Chapter Text
Keep your wits about you, mage. True tests never end.
~
He knew how this unfathomably uncontrollable habit of chasing old, buried memories would end. He had been there, countless times already, and could see it all oh so clearly.
He would follow the frail rope into the black pits of his mind that looked so like graves it would make his inside churn and a lump grow heavy in his throat. He would fall into their depths, scratching his knees and forehead, only to find out there was so little to explore. A shadowy figure would stir, wake, cast its piercing, golden gaze at him and he would either hold it, paralyzed, or glance away, terrified, but either way, he would regret the descent in the hollow limbo that was his shattered memory. Any bit of it always was a dead end in itself, and he would painfully crawl his way back to the surface, in hasted and unsteady movements, breath getting shallow, fingers digging in the earthy walls, on the edge of collapsing onto him and trapping him there.
One day, they would, and he would not be able to reach himself again. All consciousness and physicality lost, he would sit, motionless, in this hole until it thoroughly swallowed him. He would wait for it, for the air to grow rarer, for his feet to take root and his skin turn to bark and grow leaves.
Oh, had we known we would die so soon…
Shall I ever awake?
Sleeping, but never waking up?
Turn one’s stare to stone, begging, aching, neverending. Ignite the pyre of borrowed time and disillusions, only to notice they are not one’s to claim. Camouflaging the poisonous subtlety of one’s words, those that can either soothe or crush a mind.
One is never prepared to forget until it simply happens, the river of sighs lapping time and space alike, the threshold that leads to liminal spaces, places unknown, fallen kingdoms, ethereal realms, foreign and eerie lands no one has roamed for centuries.
Vivid memory, shall it ever fade? and mayhaps this painful reality hits me forever, oh, please, let the Void and its halo swallow the Chaos of it all—are they not the same coin?—the stars and the moon, to leave but an abandoned, empty house for anyone to take hold of. Maybe he could be the first one to arrive and claim it, make it his home and warm the cold hearth?
Just a shadowy figure with a blank face,
Kicking me out of this place… 1*
But…was there no light at all to filter through the Stone? He could not tell, for he could not see, his eyes not piercing through the darkness efficiently enough. Shadows, and he could no longer light a fire to glimpse the forest of daggers surrounding him and the frost coating his long since severed skull. He could not catch sight of the top of the mountains looming high above, masking the sky to his eyes, nor could he witness nature either wither or be born anew. Seasons do not pass where the sun does not shine.
Seizure.
Take a breath, slow, exhale. All is not lost yet. Even underground, even between ever the same thick walls, life blooms and its scent is intoxicating. Not everything that is dead is forgotten, in some way it returns to you, brighter, sweeter, purer.
Purity?
Silk skin, tanned, wrapped in pale velvet. Sangria lips, tempting, I once was drunk on the idea of you, and this is how one kills oneself without even being aware of it, you are my undoing, I should never have trusted you, and this is how one gets killed by a theoretical concept.
There is a wolf, on the other shore of the Waking Sea, pale, bloodless, bloodshot eyes, that sings to the trees and howls to the sun. Is it a myth or an incarnation of a lost soul seeking to mate with its beloved for eternity?
What do you see in those yellow eyes? 2*
But there is no such thing as eternity, forever is an abstraction that lingers in one’s mind but is never factually true…and is there such a thing as pure as love? Up for debate, is it not simply the fastest way to trigger your doom?
Clair-obscur.
The bittersweet hue of change, deafening, colorless and sour, soft and thorny. Perhaps the painting does not show what you saw, perhaps she is no longer here but she lingers in here, and tomorrow when dawn erupts and you do not even see it, the dew shall fall skywards, foggy and cold, the mist in which she faded shall dissipate and the sky shall be blue—they shall visit you in the Fade, her, the sky, the mist, the long lost memories of a life that is no longer yours.
Faisons trembler la mer, pour qu’enfin mon cœur tangue.
There is no such thing as sympathy on the bridge of sighs, where all demons lurk, claws and teeth out, sharp, catching the light like a teardrop stains a cheek.
Yesteryear bears the faceless heads on spikes of all the foes that defeated you, a horrors’ museum, apathetic stare piercing through your soul, a means to an end, to let light pass along with the tidal waves.
Let us shake the seas so that at last my heart may sway.
His own words, then, his words. H i s words, h i s touch, h i s voice, all that made him who he was was spoiled, was he not? And all that made him who he was was darker than his skin, his soul, so flawed, cracked—did all the fissures excuse all the violence? Was it even only violence? Or just some sort of banalized game in which he was the Fool, whose pain only flowed through his veins because he had tried to trick him into betraying the rules?
Be mine for the taking and you shall be safe, such a blasted lie, let us cut the ties, let us sever the knots along his spine, let us—
~
Aedriel gasped for air as he woke up to the high ceiling of his room, feeling lightheaded and nauseous. He coughed several times, eyes beaded with tears, as they always were when came the time to leave slumber behind to inhabit the waking world. Breaths shallow, cold palm on warm throat—choke me—and the other, white-knuckled, gripping the sheets.
Take a breath, slow, exhale. All is not lost yet.
Was it though?
Was it all…over?
Such nightmares… He was long since used to them, yet each time they hit him with renewed force. Waking up was mourning a night that, although harsher than the days upon you, at least had the advantage of leaving your body unharmed.
Did he successfully pass the Harrowing? Surely he did, since he was right here, in his room, lying on his bed. Awake, and well.
