Hey look! An update! Unbelievable, isn't it. . Big thanks to my wonderful friend a beta ShebasDawn, who once again had to deal with my wrong tenses, fragments, and other abominations and turn it somewho into English. A big hug also for all my readers and reviewers - reading them always makes my day. :)

A Thin Line

From the awkward silence that ensued when they entered the room, it was clear what the others had been discussing. Alistair took a step forward. He and Airam stared at each other for a moment, both clearly too afraid to say what they wanted.

"Great timing, boss!" Faren said. "Breakfast is ready. We were just saying we should go find you."

"Thanks. That's very kind of you," Airam replied, with a grateful little smile. "Let's tuck in, then. We only had a box of cookies and water for dinner – I forgot our lovely strong lady carries all the provisions." He bowed his head to Shale as he walked over to an old, battered bureau now turned into a dining table.

Despite Faren's best efforts to keep the conversation alive, the breakfast was painfully awkward, and they all focused on eating as quickly as they could. They had almost managed to finish it, when Alistair broke the momentarily silence afforded by the dwarf chewing on a bit of cheese.

"So, was it that maleficar friend of yours who taught you blood magic? I always knew it was a bad idea to keep him alive."

They all tensed. Leliana shot warning glances at Alistair, and Wynne tried to hypnotise Airam to look at her, but both Wardens ignored them.

"You mean Jowan?" Airam replied with a snort. "Of course not. I knew how to use blood magic before I came to the Tower. I learned it from my parents."

For the second time in as many days, the little Warden shocked everyone speechless. Alistair frowned, but before he could start shouting, Airam continued.

"You see, Your Majesty, we were apostates. Well, technically we were not – my family was kindly granted the right to live in the forest by your father, King Maric, as I'm sure you're aware," he said in the overly polite manner. "But in the eyes of the Chantry, we were apostates, and, well, it's the Chantry's opinion that matters. So we could not just travel to the nearest town with a magic store, stroll in, and buy lyrium. We would've been arrested – or killed on the spot, more likely. But we still needed something in case of an emergency. Apostates are just like any other mage, you see – we don't have endless reservoirs of mana. Blood magic is the solution."

"I didn't think of it that way," Wynne muttered. "But even an emergency does not justify using the blood of others – not even if they agreed to it. It is still-"

"Blood is what gives us life; blood is the greatest source of magic," Airam cut in, declaiming softly. "Every drop should be treasured. It's too precious to be spilled on a whim. And if you need to spill it, spill your own." He looked at Alistair, who stared back silently. "That's what my dad taught me. I've never used the blood of other creatures, let alone people. Only my own. Only when the lives of those I love are at stake, and there's no other way… Like when a powerful witch turns into a dragon." He rolled up his sleeve, revealing a barely visible pinkish line on his forearm. "If that makes me a sinner, so be it. I prefer that to the alternative."

Alistair shifted uneasily. "The Templars couldn't know that," he muttered. "If your parents fought back using blood magic-"

"My parents surrendered," Airam cut in, his eyes as cold as his voice. "If they had decided to fight, they'd still be alive. But they decided to protect their stupid son." He glared at Alistair. "Would you like to hear a detailed description of how they were slaughtered, and my little sister too? Or can we finally go?"

For a heartbeat, Zevran was worried Alistair would continue, say something stupid, something irreparable, but then he turned his gaze away. "We should go," he muttered.

No one protested, and they were packed and ready in record time.

oOo

There were no more ghostly apparitions, thank the Maker. Zevran wasn't sure if he could stand it. The two sulking Wardens were enough, thank you. It was even worse than when they had gone to pick up Shale in that dreary little village of hers. Airam apparently had decided to play the Aggrieved Martyr, while Alistair did his best impersonation of Angered Champion of Justice. They all tried, in turns, to cheer them up, but they would always reply with monosyllabic words – if they bothered to reply at all. Stubborn fools.

Ah, he did understand why they both felt betrayed and hurt. But if Airam opened his eyes and looked around, he might notice the others didn't think less of him for being a blood mage – even Wynne seemed to accept it with good grace. And if Alistair stopped to think about it all, he would realize Airam hadn't kept it secret because he was an evil maleficar, but because he still wasn't over what had happened to his family - he was just good at pretending.

