PARALLEL CONTENT: CHAMPION OF A DRAGON CH 4
Edmund watched Isolde rush off Teagan and her guards. He rubbed at his ears absently, wondering if the grating sound of her voice hadn't caused them to spontaneously start bleeding.
It wouldn't be long now before they went into the castle themselves; Aothor and Jory spoke briefly with Ser Perth and his men, probably organizing their rendezvous at the gate. And from the looks of things Jory would be coming with them into the castle as well—probably Aothor giving the craven knight more chances to prove himself.
"Lady Isolde is hiding something. I'm assuming you know what it is," Cousland said, giving him a pointed look.
"Figure that out for yourself, did you Sherlock?" Edmund shook his head. The holes in the Arlessa's story were insultingly obvious. Though, maybe it was a cheap notion coming from him, given his foreknowledge from the games. Speaking of… "Ayo, Wardens and company, quick pow-wow over here."
"We'll see you at the gates, then." Aothor said, waving off the knights as he finished making arrangements. They separated from the knights and congregated together in front of the windmill—it occurred to Edmund that even though they hadn't collected all the companions yet, they were already quite the crowd. They stood a team of eleven plus two mabari ready to all but storm the castle. "Alright. What are we walking into here?"
"So. There's a demon in Redcliffe castle, but the mage who poisoned Arl Eamon isn't the one who summoned it," Edmund said. Best to break these things down one step at a time.
"Demons don't just summon themselves," Isefel said with a raised brow.
"Not always true," he said, idly tapping his fingers along the grip of his staff. "But yeah, that's the general principle even if there are some exceptions to the rule." He opened the door of the windmill and led the way inside, careful not to stumble in the cramped and dimly-lit interior. "There's more than one mage in Redcliffe Castle. One that poisoned the arl, and another that's the cause of the demon and the undead."
"Great. Because we don't have enough problems, already," Cousland sighed.
"But why is that something Isolde would try to hide?" Rosaya asked. "Or, does she just not know about it yet?"
"Oh no, she is very aware," Edmund said with a scoffed laugh.
They looked at him blankly for a moment, waiting for him to elaborate, but before he could Cousland groaned loudly and ran a hand over his face in a miserable sort of way.
"You're not saying…? Oh. Maker, damn it," Cousland said. "Connor's the mage, isn't he?"
"Ding ding, we have our winner! Ten points for you."
"No, that can't be," Alistair said, immediately shaking his head in disbelief. "There's no way Connor could be a mage. He's… he's just a little boy."
"How old is he?"
Alistair paused for a moment. "He… about twelve, I think?"
"And when do mages typically manifest their power? Late childhood and early adolescence." Edmund said. "So if there's magic in his blood, now's about the time he'd show it. It's just the badly timed manifestation of that power alongside the trauma of the attempted assassination of his father that's coalesced into this terrible sequence of events. That, and his helicopter mom and a well-meaning apostate's terrible decision making skills."
"I don't get it," Liri said, shaking her head. "If he's a little kid, how could he have caused all this?"
"The arcane is dangerous in even the most practiced hands," Morrigan said mildly, like she was explaining the weather. "And if this is a child who does not have full control or understanding of what he can do? The damage can escalate quickly. Especially if a demon is prepared to take full advantage of a weak will."
"Magic shit is so weird sometimes."
"You don't know half of it." Edmund sighed, thinking briefly of the demons in his own dreams and the otherwise unexplainable nature of his existence.
"So how do we fix this?" Aothor asked, as goal-focused as always.
"There are several possibilities. However, killing a demon is the most assured way to cease the rising of the dead and begin the process of mending the Veil," Morrigan said.
"Glad it's straightforward."
"Maybe not so much as you'd think." Edmund added. "You'll see when we get inside—this is a delicate situation, and we need to think and act carefully or this could blow up in our faces.."
"A concerning notion, coming from you especially." Rosaya said with a wry smile.
"Ouch." Edmund said dryly. "Anyways, the only notable threat beyond Connor himself is a revenant waiting for us in the courtyard. Otherwise we'll find undead the likes of which we've already faced, a handful of minor shades, and possibly some animated suits of armor."
"It's very telling of the life we lead that such things are listed with casual disregard." Isefel said tiredly.
"Wait 'til we get to the werewolves and talking trees," he laughed.
"Please say you're kidding." Cousland said, his voice just this side of begging.
Edmund did not say he was kidding.
Instead he just shifted a few crates to the side, exposing the hatch that lead to their tunnel under the lake and to the castle. Cousland muttered a series of curses under his breath. Aothor pressed Teagan's ring into the socket, popping the lock and allowing it to open.
"We better get going. Don't want to let Teagan have all the fun, do we?" Edmund lifted the hatch that lead to the tunnel and allowed the others to file in before following down and into the dark. "Secret tunnel, secret tunnel, through the mountains…"
He manifested a few small blue and golden lights and set them to drift about their heads as they followed the path before them. They sparked and flickered occasionally, but no one was about to complain about being able to see. The human party members, at least—he imagined those with darkvision among them would be just fine without.
Something started to build inside him as they neared the castle; he couldn't tell if it was dread or excitement… or maybe if he was just hungry. He chewed idly on some dried druffalo jerky from his pack. The feeling persisted. So no, not hungry, then.
He realized after a moment it was that strange detached sense of guilt he'd felt since they arrived in Redcliffe. Not for the first time he pictured in his mind's eye that moment when he'd had the chance to stop Jowan fleeing the Circle altogether but chose not to.
Because he didn't take action back then… by prioritizing the story as he knew it rather than risk change, Edmund felt he was almost as responsible for the horrors happening here as the misguided blood mage.
He tried to keep Duncan's advice to heart—to not let himself regret. For better or worse the dead had risen in Redcliffe and they found themselves forced to confront a possessed Connor. Considering his plan to get Jory here to help defend the village from the start of the attack was a considerable longshot, it'd still probably mitigated some of the disaster if nothing else. All the more reason what happened to that knight was now his responsibility, as well.
And that went doubly so when it came to Jowan, in his mind. Jowan was at fault for the decisions he made here and in the Circle. The consequences of that would likely haunt him in some form for the rest of his life. But the least Edmund could do was make sure he had a life for it to haunt him in.
They encountered the dead almost immediately as soon as they cleared the tunnel exit to the castle dungeons. With a crew this size in quarters this small, Edmund didn't dare do more than lay barrier magic over the few fighting right at the front. And even with that, he held back—friendly fire was not friendly at all.
Still, even from the back of the group this was the closest he'd been to the undead thus far. Fighting from atop the windmill platform had been different—at that significant range he didn't have to breathe in the scent of the putrid rot or see the extent of the deformity the re-animation had put these bodies through, turning fingers to claws and teeth to fangs.
He liked his zombie experience behind a screen and with popcorn in his hands, thank you very much. The live action ordeal was almost as repulsive to him as the darkspawn. Perhaps even moreso, as these corpses had been actual people not all that long ago.
They cleared the storage area with little difficulty. Liri took a few extra moments to rummage through some interesting looking boxes; far be it for her to ever pass up an opportunity for loot.
Edmund paused as the others finished their sweep of the back rooms, glancing to his fellow spellcaster as he focused on his arcane senses and realized something was amiss.
"Can you feel that? The way magic is seeping into the air here." He asked lowly, not eager to be overheard by the others. The ever-present press of the Veil was always just on the edge of his senses. Usually it was a sensation easily ignored, save for when he was actively tuning his mind to its condition or pulling large amounts of energy for a more powerful spell. But in the castle he could feel the energy without even trying.