Is it a relief to be alive, though?
Doubts.
He did not know what he was expecting. Surely not getting so close to being possessed by a demon, but—
Actually, precisely this. To be possessed and die at the hands of the Templars. Upon closer inspection, he had not gotten that close to be possessed, he had handled it all…pretty well? He thought so. A pity, for he still was not certain remaining here for the rest of his life was any more of an agreeable fate. He could still choose to shorten his life whenever he felt like it, but he sure had hoped the Harrowing would rob him of such a future already inked on paper, which was not that worth looking forward to. His present was a living nightmare, at all times, how could the future be anything else but that?
He sat up, slow, and steadied himself, wiping the tears off his face with a harsh gesture. It was always the same. Chasing at dawn things that would fall on earth at dusk. He was waiting for an epiphany that would never come, for it was waiting for him to move, to act to obtain it, and he was paralyzed.
He took in his surroundings, the room was quiet as it always was when Jowan was not here: dead so. This, a relief. Everything was normal. Then, dread. Everything was normal. And, these times, normalcy was hell, himself be damned if he did not think he was going to die at every corner of every room he set foot into. The worst thing of it all was that he was on the edge of no longer caring about it. It had become so trivial, all this violence, this game, for the past three years his life had been a renewed living hell each single day passing by, and there was not a damn thing he could do to change that—was there? He could not wait for the time he would get killed by a theoretical concept bearing his face and his crushed-glass like fingers, and his eyes so dark it would make the night pale—you see, without the truth of the eyes 3* he had been blind, blinded by his gentleness, the candor of his words, the fact that he was not one of his bullies and had even defended him once. Such an act he had played…
He shuddered at the mere thought of him dragging him to—
Jowan stormed into the room and went straight to his own bed, standing by it, worry etched on his face, biting his thumb, mumbling something inaudible to himself. Aedriel frowned and rubbed the headache off his temples. Then, he opened his eyes, stared at his friend, and cleared his throat. Jowan immediately turned to the source of the sound, jumping and tensing. Then, he relaxed visibly and straightened himself as he walked over to the bed.
— Oh, it’s you. You’re awake. I’m glad, he began, fidgeting with his fingers.
— Wha’s all abou’ the worry? he asked, laying his palms under his thighs, knees slightly brought up.
— I…it’s nothing, some usual anxiety. Irving wants to see you when you are ready.
— Thanks, I shall go later. Wha’re you anxious abou’?
— Well, you know. The Harrowing. From what I’ve heard, yours was one of the cleanest they witnessed, for years! So, hm…surely there are a few things you can tell me about it? What’s it like? How—
— I see. I’m sorry, bu’ I canno’ tell you anythin’, and you know tha’ perfectly well.
— Come on, for a friend… Have you forgotten what I—
— Do no’ star’ this Jowan, please. I canno’ do tha’. Breakin’ the secrecy would cos’ me all I have, you know wha’ one risks if one tells anythin’ abou’ the Harrowin’. So le’ me ask you this: how, as a friend, can you ask tha’ of me?
He looked down and sighed, letting go of his fingers to bring his hands back at his sides.
— You’re right, I…am sorry. I am just…why is this taking so long? I’m certain they’ll never make me take the Harrowing. Just look, you are younger than me, arrived here after me, and there you are, freshly out of it while I am still an apprentice…
Aedriel’s eyes softened. He could understand such distress, but there was nothing he could say to help him, only try to reassure him, and he never knew how to do that. His friend never seemed to mind, though. He licked his lips and smiled faintly, gazing at Jowan’s hands.
— Surely i’s jus’ tha’ they think you’re no’ ready? Be patien’, your time shall come, I am sure of i’.
— Well, easy for you to say now that you’re an actual enchanter, he replied, crossing his arms as their eyes met.
Aedriel’s lips settled in a tight line.
— A’ leas’ you’re with me in the senior enchanters’ quarters, with me. Tha’s a star’.
— Oh, because the reason we’re here is so delightful…
He swallowed hard. No, indeed…it was not.
— So, you should go to him now. I’ll take my leave, and before I—
— This is your room as well, y’know.
— Yes, well, I’ll leave regardless. So, before I forget: I’d very much like to continue this conversation, actually. There is something I ought to talk to you about. It’s kind of related. Meet me in the Chantry once you are done with Irving.
— Why in the Chantry and no’ here? And why no’ now? Wha’s all abou’ the secrecy, you’re scarin’ me—
— Don’t be. I need time to speak to you, I need privacy, but not here. Trust me, and meet me there, please.
— ‘Kay…I will.
— See you around, Aed.
— Yeah, see you later Wan.
On that, he promptly left him with himself, closing the door behind him. Aedriel was worried. What could weigh on him so and make him so anxious, he wondered. He sighed and stood up, walking, over to the cupboard, so wobbly at first he thought he was going to fall—perhaps if he ate something more often…but he simply was not allowed to—, from which he retrieved his new enchanter’s robes, and went behind the wall to wash his face and put it on. Then came the time to head to the latrines, and he exhaled shakily. Apprehension, of the corrosive kind. But fear does not prevent danger from happening anyway.
