Fic: Warden's Intention
Fandom: Dragonage: Origins
Genre: Angst
Pairings: m!Surana/Jowan
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: ~8800
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Notes: Written for the following prompt on the kink meme:
After being let go for the last time*, Jowan runs into M!Mage warden at an inn and decides to formally apologize for everything (i.e. the events that occurred in Origins). M!Mage could have been in love with Jowan (whether Jowan himself knew or not is up to anon), angry at him, worried about him, etc.
This is set after Jowan's Intention: http://dragonage.wikia.com/wiki/Jowan%27s_Intention
Could be post-game too, like years later perhaps with the warden as Commander of Amaranthine. So long as it follows that quest's continuity.
Fluff, angst, comfort. Anything along the likes of that~
First finished fill on the kink meme!
Warden's Intention
Jowan just stood there, as if he wasn’t one of the most hunted outlaws in Ferelden. His brow was creased with worry, not unusual for Jowan, but he seemed to relax when it was decided he would be sent with the mages, and that once he returned to the tower, his fate would be completely in their hands, whether for good or ill.
Alim Surana just stared. Everyone knew well what his fate would be once returned to the Tower. No matter how much he or anyone else thought he’d redeemed himself, a maleficar remained a maleficar, and was at best offered one of two choices - death or being made Tranquil.
Even if - and it was a big if - Irving and the other mages decided to allow Jowan to keep both his life and his ability to traverse the Fade, Greagoir never would. The Knight Commander was not unreasonable, but no templar, however benevolent, could allow a maleficar to go unpunished somehow. And a rap on the knuckles was hardly appropriate punishment.
“Very well,” Alim bit out, inexplicably furious, not at the decision, which was inevitable, he knew - but at the way Jowan’s face had cleared at the declaration of his fate. He forced himself to unclench his fists, hearing blood pounding in his ears. “Jowan goes with you. But I would speak to him first. Alone.”
The elf ignored the surprised, cautious looks that Alistair and Leliana shot his way, not needing to explain his actions. Jowan had been his best friend for as long as he could remember, and he was not about to let him be fed to the wolves without at least this much.
Irving studied him for a moment, contemplatively, his eyes sharp, even now making Alim feel like an irrational child, and he stared back defiantly. The First Enchanter sighed softly, sounding old and tired, but compassion and perhaps a hint of understanding gleamed in his eyes. “Very well,” he said, inclining his head. “Say your goodbyes.”
Bann Teagan stepped forward, his curiosity well hidden, his manners at the fore. As soon as the door swung shut behind them, leaving them alone in an otherwise empty room, Alim swung on his best friend angrily.
“That’s it?” he asked him incredulously, glaring at Jowan. “You’re giving up?”
Jowan stared back, serenity giving way to surprise. “You want me to run away again?”
“Is that even a question? You know what’s going to happen to you at the Tower…you have to run before it’s too late!”
Jowan stared at Alim in silence, before shaking his head again, sadly, the crease in his forehead returning. “I can’t…I can’t run anymore,” he said, and his voice was tired, as tired as Irving’s had been. “It’s my fault…you’ve seen what happens when I’m allowed to make my own decisions. I deserve whatever they decide to do with me. No more running.”
“No one deserves that, especially not you!” Alim retorted angrily, gesturing wildly, as if trying to shake some sense into his friend. “Come with me if you want to atone for your mistakes!”
Jowan tilted his head, studying his friend, not blind to the anger in Alim. “I’m more likely to help the darkspawn win by helping you,” he said, mouth twisting wryly. “I seem to mess things up more often than not.” He shrugged slightly, spreading his arms. “Look at me, Alim. I’m a blood mage, a maleficar. I poisoned Arl Eamon, and my only idea to fix things would have been for Lady Isolde to die for her son. You, on the other hand, saved Redcliffe from the undead, saved the Circle of Magi and managed to save Connor without further bloodshed. I’m not like you, Alim. I’m no hero.”
“You’re…Maker, Jowan, I can’t let them take you to your death,” the elf said, his anger draining into hopelessness. “I can’t…I won't let that happen!” He looked around feverishly, walking to the only window in the room and fumbling at the fastening. “It’s not too late, you can still escape…”
A hand on his shoulder stopped him, and Alim turned to look into soft, brown eyes. “Alim,” he said softly, and the elf felt his energy draining away from him, replaced by tired despair. Why was it that Jowan was growing a noble backbone now, of all times? “I…can’t tell you how much it means to me, the fact that you want to save me from…all this. But I have caused it, can’t you understand that? It’s time I faced the consequences. I…would not deserve your friendship if I ran away now.”