"The Veil is unstable," Morrigan said in an equally quiet tone. "Likely from the tear that allowed the spirits to slip into the physical world. 'Tis… more pronounced than I'd have expected. Either this child is a more potent caster than was realized, or the demon of a particularly exceptional variety"
"Bit of both, maybe. I knew it was going to be bad, but actually feeling it is different." Edmund said, twisting his staff over in his grip. Even when they fixed it, the Veil around Redcliffe would be scarred and fragile in a way that was sure to last for years. Probably what made it such an alluring testing ground for Alexius and his meddling with time, nearly a decade from the current day.
He moved ahead with the group as they entered the dungeon proper. A cluster of zombies charged at them, but those weren't the ones he was concerned with. He looked past them as the others engaged them to where three undead crowded at the cell, swiping their claw like hands through the bars.
"Get away from me!" a familiar voice cried, hoarse and pained.
A burn of power laced across his hands and along his staff as he gathered a spell. He released it, capturing all three undead attacking the caged mage in a paralysis spell. He couldn't help but smile—one of his first magical mishaps in Thedas had been a bungled paralysis spell.
Maybe it was a silly thing to celebrate, but he felt he'd mastered that spell by this point, and it'd served him well in multiple situations.
A lot of things had changed from those first fear-filled weeks in a different reality. Including himself.
The last of the dead fell with Morrigan combining the effect of his paralysis spell with an enchantment of her own that caused the walking corpses to weaken and topple as the magic holding them in place dissipated.
"Hello? Is there someone out there? Who is it?" Jowan's voice called out into the dark. The Wardens & Co. moved forward until they were all clustered around his cell, still on guard. "Who're you? You all don't look like the Arlessa's guards… wait. You! I can't believe it…"
Jowan stepped forward and gripped the bars of the cell, looking past everyone else and holding his gaze like he was looking at a ghost. Edmund offered him a small smile, reaching out and gripping onto the bars from the outside
"Hey Jowan. It's been a while." he said with a small grin.
"Maker's breath! How did you get here?" Jowan asked, but stopped himself short and pulled away, the relief on his face melting to shame as he no longer met his eyes. "Edmund, I… never thought I'd see you again, of all people."
"You know him. Of course you know him. And of course you left that fact out," Cousland said with a weary sigh and an annoyed look his way.
Edmund ignored Cousland and instead payed further consideration to his friend in the cell. Long gone were the colorful robes of a mage apprentice. Jowan wore tattered brown clothes fit for a beggar. He looked gaunt—when was the last time he'd eaten? Dark shadows hung under his eyes and his hair was overgrown and unkempt. And all that was just the start.
"I don't think you ended up being very good at this whole apostate thing," Edmund mused. "I mean, you can't have been out of the Circle for more than two weeks before you got yourself caught somewhere again."
"I… I tried to go north. I was caught by the templars," Jowan admitted sheepishly. "I thought I was dead for sure, but we were attacked. I don't know what became of the templars, but I was apprehended by Teyrn Loghain's men."
"You look like shit," he said, because it was true. What skin was exposed showed serious signs of abuse, barely healed cuts criss-crossed over purple bruises. His lip and brow were split like he'd taken multiple blows to his face. Jowan smiled at him—revealing a few missing teeth that hadn't been dislodged the last time he'd seen him. "What'd they do to you?"
"What they'd do to all traitors and would-be assassins. I wouldn't be surprised if they sent you here to finish me off." Jowan looked at the ground miserably, like he wished he could fall through it and hide in the earth.
"So… I take it this is the assassin, not the demon summoner." Aothor said, eyeing the jailed mage carefully.
"Everyone, this is Jowan," Edmund said, half turning back to the group that was watching their interaction with great curiosity. "Jowan, this is… well, everybody. Damn, there really are a lot of us now, huh?"
"Please… I know how it seems. Poisoning the arl was… a terrible thing. But I'm not behind everything else happening here, I swear!" Jowan said in full plead.
"Why are you still here? Surely you could have escaped by now, if you wanted to." Edmund asked, eyeing the bars. He himself wasn't at full strength, not after a night of fighting without substantial rest yet, but even still Edmund could imagine a few ways magic might come in handy in a jailbreak. Jowan's abilities were supposedly middling at best, sure, but he hadn't even used magic to defend against the undead assailing him.
"Who says I ever wanted to? As far as I can tell, this must be what I deserve after everything." Jowan shrugged in defeat. "But it's a moot point. The Arlessa's had all my food and water laced with magebane. I couldn't cast a spell now, even if I were inclined to do so. In truth, I think she intended to use a larger dose of magebane to kill me eventually. A fitting end, right? I poisoned the Arl, so I'd be poisoned in return."
"Good to know he's harmless, at least." Alistair said, seemingly more at ease with this revelation.
"Before I say anything else, I need to ask you a question." Jowan focused on him, once more stepping close to his bars with something desperate in his eyes. "You can do whatever you feel you need to afterwards, but I need to know… what became of Lily? They didn't hurt her, did they? The thought that she might have paid for my crime…"
"Aonar." Edmund said grimly, the one word crushing Jowan like a vice.
"Oh, my poor Lily. She must hate me now, if she even lives. What have I done?" He stepped further back into the cell, retreating farther into the shadows of the space as regret poured over him.
"What's Aonar?" Rosaya asked.
A problem to deal with later, mostly.
"You know how people say the Circle's a prison? Aonar makes that place seem like a five-star resort with room-service and foot massages. Mage prison on steroids." Edmund said.
"Hold on," Cousland cut in. "If you were a Circle mage, how did you end up here, involved with this?"
Jowan hung his head in shame. "I… I know it looks suspicious, but I'm not responsible for the creatures and the killings in the castle. I was already imprisoned when all that began. At first, Lady Isolde came here with her men demanding I reverse what I'd done. I thought she meant my poisoning of the Arl. That's the first I heard about the walking corpses. She thought I'd summoned a demon to torment her family and destroy Redcliffe. She… had me tortured. There was nothing I could do or say that would appease her. So they… left me to rot."
"Loghian was the one that put you up to the assassination attempt in the first place though, wasn't he?" Aothor pressed.
"Yes. The Teyrn told me that Arl Eamon was a threat to Ferelden, that if I dealt with him Loghain would settle matters with the Circle. All I wanted was to be able to return. But he abandoned me, didn't he?" Jowan half-wailed. "Everything's falling apart."
"Jowan… the Circle would never let you back. Not as anything other than a Tranquil, not after what you did. No matter how much you want to make amends, it won't matter to the Chantry." Edmund said with a shake of his head. First his half-cooked escape plan back in the Circle, and now this… it looked like Jowan's greatest failings were wise decision-making and thinking anything through.
"Then I'm even more of a fool than I'd thought, that I even believed Loghain when he promised it was possible. I never thought it would end like this!" Jowan held his face in his hands for a moment as the realization that he'd been thoroughly used and cast aside set in.
"Your intentions were good, even if they've been used against you." He said, because as much as Jowan's failings haunted him they really were born from good intentions. His crimes were wanting freedom, wanting love. It was only by nature of his birth that the world considered those things that should be punished.
And also the blood magic bit too, but that wasn't the point.
"Well… it's a start, maybe. I don't know if anything I do could ever make it right."
"Probably not," Cousland said dryly. "Why would you need Loghain to settle with the Circle on your behalf, anyways?"
Jowan was quite for a long moment. He looked at Edmund briefly, the question in his eyes asking if he would out him, but Edmund said nothing. He would let Jowan own up to it, himself. And he did.
"... I'm a maleficar. A blood mage."
"You? A blood mage?" Morrigan blinked in surprise and tilted her head as if to try and get a better read on the captive caster. "Truly? I would never have guessed."
"He doesn't really look the part, does he? No twisting an evil mustache, and he hasn't even laughed maniacally yet," Edmund deadpanned.
"Well that isn't good." Alistair said, no longer as at ease as he was before. It wasn't lost on any of the mages present how the former templar's hand drifted idly to the hilt of his sheathed blade.