Not without glancing behind his back all the way, albeit short, to the bathrooms, he entered the room, and went straight to the toilet, hoping to avoid—
He was treacherously attacked from behind by two hands on his throat and a body pressed flush on his back to push him inside. Panic. No, not again. Not right now. He closed his eyes as he was shoved against the wall opposite the door head first, falling to his knees, seeing stars. Feeble. So weak it sickened him. He loathed himself so…
Then, the door closed and he smirked at him, pulling his sleeves up, looming over him like the Tower did in his first memory of it, and he readied himself for the upcoming nightmare. Today would be the last day, that time, the last time. Things could not keep on going that way, he would no longer suffer in silence, all alone, afraid of his shade, a shade himself, ashamed and reduced to nonexistence.
— Well, well…see what we have here…
Shoulders tensed, jaws and fists clenched, teeth gritted, eyes looked up straight at him. The Void personified, the Black Hole, Chaos, ambient, terrifying.
No. He was scared no longer. Enough of this.
Enough!
— If that’s not the perfect little mage who passed her Harrowing… The very, very girlish boy, the poet, the bootlicker, my lover… All proud in her new robes, I see… Shall I congratulate you, hm?
He looked away to the side, and laughed. It was purely nervous, throaty, deep and uncontrolled. The reaction was a knee square in his jaw, which banged his head against the wall in the process. Stars. He brought his hand to his face, suppressing what was left of his laughter in a sigh and gazing straight back in his black eyes, ignoring the pain in his temples, the back of his head, his teeth, and all the muscles in his body, tense.
— Today’s the day, dearest. You earned it, didn’t you?
Today was the day, yes. Yes, indeed. Not quite what he had in mind but he would not be disappointed, oh, no…
The ties to his body had been severed, a strange experience he had grown quite accustomed to, for the years spent in the wrong body, and the years spent defying death at each dark corner of a room. He was death itself, deadlier than dysphoria.
He spat. He was tired of fighting all the damn time for things that would bring him nothing if not numbness, tired of fighting against demons bearing his own face, baring their teeth at him, claws around his neck, tight. They were not under his bed, no. They stood in front of him, right now.
He clicked his tongue, his head snapped up immediately and he surged forward, aiming for his legs so as to make him fall backwards. He hoped to break his skull but he landed on his backside. He kicked him in the guts, back against the wall, hunched over. He crawled to him, seized his hair and jerked his head back with a sharp pull.
— Aren’t we tough, today? You better calm down, such renewed confidence doesn’t suit you well, dear.
He intercepted his arm before the fist could reach his manhood and twisted it, earning a hiss of pain from the pale-skinned mage. He grinned wider.
— All things considered: a delight. I get to break it—to break you all over again.
~
— Approach me again and I shall kill you, he spat, muttering for only him to hear him, eyes so dark and filled by the Void that he actually recoiled and got scared.
His turn to see his breathing grow shallow, his palms sweaty, his eyes wide, and so many signs he did not take his sentence as well as he attempted to let on. Such a reward to see him afraid of him, after all this time terrorizing him…
The stranger heard it and smiled inwardly, saying nothing, merely eying Irving and Greagoir calling the Templars back inside.
Only once he was out of the office, escorted by two Templars, did he allow himself to exhale deeply, blinking back the tears that had been threatening to fall since the beginning of this encounter. He wanted out of here, he wanted to bury himself in his bed and never get up again. Why had he not killed him? A pity, really. He was tired of all this, so, so tired…
— So. Wha’ d’you have to tell me? he directly asked Irving, making his intent to leave as soon as this was over rather clear.
— Oh, yes. Surely you must have heard of the Grey Wardens, he said, and waited for the young mage to nod before gesturing to the stranger and going on. Duncan is here to recruit a mage to join them. A battle will unfold soon to ensure the darkspawns are defeated and to ascertain that this is not a Blight.
— This?
— There is a horde near Ostagar, huge and organized, commanded by forces unprecedented. I highly suspect an Archdemon to be at its head, Duncan said, stepping forward.
He mouthed ah oh of surprise, taking in the words without actually taking them in. Numb. It was all so abstract to him. The Tower was his shield, and, were it to fall, he would fall to. There was nothing he could do, nothing he wanted to do.
— I…see. Bu’ wha’ does this have to do with me?
— Well, do you not see where this is headed to? Greagoir asked, crossing his arms.
Aedriel merely shook his head. Why did people always have to imply things instead of stating them?
— Well, Aedriel, your Harrowing was something we have rarely seen. Efficient, quick, not even the slightest sign of attempted possession, indicating a great mental resistance, and a sharp spirit which deciphers things quickly and knows how to spot illusion, deceit, and how to act accordingly.
— I’ was no’ tha’ complicated an exercise. And jus’ tha’: an exercise.
— You passed it successfully, that is not the case for everyone. What you call a simple exercise has cost their lives to some of your comrades. I’m certain this is not what you meant, but do not forget it. Besides, it is not merely about your Harrowing. Everything else enters our considerations. You show remarkable abilities that could be useful on a battlefield, at least in the ranks of the Grey Wardens. You have been studying, researching, practicing rigorously for years now, and always longed to leave the Tower…
He dropped out of it the moment Irving mentioned his wish to get out of here and glanced at the desk. The papers neatly folded on top of it, the feather lying by the inkpot, the pen at its side. He wanted to cry. What was this day?
