, as regent, to secure the throne for Anora, should Cailan predecease her." He shook his head. "I have no idea why the page would be blank now."

Staring at the page, her mind working through the puzzle, Adela found herself at a loss. "Maybe it's because you can't remember," she offered quietly, lifting her gaze. "Since this prison is of your making…"

But Loghain shook his head. "No, I don't believe that's it," he corrected, moving away from the desk, taking up the pacing where Adela had left off. "There's something we are both overlooking." He stopped and turned, staring at the elf. "This is a prison Arawn created to toss me into whenever he used my body as a puppet to rule as regent, or for those times when I was unneeded in any sense and he would lock me away in my chambers." He stepped forward, taking the parchment from Adela's hand, staring at it. "This could mean that either Arawn was not aware of these instructions…"

Ice coursed in her veins as she realized Loghain's train of thought, "Or he had already found the instructions and was implementing them himself."

Loghain scowled. "To what end?" he demanded, throwing the page down once more.

Adela shook her head. "To what end, indeed," she said, unconsciously mimicking Loghain. "After all, Anora was crowned Queen, not Queen-Consort. Upon Cailan's death, she would retain the throne and rule of Fereldan."

"With the approval of the Landsmeet," the commoner-turned-noble reminded the young elf with a frown. Loghain turned and sat down, his scowl deepening, creating great lines in his face. "There are those in the Landsmeet who would love nothing more than to see anyone else on that throne other than someone of commoner blood." He frowned. "There had been an attempt once to place Bryce Cousland upon the throne. The same could occur again."

Adela scoffed at that. After all, didn't all of the nobles in Fereldan start as commoners at one time in their history? "Unfortunately, Bryce Cousland is dead," she frowned at the surprised look Loghain cast her. "We found a survivor of Howe's treachery." Loghain merely nodded, trying to come to terms that the little elf seemed to know quite a bit of what was occurring.

"Loghain," Adela stepped to stand in front of the seated man. "We know that this Arawn is seeking power for himself. That he's Maric's son gives him some power, although his being a mage makes his direct ascension to the throne problematic. Is it possible that he seeks to force a marriage between himself and Anora?"

"You said it yourself, Adela," Loghain replied quietly, "he is a mage. Mages cannot assume titles, even if that mage is the son of a king."

"I usually disagree with the Chantry's treatment of others, but in this case, I'm rather glad they made that particular law." A long finger tapped against her chin. "Have you any feel that he may be forcing another under his control to marry Anora?"

"Howe would be a logical choice," Loghain grudgingly admitted, "He is now the Teyrn of Highever, second only to the king. If he married Anora, I doubt many in the Landsmeet would oppose such a pairing. And, he is allied with the bastard."

"There are still too many holes, too much missing for that to be an adequate theory," the elf shook her head, sighing heavily. "The first thing you need to do, Loghain, is to learn this prison's exits. Once you can start freeing yourself from the Fade you can start to fight against the blood mage's control of yourself."

They both fell silent, trying to digest too much in such a small frame of time. Loghain broke the silence.

"You must return now, Adela," he said firmly. When she looked up at him in confusion, he clarified, "By the looks of you, you are wasting away by remaining here. If I'm the one that called you here, then I am releasing you." She looked about to protest and he persisted. "I promise to look for these exits you tell me exist. I will seek ways to strengthen myself against both the imprisonment and blood control. However, you need to continue fighting against the Blight as you have been." he stepped forward, placing both hands on her shoulders. "I could never forgive myself if you remained and continued to waste away, to die."

She felt something loosen at her core, and she frowned slightly, and then realized that Loghain was releasing her. Looking up into his face, she remarked, "Well done, Loghain. It seems that you do believe that this is truly me." She smiled at the smirk that crossed his features. "The more you explore, the more you challenge things here," she waved a hand to indicate their surroundings, "the easier it will be for you to find the exits."

Loghain bent down, touching his lips lightly to hers. "Just wake up, Adela," he whispered, stepping back to watch as the elf faded from view.

Alone once again, but feeling more empowered than he had since before Ostagar, the Teyrn left his study to begin his first exploration of the palace.

DA:O

He spent most of his time by her side, watching for any signs that she would awaken. But, as more time passed, the more the others needed him - his leadership, attention and muscle. So, the less time he spent where his heart lay.