Jowan spoke quickly in the face of their collective disapproval. "I didn't use blood magic! Not here. Not for this. Yes, I poisoned the Arl. But I swear, I've given up blood magic. I lost everything because of it. Listen… Connor had started to show… signs. Lady Isolde was terrified the Circle of Magi would take him away for training."
"So Connor is a mage?" Alistair said softly, shaking his head. "I… I still can't believe it."
"She sought an apostate, a mage outside the Circle, to teach her son in secret so he could learn to hide his talent. Her husband had no idea," Jowan explained.
"How much magic did you teach him, exactly?" Aothor asked.
"Not much. He's still very young, after all. He can barely cast a minor spell—never mind something more powerful," Jowan said, then paused nervously as he thought. "At least… not intentionally."
"Then Connor… is the one responsible? For all of this?" Cousland asked softly, a half-glance back at where the corpses laid where they'd been cut down.
"I thought that, too. Connor has little knowledge of magic, but me may have done something to tear open the Veil. With the Veil to the Fade torn, spirits and demons could infiltrate the castle. Powerful ones could kill and create those walking corpses." Jowan said carefully, the shame returning to his countenance. "The Arl's a decent man. I wondered how he could possible by the threat Loghian said he was, but I did it anyways. And now he's probably long dead. I'm such a fool."
"You can say that again," Edmund said. "But the Arl's not dead yet. The demon is keeping him alive."
"Really?" Jowan's eyes lit up with something almost like hope. "Maker, I've made so many mistakes. I disappointed so many people… I wish I could go back and fix it. I just want to make everything alright again. I've done things I can never take back… but at least this mistake may not be so permanent."
"I wouldn't get too comfortable just yet," Edmund said evenly. "He's in a comatose state and unless we act fast and find ourselves a miracle we might not be able to wake him."
"I'm sick of running away and hiding from what I've done. I'm going to try and fix it, any way I can." The caged mage looked at him for a long moment, a determination slowly giving way to pleading. "Edmund… we were friends once. I know I don't deserve to call you that, after what I did… if it ever meant anything, please… help me fix this."
"I say kill the mage. He cannot be trusted." Sten said, his response immediate and opinion unsurprising even to those who didn't already know what he was going to say.
"Whoa whoa, he doesn't need to die, surely…" Alistair waved his hands quickly, backing up a step with a look of concern switching between the giant and the maleficar.
Morrigan hummed slightly and inspected Jowan a moment longer before turning away from him and back to the others, like she'd seen all of him she cared to. "I say that his boy could still be of use to us. But if not, then let him go. Why keep him prisoner here?" she said.
"Hey, hey! Let's not forget he's a blood mage!" Alistair said hurriedly, one hand back on his blade. "You can't just… set a blood mage free!"
"Better to slay him? Better to punish him for his choices? Is this Alistair who speaks, or the templar?" Morrigan huffed, hands braced at her hips as she glared at him.
Alistair seemed both righteously enraged and cowed all at once in the face of the witch's accusation. "I'd say it's common sense," he simply said in response.
"Whatever else, he's dangerous. If not to us, at least to himself," Cousland added in. "When you play with forces beyond your control you invive disaster, even with the best of intentions."
Edmund felt there was some unspoken thing aimed at him in that statement, rather than the mage in the cage. He elected to ignore it, lest he lose his patience and set the stubborn warrior on fire.
"But… he wishes to redeem himself." Leliana said, soft accented voice cutting across the building argument of the group. "Doesn't everyone deserve that chance?"
"Do you speak of him, or yourself, Sister?" Cousland asked pointedly.
"Everyone deserves a chance to redeem themselves in the Maker's eyes; this man no less than any." Leliana said, meeting the challenge in his eyes with full confidence in her own. Cousland frowned at that, but crossed his arms at that as he actually seemed to give the bard's words a moment of consideration.
"If this man attempted to kill Arl Eamon, then imprisonment is the most merciful of the punishments available to him," Jory said from where he stood at the back of their company, reminding a few of them who seemed to have forgotten about his presence that he was there.
Edmund sighed, pinching at the bridge of his nose. While he didn't particularly like the knight's take on this, he could hardly be surprised—Jory'd been a knight sworn to Eamon's service, at one point. Of course he'd take a less than forgiving view of Jowan's crimes.
"Please, just… give me a chance. I want to make this right. Put a stop to what's happened here," Jowan implored once more.
"Blood mage or not, this is an unusual situation." Aothor said evenly. "We might be able to make use of this, given everything that's happened."
Edmund could practically see the gears turning in the dwarven man's mind, but he wasn't going to wait for their default commander to make a judgment here. If they were going to handle the issue of Jowan's fate democratically, Edmund was not altogether optimistic about his chances. He'd already made up his mind, and there was nothing any of the others could do about it.
"We're going to set this right, Jowan. Together." Edmund said, his voice carrying a note of authority and finality that caused several of the others to balk.
"Are you truly suggesting we let him help? The dangerous blood mage?" Alistair asked, aghast.
"If we leave him in there the dead could break through and rip him apart. I wouldn't leave anyone to a fate that cruel," Rosaya said, the gentleness of her tone a counter to the harshness of Alistair's protest.
"I've spent enough time behind bars to figure dying behind them has to be one of the worst ways to go," Liri added. "You vouch for him, Ed? Then let's bring him with us."
"Are you insane?" Cousland asked, already looking at them like he definitely thought they were. "This man has confessed to apostasy, bloodmagic, and attempted assassination all in one conversation, and you want to just let him out?"
"Hm, yeah, that pretty much covers it. Glad to see you're keeping up, I was worried we were moving too quickly for you," Edmund said, rolling his eyes. Cousland looked nearly apoplectic.
"Easy, or you'll pop a blood vessel," Isefel said in an aside to him, her one-eyed gaze of steel unshifting from Jowan. She'd been quiet this whole time, watching him carefully with a hand on her steel. "It's fine. We're trained killers of every stripe—if he steps out of line, I don't think we'll have any trouble putting him down."
Jowan swallowed audibly. It wasn't a glowing endorsement, exactly, but it did seem to mollify the more misgiving members of the group. Which, not reassuringly, seemed to be the majority. Even Isefel herself seemed less than pleased.
"I won't leave him here to die. And I won't let him run from himself anymore, either. Jowan's responsible, yes, but he's owning up to it and wants a chance to make ir right. If I have anything to say about it, he'll have that chance," he said firmly. This would be the final word on the matter—at least for now. "Liri, can you get the lock open?"
Liri offered a thumbs up, and he was pleased to see she'd already had her lockpicking set already in hand. It boosted his confidence a bit to know she had his back about this, because this decision was sure to put him on thinner ice with some of the others.
"We're dealing with an arcane problem. It might be a benefit to have more sources of arcane knowledge on our side," Aothor said, pragmatic as ever. "Just as a precaution, keep an eye on him, Alistair. Not that he'll be casting anything with the magebane in his system, but still."
"Maybe so. But blood magic can bypass magebane," Alistair said grimly, but nodded to indicate his agreement.
"Good to know," Aothor said with a long breath. "Edmund, Jowan is your friend and you've made the call to have him accompany us, so he's your charge now. His behavior is your responsibility—behave accordingly."
"Aye-aye," Edmund said. He pulled the heavy door open as soon as Liri popped the lock, metal joins groaning in the din of the dungeon. In the game, the only way to save Jowan's life was to send him on his way. To get him to flee the castle and Redcliffe entirely. Anything else ended with his death or worse… but it wouldn't this time.
Not if he had anything to say about it.
Edmund glanced back at the others and took in their various expressions and let out a deep sigh. He could practically see all the negative disapproval counters floating above their heads. For his idea to work… he'd need to handle the issue of Jowan in just the right way.
"It is a foolish decision. It will come back to haunt you." Sten intoned, watching Jowan with a wary eye as he shuffled out of the cell.