He was scared, too scared. Getting out of here indeed had its perks, such as just being free, but freedom came with a price, always, and sometimes it was heavier than the one to pay to remain leashed. In this situation, the price was your life, dedicated to a task you might lose it to. And the funny thing was that he did not care about it at all. What bothered him was the idea of freedom, and how what they sold as that in fact was all but that. He should not mind, since it meant being tethered, following a path instead of being dropped into the unknown to roam all by yourself, and it was precisely what he needed. But he possessed, added to a strong contradictory spirit, a terror of new things, of breaking routines, of changes, whichever form they took. Was he terrorized enough to let the chance to go away pass, though? Was being free actually a perk at all? Good that he would not be, then. And he had to decide, like, right now? Too much information all at once.
He inhaled and exhaled sharply. He was not fit for this, he could not hold himself together against a single—or a few—foe, what would it be against a horde of them?
— Do I— he articulated with difficulty. Do I have a say in this? he asked, looking back and forth between his interlocutors, not even realizing he had cut the First Enchanter off.
Greagoir was eyeing the exchange warily, still not amused by the thought of letting yet another mage out of the Tower. Duncan was studying him closely, his seriousness making him all the scarier to Aedriel’s eyes. Irving was trying to show himself comforting, trying to usher him into doing what he thought was the right thing to do. Or maybe did he really have his best interest at heart? How touching…
He closed his mouth and glanced sideways at Duncan, who uncrossed his arms and shifted weight, gazing straight back into his eyes.
— You do. Should you decline this offer, I shall recruit one of your fellow companions.
His lip twitched at the word. Yes, sure…
— Then I shall stay here, he said, much to Irving’s disbelief. ‘M no’ suitable for the Grey Wardens. I’m jus’ some raw piece of mea’, the only thin’ I have for me is tha’ I don’ fear death, like, a’ all. Bu’ I’m no’ brave, I can’ withstand one enemy, so wha’ abou’ many of them all a’ once?
— You would be trained. We do not expect you to be a soldier straight out of the Tower. I am interested in your capacities and abilities, your valuable skills, and you seem to have many of those, and to be more than able to learn beyond what you were taught here.
He tilted his head to the side, searching for the boy’s gaze. When he found it, he saw only sorrow, which destabilized him slightly. Signs of anguish on his part, veiled the best he could, but still clearly visible to his trained eyes. But then, after what he had witnessed earlier, how could it be otherwise? Should he bring it up? He decided against it, no need to twist the knife any deeper.
— I…canno’ do tha’. Sorry. I’d rather stay here.
— It is your choice, Irving said while Duncan’s eyes remained on Aedriel’s, which did not look away. You may take your leave now, get some rest, but please be so kind as to accompany Duncan to the guest room.
He was dying inside. He did not expect such a choice to be forced upon him out of the blue. His whole future was being decided in an instant, and he was letting it pass out of fear. He sighed to himself, blinking back even more tears.
Such distress pained the Warden. A waste that such a talented mage grew devoured by his inner demons with no such thing as a way out since he refused the one presented to him. How could he possibly—what? Trick him into accepting? He could just as well recruit another mage. There was something undefinable about him that forced some faint kind of respect, to such a young soul holding on so tight to affirm his identity to the world. Who endured things, who overcame them, who fought. He had to accept that he did not wish to follow him, but it was a shame.
Aedriel ushered him out of the office after nodding to the First Enchanter and the Knight Commander who almost immediately started discussing heavy matters on which they were obviously in disagreement.
They walked in silence and he wondered why Duncan was not able to find his room by himself. There was, after all, only one circular corridor to follow…
— What do you know about the darkspawn and the Blight? Duncan asked after a few seconds of silence he deemed too much to be allowed.
He almost rolled his eyes but instead just stared ahead of him. The room was not far, and right next to it was his own, he would finally be left at peace. Then, his eyes widened and he searched for an answer. Jowan.
Still, he had a hard time believing he was doing the right thing by turning him down. Of course he wanted out, but here his fate was all traced: study, practice, research, until he grew too tired of life. He did crave the outside world, but he had left it as a six-year-old kid, what would it be like to find it back now, at eighteen?
— No’ much, he finally answered. Tha’ men caused their own doom under the form of darkspawn by tryin’ to rise to godhood, and said spawn comes to the surface every now and then under the command of an…Archdemon? And Grey Wardens are the only warriors able to slay i’. And once defeated, i’ comes back after an age or two.
— This is as good an interpretation as any, and as good a summary as any. You know more than you think you do, you have the main lines of the drawing, he said, pausing. Do you not want to play a part in ending a Blight?
As they neared the room, they stopped.
— I though’ you were no’ certain i’ was one?
— Doubts slowly give way to certitude. As I mentioned, the horde is too consistent and coordinated for it not to be bound to an Archdemon. In the Deep Roads, they are rushing everywhere, even more overwhelming than usual, swallowing everything, in order to join the surface at all costs. What but an Archdemon can push them to act so? To gather in great numbers on the surface, where they are usually dispatched in small, rare groups?
Aedriel showed him the room with a sign of his hand and head before resuming their conversation.
— Why are you tellin’ me all this? My presence will no’ make tha’ much of a difference, in the end.
— Still I am hoping to make you change your mind. You seem the perfect candidate, it would be a shame not to have you, he said, glancing at the mage’s fidgeting fingers, some of them busy scratching the skin of the back of his hand. And every single person makes a difference in a war.