“Damn you, Jowan, damn you,” Alim’s fist clenched around Jowan’s robe, pulling him close, eyes blazing through tears that threatened to spill. “I hate you so much for doing this to me…”
The maleficar lowered his head, placing a hand over Alim’s fist sadly. “I’m sorry, Alim,” he whispered. “I can’t seem to help hurting everyone I love…you, Lily…”
“And damn Lily!” Alim shouted, whirling and slamming a fist into a wall, once twice, until his knuckles were bleeding. “That Chantry hag! I don’t get it! I would have done anything for you, Jowan, anything, and you go and shack up with that no good whore, who betrayed you the first chance you get…and you still love her? Fuck, I hate her and you both! I hope they do kill you, maybe then I’ll be rid of you once and for all!”
“Alim?” Jowan’s voice was uncertain, his eyes wide, and the elf threw caution to the winds, whirling around and kissing Jowan savagely, tangling his fingers into the other mage’s hair painfully, giving him no room to move away. He broke it a moment later, pushing Jowan away with as much force as he’d used to kiss him, furious at himself and the other man both.
Jowan stumbled two paces backwards, staring at Alim with enormous eyes, shocked. “I…I didn’t…”
“You didn’t know?” Alim took a step forward, years of pent up emotion finally unlocked, his walls shattered, the emotions tumbling out of him without restraint. “Yeah well, about fucking time you realized it, genius! I’ve always been right there, and you never even noticed me, always waiting for you when you failed yet again at getting one of the girls to notice you…and then you left me for Lily…and then you left me to face the templars alone…”
Jowan looked devastated, and stepped forward, pulling Alim into a hug. The elf writhed viciously at first, not wanting the comfort - it was far too little, far too late. But somehow tears were streaming down his cheeks and he found himself clinging to Jowan desperately, who embraced him tightly.
They remained like that for a long time, until Alim seemed to have cried himself out, and then Jowan’s arms loosened. The elf looked up at Jowan, before brushing their lips together, and then moved away. He rubbed his face on his sleeves, knowing he must have looked like a mess. “You won’t change your mind?”
“I’m sorry, Alim.”
The elf bowed his head. “Then I’m sorry too, Jowan,” he said, reaching for a dagger at his belt.
“Wait, what…?” Jowan started to ask, eyes widening, but Alim grimly slashed at his arm. Jowan gasped, moving forward, but Alim flung his hands wide and Jowan froze, seeing the air shimmer around the slender elf, the all too familiar haze of blood magic surrounding him.
“You are going to escape right now,” Alim said calmly, moving forwards to stand in front of Jowan, eyes fixed on the taller man. “You will forget this stupid, crazy idea of letting them take you back to the tower…you will run as far as you can until you are certain they have no idea where you are.”
Jowan nodded once, jerkily, his eyes unfocused and glassy, Alim’s magic digging coaxing, cajoling fingers into his mind, his commands irresistible. Alim allowed himself the luxury of studying Jowan’s face for a few moments, lifting a hand and trailing gentle fingers down Jowan’s stubbled cheek, a gesture he’d always dreamed of having the privilege of doing. “Stay safe, Jowan,” he whispered, before turning away. “Now, go!”
By the time the First Enchanter realized that their goodbye was taking suspiciously long, Jowan had disappeared. And by the disappointment in Irving’s eyes, Alim suspected he knew just what had happened - but he couldn’t bring himself to care. Jowan was safe.
~*~
After what seemed like months on the road, Alim barely even glanced at the faces of the people they encountered anymore. As long as they were not trying to riddle him with arrows or frying his ass with lightning, he was quite content to let anyone be. He had enough trouble on his plate already.
Of course however, if they encountered anyone who seemed like they needed a hand, he was quite willing to help. Firstly because some of his companions had too pure a conscience, and secondly because even he wasn’t so heartless as to watch people being slaughtered and stroll by whistling, even if it did tend to slow them down.
So when they chanced upon a band of ragtag peasants being attacked by rabid, infected wolves and bears he quickly unslung his staff, noticing Alistair charging the closest wolf and Leliana sneaking around the fighting to backstab one of the creatures.
Tossing an arcane bolt at the nearest wolf, Alim was more than a little surprised when a lightning bolt shot seemingly out of nowhere from behind him, flinging one of the rabid wolves backwards. Wynne was visible at the corner of his eyes and she was too busy healing to attack the creatures herself.
The last creature being efficiently dealt with by Alistair, Alim whirled curiously around - only to find himself face to face with Jowan.
“Alim?!”
The warden’s breath hitched in his throat, unable to believe that after all the days and nights spent worrying about his friend, wondering whether he had in fact survived or had run afoul of templars, darkspawn, or bandits, he could run into him so unexpectedly. Was this another trick, another spirit that had come to taunt him for his loss as in their search for the ashes?