They had cleared out the Chantry of most of the unpleasant evidence of the cult; bodies had been burned, a proper service performed for those who died. Once the Chantry had been made livable, they had then turned their attention toward the village. Winter had hit hard and fast, and many of the dead had been the men folk, leaving behind only a few men, most of the women and all of the children. Not an overwhelming number, a few dozen at best. Zevran spent much time away from the village hunting, bringing his catch back to the village for distribution. Alistair helped consolidate households, forgoing the smaller homes on the outskirts of the village and bringing in several families to the larger homes closer to the Chantry. Roofs were repaired, door latches secured, windows fully shuttered, firewood chopped and stacked at each dwelling. Niall and Morrigan, on shifts, would gather what herbs remained blooming before the frost took them and made certain that various potions and poultices were created and on hand.

This day found Alistair atop a roof, whipping his head about in order to keep it free from the flurrying snow, as he made slight repairs to the home's chimney. Some of the bricks had come loose and, not wanting to risk a chimney fire, he took the task in hand and made the repairs. Some discomfort was well worth the knowledge that the two families dwelling therein would remain safe and warm.

Quickly scampering down the ladder, he poked his head in through the front door to let Selena, the eldest woman of the village, know that the repairs had been made and he was heading back to the Chantry. Shaking her head, she pressed two loaves of fresh baked peasant bread into his hands, bidding him a fair evening as she turned to stir the rabbit stew. Grinning, appreciating the smell of the fresh baked bread, Alistair gently closed and latched the door before turning uphill to the Chantry.

About half way up he encountered Zevran, just back from a very successful hunt. The elf reported he had managed to supply each household with three rabbits, more than enough for a stew that would last the household a few days. Clapping the smaller man on the shoulder, Alistair hurried up the hill, anxious to get out of the blustering snowfall.

Snow fluttered in through the doors as Alistair and Zev entered the Chantry, creating a tiny hurricane of the fluttery stuff. Pulling the doors closed, Alistair shook out his fur lined cape before removing it, hanging it upon the hooks nearby. Stomping his feet to clear them of snow, the large man presented Morrigan with the loaves, continuing on his way to Adela's room.

His hands brushed quickly through his hair, now damp from the melted snow. His light brown eyes settled upon Adela's form, and he paused, really looking at her. Her color seemed to be pinker than it had been, and he was certain she was in a different position, more to her right side now rather than flat on her back. Then, thinking perhaps either Niall or Morrigan had shifted her to prevent bed sores, he stepped closer, taking his customary seat by her side, picking up her hand to hold in his.

Again he paused, staring at the tiny appendage in his hand. Her hand was definitely warmer than it had been.

"Wishful thinking," he muttered to himself, his eyes fixed upon her hand, giving it a slight squeeze.

"What's wishful thinking?" came a soft, hoarse question from the side.

His head whipped around, eyes fixing upon Adela's face, watching in disbelief as her eyelids fluttered open. It took her several moments before her eyes could fix upon the man seated beside her, but once they had, a wide, soft smile crossed her face.

"Alistair?" she whispered, blinking rapidly.

Unable to speak, Alistair fell to his knees, scooping the elf into his arms, hugging her tightly against him. Adela chuckled softly, a hand raising to weakly brush against his shoulder.

"Not too tightly, Alistair," she protested, her voice painfully weak.

"Sorry, sorry," he said as he loosened his grip, caught between laughing and crying. His body seemed to think itself capable of both and he found tears falling down his cheeks as he laughed. "You've had us all scared, you know," he playfully scolded the elf, placing a soft kiss on her cheek. "You had me scared."

"I'm sorry," the elf apologized, exhaustion heavy in her voice.

Alistair raised his head, watching as Niall, Morrigan and Zevran entered the room. Grinning like a fool, Alistair proceeded to inform their friends that Adela was awake. Zevran laughed while both mages merely shook their heads, both approaching, scolding Alistair to release her so that they could examine her. Reluctantly, the human released her, easing her gently upon the pillows, watching as the mages sent their searching magic into the girl. Adela's eyes, heavy, fluttered closed, and her breathing relaxed, falling into a soft rhythm. A slight wave of panic hit Alistair and Morrigan assured him that she was fine, that even though she had been unconscious for weeks, her body was still quite tired.

Nodding his head, Alistair could only offer up his silent prayers of thanks to the Maker as Morrigan shifted Adela's position, a slight, gentle smile across her lips.