— How can you know? We’ve hardly met. And I shall jus’ be some mea’ to be butchered. Some more or some less…
— From Irving’s saying, you are observant, good at theorizing spellcasting, good at actually spellcasting theory. It makes you a polyvalent card. You have pushed your research beyond what is usually taught to other students, with the Templars’ and First Enchanter’s supervision you went farther than your fellow comrades, and thus possess knowledge that could be very valuable to us. He paused. And let me tell you this: there are many more things to be learnt outside of the Circle, he added, smiling at Aedriel’s face jolting up and his fingers stilling. I shall take my leave in two days, with you, or another mage. You have until then to decide what you wish to do.
And now he was speaking of knowledge… Interest undeniably piqued. But he could not…could he? Go back outside, after all this time spent locked in, between stone walls that secluded him from every breath of the wind and sheltered him from the rain? Leave this dreaded place, leave them all behind, for good? It was…tempting, to say the least. The more he thought about it, the more inclined to leave he felt. Inclined, or compelled? Was it not the point of his words? To make him accept? He could not quite fathom why he was so after him. Was it the truth? Merely for a few uncommon spells he happened to know how to cast? For most of them, it was still theoretical. He knew by heart their runic pattern, their mana chains, and other merry abstract things. Well, sure, they were more concrete than one would think they were, but still, he had never had the chance to practice most of them, he could not predict the effects it would have on his mana and willpower, on his body, his muscles, his brain.
There he was, battling against himself. He longed to actually use all these spells he could only ever study from afar…he yearned to learn more, and always more. He loathed such dilemmas that would irreversibly shape his future.
— So, hm? What say you?
— I…shall think abou’ i’.
— Well, that is a start. Two days. See you around, lad. Good day to you.
He nodded respectfully as Duncan disappeared into the room, closing the door behind him. Two days… Simultaneously too short and too long, it would be agonizingly slow to pass, all the while flying too fast for him to actually form coherent thoughts. He felt as if he did not deserve it, and at the same time, he had worked for such an opportunity for years. He was neither gifted nor talented. He had rigorously studied, practiced, shaped his own mind to adapt to the spells’ structures so as to better understand them, had read, written, thought, deduced, and so much more. He had always done so, regardless of all the despair, the death wishes, the spawn of the darkness grinning at him and pushing him off the cliff while he pondered over the events that had led him right to where he stood, unbalanced and swaying, on the edge of endlessly falling. Shadows that bore no light. He sure had reached a level of magical comprehension only a few possessed, but firstly: that was nothing extraordinary, and secondly: however was he supposed to put it into good use on a battlefield?
He was staring at the emptiness when Jowan appeared out of nowhere, startling him and pulling him out of his musings.
— Aed.
He seemed even more worried—were it only possible—than he was earlier, in a rush, distressed, and he thought that helping him with his own problems might ease his own away from his mind the time everything in his head cooled a bit.
— Yes?
— You were supposed to meet me at the Chantry, where have you been? Surely it’s not Irving who took all this time away from you, is it?
Such irony…made his insides churn. Gods, he did not wish to think of it again. He violently shook his head.
— Lon’ story. I’s nothin’. As you see, I’ve jus’ escorted a Grey Warden to his room on Firs’ Enchanter Irvin’s demand. Le’ me follow you—
— You don’t seem well, Aed. What happened?
Fuck.
He shivered all the while inhaling deeply. No. Not now. Not yet. Never, mayhaps—most likely.
— Doesn’ matter. I’ really is nothin’ worth your concern, Wan. Le’ us go instead.
He did not leave him room to discuss further and strode past him to go to the Chantry.
(He did not notice the shade, hitting the ground at each step he took, flickering by the candles, swallowed by the shadows but never really dissipating into the Void.)
~
The revelation hit him with sheer force. Make Jowan Tranquil, over empty—or, at least, very hard to prove—accusations? Of course he knew the argument: they could not ascertain he was not a maleficar nor that he was one, but would do it regardless: can’t take risks, can we?
After the hyperventilation which Jowan only partially grasped, came the nervous laughter, which he understood even less.
— What’s so funny? he snapped, frowning and crossing his arms.
— Nothin’… You should’ve taugh’ me! he exclaimed, wiping a tear away.
This day was, by all standards, priceless. Ups, and downs, mostly downs. He had known such days before, but that one was by far, were he to admit it, the worst of them all.
— Ha, ha, ha, laugh all you want, it’s my life that’s on the line.
He coughed himself out of his uncontrollable laughter, and regained his seriousness, which he had actually never lost.
— Sorry, I didn’ mean to… I’s nervous, ‘m hella tired, and this is so…unfair? I don’ know how to deal with thin’s today bu’ one thin’ is certain: we have to ge’ you ou’ of here.
Jowan and Lily’s faces lit up.
— So you’ll help us? she asked, hands clasping by her chest.
— I shall help you, yes.
So that’s how he was ending up on his own, all alone amongst unkind strangers wearing familiar faces. What was going to happen to him if he was no longer here?
— Thank you, you do not know what this means to me.
— I owe you. I have a deb’ I am gladly payin’ off today.
— You owe me nothing, I—
— You saved my life, more than once. I shall no’ forge’ i’. Today I hope I am savin’ yours.
His friend smiled at him and a hand splayed on his shoulder. He did not recoil, surprisingly enough. Was it what the last times felt like, heavy on the chest, leaving the whole body anticipating the rupture of habits and routines? He was so damn scared now…
— Don’t do anything foolish when I’m out, please.
He smiled ever so sadly. One of the smiles that could break one’s heart, tear it in two, as it so often had torn Jowan’s. True, he had brought him back from the threshold of death more than once, and it was only very reluctantly that he was now leaving him. But he could no longer stay.