"Most decisions do, in one way or another." Edmund said flippantly.
"How reassuring," Cousland said dryly, shaking his head and seeming ready to wash his hands of the whole ordeal.
"I… I promise I won't let you down. I know I can never redeem myself, but… but maybe my redemption doesn't matter." Jowan said, his nervous hands picking at his nails under their collective attention. "All that matters is undoing this damage."
"Well we've got more important things to do then stand around here, don't we? Let's get going; these undead won't kill themselves for us," Edmund said with a shooing motion toward the corridor as he grabbed Jowan by the forearm and started down it.
He'd known Jowan for less time than he'd known some of his fellow Wardens. He admitted—only privately in his own thoughts and with just a small measure of existential despair—that the real reason he was determined to see Jowan through to a better fate was as a favor to the real Amell. The Edmund that had actually grown up with him and been his friend.
It was the least he could do for the man he'd replaced in this world.
"How long has it been since your last dose of magebane?" Aothor asked the recently freed mage.
"A few days," said Jowan. "I might be able to cast some minor spells now, if I really tried… but I'm not sure. They'd been giving me a lot."
"Fine. Hang at the back with the other mages, then, and just keep out of our way."
Alistair remained close by them. Which made sense, he supposed—the others had no real reason to trust Jowan at his word, so putting the ex-templar on watch was probably more an assurance for them than anything else. Even if Jowan was relatively harmless.
"Here," Edmund said, passing Jowan his waterskin and a couple crackers. "You look like a stiff breeze could knock you down."
Jowan took what he offered gratefully, all but inhaling the food and taking a long drink of water. "What… what are you doing here, anyways? I never expected to see you again, let alone outside the tower," he asked.
"Duncan recruited me into the Grey Wardens." Edmund pointed forward to where Alistair walked in front of them, the heraldry on his shield worn but no less recognizable as a griffon rampant. "I left the tower with him that day. Good thing, too—Gregoir was all too ready to make an example of me."
His expression darkened, hands clenching as he started down at the stonework floor. "What about Nira?" he asked after a moment of silence.
Edmund felt a small stab of inward guilt. In truth, he hadn't thought much about the elven mage since the day he'd left the tower. But they'd be going back there, as soon as a day or so even. Maybe he could convince Nira to join them? More magic on their side would always be a good thing, and even if they couldn't properly Join her until later… she was the Surana origin and thus all but guaranteed to survive.
He'd need to wait until he got to the tower and saw her again before making that decision. She could have already died in the,uprising for all he knew, though he hoped not. She'd been a bit uptight but overall someone who seemed to care about Amell. And Jowan, even if she'd valued her loyalty to the Circle more than that particular friendship.
"Gregoir couldn't have me. So even though Nira was acting on the First Enchanter's orders, he made the example out of her instead." Edmund said finally, memories of that day flooding back once again. The pale elven mage escorted away by templars, as betrayed by the authority figures she trusted just as she had betrayed Jowan. "Last I heard, they threw her in solitary."
"You'd think hearing that would make me feel better… Maker, I spent so many nights laying awake hating her for what she did…" he laughed, but the sound was miserable. "But I don't even have the energy for that anymore. How could she do that to me, to us? I trusted her. She was like a sister to me. And… she betrayed us."
"I think she was trying to do what she thought was right," Edmund said slowly. "Or at the very least, maybe just protect herself."
"She was always a bit of a bootlicker, but I didn't think even she was that self-serving," Jowan took another long drink from the waterskin, hollow eyes focused ahead on the dark halls of the castle.
He'd known Nira Surana only for as long as he'd known Jowan—less than that even, really, since during that month in the tower Nira had been newly Harrowed and too busy with her duties as a fully-fledged mage to spend much time with them. He hadn't known her well enough to feel betrayed by her. Especially when he was never particularly invested in the plan's success, himself.
That made him no better than Nira, from a certain point of view. He might not have sold them out to Irving like she had, but he'd still betrayed Jowan's trust that day. The only difference was that Jowan didn't realize it. Friends didn't let friends walk into traps when they knew better of it. And yet, that was exactly what he'd let happen.
He shut down that train of thought right there—he didn't need to indulge that particular downward spiral, not when they were in an active combat zone. Those sorts of considerations were better suited for the sleepless hours after midnight, anyways.
They followed the rest of the assembly up the stairway and into the castle problem, and it occurred to him that he may have just created another problem for himself. If all his plans worked, and everything played out exactly how he wanted… Jowan would be around long term. Surely he would realize eventually that he was not Edmund Amell.
Dead crowded the halls and the hunched form of a shade rose from the shadows. He gathered magic in his hands.
That, like so many other things, was a bridge he'd burn when he got to it.
. . . . .
"AAAHH!" the woman cowering inside the cupboard cried, holding her hands out in front of her in an effort to shield her body. "Please don't hurt me!"
Cousland glanced from the woman they'd just discovered in the pantry to Lady, who'd been overly interested in following her nose in this direction. Now he realized why. He'd expected to perhaps find some dried meats in this closet, not a girl.
"Be still," Leliana said. "You're safe now."
She choked a dry sob, half slumped against the storage crates. "I… I'm sorry. I'm so frightened! These monsters are everywhere! My… my name's Valena, the Arlessa's maid. Is she… alright? What happened to everyone?"
"Valena? The smith's daughter?" Isefel asked gently, opening the door further and offering her hand to the young woman.
"You know my father?" She asked, wide eyes glassy from tears.
"I do. I promised him I would find you," Isefel said as she helped the woman right herself and gave her a concerned look over. "Are you hurt?"
Valena shook her head. "I just want to go back to the village! Is there a way out of here?"
"There's a tunnel leading out in the dungeon," she said, pointing back the way they'd come.
"B-but the monsters…" Valena whimpered with a fearful glance down the hall.
"We've killed all the ones in this part of the castle. It should be safe, if you hurry." Cousland added, resting the haft of his weapon over his shoulder.
That seemed to give her confidence, if even just a little. "I'll… I'll find my way. I can run fast and I know the castle. Thank you, thank you so much!"
The three of them watched her race off. They'd killed everything in that direction, it should be safe—Aothor'd been adamant about combing every room of the place for threats that might follow them out later. They weren't sure if the undead were intelligent enough to plan an ambush or flanking maneuver like that, but they weren't about to leave it up to chance.
Truthfully, Cousland hadn't expected to find anyone alive within the castle. From the number of walking corpses they'd faced he assumed everyone inside had been slain and turned by the demon. How Valena had avoided such a fate, they may never know. Whether the Maker was watching out for her or she was just plain lucky, she'd survived a horror that seemingly stole everyone else in this place.
They met up with the others from where they'd all broken off to clear the individual rooms of that section. With a group this size it was more effective to split into smaller teams and clear spaces that way, rather than try and congregate in rooms one at a time in with their large number.
"We found a survivor, sent her back to the village. I hope she'll make it back alright," Isefel said as they rejoined the rest of the squad. "That was one promise I wasn't sure I'd get the opportunity to keep."
"Oh, good, you found Valena. I was wondering when she'd turn up," Edmund said, relieved.
"Let me guess: you knew about that too, huh?" Cousland asked.
"Bingo." Edmund said. "Only a couple more rooms, I think, then we hit the courtyard."
Cousland couldn't even bring himself to be annoyed at the mage's cavalier know-it-all attitude as he normally was—he just wasn't sure if he was just getting used to it, or he was distracted by the fact that shades were literally lurking around every other corner.
But maybe he was getting used to it. It was easier to go along with Edmund's particular version of crazy rather than try and butt heads with him, at least over the small things like this. Besides, these days he was beginning to suspect that most of them were more or less mad in some way.
Speaking of…
Cousland cast a careful eye to where the red-headed lay Sister stood counting her remaining arrows. She seemed more or less as sane as the rest of them—but her main motivation for joining them in the first place was 'the Maker said so,' which left a lot of questions lingering.
