Three reviews popped up within minutes of my placing the last chapter, and then just kept on coming! This story is now at 150 reviews and counting! Too cool, all, too cool! Thanks as always for those awesome reviews to Nithu, CCBug, tgail73, mutive, lilachsh, Arsinoe de Blassenville, zevgirl, Eriana10. I love watching how everyone's minds start to work, the wheels and cogs just churning. I do admit that the last chapter was a bit rushed. I probably could have written another 'filler' chapter, but nothing came to mind and I didn't want to just write something for the sake of writing it. I hope everyone can forgive me for that.

I hope to continue to keep you all guessing…

The Halla Reborn

Chapter 35

They had reached a quiet, snow laden Redcliffe Village days ago, and during that time Wynne and Artemis had prepared the Ashes and used them to awaken the Arl. Roland had to admit it - he had initially doubted that they would work. After all, what were they to do with them? Just sprinkle them over the Arl's prone form? Sing the Chant of Light over them before tossing them in the air? Make a tea out of them? The former knight felt somewhat blasphemous for those thoughts, but he really had been doubtful and curious.

The mages, however, seemed to have some idea and so the two healers had taken the pouch, prepared the ashes somehow (Wynne still would not tell him what they had done), and then they did, indeed, sprinkle them over the arl's body. The Warden recruit had watched the procedure - simple as that.

Bann Teagan still acted as host as his brother slept in a natural, healing sleep. Lady Cousland had been given a suite of rooms in the West Wing, where the noble guests to Redcliffe were normally ensconced. The Bann had then placed Roland and his party in rooms near the mages in the family wing. Roland was most grateful for the respect the Bann was obviously showing him and his companions. If he had to guess from the look the gracious Bann gave them, he seemed aware that they needed to separate from Elissa as far as possible.

Therefore, days later, with the snow falling and the lakefront frozen, Roland found himself wandering the grounds. To be honest, he was also trying hard to avoid Artemis. The elven man had a habit of showing up and then making the young knight terribly uncomfortable with his open flirting. He groaned, placing his head in his hands, wondering how Adela and the others were making due. The wind blew the locks of hair that had come loose from the braid he kept his long hair tied back in. He hoped Adela was well.

He spotted the Sten sitting, tailor fashion, upon the ground, having cleared the snow away so that he could settle in for meditation. Roland chuckled, scuffing at the snow as he made his way around the huge warrior. He knew that the Qunari would not appreciate being interrupted, and so he made his way passed the man and into the castle.

Wynne was waiting for the young man by the doors, watching as he had wandered around, almost aimlessly. She offered him a soft smile and gently took the arm the gallant knight had offered.

"How is the Arlessa?" the young man asked as he let the elderly mage steer him to the Arl's study, where she had advised him the Arl was awaiting him.

"She is doing quite well, Roland," the mage's warm, soft voice wafted around him like a blanket. Although they had not known the mage for long before departing for the Ashes, Roland had found he had missed her careful wisdom and calm, soothing presence. "The scars have faded quite nicely, and she is taking the damage done to her features with great courage." Here she paused, looking up into his face. "I must admit to being somewhat surprised. I would have thought a woman such as herself - young, beautiful, noble - would be hiding herself away, bemoaning the ill fate fallen upon her. And yet," she tugged him back along, "she has resumed her duties with grace and patience, with only a jeweled eye patch to obscure some of the damage done."

Roland was genuinely surprised by this turn of events. The Arlessa Isolde that he and the others had met had been far more…Orlesian: vain, uncaring of the suffering her own actions had wrought. He grinned slightly at that, thinking of the other Orlesian woman he was acquainted with.

Once they arrived at the study, the elderly mage took her leave, explaining that the conversation with the Arl was decided to be one with Roland, Bann Teagan, and Lady Cousland.

The Arl was in deep conversation with his brother, Bann Teagan. Ser Perth stood to the back of both men, watching as Roland stepped into the chambers. The Knight of Redcliffe gave his Highever counterpart a brief, respectful nod before resuming his hawk-like observation of the room. He was surprised to see Leliana present, standing quietly, observing everyone in the room.