Zevran wished they could find the mage or whatever was keeping up the barrier around the fortress, and leave this damned place as soon as possible. Maybe without the constant reminder of the consequences of blood magic, the two brats would be more reasonable. One could hope, no?

But for the next three agonizing hours, they found only more demons, ruined rooms, demons, smashed furniture, demons, dried bones crunching under their feet – and demons. Sweet Andraste, how many were there?!

After a brief discussion, they decided to take a break. Zevran and Sten wanted to press forward without lunch, and Airam supported them – so Alistair, naturally, had to be against it. Kids. They cleared away the rubble from a place near the window, and Leliana started to make lunch while the rest of them sat down in gloomy silence. The only one who didn't lose his good mood was Faren. He sat on the windowsill, legs comfortably stretched out in front of him, and hummed a song, watching the snowflakes dancing outside the window.

"Hey, boss," he said suddenly, "what's that?"

"What?" Airam and Alistair said in unison, as they stood up to look. They briefly glared at each other, then Airam pressed his lips together and turned away.

"That door – on the other side of the ramparts. See it? There's a purplish glow around it."

"That must be a magical barrier," Wynne said, joining them. "They're used to keep demons out."

"Then we need to find a way to get there," Alistair said. "But that is one level below us. We have already checked all the rooms there."

"We must have overlooked a hidden door," Leliana suggested. "Do not worry – now that we know it is there, we will find it."

Encouraged by the idea, they wolfed down their simple lunch and almost ran downstairs. Now that they knew what and where to search, it didn't take them long to find the door to the ramparts, hidden behind a pile of smashed furniture. With Sten and Shale's combined efforts, the way was cleared before Zevran could count to twenty. Sten eagerly opened the door, stepped forward – and immediately stopped in his tracks, paralysed.

The whole length of the rampart was covered with traps and glyphs.

oOo

Faren cursed. "What now?" he asked Alistair. "It will take hours to disarm all this. We'll never make it, with the demons behind us."

"I can create a barrier," Wynne offered with a tired sigh. "But I can't sustain it for long."

"Then we can't waste time," Alistair said, his jaw set firm. "Faren, Zev, Leliana - start disarming the traps, as fast as you can. You don't need to disarm everything, just enough so that we can pass without blowing up. Sten, Shale, Oghren - you're with me. Surana, see to those glyphs. Levi, you just-"

"Surana?" Airam asked incredulously.

"Yes. I thought that was your name? Or will you now reveal you are someone else?"

Airam's eyes darkened. "I am not ashamed of my name or who I am," he said, folding his arms.

"Of course. You are-"

"-wasting time," Sten cut in. "The barrier is up. And the mage is tired." He nodded towards Wynne, who was pale and breathless, leaning on Shale. "We need to move."

Embarrassed, the two Wardens stopped their bickering and set to work. Twenty minutes later, they were already halfway across the bridge, and had started to hope they would make it. The vague shapes of demons had begun to gather behind the barrier and pound at it, but for now it held. But Wynne was getting tired; she was barely able to drag her feet, and finally Sten picked her up to carry her. She insisted it wasn't necessary, but the Qunari wouldn't be dissuaded.

"It is not for you," he said. "You would slow us down. And when the demons come, Shale's distance attack will be more useful than mine."

They were still a few yards from the door when they heard a crash behind them. Wynne's barrier flickered and vanished, and demons started to glide onto the bridge. The traps and glyphs were going off left and right. Alistair drew his sword, Oghren and Shale next to him. Sten had just gently handed Wynne to Levi so he could join Alistair, when the door sprang open.

A small, hunched figure stood in the doorway. "Heads down!" it shrieked. They barely had time to do so, when the barrier fell down and a huge fireball soared towards the demons. Then the barrier sprang up again. "Don't stop to fight! Hurry, hurry!"

"Shale! Rocks!" Alistair ordered.

Focusing on the delicate work of removing the triggers from traps, while you're crouching on a bridge, with fireballs and stone missiles sizzling and swishing above your head, was one of those experiences Zevran loved to boast about, in a cosy inn, over a glass of good wine. But there were no cosy inns or good wines in this muddy hole of a country. And nobody ever believed his stories, anyway, besides his crazy mage - and he was right here, too. All in all, Zevran would've preferred a boring and uneventful development of events. It would be a nice change of pace, for once.