“I remember you,” Leliana said, the rogue moving closer as she sheathed her blades. “You’re the mage we met in Arl Eamon’s dungeon.”
“What?” Alistair’s head snapped up. With two quick strides he was next to Alim, a frown marring his handsome features. Alim foresaw trouble - Alistair had never forgiven Jowan for daring to harm his precious father figure - and immediately stepped in front of the ex-templar in an attempt to calm him down. Spirit or not, no one could touch his Jowan.
“Alistair, wait,” he began, just as one of the peasants blurted out “Please don’t hurt good Master Levyn! He’s saved us three times over!”
“And what’s he looking to get in return?” Alistair asked, eyes narrowed. Alim placed his palm on the flat part of Alistair’s blade, pushing it down.
“Alistair,” he said sharply. “You know Jowan’s my friend. Stand down.”
“Some friend. He didn’t seem to care about hurting you to make his escape last time.”
“Ah, that was…” Alim stuttered, shooting Jowan a shamefaced look, remembering how he had explained the bleeding wound back in Redcliffe when they had discovered Jowan gone, figuring there was nothing he could say that could make things worse for the maleficar at that point. “Jowan didn’t actually attack me. That was…a misunderstanding.”
“It sounded clear enough when you explained to First Enchanter Irving how young Master Levyn escaped,” Wynne said dryly, disapproval clear in her eyes.
“Please,” it was Jowan who broke in this time, sorrow and regret in his eyes. “I know I’ve done wrong, and I do not deserve your mercy…but I am trying to help, now.” Alim turned to face him again, hope blossoming in his chest. This was no spirit, this really was Jowan, the same pleading, hopeful boy he’d always adored. Before he could speak up, one of Jowan’s companions interrupted.
“If you want to hurt him you’ll have to go through me.” It was a woman who spoke, and she stepped up to stand at Jowan’s side, a blade in each hand. She was obviously unseasoned - she wore no armor and Alim was certain even he could knock the blades out of her hands without effort - and yet she was ready to defend Jowan at risk to her own life. The elf felt a stab of jealousy, and caught himself scowling at her.
“He is a blood mage, child,” Wynne told the woman, her words directed at the woman and Alim both, placing a hand on the elf’s shoulder, which was immediately shrugged off. “They cannot be trusted, no matter what.”
“He saved my child from darkspawn,” the woman said, her voice wavering, her resolve unshaken. “And Steven would be blind if he hadn’t healed him. I don’t care what he’s done before, Master Levyn is a good man.” Behind her, the other peasants nodded, their faces without a trace of doubt.
Alim let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “No one’s going to hurt him,” he said finally, irritably. “Alistair, Arl Eamon’s fine, so just…let it go. Wynne, you’ve heard them. If this isn’t atonement, I don’t know what is. You of all people should know that good and evil aren’t always clear cut.” Wynne met his gaze head on, her clear blue eyes sharp and piercing, but eventually nodded, looking away.
“Very well,” she murmured. “I will trust your judgement on the matter.”
“Thank you,” Alim said, unable to keep the sarcasm out of his voice. “Now let’s go to Eamon before we have no Ferelden left to save.” He turned back to Jowan, who seemed relieved - as if he hadn’t been certain Alim would be able to stop his companions from hurting him. The warden felt a familiar rush of anger - why could Jowan not understand that he would never, ever let anyone hurt him?
“Thank you,” Jowan said, smiling tentatively. “I’ll…you won’t regret letting me go this time, I promise.”
Alim nodded once, curtly, not trusting himself to speak.
“Let’s go,” Jowan said, turning to his companions, and the warden found himself staring at Jowan’s retreating back.
That’s it? He wanted to scream incredulously at Jowan. I haven’t seen you in months, I did not know you were alive, and you walk away as if it’s nothing at all? But he didn’t speak, his jaw clenched tightly shut, afraid of what he would actually say if he let his tongue loose.
“Alim, we need to go,” Leliana said gently, when Alim remained rooted to the spot, face so stony it spoke volumes. The elf nodded once, a quick jerk of the head, and turned away. Resolutely ignoring the thoughtful look in Wynne’s eyes and Leliana’s sympathetic glances, he led the way to Eamon, away from the most important person in his life.
~*~
Alim cradled his mug of cheap ale, sitting alone in a corner at the tavern. The Hero of Ferelden had finally decided that Vigil’s Keep could live without him for some time - and, more importantly, that the Warden Commander needed time away from his duties. So here he was, traveling aimlessly, blending into the crowd - at least as much as an elf carrying a staff could blend in with commoners. But templars didn’t worry him. He never stayed long enough in one place, and the Warden’s Sigil Ring he carried should be enough to prove his identity, if necessary.