Roland knew the Arl from the visits the Couslands had made to Redcliffe over the years, long after Alistair had been sent off to the Chantry, but had never interacted with the Arl and therefore had not formed any opinion of the man himself. He did know, however, that Teyrn Bryce and Teyrna Eleanor had not been overly fond of the Arl, nor his Orlesian born wife, and that there was another point of contention that, while never spoken of aloud, was evident whenever they made their visits.

After bowing to the nobles in the room, the Warden recruit took his place next to Leliana, waiting for the Arl to address him. The Arl, whom Roland knew to be only in his early fifties, had aged considerably during his convalescence. His beard, once deep reddish brown was now heavily streaked with gray, as was the full head of hair upon his head. Heavy lines now bisected his face, giving him more the appearance of age on par with a grandfather rather than a father of a young boy. Roland winced slightly at that comparison.

"Ser Gilmore," the Arl began, tilting his head slightly to the young man. Roland shook himself from his observation and acknowledged the Arl's address.

"Your Grace," the young warden acknowledged, "Please, I have given up any titles. I am simply Roland or Warden Roland."

"Ah, yes, of course," the older man, "I had heard you will be joining the illustrious ranks of the Wardens. Congratulations, Ser. The Grey Wardens are as fine an institution as there is."

"My thanks, Your Grace," he bowed, straightening.

"You are most welcome," Arl Eamon politely said to Roland with a slight bow of his head. "My healers tell me that had you not arrived when you did, they were uncertain as to how much longer I may have lived."

With a deep bow, Roland replied, "It was our pleasure to be able to assist in any way we can, Your Grace." He straightened. "I know that Commander Adela was most concerned for your welfare."

Roland did not miss the expression that flickered briefly across the man's face. One laced with recognition, irritation and curiosity. However, the Arl made no mention of it, but merely smiled at the younger man.

"Lady Cousland," the Arl turned toward the young noblewoman, practiced sympathy clearly upon his face. "You have my most sincere sympathies for what happened to your family."

"I thank you, Your Grace," Elissa responded, her face as impassive as her voice. "I would ask, as the Teyrna of Highever, that you avail yourself, your resources and your arms to the undertaking of reclaiming my family home." That chin raised impudently, her eyes boring into Eamon's grays.

A slight frown formed on the older man's face, and Leliana and Roland exchanged uneasy glances. "I fear that, at this time, we have a Blight to contend with," the elderly politician explained, his hands held out at his sides in a placating gesture. "All of our forces must be spent toward defeating this greater evil."

Brown eyes narrowed. "I see." came out clipped, anger clearly behind the words. "Were you a vassal of mine, I could simply order you to do so or merely confiscate your holdings. However, as you are not," she bowed her head slightly in deference for the most powerful Arl in all of Fereldan. "I must humbly accept your decision. However, I do ask that, once the Blight has been defeated, that you would perhaps see to lending me those arms as you can."

A gray brow rose at the girl's impudence, but the Arl nodded, bowing low to the young noble. "Whatever is in my power, I shall do as I can," he responded as he straightened.

With a slight nod of her head, the young noble, without a word or look toward Roland and the others, swept out of the hall.

As he watched her leave, a thoughtful expression came across Eamon's face. He then turned back to the others.

"Quite spirited, isn't she?" he commented.

Roland nodded, unsure how to respond. As a Warden, he was no longer in the service of the Couslands. Nor did he truly have to bend to protocol concerning nobles. However, his entire life had been spent in enforcing those same protocols into his very being, and he found it difficult even now to openly speak against Elissa to someone who was outside of the Warden circle he was now a part of.

"Why did you leave Alistair behind, may I ask?" the Arl questioned the young knight, his gray eyes narrowed slightly.

Roland frowned. "It was Warden Alistair's very orders that left him behind with the Commander," he responded, confused by the Arl's interest.

During their time together, Roland had learned that Alistair was a bastard son of Maric's, and one who had been placed in Arl Eamon's care. He knew, from his conversations with the Warden that his childhood in Redcliffe had been anything but memorable or favorable for a growing lad.