After what seemed like an eternity, but couldn't have been more than a few minutes, the last of the traps were finally disarmed. The barrier dropped, and a little human man urged them forward. The demons screamed in rage and rushed forward, but the man laughed in their faces, raised the barrier, and slammed the door shut. He waved to them to follow him, and led them out of the hall, activating more glyphs along the way. Only then did he turn towards them.

He was… old. Not ordinary old. The old Chasind Chief was a spring chicken compared to this man. He was of average height once, but now was so hunched he was face to face with Faren. He was wearing a crudely sewn, washed-out robe made of cloth that had the same pattern as the ragged curtains they saw in the other rooms, but no shoes. The skin on his face and wiry hands looked like an old parchment that would crumble into dust at the slightest touch. Not one hair was left on his head, making his ears stick out like two flags. His cheeks were hollowed, and his mouth just a thin line amid hundreds of deep wrinkles, but his tiny, deep-set black eyes were still shrewd, as he measured their worth.

"They're Wardens!" he said, visibly pleased. "Baby Wardens – but better than nothing, right? And they have mages! Ah, but one is out, that's not good, that's not good! Three would be ideal, two would be fine, but a single baby mage…" he shook his head.

Alistair snorted. Airam shot him a murderous look, then folded his arms – and waited. Confusion briefly flickered on the Chantry boy's face. "Oh," he muttered finally, and turned to the man.

"Um… hello," he said. "We are Wardens, yes. We… we would like to find out what happened here. And how to-"

"I know you!" the man cut in. "Your face – who are you, boy? What is your name?"

"Right, sorry for that; I forgot to introduce us. I am Alistair Theirin-"

The old mage screamed in rage and fired from his staff. Alistair flew across the room and slumped down the wall. In a flash, they had their weapons out and aimed at the mage, but he didn't seem to have noticed at all. "Theirin!" he burst out. "How dare you come here?!"

"Al!" Airam sprinted to his friend, and knelt next to him. "Are you alive?" he asked, his voice trembling with worry.

"Uhhh…" came a weak reply. "I think so?"

"Good," Airam said, his voice once again cold. "Drink a healing potion, then. I'll take over for a moment, if you don't mind." He walked over to the old man and glared down at him. "Attack him again and I'll kill you," he said, his eyes black. "Besides, he's Alistair Theirin. Arland Theirin has been dead for two centuries. As you already recognised, we're Wardens. I'm Warden Commander Airam Surana, he's my second. I would say I'm pleased to meet you, but honestly, I'm not."

The mage stared at him for a moment, then lowered his staff. "I guess it doesn't matter who he is," he muttered. "The only thing that does, is if you'll help me fix the Veil. I am Avernus, Sophia Dryden's Warden Second. You said it's been two centuries?"

"Since Arland died, yes. It's nine-thirty now."

"It's been… two hundred and twelve years since she died," Avernus said. "One hundred ninety-four of those, I have been alone… but please, follow me. We have much to discuss."

oOo

If he had been alone for more than two centuries… no. Zevran couldn't imagine that. He would end it after two months. Barrier and demons be damned. There were Templars in the village, they could deal with them. Zevran had to admire the man's endurance, though. Two centuries, in a few rooms, all alone. Eating mushrooms that grew at the bottom of the tower, rats, and occasionally birds he managed to trap with glue coated on the windowsill. Clothes made only from what he could scavenge.

None of them were eager to try dried rat, so they invited Avernus to a late lunch instead. There wasn't much furniture left – he had used most of it as kindling during the coldest winters – so they spread out their bedrolls on the floor, wrapped themselves in all the blankets and furs they had, and had a plain, cold lunch. Just sandwiches, really. By the way the man reacted, one would think they invited him to a royal banquet. When he took a bite of bread, tears welled up in his eyes. "I didn't believe anymore I would live to eat real food again."

"You said you want to fix the Veil?" Wynne asked after a moment of idle chatting.

"Yes. All the fighting here has torn it. There isn't a real tear yet, but it is very thin. One more violent death is perhaps all it needs."