That was yet to be determined. Everything inside him now screamed at him to leave with the Grey Warden. If Jowan was leaving, and he was going to Aeonar, he would be left on his own to face the others’ reckoning. He did not feel like it at all. But then, that was supposed they did not get caught retrieving his phylactery. If they did, things would be settled. He had said afraid no longer after all. They had to at least try, for his friend’s sake, for his life. If they succeeded, maybe he would listen to the voice that wanted out of this cage with his blood spilled on the floor and the bars which had too often met his head. He had to get out but he was as thrilled by the idea as it gave him the creeps beyond dear reason.
But, but, but…
He was finding excuses so as not to live his life, once again, was he not? His smile faltered, wavered, flickered. Perhaps he could, for once, give it a try with no such thing as second thoughts? Perhaps he could see where it led him, how he would cope with all the changes, and then, if he did cope too poorly, if he was led astray, he would still have the forbidden path open.
He glanced up at Jowan, who was looking at him intently.
— Promise me.
So, things were settled then.
Out, both of them.
He could not lie to such a friend, could he? For his wellbeing, so that he may leave freeminded? Oh, yes, he could.
— Promised.
He would no longer be there to witness it anyhow, and he found it a tad selfish of him to abandon him to the demons’ fangs, yet ask him to stay, to stand, strong and proud, on the Bridge of the Sigh, in the forest of daggers. But then, it would be selfish of him to hold him back to a place where he could be annihilated, reduced to embers no longer burning.
Helping was never in question, but he had to admit he feared getting caught. He could say he no longer cared all he wanted, a part of him absolutely did not wish to end up at Aeonar. Now that he was slowly realizing he could get out, the idea of ending up in a prison, which would be even more of a prison than this one, was not appealing at all. So were his thoughts as they walked to the basement, not without checking behind him, always.
(The shades are invisible in the dark, yet they linger by the ridge, under the pale sun, where it casts the stark shadows of the rocks on the grass.)
~
As Jowan’s phylactery was fragile and bare in his hands, dread and vertigo seized him. His was no longer there, but somewhere in Denerim where he would never retrieve it. Ah oh, did he want to break it, to break all of those… He did not, and said nothing, though, merely hailing his friend with big gestures of his arm, pointing to the big vial in his hand. It was as if breaking the silence would mean giving themselves up. But as Jowan took his phylactery and eyed it meticulously, it was broken.
— Funny how my freedom, or lack thereof, relies on such a frail little thing, so…easy to destroy, he mused out loud, dropping it to the ground where it shattered loudly, the blood spilling on the tiling and taking a darker hue at the contact of the air. I can almost taste it…
He nurtured conflicted feelings. He wanted to be free, all the while not moving from this prison because the outside world scared him beyond reason. But this prison would grow even more hostile, were it possible, since he was the cause of him being sent to Aeonar. It would have consequences, dire aftermaths by all his companions who would want to avenge him, considering the fact that the only being who could shield him from the lot of them was leaving the Tower permanently. He suppressed a shudder. He had to get out. There was no other way, was it?
— Aed?
His attention snapped back to the present and he frowned.
— Hm?
— What will you do, now? Now that I am…leaving…
He smiled faintly and let out a throaty chuckle.
— Haha, kill myself I guess! he joked, but as usual, there was always an underlying fragment of truth hidden behind the mask, he would either leave or die, that was now decided. No, more seriously…I migh’ leave with the Warden. Venture the world, I don’ know. I, too, wan’ ou’ from this bloodied cage.
— Not funny. Are you not scared of the spawns? Of heading to a sudden and useless death, fighting them?
— Wan… Y’know I do no’ fear death a’ all. No longer.
He nodded, holding Lily’s hand tighter. Maybe…
— Why not come with us instead? We could—
— You forge’ abou’ my phylactery. I’s no longer here, I can’ break i’, so they would find us in no time. No, you canno’ take tha’ risk. You go your way, the two of you, and I go mine. We shall be fine—
I hope, he thought.
He would miss him, but how to tell him? He was his only friend, they had been together for twelve years, he had saved his life, had spiced it up, had protected him the best he could. More than half of his life…everything he could remember properly, he was in.
Life shall be lonely, without you.
Silence stretched between them, heavy, tense, bearing a cross no one else could see, that of ways parting, perhaps never to be reunited. He wanted to speak, to confess to him all his gratitude, his deep affection, his fear of leaving him behind this way. But they had to live their lives, did they not? There was no longer a tether which to climb, they had to fly skywards, be it in opposite directions. But their wings had been severed…his, at least. He had yet to find in himself the will to fly.
Jowan cleared his throat. The longer they stayed, the higher the risk of being discovered.
— Okay, well… he began, biting his lip, looking up to meet his friend’s eyes. This is goodbye, then. Thank you, Aed, for your help, for…everything, really, all those years, and all…
The lump was heavy in his throat which he tried to swallow and his lip quivered. Could it really end this way? Childhood was crashing down against the rocks paving the abyss, having failed to take flight. Blood coating the stone, bones shattered, piercing through the skin.
My, oh my, he was yearning to fly… 4*
— Fare you well, Jowan. Thank you, for…everythin’, he whispered, tremors in his voice, then, a bit louder. For savin’ me, for bein’ here always… I shall never forge’ i’, never forge’ you. You shall be missed.
He said it before he could stop himself and looked away.