Therefore, knowing of Alistair's past, Roland found it odd that the Arl was now concerned with the other man's well being.

"He is, after all, next in line for the throne," Eamon remarked, watching the former knight intently, as though trying to get his worth.

Ah, there it was. Roland frowned. He knew without a doubt that his friend did not intend to claim the throne. Firstly, as a Grey Warden, he forfeited any titles by deed or noble birth. Secondly, his feeling was that Anora was a fine, capable, lawful queen and he would never do anything that remotely seemed treasonous. Thirdly, and most importantly, he had no desire to be king. For Roland, that was more than enough reason to dissuade the Arl in his obvious mind set.

However, the Warden recruit knew it was not his place to do so. Therefore, he remained quiet, allowing the Arl to continue. Leliana, standing next to the warden, stood still, her quick mind obviously taking in every word, her perceptiveness taking in every action.

DA:O

Arawn stood in the center of the opulent chambers, taking in the large fireplace, dining area, gold gilted walls and huge, canopied bed. In just a few short months, Rendon had transformed the Denerim Manor from a blood soaked slaughter house, decimated of guard and lords alike, back to its former glory. He smirked as his eyes settled upon the door that stood along the side of the room where the bed stood. The blood mage knew quite well to where that door led.

As familiar with blood and violence as the maleficar was, there were some habits that possessed the Howe noble that sometimes bothered the mage.

However, those very same habits were ones with which made the nobleman a very efficient ally.

As his gaze continued to survey the room, Teyrn Howe entered the chamber, carrying a tray holding a carafe of wine and two goblets. He poured one, handing it over to the mage. As he bent to pour his own, the Teyrn said in his dry, nasally voice. "Well? What do you think?"

Taking a careful sip, the mage nodded his appreciation. "The wine is quite good. And," he smiled at his friend, whose eyes had narrowed slightly. "I am impressed by how quickly you managed to repair the damage done by those elves mere months before."

Chuckling, Howe took a sip of his wine, stepping to stand next to the bastard son of Maric. "Indeed. Blood ran from end to end, and there was no end to the bodies." He 'tsked' in mock sympathy. "Poor young Vaughan. He truly underestimated the tenacity of certain breeds of rodents."

Arawn merely nodded, taking another sip of his wine. He knew well Howe's distaste for elves; it was reflected in most of nobles in many countries. Fereldan, amazingly, seemed to hold onto its more Orlesian bigotry for the elves, especially considering the history of their fighting side by side their human counterparts. The mage, however, had always had an affinity for the graceful race, and had seen on many occasions were the smaller folk were the match for any human, especially in the magical arts. He wisely kept quiet, however. After all, he came to his friend this day in hopes of being given some elven fodder for the ritual he planned.

Instead, he pointed out the more feminine touches to the room: a vase of silk flowers, brighter colors for the bed's coverlet. "I see you still hold out hope we shall locate the young Cousland girl?"

An emotion flickered through Howe's dark eyes - a possessive emotion the mage knew very well. "I hope for word on her location with each passing day, my friend," Howe admitted, putting his goblet down on the nearby stand. His eyes strayed to the door that led to the dungeons below. "Once I have her here…" his voice trailed off, but Arawn found a slight shiver at the emotion betrayed in Howe's voice.

He placed a large hand upon the shoulder of his wiry compatriot. "Have no fears, my friend," he assured him as he placed his goblet down, gesturing to the door. "I have my men out, and any word they receive on the Cousland girl's location is to be brought to my ears immediately. As soon as we have her location, I will personally send out my agents to fetch her up."

Relief caused the smaller, older man to relax somewhat. "My thanks, Arawn. You are, indeed, a better friend than your father had been."

A wry smile turned the corners of his lips up at that. "Glad I am to hear that, Rendon," he said sincerely. "My father was one who never truly knew the value of those who helped him secure his throne. I promise you I shall not make the same mistakes he had." He clapped his hand once to Rendon's shoulder. "Now, I do have a favor to ask of you, my friend. One I am certain you can assist me in."

"How so?" Howe drawled out, curiosity in his eyes.