"But you killed more than one demon on that bridge," Faren said, confused.

Avernus waved his hand. "Demons don't count. They have no free will. They do what their nature tells them to do. It is the evil intent, the abuse of that freedom, that tears the Veil."

Zevran arched his brow at the man. "Then it was rather stupid of you to attack Alistair, no?"

"Yes, it was. I wasn't thinking at that moment. When I heard the name…" Avernus pressed his lips together and glared at Alistair. "Understand, it might be history for you children, but for me, time has stopped. I had no contact with the world outside. My memories were all that I had left. The Wardens were more than comrades. We were family, brothers and sisters – not by birth, but by blood. We were ready to die for each other."

"They didn't mind that you were a blood mage?" Airam asked, carefully avoiding looking at Alistair.

"Why would they? They were Wardens, not Chantry monks, or Templars. They knew me, they knew my magic. What's wrong with boiling darkspawn's blood? How is that any more evil than burning them alive, or cutting them to pieces with an axe? I have never used it against my brethren or against innocents."

"And yet, in the end, it killed them," Alistair said. Thanks to the healing potions he wasn't hurt; the only reminder of the attack was his hair, which stuck out in all directions. Zevran personally thought it was an improvement. Alas, the Chantry boy didn't agree, and it made his mood even more sour.

"No," Avernus said. "Politics killed them. Sophia should've never listened to the Arls. They didn't support her, when the heir was decided. They chose Arland. So young, so cute and naïve – so easy to manipulate. Much better than a solid, mature, sensible woman like Sophia. She wanted to make reforms – and they knew it. They made their choice, and Sophia was forced to become a Warden. But it didn't work out the way the Arls wanted it, did it? Arland turned out to be cruel and perverted, interested only in his own pleasures. Denerim had never seen feasts and balls like the ones Arland held. You'd have thought you were in Minrathous! Those who dared to speak out against it, died. Once, Arl Ruahn criticised the king's spending on Wintersend. He was slaughtered, along with his whole family - including little kids. And then the nobles crawled to Sophia. Begged her to help them. And she… she was too responsible, too noble, to leave it be. She didn't want the throne anymore. Maybe she didn't want to be a Warden at first, but during those ten years, she found her purpose. She agreed because she wanted justice. As far as I know, she wanted Teyrn Cousland on the throne. For awhile, it almost seemed we would succeed. But then we were betrayed."

"By whom?" Airam asked.

"Does it matter now? We were betrayed, and the Couslands… Arland threw a grand party at the castle, and invited everyone who mattered – even his opponents. He wanted to negotiate peace, he said. Agree on a compromise. The civil war served no one. At first, it seemed he meant it. Then dinner was served. The servants brought out big golden plates, put them in front of the nobles, lifted the lids... and instead of pigs, there were the heads of the Couslands, with apples in their mouths."

"Dear Maker!" Leliana gasped.

"What's dear about Him? If He even exists, He turned His back to us ages ago. If He hadn't, such things couldn't happen," Avernus said bitterly. "The nobles understood the king's message, and cut us off. Rebellion, yes, what a great idea – but not if it put their lives at stake. It was then that Sophia asked me to summon demons. She thought it would help to balance out the difference in forces. The king had many more soldiers than we had Wardens. The decision to summon the demons wasn't made in the heat of battle; it was the plan all along. Even if she hadn't given the command, I would've done it. Why not? I had used it several times, at that point, and it was to our benefit. There was no reason why it shouldn't be the same this time."

"Right," Alistair said. "How could you possibly know that demons are evil? Or that they might betray you?"

"I must agree with Al– with Warden Theirin here," Airam said. "I can understand Sophia, but you are a mage. You had to know it was dangerous to make deals with demons."

"Ah, yes. The old topic of good and evil." Avernus shrugged. "The world is not black and white, child. The world is fifty – nah, five hundred shades of grey. Beings of the Fade are no different. Or am I wrong?" He turned to Wynne, who looked away. Avernus shook his head. "Foolish child. There's no way back now. You can either accept it, or keep rejecting it – but you see what it's doing to you. You won't last two weeks like this."

"So be it," she said coldly.

"Accept what?" Airam asked. "What's he talking about, Gran?"