He wasn’t one for socializing, and ignored most people unless it was to glare at them for disrupting his thoughts. But one voice snapped him to attention, a voice he knew all too well, a voice that belonged to the boy who had been his constant companion for roughly twenty years, just before he’d been forced to leave the tower.
Except that Jowan was hardly a boy anymore. He had ditched the robes and staff - instead he was wearing clothes that were plain but looked well made. There was a small blade at his hip, and there was something different about him that Alim couldn’t quite put his finger on.
Jowan seemed to sense the stare and looked up, straight at Alim. The apostate froze, and a conflicted look immediately crossed his face, before he looked down at the men at the table and murmured something to them. Then he crossed the tavern to stand in front of the warden, who couldn’t help a beatific smile from lighting up his face.
“Jowan,” he said, and Jowan finally smiled in return, shaking his head.
“Alim,” he said, sitting down opposite him at the table. “It’s been…you’re incredible,” he said, a familiar look of wonder in his eyes, the same expression that he’d worn so often back at the tower when the two of them had been practically joined at the hip. “Your name is on everyone’s lips. You saved Ferelden…I couldn’t believe it. Except that I could, of course. You’ve always been one of a kind.”
The glow of pride that suffused through Alim felt like a warm summer’s eve, all the more surprising because praise for killing the archdemon had been heaped on him so often that it was starting to be annoying, rather than gratifying. Yet hearing it from Jowan was different. This was something he could treasure.
“Aren’t you worried I’ll get a big head with all this praise?” he asked Jowan somewhat teasingly. The apostate laughed.
“You have problems with an overinflated ego?” he asked wryly, and Alim stuck his tongue out at him. He was never one to be modest, but then he believed in credit where it was due, and he had always been ahead of the other apprentices.
“How are you doing, Jowan?”
“Levyn,” the other corrected. “It’s Levyn now. No one calls me Jowan anymore.” He smiled, somewhat wistfully. “I’m…not the same man you knew before. I was so stupid, Alim.” He took a deep breath. “I have you to thank for that. If you hadn’t made me run away, they would have made me Tranquil. My life would be over.”
“Being made Tranquil was the reason you ran away from the tower in the first place. I couldn’t let that happen.”
“And you didn’t…although…” Jowan’s eyes flickered once around the tavern, seeking potential eavesdroppers. “Alim, you really shouldn’t be using…that magic. It poisons you, corrupts your mind.” He frowned at the table surface, fingernails trying to dig grooves into the wood nervously. “If I hadn’t dabbled back then…things would be so different now. It ruined everything.”
“Your crazy feelings for Lily ruined everything,” Alim retorted sharply. “Like we didn’t have enough templars hounding us all day, you needed more Chantry interference.”
Jowan winced. “I still can’t believe you called her a fat cow,” he said under his breath. “If only we hadn’t been caught…”
“And then you’d have done what?” Alim asked, unable to restrain the surge of irrational anger. “Run away and got married, and then what? Are you still pining after her? She betrayed you, have you forgotten that?”
“No…no, Lily was a long time ago,” Jowan said, turning his head away. “Alim, back at Redcliffe…you said…”
“I said many things, you’ll have to be more specific,” Alim shrugged nonchalantly, but his heart pounded suddenly, in fear or anticipation - he wasn’t sure which.
“I left you to face the Templars alone,” Jowan said softly, looking pained. “I’ve thought of that ever since Redcliffe and…I have no excuse. I couldn’t face anyone after Lily’s rejection and…I never stopped to think that you got into trouble for me.”
“For helping a maleficar destroy his phylactery and attempt escape from the tower? So unlikely,” Alim said, a hint of anger still showing. It wasn’t that he wanted to see Jowan suffer, but the thought had haunted him ever since that night. He had helped Jowan despite the fact that he just wanted to set Lily on fire, and then it had blown up in his face. Topping it all off was the fact that his so called best friend had escaped and hadn’t even stopped to drag him along.
“It’s hard enough already to live with what I’ve done, Alim, you don’t need to rub it in,” Jowan clenched his jaw, looking miserable and Alim sighed.
“Well, I wouldn’t have been conscripted if that hadn’t happened. I suppose it turned out for the best, in the end,” he muttered, feeling wretched himself at the sight of such a despondent Jowan.
“You mean…that’s why you joined the Grey Wardens?” Jowan looked stunned, and Alim blinked in surprise.