"I am in the need of elves." The blood mage began. Interest shone in the other man's face, and the mage directed Howe toward the dungeon. Taking the hint, the noble unlocked the door, leading the mage down.

"May I ask whatever for?" he asked as he unlocked the second set of doors, and then led the mage passed empty cells. The pair paused briefly at one cell, currently occupied by a man of mid years. His long dark hair hung in his face, and he stood proudly, despite being clad only in his small clothes. Arawn's eyes raked over the man's tightly muscled form before dismissing him and urging Howe further into the dungeons, completely ignoring the prisoner's glare.

"Of course you may ask," the mage resumed with a chuckle, smirking at Howe's glare. "I have a ritual that needs to be performed. One to firm up the foundations of Loghain's Fade prison. However, to do so, I need blood and another soul - a snack, as it were - to offer up to the denizens of that section of the Fade."

"Ah, indeed,' the nobleman nodded, understanding the man's request. "Come with me, I have several elves herein of whom I have grown…bored, but one that may do well to begin with. With the current…unrest in the Alienage, I am certain I can procure however many more you need."

Arawn frowned slightly. "I thought the Tevinters had set up their operations therein?"

Howe shook his head, "They have started the foundation work, however, nothing has been set just yet. What is a half dozen or so missing elves compared to what are left?"

Howe nodded briefly to a guard standing before a door, and watched as the man unlocked the door to allow the two men entry. He led Arawn through a series of interconnecting rooms, the front chambers obviously the guard rooms, and the others filled with cells. Many of the cells were empty, but a few contained prisoners. There were a few humans, one a young man who glared at Howe but remained silent upon seeing Arawn by his side. Another cell contained one older man who knelt, naked, in his own filth, prayers to the Maker spilling from his lips. The last cell contained a young, elven male, so filthy that it was difficult to ascertain the color of his hair. It was in front of this cell the pair stopped.

"This one," Howe gestured toward the bedraggled elf, who glared defiantly at the humans. "was one that had taken part in the slaughter here months ago." An evil grin crossed Howe's lined face. "He has a strong spirit, and a sound body. He has endured the tortures with amazing resilience, but I would gladly give him up for your needs."

Arawn looked the young elf over, nodding his head. He smirked at the fear that crossed the younger man's face. "Have him cleaned up and then deliver him to the palace as soon as you are able, Rendon," the mage said as he turned his back to the prisoner and sauntered passed the other cells. "I must begin the ritual soon."

Taking one last look at the elf, Rendon grinned, then turned to follow his co-conspirator.

The young elf could only watch, uncertain of his fate, yet knowing, somehow, that his time upon Thedas may be coming to an end.

DA:O

After Adela's declaration of love for Alistair, the pair of them had spent the rest of that evening cuddling and kissing, enjoying the feel of each other's heartbeats and lips. The topic of courtship had come up, with Alistair playfully asking if the young woman would prefer a long, drawn out courtship. "At least to the end of the Blight."

The look of confusion that crossed her face had caused a moment of trepidation for the young man.

"Is something wrong?" he asked, wondering at her reaction.

She lifted her head, her bluest of eyes fixing upon his face. "I am…unsure as to how we proceed from this point. It is all very new to me…," a forlorn sigh. "I just do not know what to do here," she looked up into his face. "I know you wish to court me, and the idea of it appeals to me greatly," she smiled as his own expression eased at those words. "It's just, I have no idea what that entails exactly. We elves….all of our marriages are arranged. There are no courtships, no declarations of love. Most betrotheds don't even meet until just hours prior to the marriage ceremony, I have even heard of those who never see their intended until the ceremony itself."

The warden frowned at this. "That's rather…cold." He tilted his head slightly at the elf. He was aware that many noble marriages were arranged, but that at least there were courtship rituals that had to be observed for each couple. To never even glimpse the one you were expected to live the rest of your life with until the day of the wedding…the idea just did not set well with the young man.

"I thought your parents married for love?"

Adela smiled. "They did. However, Papa had been married previously, and had produced offspring. He had become an adult in the eyes of the Alienage. Therefore, he could choose his mate."