Now was most certainly not the right time to ask about such a thing. Yet, the wondering in his mind wouldn't quit.
"About this vision of yours…" Cousland started, still trying to formulate the question he wanted to ask as he spoke.
But Leliana understood immediately, even without him finishing the thought.
"I knew this would come up sooner or later." Leliana sighed. She adjusted her grip on her longbow, more just fidgeting with it than anything else. "I don't know how to explain, but I had a dream. In it there was an impenetrable darkness… it was so dense, so real. And there was a noise, a terrible, ungodly noise. I stood on a peak and watched as the darkness consumed everything… and when the storm swallowed the last of the sun's light, I… I fell. And the darkness drew me in."
"You dreamed of the Blight?" Cousland asked, taken aback. That… wasn't what he was expecting to hear, though he wasn't sure what he was expecting in the first place.
He had tried very, very hard not to dwell on the dreams that often haunted his nights as of late. They were not at all dissimilar to what she described—a dark force closing in all around him, and above it all a dragon roaring in the chaos. He tuned into the senses the Joining cup had allowed him; weak as they were in comparison to some of the other Wardens, he was certain he sensed no Blight in this lay Sister. So how had she dreamed a darkspawn dream, when she was untouched by the taint?
"I suppose I did. That was what the darkness was, no?" Leliana said simply, unaware of the tumultuous questions she'd stirred up in his mind. "When I woke, I went to the chantry's gardens, as I always do. But that day, the rosebush in the corner had flowered. Everton knew that bush was dead. It was grey and twisted and gnarled—the ugliest thing you ever saw, but there it was—a single, beautiful rose! It was as though the Maker stretched out his hand to say: 'Even in the midst of this darkness, there is hope and beauty. Have faith.'"
Maybe it was just wishful thinking. It sounded as such, to him, or at the very best a coincidence. "And this made you want to help us?" he asked doubtfully.
"In my dream, I fell, or… maybe I jumped? I'd do anything to stop the Blight. I know that we can do it." There was a confidence in her, born of her faith. The sincerity of it all took him aback. "There are so many good things in the Maker's world. How can I sit by while the Blight devours everything?"
"I thought the Chantry says the Maker has left us." That was always what he heard in the sermons his mother made him attend, at least. That the Maker had turned away from them all and they had to regain his favor.
"He is still here; I hear Him in the wind and the waves, I feel Him in the sunlight that warms my skin." Leliana "I know what the Chantry says about the Maker, and what should I believe? What I feel in my heart, or what others tell me?"
"I don't know," he said simply, because he didn't. Questions of the Maker's will, or the role of the Divine in the everyday… all of it felt thoroughly beyond him. "If it gives you comfort… then believe what feels right to you, Leliana."
Well, if she was crazy, he at least found her version of madness more intriguing than the alternatives he knew of. To him it sounded less like a vision of some future and more… more like a purpose. Maybe that was the important distinction. And these were desperate times, indeed… if the mage knew the future, who was to say Leliana hadn't received a sign from the heavens? It was all odd enough to call plenty into question if even a fraction of it was real.
The notion of both of those things being true was just absurd enough to be possible. The thought made him distinctly uncomfortable. Maker, why couldn't anything just be normal with the people he knew?
"Thank you. It's nice to find someone who agrees," she said with a warm smile. "I know what I know, and no one will ever make that untrue."
"Funny how the thought of divine intervention doesn't even seem that far-fetched these days," he mused aloud, idly reaching down and adjusting Lady's spiked harness. "And who knows? Maybe it's exactly what we need."
They entered the courtyard, blinking as they stepped from the dim of the castle to the brightness of daylight. They encountered foes almost immediately. Undead crawled out of the well, out from the bushes, and a line of them with bows stood as a distorted sort of honor guard along the stairs leading to the main hall of the castle.
A heavy pressure filled the space as from the shadows a dark figure in armor with a wicked blade appeared—the revenant.
Rosaya and Leliana took positions behind cover and together worked to fell the undead archers. Isefel and the mages cleared the space of the shades that began to pool up from the earth. The rest of them closed in on the revenant—or closed as best they were able, the reach of it's massive greatsword forcing them to be careful about their distance.
Cousland took the opportunity to run past the revenant and reach the gate controls. He pulled the lever, activating the chain mechanisms that housed the iron grate upwards to make way for the knights waiting just beyond. Ser Perth and his men entered the courtyard, steel raised and ready for battle.
He waved them in, but before he could relay the situation to them or even turn back to re-engage with the battle, his body was wrenched by a telekinetic force as the revenant exerted it's power to drag him into it's well-prepared kill zone.
It cut into him with it's heavy blade, but thankfully his armor caught most of the blow and spared his body. He wrenched himself back from it, spinning the haft of his weapon across his shoulders and slamming it with a returning blow that struck the hollow of it's armor with a deafening clang.
Jory's blade fell next, taking advantage of the revenant's focus on him, and used his blade to sever the creatures head from it's shoulders.
Ser Perth's knights dispatched the last of the undead. The mages saw to their few fleshwounds.
The courtyard was still.
"Is it too much to hope that was the demon responsible for all this and we've already solved the problem?" Cousland asked.
"Revenants are a form of undead hosting a powerful demon, I suppose," Edmund said. "But no. The source still lies beyond us in the great hall."
He looked down at the dark armor for a moment as it lay still on the ground. He prodded it with the toe of his boot, just in case. When it did not spring back to life and launch into another round of attacks Cousland was content enough to turn his back on it and move towards the castle.
Monstrosities like that should stay inside the pages of tomes of lore, as far as he was concerned.
The heavy doors to the grand hall opened with a low groan of protest. The fact that they weren't locked or barricaded against their entry did nothing to comfort him—and neither did the fact that those same doors closed for their own volition as soon as they stepped foot inside.
The interior of the great hall was meant to be grand. He still remembered it from when he was a boy, decorated with tapestries of Ferelden's histories and great statues of hounds, fur rugs along the floors of high vaulted ceilings. One of the great palaces of his homeland.
But this was no grand entry. It was dark inside save for a fire burning in the back brazier that did little to illuminate the dim, and the very air was unnaturally oppressive.
With the backlighting of the burning fire behind them the figures that stood before them could only be discerned as silhouettes, but still Cousland could readily figure out who they were looking at.
The young form of Connor was flanked by two guards who stood still as statues to a degree that it was unnatural. Isolde was just off to the side from him, shoulders hunched and face turned away from her son as she appeared to shake slightly. More guards stood along the walls behind and beside them, faces eerily blank.
Worst of all was Teagan. The Bann danced and spun before his clapping and jeering nephew, arms waving and heels of his boots clacking a-rhythmically against the stonework. Cousland glanced over his shoulder and cast a glare at Edmund as Teagan tucked into a front roll and waved his feet in the air.
Dancing shoes, huh? Asshole.
Teagan sprung from his back directly to his feet and then cartwheeled away as they approached up the length of the great hall, leaving them standing directly before the boy who sneered down at them from the raised dias.
"So these are the visitors? The ones you told me about, Mother?" Connor asked, and the hairs on his neck raised as he realized that the voice speaking was not just Connor. There was a low echo that hummed after his words, reverberating whispers creeping across the very walls of the castle.
"Yes, Connor." Isolde's voice was small by comparison, and not just from the fear keeping her tone demure.
"These are the ones who defeated my soldiers? The ones I sent to reclaim my village?"
"Yes."
Connor's eyes swept over them, squinting like he couldn't make them out properly. "Ugh, and now it's staring at me! What is it, Mother? I can't see it well enough."
"This is a dwarf, Connor," Isolde said, gesturing to Aothor who stood at the head of their company like always. "You… you've seen dwarves before. We've had them here at the castle."