“You didn’t know? Greagoir hit the roof, Irving gave me a speech and they couldn’t decide what to do with me.” Alim didn’t mention how he’d been so hurt at Jowan’s betrayal - his best friend had been in love with Lily, he hadn’t saw fit to trust him with the secret of blood magic and then he abandoned him - that he’d lashed out at the Knight Commander and First Enchanter, not with magic but with words dripping with spite and hate. If Duncan hadn’t stepped in, Alim still didn’t know what punishment they would have meted out for such insubordination. “Duncan stepped in, slapped an order of conscription on me and - just like that, I was out. Out of the Circle and into the fire,” he added under his breath.
Jowan’s eyes were wide, uncertain. “I guess it was for the best then,” he seemed to conclude. “You saved Ferelden, you’re a hero. You’d have been wasted in the Circle.”
Alim snorted. “Butter me up, go on,” he said, but the tension eased from his shoulders. Jowan was still staring at him in wonder, but then he leaned forward, his eyes turning earnest.
“Alim, promise me you won’t use blood magic anymore,” he whispered, and Alim frowned.
“That’s rich, coming from you.”
“You should listen because I’m the one saying it. You start using it and it becomes easier every day. I know what I’m talking about, and I’m sure you do too, if you had the nerve to use it on me and you didn’t even bother to make me forget it.”
“I don't see the need to hide anything from my best friend," Alim snapped. "And you left me no choice, being so intent on dying, or losing everything that makes you you by nobly deciding to go quietly back to the tower.”
“That’s the trouble with blood magic, isn’t it? It’s always because we think we have no choice.” He held up his hand to ward off Alim’s retort. “No, listen. It really is always the case. I started dabbling because I thought I had no choice - not if I wanted to pass my Harrowing and become a full mage.” He laughed, a short bitter laugh. “Ironic, as it turned out. But I wanted so badly to be like you - able to learn anything new at the blink of an eye.”
“But I never used blood magic,” Alim protested. “You can’t seriously tell me you did it so you could be more like me.”
“I just wanted to be on a par with you. Crazy, I know. But you choosing blood magic makes things ten times worse because you’ve seen firsthand how badly things can go wrong. I don’t understand how you can still justify its use. And I was lucky, I stopped almost immediately. Before it consumed me.”
“Maybe I’m stronger than you,” Alim snapped, immediately growing aggressive. “And maybe it’s none of your damn business. How do you think I managed to face and defeat an Archdemon? I’m not just running around babysitting refugees.” As soon as the words were out, he regretted them, seeing Jowan’s eyes shutter.
“Jowan, wait,” the elf said, reaching across the table to grab Jowan’s sleeve as the apostate stood up, looking hurt. “I’m…I didn’t mean that, alright? Sit.”
“I should be getting back to babysitting refugees,” Jowan said bitterly, and Alim winced.
“I’m sorry, Jowan…please sit down. I haven’t seen you in so long…I miss you. I will follow you if you try to leave,” he added, seeing Jowan still undecided.
The apostate sighed irritably. “You are so mule headed, Alim,” he said, but he sat down again, albeit reluctantly.
“You’ve known that for a very long time.”
“Far too long.” Jowan sighed, shaking his head. “And you haven’t changed a bit.” He paused, looking down at the table. “I mean it, you know,” he continued softly. “I have been lucky, considering. You gave me a new life back in Redcliffe. Even though you shouldn’t have. By sending me away you gave me the chance to redeem myself. I’m helping people, Alim. I never thought I…I’m glad you gave me a chance.”
“Jowan, I…” Alim said, licking his lips and nervously trying to summon enough courage - the same courage that enabled him to face an army of darkspawn without flinching - to tell Jowan just how much he meant to him, but Jowan continued musing as if he hadn’t heard.
“Look at you. The Hero of Ferelden, and a Warden Commander. How on Earth did someone like me befriend someone like you?”
Alim snorted. “Don’t. I hear enough of that. I’m no different from what I was back at the tower.”
“That’s probably true,” Jowan said wryly. “Still obnoxious, still rude. But, seriously - why didn’t you tell me to fuck off? You hated everyone else.”
Alim shrugged, casting his mind back twenty or so odd years.
The first time they’d met, Alim Surana was a six year old who hated the entire world, but most especially the templars, the Chantry and the Circle, the callous heartless people who had torn him from his loving (if poor) family in the alienage, not to mention all shem in general, on principle. So when this shem, a couple of years older at best, came looking for him, Alim was anything but friendly.
He was huddled under a bed, hidden from prying eyes. He was pretty sure he had a lesson he was supposed to attend, but what did he care? He hated them and their rules. He hadn’t asked for magic and didn’t want it. He just wanted to go home. So when Jowan poked his head under the bed, looking for him, it was by pure luck that he managed to dodge the well aimed kick that Alim headed his way.
“Hey!” Jowan frowned, moving safely out of reach of the elf’s legs, but keeping him within sight. “What’s the big idea?”