— Now you’re sounding as if we’ll never cross paths again. Who can tell? We might come across one another, someday, and catch up on our lives, relive the good old times…
It was enough to let a tear fall from his eye. He dreaded this perspective, that of passing time, and reflecting on things long since lost or forgotten. He nodded though, and did not move, afraid the teardrop might catch the light and appear to his friend’s eyes. He simply glanced back up at him only to see him smile sadly.
— You will be missed as well, though. Trust me on that. Now, fare you well, my friend.
They lingered here for a moment, before hugging tightly, prompt, carrying all the weight of the years stacked on their shoulders. Then, they pulled away, nodded at each other, and headed out of the room to the door upstairs. He followed the couple at a reasonable distance, but approached as they found it ajar. Jowan gulped and looked over his shoulder at him. Worry had crept its way back on his features. It was weaving its way around his bones as well. Were they going to get caught? Now, that was something he had not anticipated. He had feared it faintly like one fears the eventuality of death, not truly realizing one would get hit until the blow came.
— What do we do? the mage mouthed to his friend, who shrugged.
He did not know. They could hardly go back into the basement, there was no way out they were aware of. They were…cornered. He disliked the feeling of it. Just when he was about to be free… Things did not happen without a reason, did they? Perhaps now was not the time… Perhaps it would come later on. Or never, most likely. He stepped closer to Jowan, lay a palm on his shoulder, and ushered him to push the door open, which he reluctantly did. No words were exchanged, yet they understood. I’ will be fine, maybe we can talk our way ou’ of i’.
On the other side of the door, half a dozen Templars, Greagoir, and Irving were waiting. For them. Why such an army for two mages? He spotted him in the corner of the room, a smug look on his features, leaning against the wall, arms crossed. The son of a—
He tensed. So the reckoning came earlier than expected… Good, then. He had not foreseen such an outcome, and its blurry lines did not help with the tension in his shoulders, what was awaiting them now?
Duncan was there as well, he noticed him only when he stepped aside from behind the First Enchanter.
— So he was telling the truth. A mage, potentially a maleficar, at that, seeking an escape, with you, Lily, an initiate, Greagoir began as the Templars circled them and blades were raised to their throats.
Jowan and Lily angled their heads upwards, Aedriel did not move an inch, eyes settling into the Knight Commander’s.
— And then, there’s you, helping him break into the phylacteries chamber, such a sorry sight… I could not believe it then, but now I sure do believe what I see. You do not realize the crime you have just committed. For this, the three of you shall be sent to Aeonar—
— Never! Jowan interrupted, unsheathing a dagger from his boot and plunging it into his palm, flesh ripping open in a crack, blood heavily dripping from the wound onto the cold stone ground.
Lily’s eyes lit up in terror. It could not be…
The smirk was wiped away from his features as he straightened up against the wall, arms uncrossing. A blood mage…
So the accusations were actually funded…and he had never taught him? A shame. Aedriel found out he did not even care, if not felt even glader to have helped him, even though the outcome was not the one they had expected. Now, he was scared of seeing him die. Of dying were he to take his defense—scared of dying?
The maleficar sent a powerful wave of energy, which he shielded the mage and Lily against, that knocked both the Templars, Knight Commander, Irving, and Duncan, out of consciousness. It would not last long, so Jowan turned to Lily and ushered her to follow him, quickly, before they awaken, but she categorically refused.
— I do not know you, maleficar. Begone, and shall we never meet again.
His heart dropped in his stomach. All this, for nothing? No. Not nothing, for freedom. He steadied himself and sharply turned to Aedreiel, ready to fight him if need be, but his friend stood stiff and utterly motionless, smiling at him faintly.
— Go, Wan, I hold no grudge against you, if you knew…
He relaxed slightly but eyed the unconscious bodies scattered on the floor, then gazed back at him.
— Leave as well. We part if you so wish, but, please, flee…
— No. Wha’ for? Them to track me down? No, thanks, I’d rather face my fate alone. You know wha’ I shall do should i’ become too grim. Now, go!
He nodded hastily, cast a last glance to Lily, then ran past his friend, past him, who stood paralyzed, to the main gates which he managed to open and cross without looking back.
Aedriel approached the First Enchanter and checked his pulse, awaiting his awakening.
He eventually got out of his paralysis and approached him, grinning.
— Guess who’s followin’ me to Aeonar? Not what you hoped would happen, is it? We will have so much fun!
He smiled at him, of the very irritating kind, and nodded.
— Sure, sure, so much fun…
— Play it bold all you want, you won’t act the same face to face with me. But maybe you’ll be lucky: I might not even go, after all. I helped arrest two maleficarum—
— One blood mage, he corrected. And one good action does no’ erase all your sick ones.
— We’ll see, we’ll see… I roam the Tower freely, that is a start.
He was about to replicate when Irving stirred and painfully sat up. Blood faintly dripped from his ears, already drying. He helped him on his feet before taking a few steps backwards. Greagoir, Duncan and the other Templars soon awoke as well, slowly regaining their spirits and realizing Jowan had fled. Lily was helping the last Templar up when Greagoir spoke, or more like shouted, pacing angrily between Irving and Duncan.
— Wonderful, now we have a blood mage on the loose, no less, thanks to the two of you!
— This situation is quite a saddening way to put an end to a rather promising future, whatever your choices would have been, Irving said to the mage, an audible murmur carved in disappointment.