"Nothing that concerns you, fledgling," the mage said. "Where were we? Ah, yes. The demons. Sophia knew the risks. And she was willing to take them." He looked at Levi and smiled. "Sophia was more than our Commander. She was our hero. She was noble, and determined to do the right thing – even when the price was high. That's what a hero does, you know - makes hard decisions. Anyone can judge, once it's all over. But in a war, the here and now is all you have. You can't see the future consequences of your decisions. You can only rely on your heart. And Sophia's heart was in the right place, let no one tell you anything else."

Levi nodded in agreement, but Avernus wasn't paying attention to him anymore. "The only stupid mistake she made, was that she didn't fall back when I sounded the retreat. She stayed to fight." He closed his eyes, his face pained. "If only she'd listened. If only she'd given the command to the others… we would've had a chance. We could've still fixed this."

"By fixing the Veil?" Wynne asked.

"Yes. There is a ritual, but it is complicated and dangerous. To fix the tear properly, you have to temporarily open it first. And that means more demons. With the four of us that survived, and only one mage, it wouldn't have just been suicidal, it would have made things here even worse. So I erected the barrier, hoping to imprison the demons here until someone else arrived. We hoped other Wardens, or perhaps even the king's men, would come to investigate what happened. It didn't matter who, as long as they would help. That was all we wanted."

"But the barrier keeps the people out," Airam said. "I felt it when we were coming – it was trying to stop me, to weaken my mind and force me to turn back."

"Yes. That was later. At first I left the way in open. But people who made it through weren't able to face the demons. We would find their mutilated bodies on the bridge. I couldn't stand it anymore. I changed the barrier, so only people with a strong will could pass. I hoped that would bring a warrior, or a mage… but no one made it. Until now." He paused, staring ahead. "I admit, I lost all hope when Thomas died. He was one of the king's men. But when he saw the demons, and heard me sounding the retreat, he ran with us. We almost killed him right away. 'We're not enemies now,' he told us, 'we're survivors!' And he was damned good at surviving, too. He was the one who taught us to make traps. My fellow Wardens died first. One, of some weird disease. We had long run out of potions or poultices by then, and I'm not much of a healer. I only know the basics, and that wasn't enough. The other one started hearing his Calling. At first we ignored it, pretended it would go away. But he started to change. He begged me to kill him before he turned into a monster. Then it was just me and Thomas… and then I was alone."

He paused again, before turning to Alistair. "But, you're here now! Wardens, Theirin and Dryden, all together. Fate has a really weird sense of humour, doesn't it? Maybe it means it can finally end. And if you want to carry out Warden justice on me afterwards, go ahead. I'm not afraid to die. Death would be a relief."

oOo

The ritual required chanting a complex spell in Ancient Tevene. Avernus gave one copy each to Wynne and Airam, and they spend the rest of the day shut in another room, learning it by heart and reciting it to make sure the pronunciation and stress were correct. The rest of them were 'relaxing', which meant they were bored to death, sitting around tending to their armour or weapons. Levi was pouring over some journals Avernus gave him - the Wardens' chronicle of the last few years before the rebellion. No one felt like talking. Leliana took out her lute, but gave up after a few chords. How could the man stand it for two centuries? Without anyone to talk to, or anything to do? He used to be a researcher, hoping to find a cure for the Taint. But that had ended when he got imprisoned here – he did not have the materials or subjects required, he explained.

Subjects. Zevran still didn't like how it sounded. Yes, they were criminals, sentenced to death. Yes, the research meant they got to live longer, some even for years, and for many, it was a better life than in the slums or alienage. They were fed, they were clothed, they got healed when ill. Still, it rattled him. It felt like something the Crows would do, and arguments they would use. People's lives measured in how useful they were, how much profit – or, in this case, knowledge – they could bring to their owner. On the other hand, if they found a cure for the Taint… He sighed. In times like this, he was very glad that he was neither a leader, nor a hero. Let others make these decisions.

Alistair seemed to be upset with all the things they'd learned today, too. He was sitting in one corner of the room, frowning at the sword he was cleaning, occasionally shooting glances at the door - apparently waiting for Airam's return. Hopefully not to start another round of yelling.