“Go away,” the elf had growled, crossing his arms across his chest and directing a glare at Jowan that should have made him quail in fear and run away. Unfortunately for Alim, a six year old does not make for a very formidable opponent, and Jowan seemed unimpressed.
“What’s the matter with you? We’re waiting for you to start the lesson!”
Alim snorted at the thinly veiled excitement in the shem’s voice. “Who cares? I don’t want magic,” the boy complained, keeping an eye on Jowan to ensure he didn’t try getting any closer.
“You don’t?” The surprise in Jowan’s voice made Alim pause. “Why not?”
“Why should I want magic when it’s just going to keep me locked up in here for the rest of my life?” To his horror, Alim felt tears prickle at the back of his eyelids, and he blinked rapidly, trying to dispel the tears. He was not going to cry, especially not in front of this shem!
“But think of what you’ll be able to do with magic,” Jowan said, settling back on his haunches, a small dreamy smile on his lips. “We’ll be so powerful…”
Alim had opened his mouth, ready for a scathing response when he saw the fervor in Jowan’s eyes. “Oh yeah?” he asked instead, somewhat impressed despite himself. “Can you cast anything yet?”
Jowan had nodded proudly, an eight year old with bright brown eyes and an easy smile. “I can! The freezing spell is my favourite so far.”
Alim digested this in silence. “Show me,” he decided, tentatively moving closer to the other boy but remaining safely under the bed. Jowan blinked.
“Now? But…I’m not supposed to cast any spells without the enchanters around,” he demurred, shaking his head.
“Come on,” Alim wheedled, moving even closer. “No one’s around - who’s going to know? Show me!”
Jowan cast a furtive look around, but Alim was right - the dormitory was empty. “Okay,” he agreed, getting up and spreading his hands. He cleared his throat somewhat self consciously as Alim crawled out from under the bed for a better look. “Here goes.”
Jowan concentrated, and as Alim watched eagerly, frost burst from his splayed fingertips, shooting forwards excitedly and erratically. It vanished in a puff almost immediately, the apprentice far too young and inexperienced to have the desired effect, but Alim seemed fascinated.
“More,” he demanded, and Jowan, emboldened by the semi success of his first spell decided to try for a fireball. His face scrunched up in concentration, a small ball of energy - more light than fire - glowed between his fingertips.
Alim’s jaw fell open. “Wow,” he breathed, reaching out towards the suspended glowing orb between Jowan’s hands. He just wanted to feel the heat emanating from it, but Jowan - already jumpy at breaking the rules - panicked.
“Don’t!” Alim jumped as the ball shot out of Jowan’s hands erratically, the flustered apprentice losing control of his spell. The small sphere sailed in an arc straight out of the open door, growing bigger and brighter just to explode right in the middle of the corridor outside.
There was a roar of anger and a Templar appeared in the doorway. “Jowan!” the man said accusingly, and Jowan stared in horror, frozen to the spot. Alim took only a second to wonder why the boy didn’t run before he was grabbing his sleeve and dragging him to the other door.
“Run, stupid!” Still horrified, Jowan allowed himself to break into a run after Alim. They tore through the tower like two little demons, Alim still too young to know that running away was pointless. This wasn’t the alienage, where one tiny elf could get lost amongst the crowd. But Jowan ran right along with him, bug eyed in horror at the thought of the ensuing punishment.
And he was punished, of course, when caught, which didn’t take long. Alim was left off the hook, but he had snuck away from dinner with his food and gone to where Jowan was miserably staring at a book, with only stale bread and water to eat, and had shared his food with him. He didn’t know what had made him do that, what had made him take a shine to the shemlen boy, but Jowan gave him such a grateful, wide eyed look that - later, much later, he thought that was the moment that he fell well and truly in love.
From then on, the two of them were inseparable.
At first he followed Jowan around like a puppy, but after a few months in the tower, their positions were reversed. Alim’s aggressive nature made enemies everywhere - he was rude to the other apprentices, spoke back when the enchanters chastised him, and took pleasure in being disobedient. But Jowan - anxious and often cowardly - followed him everywhere, allowing him to lead him into trouble on a daily basis. Their friendship, all the more unusual because Alim couldn’t stand anyone’s else’s company, baffled mages and templars alike.
They had tried separating them, but it hadn’t worked. Furious, Alim had refused to eat, drink or attend his lessons, no matter how many stripes they painted on his back. In the end they had given up, not just because of Alim’s stubbornness, but also because, despite the trouble they got up to, Alim had the patience to help Jowan in his studies. Naturally talented and gifted, Alim often chafed at the pace the enchanters set to accommodate slower students. Jowan was his direct opposite - he learned slowly, needing repetition to master anything more complicated than the most basic spells, and Alim was more than happy to spend hours helping him perfect his techniques while enchanters kept a sharp eye on them but focused their energies on other students. Away from the watchful, critical eyes of the templars and enchanters, Jowan’s studies progressed even faster under Alim’s tutelage, and no one was happier than Alim about this.