Connor laughed. The sound of it was cruel. "Had them? For dinner, maybe. Looks like a tough chew, maybe in a nice stew. Shall I send it to the kitchen, Mother?"
Aothor said nothing, but a quick motion of his hand behind his back instructed the rest of them to take positions. Liri moved to his right hand, Cousland stood at his left, and the others began to spread out behind them. He'd already lost track of Isefel, he noticed belatedly—the stealthy elf had probably taken a position in the shadows of the dim room somewhere as soon as they'd entered.
"Connor, I beg you, don't hurt anyone!" Isolde cried, and in a burst of courage reached out and held her son by his shoulders.
Connor's body shook, a sudden change of his posture indicated something had shifted within him. "M-Mother? What… what's happening? Where am I?"
"Oh, thank the Maker!" Isolde cried, clutching her boy for dear life. "Connor! Connor, can you hear me?"
Connor shook once more, then in a rush of motion struck Isolde and pushed her away from him. "Get away from me, fool woman!" He crossed his arms over his chest, surly once again. "You are beginning to bore me."
"Maker's breath… what has happened here?" Ser Perth wondered aloud with building dread.
"Uh, what's up with the kid?" Liri asked.
"He's possessed," Rosaya said softly, grip tightening on her bow. "The demon has taken him. Creators, Edmund, you could have mentioned it was this bad!"
"I figured we needed to see it for ourselves," he said. "Besides, could anything I say really prepare anyone for this?"
"Maybe not, but it would've been nice if you'd have tried," Cousland muttered.
It was clever of the demon, in a twisted sort of way—Connor was essentially it's hostage. To kill it, they'd have to… he put the dark thought out of his mind. No, surely it wouldn't come to that.
"Grey Wardens! Please… please don't hurt my son!" Isolde took a step forward, like she was trying to interpose herself between the possibility of violence and her child "He's not responsible for what he does!"
"Bann Teagan, can you hear me? Are you alright?" Cousland called to the man, who now sat and rocked on the ground at Connor's feet.
"Here I am!" He said with a foolish affect to his tone. "Heeeere I aaaaam."
Connor grinned and clapped. "I like him better this way. No more yelling; now he amuses me!"
"Connor didn't mean to do this! It was that mage, the one who poisoned Eamon—he started all this! He summoned this demon! Connor was just trying to help his father!" Isolde cried.
"I summoned no demon, my lady," Jowan said from where he stood at the back of the group. Isolde gasped, silenced for a moment by a combination of shock and rage.
"Your son made the deal with the demon," Morrigan said coolly before the noblewoman could recover herself. "Foolish child."
Connor stamped his foot in a way that would have been ordinary and childlike were it not for the unnatural booming sound it made. "It was a fair deal! Father is alive, just as I wanted. Now it's my turn to sit on the throne and send out armies to conquer the world! Nobody tells me what to do anymore!"
"Nobody tells him what to do!" Teagan said in uncanny mimic before he started to laugh. "Noooobody! Ahaha!"
"Quiet, uncle. I warned you what would happen if you kept shouting, didn't I? Yes, I did." Connor sneered, winding his leg back and kicking Teagan such that he spilled sideways and onto the floor, laughing as he toppled. Connor looked back at them now, and there was nothing human in his eyes. "But let us keep things civil. These Wardens will have the audience they seek. So tell us, Wardens… what have you come here for?"
"We came to help, if we could." Isefel said honestly.
Connor cocked his head to the side, considering him more carefully. "To help me? To help Father? To help yourself?" There was a change to the way he stood, the way he spoke even, that gave Cousland the impression they weren't speaking to Connor at all anymore. "Which?"
"To help the people you've terrorized," Cousland said, not to Connor, but to the dark force looking at them through the boys eyes.
"I was just having fun! Everyone else had fun too! Are you having fun, Uncle?"
"Maaarmelade!" Teagan said, still sprawled on the ground.
"You see? We're having fun!" Connor laughed, no cackled. "I think you're just trying to spoil things. What do you think, Mother?"
"I…" Isolde looked over their number, a plea in her eyes as she saw most of them had their hands ready on their blades. "Please, I don't think…"
"Of course you don't. Ever since you sent the knights away, you do nothing but deprive me of my fun. Frankly, it's getting dull." Connor raised his hands and clenched them into fists. One by one, the rigid soldiers around the room began to draw their blades. "I crave excitement! And action! These Wardens spoiled my sport by saving that stupid village, and now they'll have to repay me!"
The guards charged at them. The Wardens raised their blades to meet theirs.
Isefel was the first to spring into action, seemingly materializing from the shadows around the dias and making a beeline for Connor. The elven woman reached out, her fingertips brushing the boy's shoulders as she moved to get ahold of him before he let out an inhuman shriek and she was hurled away from him by some unseen force of magic. She righted herself quickly—but Connor was already gone, fleet feet carrying him in a flight from the great hall.
Isolde cried out and sobbed, taking a few shaking strides after her boy before she stepped away and cowered behind the elven woman as the guards closed in on them.
Cousland braced himself as Teagan charged him. Were it not already obvious the Bann was not in his right mind, the way he fought only solidified the fact. The man attacked with wild swings and loud cries keeping all attempts to get close to him at bay.
"Don't kill them!" Edmund cried over the clashing of steel, using his staff to smack a guardsman upside the head and knock him unconscious. "They're under the demon's control, they're not acting of their own will!"
"Easier said than done!" Aothor grunted, using his shield to sweep a man's legs out from under him. "Ser Perth, have your men guard the doors! Don't let any of them get away, or any more into the room!"
The knights moved into position as directed as the Wardens dealt with the remaining thralls of the demon. Sten, being the mountain of a man that he was, simply grabbed two of the guards by their skulls and knocked their heads together before allowing them to drop like stones through water. Cousland found himself equally impressed and unnerved—and curious if he could pull off a similar feat if he tried it.
He moved to disarm Teagan, using the weight of his weapon to force him to drop his shield. Lady finished the rest by taking his sword arm in her mouth and shaking until he dropped the blade. Still, that did not stop Teagan, and the possessed man went for a dagger. Cousland released one hand from his grip on his weapon and swung a fist at the Bann; the blow connected with a slight crack and he was knocked clean on his ass and fully unconscious.
The last of the guards fell, and they took a pause to check their injuries and remove their weapons from them just in case they were still violent when they awoke. Cousland couldn't say for certain, since he didn't actually witness her doing it, but he had a sneaking suspicion Liri had also relieved a few of the poor souls of their coin purses as well.
"Teagan! Teagan, are you alright?" Isolde said, emerging from where she hid in the corner to kneel at the unconscious Bann's side. Edmund knelt beside him as well, bringing a low glow of magic to his fingers and tending to the man briefly before his eyes opened.
Teagan groaned and rubbed his head, groggy in a way men usually only were when they were severely hungover. "I am… better, now. I think. My mind is my own again."
"Sorry about your nose," Cousland said, offering the Bann a hand to help him to his feet. "I'm pretty sure I broke it."
"Considering I'm fairly certain I aimed a blade at your head, I will not hold it against you," he laughed with weak humor.
"Blessed Andraste! I would never have forgiven myself had you died, not after I brought you here," Isolde said, grabbing hold of Teagan's arm with one hand and holding her face with the other. She turned to the Wardens as they finished aiding the dazed but otherwise unharmed guards to their feet and congregated around her in the center of the chamber. "What a fool I am. Please, Connor's not responsible for this. There must be some way we can save him!"
"We're not about to kill a child," Cousland said with all the reassuring calm he could muster.
"But Connor is no longer just a child," Jowan added sadly. "He is an abomination."
"You!" Isolde shrieked as she was again reminded of his presence in the hall. She made a movement as if to rush forward and throttle the mage, but her rageful expression was overtaken by a flash of fear and she moved to stand slightly behind Teagan as she turned an accusatory finger towards him. "You did this to Connor!"