Finally, Airam and Wynne returned. Wynne lay down on her bedroll, breathing heavily in exhaustion, while Airam, as usual, pulled out a book. He had barely had time to read a few lines, when Alistair came to sit next to him. "Um. Airam."

There was no reply.

Alistair hesitated, but then bravely continued. "I want to ask for your opinion."

"About what?"

"All of this. Avernus. What he said, about the Wardens, and mages, and everything."

A non-committal noise was the only reply he got. Alistair bit his lip, staring at his feet. "I... I don't think he's a monster anymore," he continued after a moment. "I can see why they did it. But is that enough? People died here - and they still continued to die, in the tunnels. I know he meant well, to protect the people out there, but if he hadn't summoned demons, that protection wouldn't have been necessary, and-"

Airam closed the book with a snap. "And why are you telling me all this, Theirin?"

Alistair flinched. "I just… want to understand. He said he would accept justice after the Veil was fixed, but… I don't know. What would you do with him?"

"Nothing at all. You're the leader for this mission, remember? I only stepped in for a moment so you could recover."

"Yes, I know. But – I'd like to know your opinion."

Airam arched his brow at him. "Why? So you can yell at me again? Accuse me of supporting a maleficar, if I say let the guy live – or accuse me of hating Wardens, if I say execute him? You've already made up your mind about me. It doesn't matter what I say, you'll use it against me."

"That's not true!"

Airam shrugged and picked up his book again. Alistair cursed and stormed out of the room.

"You know, boss, I really like you," Faren said from his corner. "Like the old mage said, you're more than a Commander – to me, at least, but I'm sure I'm speaking for everyone else as well." He paused, giving the others a stern look, but nobody protested. "You're a great guy, you're smart, and you're funny."

Zevran laughed. "Should I be jealous now?"

The dwarf continued, ignoring him. "But what you did now was incredibly stupid. And mean."

"So I am the bad one now?" Airam asked bitterly. "Oh, why am I even asking. Of course I am the bad guy. I'm a maleficar-"

Faren rolled his eyes. "No one here thinks you're a maleficar, boss. We know you. We saw you fighting the demons. We saw you risking your life for others. No one here gives a fuck about how you fuel your magic." Once again he paused, looking at the others – and once again, no one protested.

"Maybe you don't, but Alistair does," Airam said quietly. "You heard him yesterday. I thought we were friends. And now it turns out he's hated me from the time I freed Jowan."

"And he thought you were friends," Leliana said, "and now he's found out you kept secrets from him, about something that is very important to him. That's not how friends act."

"I didn't tell him because I knew this would happen!" Airam balled his fists.

"So you're saying you never even gave him chance," Leliana pointed out calmly. "Who's judging whom, Air?"

"I… I never thought about it that way," Airam admitted, dropping his gaze. "I didn't mean to judge him, or any of you, I just... didn't want to be alone again."

"I see," the bard said. "You wanted to be friends with us, but didn't trust our friendship enough to believe that we would like you even if we knew the truth."

Wynne's head jerked. She looked at Leliana thoughtfully, as if she wanted to say something, but then sighed and shook her head. Zevran narrowed his eyes. Talk about keeping secrets and not trusting. Whatever the mage was hiding, it had to be something big. Now was not the time or place to bring it up, but he should look into it. Later. Right now, the priority was his crazy mage, being grilled by Leliana.

"That's enough. You already said it, he already got it," he said, earning himself a grateful smile from Airam.

"You are right," Airam admitted. "Now someone should explain it to Alistair. If I go to him, he won't listen."

Faren gave him a smug grin. "We already did."

"And once again – you should trust him more, Air," Leliana added. "Go after him."

Airam nodded. He closed the book, put it neatly into his backpack, and smoothed his clothes. "Alright, then," he said nervously. "I'll give it a try."

Leliana gave him an encouraging smile, but the moment he was out of the room, she turned to Wynne. "Would you like to pray a litany to Andraste with me, for their making up?" she offered.

"Yes. But I am not sure one will be enough," the old mage muttered, as Leliana moved closer to her.

Zevran laughed. "What about the trust? Not judging people? Giving them the chance-"

"Normally, that is true," the bard agreed. "But we're talking about our baby Wardens here, Zevran."

And he couldn't really argue with that.