He had always watched over Jowan like a hawk. Jowan was mostly liked by the other apprentices, although his penchant for talking and acting before thinking often made him the butt of others’ jokes. But no one dared to do so with Alim around. It was soon evident to pretty much the entire tower that Alim was irrationally, completely, and absolutely head over heels for Jowan. Evident to everyone, that is, except the apprentice himself. Jowan was completely oblivious and this was the one secret that Alim hid from him, even as they grew up, and he suffered the cocktail of hormones that puberty inevitably brought with it.
Things were fine as they were. Certainly, it was difficult to have the target of his affections with him almost constantly and having to restrain himself, especially when they woke up in the same bed and Alim wanted nothing more than to roll on top of Jowan and act out all the fantasies that plagued him day and night. But in the Circle, one did not confess true love, have it returned, and live happily ever after. Alim had been certain that eventually, things would progress. No other mage would dare to touch his Jowan, and those that even so much as glanced his way twice eventually regretted it. Alim had no qualms about being a bully or a jerk, especially when his best friend was concerned.
Eventually Jowan would finally realize his feelings, and of course, would figure out they were not only perfect for each other, but belonged together. So Alim had left things as they were, patiently waiting for the inevitable. But he had misjudged Jowan, and much to his dismay, Jowan had fallen well and truly for someone that was not him, a threat that he had never anticipated because he had never seriously considered that his friend could be interested in an initiate. Not when Alim hated the Chantry so much and all it stood for. Inevitably, it had all been downhill from there.
“Are you really still that dense?” Alim asked finally after a moment’s silence, returning to the present where he was a Grey Warden and Jowan a reformed maleficar. “Jowan, I think I made myself abundantly clear back in Redcliffe. I have always been crazy about you. I…”
“Don’t,” Jowan said, turning his head away, wincing. Alim stilled his tongue immediately, feeling his cheeks flush in shame. Jowan squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, murmuring something under his breath before looking back at the hero of Ferelden, eyes pleading for understanding.
“Alim, I’m…married now.”
Alim’s world teetered. “Married?” he asked blankly.
Jowan nodded, fixing his eyes on the table again. “Her name is Helena. We’ve been married almost a year now.”
A numbness had settled over Alim, as the elf struggled to reconcile the idea of Jowan married with the relentless idea he’d had that the two of them were meant to be together in the end. Surely after all they’d been through, after he had ensured he lived, surely it had to have a happy ending for him, for them both.
But Jowan was married, married to some woman Alim had never even met.
In sickness and in health, till death do them part…
He was still staring blankly at an anxious Jowan when a petite woman entered the tavern, looking around as if searching for someone. Her face lit up when she saw Jowan, and she approached the two of them. “Levyn?”
“Helena!” the apostate said, evidently relieved at the interruption, getting to his feet and placing a gentle hand on the woman’s back. Somewhere in the back of his mind, there was a stab of angry jealousy, but Alim was too numb to feel it, detachedly realising what was different about Jowan. It was confidence. He had always been an unsure, nervous boy, but now a strong, confident man stood there, a man who had found something to live for, someone to die for. Someone who was not Alim. “This is the Hero of Ferelden. Alim, this is my wife Helena.”
She was pretty, Alim’s analytical mind supplied, the only part of him that seemed immune to the numbness penetrating his soul; prettier than Lily, and he hated her, and she smiled at him.
“I’m so glad to finally meet you,” she said in musical tones. “Levyn has told me so much about you.”
Alim felt bile rise at the back of his throat, an automatic vitriolic response, but his attention was distracted by what the woman was carrying. What had seemed like a bundle of rags was in actual fact a little baby boy, swathed in swaddling clothes. The tiny creature blinked sleepily at him, an expression of hopeful curiosity that was so familiar to Alim that he would have known the child anywhere even if his eyes and face hadn’t been almost a miniature replica of his father.
Jowan.
The venomous, cutting response died on his lips. This woman wasn’t Lily, she wasn’t Jowan’s girlfriend; she wasn’t even just his wife - she was the mother of his child. The pain in his chest suddenly tore through his numbness, flooding him with an anguish he hadn’t thought himself capable of feeling.
“He looks just like you,” he managed instead, as the child made tiny gurgling noises. Jowan looked inordinately proud as Helena beamed down at him fondly.