Jowan held up his hands as if to defend himself from the noblewoman. "I didn't! I didn't summon any demon, I told you! Please, if you'll let me help…"
"Help?! You betrayed me! I brought you here to help my son, and in return you poisoned my husband!"
"This is the mage you spoke of?" Teagan asked, looking Jowan over like he was assessing a threat—or a resource. "Didn't you say he was in the dungeon?"
"He was," Isolde all but spat. "I assumed the creatures had killed him by now. He must have been set free." The look she gave their company was nothing short of accusatory.
"He's as much to blame for this as you are, Lady Isolde." Isefel said pointedly.
Cousland found, with a small amount of surprise, that he agreed. He had no love for this mage from the dungeons—for all he was concerned, Jowan could have spent his remaining days there. But Isolde could not pretend she wasn't responsible for what was happening here. The blood of the village of Redcliffe stained her perfectly manicured hands, as surely as it did the maleficars.
Isolde recoiled initially, but then she took a step forward and bore down against Isefel with indignant rage. "How dare you!" The Arlessa made a movement—quick enough that even Cousland almost missed it—raising a hand as if to strike the elven woman.
Isefel's own reaction was immediate.
"If this man hadn't poisoned my husband, none of this would have happened. He should be executed!"
Isefel just glared at her quietly, the judgment conveyed by her one-eyed look somehow more damning than anything she could have said with her words in that moment.
"Your secrecy made his actions possible, Isolde," Teagan said lowly, and the truth from his mouth seemed to quell the womans fury.
"But, I—" Isolde protested, or sought to fight a way to deflect the blame aimed her way, but was interrupted by the would-be assassin.
"I know what you must think of me, my lady. I took advantage of your fear," Jowan said, head hung low. "I am sorry. I… I never knew it would come to this."
"Well, we shan't turn away his help. Not yet," Teagan said diplomatically. "And if Connor truly is an abomination… I do not know if we can save him. Demons do not listen to reason."
"He is not always the demon you saw. Connor is still inside him, and sometimes he breaks through," Isolde implored. "Please, I just want to protect him!"
"Isn't that what started all this?" Teagan responded, his gentle tone replaced with something harsh and unyielding. "You hired the mage to teach Connor in secret… to protect him."
"If they discovered Connor had magic, then they'd take him away. I thought if he learned just enough to hide it, then…"
"Right, because that was such a sound idea in the first place. Not bound to ever backfire at all," Edmund said, and though he wasn't looking at the mage Cousland could hear the eye-roll in his tone.
"Intents and original plans mean little in the present moment. First thing's first," Aothor said, idly adjusting the straps of his shield as he spoke. "Where is Arl Eamon? Is he safe?"
"He's upstairs in his room," Isolde said with an upwards glance, like she could see through the ceiling to where her husband lay in critical condition. "I think the demon has been keeping him alive."
Slow dread built on Teagan's face. "So if we destroy the demon, then…?"
"Then my husband may perish. Yes." Isolde said the words with a choked back sob.
So it wasn't just Connor's life on the line, then. Shit. "And Eamon didn't know?" Cousland asked. "About Jowan? About Connor's magic?"
"Do you not realize what you've done, Isolde?" Teagan said with a heavy sigh.
"Eamon would only demand we do the right thing. I was not going to lose my son! Not… not to magic." She spat the last word like it was a curse, or it tasted foul in her mouth.
"Would that have been so terrible?" Edmund asked, something sharp in his eyes.
"Can you blame me? When I discovered what…. what he was, what he could do, I was frightened!" Isolde spread her hands woefully as she explained her predicament. "If the Circle took him, I would never see him again. I didn't know what to do!"
"Yes you did. You knew what to do—the right thing. I've no love for the Circle, but trying to make him bury what he is? Teaching him from day one that his magic is a dirty and shameful secret? Instead of prioritizing what was best for your son you chose instead to indulge your own selfishness and the perfect image of your boy you had in your head rather than face reality." Edmund said, unmoved in the face of the Arlessa's outpour of emotion.
"The nerve—selfishness?! I have only ever done what is best for my son! How could him being separated from his family be what was best for him? If the Circle took him, I would never see him again! His title gone, his future ruined!" Isolde cried. "Everything I have done, I have done for him!"
"Ha! You claim this was for his benefit, but did you even think about how this would impact your son long term?" There was a venom in Edmund's voice Cousland didn't think he'd heard since the aftermath of Highever, that genuine bitter rage. "Even if your schemes had gone the way you planned, you'd have been forcing Connor to lie and pretend his whole life. Magic isn't something you can just shove in a box and forget about, hoping it will go away on its own. If anything, all you've done is prove to your son that there is a permanent part of him that you will never love."
Cousland had to wonder at that moment if Connor's situation was similar to Amell's. He hadn't thought about it much until that moment, but as a mage himself Edmund had likely been taken from his own family at a young age. What was the story there? Hopefully it was one that involved fewer cases of possession, but one could never be certain with this particular mage.
"No! No, that isn't true!" Isolde said, angry tears now starting down her cheeks and she shook her head in vehement protest. "I love my boy. I just—I wanted everything to be alright, to go back to how it was before!"
"Lady Isolde," Isefel started. There was a softness in her face, though strangely none of it seemed aimed at Isolde. "I can sympathize with not wanting to lose family to the Circles. And none of us can truly know the heart of a mother as you do, and what a mother would do for her child. But surely you can see that even if you had good intentions everyone in Redcliffe has suffered for them. Villagers have died. And for all the tears you cry, none of them seem to be for the people under your rule. And they are the ones who have suffered the most."
"Enough. Where blame falls is academic, at this point." Aothor cut in before Isolde could shout again or start weeping—as she seemed about ready to do both. "What are our options going forward? We have to handle this situation, and quickly."
"I wouldn't normally suggest slaying a child, but… he's an abomination. I'm not sure there's any choice." Alistair said like he hated the words even as he spoke them
Leliana shook her head immediately. "We can't kill a young boy! Demon or no demon. Please don't say we're considering that!"
"Connor is my nephew, but… he is also possessed by a demon. Death would be… merciful," said Teagan.
"There is… another option. Though I loathe offering it." Jowan offered. "A mage could confront the demon in the Fade without hurting Connor himself."
Cousland was relieved to hear it—at least bringing this mage with them was giving them more options beyond 'slay a young child.'
"What do you mean? Is the demon not within Connor?" Teagan asked.
"Not physically. Not yet, anyways. There's been no physical transformation, which means there's a chance he can be saved," Jowan explained. "If the demon approached Connor in the Fade while he dreamt and controls him from there… well, we can use the connection between them to find the demon."
"You can enter the Fade, then? And kill the demon without hurting my boy?" Isolde asked, the most hopeful she'd been since this whole ordeal began.
"No, but I can enable another mage to do so. It normally requires lyrium and several mages, but I have… blood magic."
Ah. All of his relief died as he heard that.
Jowan continued to elaborate on what Cousland was beginning to believe was a very bad idea. "Lyrium provides the power for the ritual. But I can take that power from someone's life energy. This ritual requires a lot of it, however… all of it, in fact."
"So… someone must die? Someone must be sacrificed?" Teagan said, pale in the face immediately at the maleficar's words.
"Yes. I can't enter the Fade because I'm doing the ritual. Then Edmund or your other mage friend would go into the Fade then and deal with the demon on their own." Jowan said, then promptly looked away from them in something like shame. "Maybe I shouldn't have said anything. It's… not much of an option."
Cousland shook his head immediately. "You're right. Blood magic is not an option."
"But if it saves that kid's life?" Liri said. "Someone's dying here, either way. But it doesn't have to be him."