He was not disappointed in him, per say. He was disappointed at the whole situation and its entailments. That such a gifted, rigorous and devoted mage ended up at Aeonar merely for having helped another—who inadvertently happened to be a blood mage—escape was a dreadful outcome. Such a waste of talent and work combined, years thrown into the fire. He had seen much worse, in all these years, still it pained him.
Aedriel looked up from the ground to lock eyes with Duncan. Intense gaze, I am already dead, and the man narrowed his eyes, taking a few steps closer.
— Arrest them both, I tire of seeing their faces, Greagoir commanded, eyeing the Warden warily as he stopped pacing.
One of the Templars drew closer to an unmoving Aedriel, who held his head higher than he thought he would be able to—oh, no, he would not break in front of him—, his sword raised in a dissuasive gesture. His eyes bore deep into his, who were no longer reached by a smirk. He would be going as well, he was understanding it, and it did not exactly enchant him.
— Do not forget him! the Templar said, gesturing to him.
He straightened on the spot and briefly closed his eyes before reporting them to Aedriel’s face. Did he regret anything? Mayhaps. Now was not the time to wonder. There was no such thing as repentance or forgiveness.
Duncan stepped between the Templar and Aedriel, defiant, proud, chin high, eyes narrowed, much to the mage’s bewilderment. Eyes widened slightly as his head tilted to the side, breath heavy in anticipation.
— What on earth— the knight began, soon to be interrupted by the Warden.
— I invoke the right of conscription, he stated firmly, dark brown eyes in blue-grey ones. I will take this mage with me and he will become a Grey Warden. He will thus atone for his crimes by serving Ferelden and fighting against the threat to all nations. His debt will be paid off. Besides, it would really be a shame to waste such talent and learning abilities, years of work thrown like a pebble in the pond, over such a minor incident—
— Now you are calling helping a maleficar out, a minor incident? When he almost killed my men?
— Did he only know? Duncan asked, turning to face his new to-be recruit.
— The result is the same! Greagoir barked, then paused. Did you, though?
He shook his head sharply.
— No, I did no’. He told me abou’ the accusations, and since he was so hones’ and open with tha’, I though’ they were jus’ tha’: accusations. Tha’ were i’ true, he would’ve hidden tha’ information from me.
The grey-haired warrior nodded absentmindedly. It did not change much, in the end, to the outcome of their actions. At least there were no ill intentions on his part. He remained opposed to letting him go. Oh, he had seen his longing to learn always more and further than what was taught, and even though he had always remained under the Templars’ supervision, to him he might just as well be a dormant blood mage they were about to cut loose on the sole argument of his talents and hard work, precious skills in fields no Circle mage usually studied. Irving’s favorite’s perks.
— I consent to you taking him, Duncan, the First Enchanter said, closing the distance between him and his former pupil. May you accomplish greater things than you possibly could have, here, by defending our nation against a greater threat than one can imagine. If this is a Blight, your help, your abilities shall prove valuable, useful, so shall you be.
— Irving! Have you lost your mind? For all we know, he might just as well be a maleficar in the making, and you wish to allow him out of here? You cannot possibly be serious—
— I am dead serious, Greagoir. This mage is able to accomplish many a thing, I believe Aeonar is too heavy a sentence for this incident. There are circumstances, he spat the word while glancing over his shoulder at him who stood bewildered at such a turn of events, we have to take into account, for him wanting to help a friend out. We have not been, to him, the safe home we attempted to be. How did he convince you to help him, though? he asked, gazing back at the mage.
— He told me he was goin’ to be made Tranquil. I could no’…le’ this happen. He was all I had here, a’ the Tower. So I chose to lose him to freedom rather than Tranquility.
I knew nothin’ abou’ blood magic.
— I see. Your loyalty is to be acknowledged. I am certain you can put it to a better use. It honors you, still.
Greagoir rolled his eyes. Why not openly congratulate him for letting Jowan escape, while he was at it?
Aedriel was simultaneously eyeing all three of his interlocutors. He could not believe it, he was going out after all? He escaped Aeonar, escaped him for good? He cared not if it cost him his life on a remote battlefield, at least, he would be out from his iron grip, out from this gilded-not-so-gilded prison. He would sure try to enjoy freedom, as he could, could he only handle it without burning his wings to the pyre.
— You, Irving started, turning to him, on the other hand, are going to Aeonar. Repeatedly assaulting one of your comrades, and moreover attacking him with magic, this is unforgivable, and you should have been punished much earlier. It is a mistake I shall regret, he added, nodding at Aedriel, who nodded back solemnly. Greagoir, you will not disagree that these are crimes more serious than this.
He snorted.
— It is not all about intensity. Here, the nature of the crime differs, still it should be punished. But, fine, have it your way, take him with you. Much good may it do you. But do not forget you are still bound to us by your phylactery. You are no longer under our control, per say, but if you go rogue, we will track you down.
He nodded again, jaw clenched. Do not fuck this up banged against the wall of his head, he was granted a single spell to cast, he had to choose wisely in order to remain alive for as long as he could—or wanted to.
He ignored his pleas coating the background noises in mist as a Templar went to arrest him. He focused on Greagoir, Irving and Duncan instead.
— As for her, the Commander hissed, pointing to Lily, she goes to Aeonar as well.
— She is under your responsibility, so suit yourself. My mage, however, learns to become a Grey Warden, he answered placidly, then turned back to his former student. Fare you well, Aedriel. Be safe, and may you find out there in the world what the Circle failed to provide you.