"How will your people view our relationship?" Alistair asked, frowning. If Adela was not married, was she still considered a child in the eyes of her people?

A frown formed on the girl's face. "Actually, they may view our relationship as treasonous to the elven people." She brushed her hand over the growing frown that was forming on Alistair's face. "Stop that. As a Grey Warden, I leave my past behind. While my people may still view me as a child, and our relationship as going against everything that is elven, it does not matter." She moved closer, brushing her lips against his. "I have found someone I love, and I do not intend to give up any more than necessary out of duty."

"I don't want to be the cause of trouble between you and your family, Adela," Alistair said, speaking around the growing tightness in his throat.

"You won't," she replied immediately. "We are both Grey Wardens; our duty is to protect the land against the darkspawn and Blights. If we can find happiness amidst the darkness…" She raised a brow, quoting back words Alistair had said to her months ago.

Laughing, the young man hugged her tightly, feeling the apprehension that had been growing in his chest subside.

"But I still do not know how to proceed with a courtship," Adela steered them back to the original topic, her eyes hopeful.

"I will tell you this, Adela," Alistair lifted her chin with one strong hand, "Courtship is to allow a couple of get to know one another, to learn if that person is truly the one for them. We've traveled together for some time now, and faced many hardships, but us as a couple may change the….dynamics of that relationship." He shrugged here, not certain if he was saying the right thing, but deciding to go with it anyway and get it out there. "I've never done this before, either." He chuckled, heartened that she grinned up at him. "I say we just take it one step at a time, and see where it leads."

Her nervous laughter was like a tiny bell to his ears, and she flushed deeper. "That sounds nice, actually." She turned wrapping her arms around his neck, gazing into his face. "Figuring this out together may actually turn out to be rather…fun." She gave him a mischievous, playful smile as she nuzzled her nose against his.

Therefore, Alistair had determined to take it slow; he had her love; the rest could be taken at a slower pace. Especially when the young man took into account Adela's previous experience with a man. He did not want to scare her away or cause her further harm.

His heart, mind and soul understood the need to take things slowly; his body seemed to have a mind all unto its own.

Just being near Adela was sometimes physically impossible as his body - or rather, certain parts of his body - would start to…come to life, completely ignoring the decision the mind, heart and soul had already made. Fortunately, if the woman in question had noticed, she had not made any indication of it, and seemed to enjoy their time together.

And this night his body's reaction to her was proving distracting and inconvenient. Distracting in that she was sitting very close to him as they all sat in the main chamber, sharing a meal. Inconvenient because they were sharing a meal with their entire group. At Adela's request.

Apparently, she had something she wanted to discuss with the group as a whole. Alistair doubted it was regarding the latest development in their relationship. Zevran had been dropping innuendos these past few days, winking at the young man, waggling his eyebrows. Niall seemed to be flushing more often in Adela's company, while Morrigan would simply glare at Alistair. She had, at one point, warned him that if he harmed Adela, she would, indeed, be turning him into that toad Daveth had mentioned those months prior.

So, they were all aware. Of course, how could they miss the even goofier grins Alistair would toss at the elven warden, or miss when Adela would simply walk up to Alistair to deliver a warm kiss to his cheek. They were not exactly hiding the fact that they were pursuing a relationship. He just hoped Zevran would not suggest something …overt to the younger elf. Please, Maker, please help Zevran keep a leash on his tongue…and then he groaned at that unintended implication.

He glanced over at Adela, who remained seated in her chair. Her lower lip was caught between her teeth, a clear indication she was nervous or concerned over the reason why she had insisted everyone take the evening meal together. He reached over and gently tapped the lip, and her blue eyes rose to look, in question, into his ambers orbs. Offering a grin, he remarked, "What has that lip ever done to you that you're going to include it in this evening's meal?"

Startled, she then rolled her eyes, but released her lip. "Sorry," she whispered, flushing slightly. "You would think by now I would have outgrown that habit."

Alistair chuckled at that. "You've been doing it since we first met. I'd imagine you've been doing it your whole life." He shrugged. "Some habits are just tough to give up."