"Indeed," Jowan said grimly. "The power has to come from somewhere. Either lyrium or… blood. And last I checked, we don't have a stockpile of lyrium at hand."
"Then let it be my blood." Isolde said, the most even words she'd uttered yet.
"What? Isolde, are you mad?" Teagan waved his hands in protest. "Eamon would never allow this!"
"Either someone kills my son to destroy that thing inside him, or I give my life so my son can live. To me, the answer is clear." Isolde said. For whatever the Arlessa's failing were—and it was apparent that there were several of them—she loved her son. To the death, she loved her son.
"Blood magic… how can more evil be of any help here?" Alistair said, tone bordering on disgust. "Two wrongs don't make a right!"
"But it does seem like a sensible choice. With a willing participant." Morrigan said evenly. He shouldn't be surprised that the calloused witch found nothing to protest in such a plan, yet here he was, gaping at her.
"Connor is blameless in this. He should not have to pay the price." Isolde again repeated her intention.
"This cannot be," Jory said in disbelief. "My lord Arl Eamon will either wake to find his wife or his son dead…? If the end is a fate that cruel, one might want to sleep forever."
"It… it is up to you, my friends," Teagan said, an almost visible weight pressing on his shoulders as he looked them over. Teagan couldn't make this call, not about his family. "You know more about such things than I do, and it would be one of your number going into the Fade. The decision is yours."
"Are you really ready to die for this, Isolde?" Isefel asked, something like compassion building on her face for the Arlessa.
"If it spares my son? Without question."
Isefel turned away from the noblewoman and to the rest of them. "Well… if we're taking a vote, I say we let Isolde save her son."
"I agree. She's just as responsible for what's happened to Redcliffe as Jowan is. The way I see it, this could be a chance at redemption for both of them." Liri said, coming at the problem of human sacrifice with a attitude cavalier enough that it seemed in poor taste.
"I'm not so sure," Rosaya said, "That still leaves quite a lot to chance. It would have to be Edmund or Morrigan entering the Fade to confront the demon—alone. And while I don't doubt their ability, nothing is ever certain. And if the mage in the Fade fails, we'll have killed Isolde for nothing and still have to put down Connor regardless."
"What are you saying?" Cousland said, shaking his head as he tried to rationalize such a cold statement from someone he'd considered overall a more gentle soul. "You think it's better we kill Connor outright? Murder a little boy?"
"Our clan leaders are mages," Rosaya said by way of answer, gaze fixed towards the hall where Connor had run. "Our people live with magic among us, much to our benefit. But that means we must be aware of the dangers. All Dalish hunters know we must be prepared to hunt and kill our own Keeper."
"That's horrible…" Jory said, his face somehow even paler than his normal pasty complexion.
"Few clans have ever actually had to perform the Ghi'myathe Danavhen. My own has never had to, as far as I know. Our people born with magic in their blood train carefully to prevent the possibility of possession. But… it is always possible. And you can show a demon no mercy should the worst occur. As it has occurred here."
"No," Cousland said, resolute. "We're not going to use human sacrifice, and we're not going to kill a child. We're better than that."
"I see no way this can end happily. Sometimes… there is no easy out," Aothor said grimly. "And then there's nothing to do but get your hands bloody and choose a lesser evil. For all we know, adding more blood magic to this problem might just make things worse. As cruel as it may seem… killing Connor is our most assured way of solving this problem."
"That's not good enough!" Cousland all but shouted. "Both of these options are unacceptable. There has to be another way."
"If there are other options, I can't see what they are. We either kill Connor or enter the Fade to kill the demon." Jowan said.
"Then is there a different way to enter the Fade? Something that doesn't include human sacrifice, preferably?" Cousland asked desperately.
"Glad to see at least one of you is asking the right questions," Edmund answered, sounded oddle detached for a moment before he sighed and seemed to refocus himself. "Fortunately, these two options aren't the only ones we're limited to."
"Really? And you didn't think to pitch in until just now?" Cousland asked, brow raised as he turned to the spellcaster.
"Hm. Didn't occur to me." Edmund shrugged mildly. "Besides, you didn't ask. I didn't want to interrupt the circular arguments; we were really getting nowhere fast, after all."
Cousland had a few choice words ready for the mage, but he paused instead as his unease grew. Amell had waited purposefully before saying anything. He felt strangely like they'd just been… tested. And that did not sit well with him.
"We don't need Isolde to die, and we certainly don't need to kill Connor," Edmund continued. "The Circle is only a day's trip north of here. With enough mages and lyrium we can send someone into the Fade to kill the demon without using a blood sacrifice."
"Didn't you say the mage tower was going to be crawling with abominations and demons when we went there?" Isefel asked, brows raised.
Edmund just shrugged. "Mhm hm. Think of it this way—we solve the problems in the mages tower, earn a favor in addition to what they're compelled to aid us with in times of Blight. We save the Circle, gain the mage's allegiance against the Blight, and earn ourselves a favor… a favor that saves Connor's life. Everybody wins, yeah?"
"And it'll work?" Cousland asked. He wanted to believe what he was saying was true, but he could never fully shake the uneasy feeling the mage gave him. "You are absolutely certain?"
"No innocents need to die to set this right." Edmund said, the certainty in his voice as solid as stone.
"You said it yourself, though; the Circle's a day's journey away," Aothor frowned, shaking his head. "It could be two days or more before we're able to return with help—there's no telling what Connor might do in the meanwhile. The undead could attack again, or worse."
"We'll leave Ser Jory and the knights here to keep the situation secure," Edmund said, then glanced down the hall where Connor had run. "As for the kid, well, I've some thoughts on that. It's time to put an unruly little boy down for his nap. Morrigan, Jowan, with me if you please. And Alistair too, if it'll keep the rest of you from getting your panties in a twist about three mages running off on their own."
The three others snapped to action quickly to follow after the erratic spellcaster as he turned from the room without a word more. The ones of them that remained shared a concerned look.
Aothor eventually let out a long, slow breath. "Well, I guess that's decided, then." he said, as taken by surprise at Edmund's sudden decisiveness as the rest of them. "Make ready for travel, everybody. We're headed double-time to the Circle of Magi."
While the others busied themselves checking their equipment, re-collecting arrows, or otherwise asking Teagan and Isolde further follow-up queries, Cousland went with his gut and followed after where Edmund had lead the other mages and former templar.
He found them just a few hallways beyond, where it seemed they'd just finished putting down a
"What are you going to do?" Cousland asked.
Edmund waved the others up the staircase ahead of him before he answered. "A sleep spell. Between the three of us, we should be able to cast one strong enough to hold for several days. Especially since Connor's will is already weakened from the possession. Jowan'll stay behind to maintain it just in case—besides, rolling up to the Circle with him in tow wouldn't exactly make us very welcome guests."
It was a sound enough idea. Edmund lingered, as did Cousland, both of them fully aware that wasn't what he'd followed after him to ask.
"Why did you wait to tell us? If you'd told us upfront that we could save Connor with the Circle's help, it'd have spared Isolde and Teagan quite a bit of heartache. Not to mention the rest of us the debate." He said after a moment of picking his words, though each one still carried his bite of irritation.
Edmund didn't answer right away, and when he did he didn't even turn back as he spoke. "I needed you all to see how much worse the other options were. And… I was curious what you'd all do, if I said nothing."
"Well, now you have your answer. And?"
"And I think it's a very good thing that I know what I know." Edmund finally turned around, but only half-way. "You're a miserable prick, Cousland, but keep pushing for better outcomes. We need people like you around who won't settle for a lesser evil."
Cousland didn't know quite what to say, at that—it was as close to a kind word shared between them as they'd ever had. So instead he just watched as Edmund disappeared up the staircase after the others to sedate Connor.
The mage still rubbed him wrong and made him uneasy in the strangest way, there would be no changing that. But aside from that… and all his other weirdness… maybe he wasn't all that bad.