"Hmm…yes, I know," she admitted, smiling up at him.

"Well, fearless leader," Zevran all but purred from the other side of the small, round table they had taken their meal at. "Was there something you wished to discuss with us? Or," a smirk crossed his handsome, tattooed face. "Can we all simply sit back and watch the beautiful pair of you make lovers eyes at one another, hmm?"

Alistair scoffed at that while Adela flushed a bit. "Well, I do have something I wish to discuss," she admitted after a moment, casting a glance at Alistair. "It's rather strange, and has taken me some time to try and figure out how to approach the subject." She turned toward Niall, who was watching with his usual closeness. "I'm still not certain, but can't let this go any longer without a discussion."

"You're always telling me how I'm Fade sensitive, Niall," the mage nodded. "But I never really believed you before…"

"Ha!" the mage chuckled, nodding at her. "You believe me now?"

"Yes, I do," she agreed. "While I was unconscious, as a matter of fact, I walked the Fade and was pulled into another person's…" she stopped here, struggling for the word. "I guess you can say dream, but it really wasn't."

Everyone was listening, but it was Niall who responded. "How so, Adela?"

Rubbing a finger along her forehead, she shrugged. "It wasn't a state of sleep, natural sleep, which the dreamer found himself in. It was induced…a prison set up in the Fade for him."

"Prison?" Alistair asked, "You mean by blood magic?"

Tilting her head at the former templar initiate, she nodded. "Exactly like that, in fact." She looked over at Niall, whose eyes were thoughtful. A glance at Morrigan confirmed that she, too, was quite intrigued by this and was watching the elven woman closely.

"Apparently, a blood mage had created a prison within the Fade, and would…cast his spirit into it." She shrugged. "Is that possible, Niall? I mean, can blood mages really have that much control over a person?"

"You saw what happened at the tower," the Circle mage quietly reminded her and everyone else. "Uldred managed to do things using blood magic I never thought possible, and no one at the Circle - mage or templar - was prepared for what he managed to accomplish." He shrugged. "To be honest, the Chantry allows so little research into blood magic that it is impossible to know exactly what is and what is not possible. And, our defenses against it are…limited."

"All because of your Chantry's short sightedness," Morrigan sneered, her yellow eyes narrowing in anger. "Had your Chantry more of a desire to actually counter blood magic rather than simply imprison mages, the Tower would never have fallen as it had." She lifted her raven head slightly. "Nor would there be a need to imprison every mage out of the ignorance."

Niall stared at the witch for some moments, but nodded his head. "You're correct, Morrigan," the witch seemed slightly surprised by this. "Having knowledge of something does not necessarily mean that it will be used. Sometimes, knowledge of something is enough to dissuade its use."

"So, is it possible?" Adela pressed, wanting an answer.

Both mages looked at each other and then nodded. "Indeed it is," Morrigan voiced. "Blood magic, after all, comes from demons. Moreover, 'tis demons that make their home within the Fade."

"So a blood mage could make a deal with a demon and create the prison?" Adela asked as she followed along. Again, both mages nodded in affirmation.

The elf leaned back into her chair, a thoughtful look crossing her features. Alistair frowned. "Do you know who this prisoner is, Adela?" he asked after too many minutes of silence followed.

She nodded, turning her eyes to look fully into Alistair's. The young man could see indecision there, and it startled him a bit. "I do," she voiced, frowning slightly. She rose, pushing her chair back under the table, pacing around slightly as she collected her thoughts. Alistair rose as well, placing himself in front of her.

"Something tells me you don't like what you're going to say to me," the perceptive young man said.

"No," she responded. "It's more that you are not going to like what I'm going to say, and I am uncertain you will even believe me."

Alistair crossed his arms over his chest, aware that the others were watching the pair closely. "Look," he replied, "I believe that you are Fade sensitive like Niall has been harping on," he ignored the indignant gasp from said mage. "So, just tell us so that we can figure out a way to help the poor sap."

Her hands dropping to her sides, she let out a long sigh. Then, seeming to steel herself, she replied. "It's Loghain."