“His name is Alim,” she said softly, looking up at him with a gentle smile, and what was left of Alim’s heart shattered into a thousand pieces.
“I have to go,” he mumbled, making a break for the door, leaving behind him an anxious Jowan and a bewildered Helena.
He ran without direction, sinking ankle deep in mud made worse by the rain beating the ground mercilessly, until he staggered to a halt, lost in more ways than one. Jowan found him sometime later, soaked through, sitting down in the mud, his back to a barn. His head was resting against the wall, his upturned face being caressed gently by the rain, the same expression of abject misery that his six year old self had worn the first time they’d met.
Jowan approached him tentatively, but Alim didn’t move.
“Alim?”
“You named him after me,” the elf said, eyes squeezed shut, fists clenched. Jowan nodded. Alim shuddered, lifting his knees to his chest and wrapping his arms around them, before laughing bitterly. “You shouldn’t have. Kid deserves better.”
“I’m pretty certain Alim will become the most famous name in Ferelden,” Jowan said, attempting to lighten the atmosphere, without success. “But I don’t care that you defeated the Archdemon. You’ve been the best friend anyone could ever ask for, and that’s why I named my son after you. No one’s ever meant so much to me. I can only hope he turns out to be like you.”
Alim snorted, raking a hand through his hair savagely. “Like me? You want your son to be like me? Don’t assume you have any idea what it means to be me!”
“I know that you’ve always…”
“I bargained with a demon and traded the soul of a boy for the power of blood magic,” Alim interrupted flatly, voice hard, eyes like chips of ice. “For revenge on his bitch of a mother. I fought the archdemon because I had no choice. I use blood magic without care because I’ve nothing left to lose. I…” his breath caught in his throat, his voice rising in volume with every word. “I…got a woman with child in blood magic ritual to survive the archdemon. I don’t even know where the woman or my child is. So don’t ever fucking say that you want your son to be like me.”
Alim’s voice broke on the last word and the warden bowed his head, silent tears streaming down his cheeks, mingling with the rain. After what seemed like an eternity, Jowan sat down next to Alim with a sigh. “You traded Connor’s soul for knowledge of blood magic?” he asked sorrowfully. Alim nodded, looking away.
“I don’t even feel sorry for it,” he said, scrubbing at his face with dirty fingers. “I’d do it again if I had the chance. I wanted that bitch to suffer, and I’m only sorry she won’t know it was me. Everyone thinks killing an archdemon makes me a hero, but they have no idea what it really meant…what it took to get there. Besides, I wasn’t the only one fighting the damn thing,” he said wearily. “I struck the killing blow, whoop-de-doo. I’d have been absolutely useless without Alistair and the others backing me up every step of the way.”
Jowan sighed. “Are you sure you wouldn’t save Connor if you could go back and change things?” he asked softly. “You’re miserable, Alim. You’re obviously not happy with yourself, with what you did.”
“I’m not happy with myself because I have darkspawn blood in my veins, and given a few years I will turn into one myself,” Alim snapped. “You know what I’m expected to do? Go out in a blaze of glory while fighting darkspawn before that happens. Being a Grey Warden comes with such wonderful benefits.”
Jowan looked shocked, but then he placed a hand on Alim’s shoulder. “I’m sorry,” he said sadly. “That’s my fault. I would undo it if I could. But you said you have years before that happens. Are you going to waste your life being utterly miserable?”
“I’m not...”
“You wouldn’t act like the world hates you if you were happy,” Jowan said, and Alim slammed his first into the ground next to him.
“What the fuck do you want from me?” he shouted. “I can’t do anything for myself because someone always needs something - crown our king, kill the werewolves, save the tower, save Ferelden, kiss my ass…what do I have to show for all this? When has any of it ever resulted in something that I wanted?”
“What do you want?”
“I want you!” Alim yelled. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted and you’ve never even looked at me twice, and now you’re married and have a son and are happy and I have absolutely nothing!”
“But…but I thought…” Jowan trailed off, looking upset. Alim slumped back against the wall, feeling spent.
“It doesn’t matter,” he said woodenly after a long, long silence. “I gave up on that fantasy the day you introduced me to Lily.”
“I never thought…after Redcliffe,” Jowan said softly. “I never thought I’d see you again. You were off saving the world and half your friends wanted to kill me. I didn’t realize you still felt that way. I thought you were crazy, and you had to come to your senses sooner or later.”
Alim spread his hands, as if to say well, now you know.
“You have a son?” Jowan asked, as if he couldn’t think of anything else to say.
The warden shrugged. “I don’t know. Could be a girl. Could have been stillborn. I have no idea if Morrigan even survived, let alone the child. I never gave it much thought. I survived the archdemon and that was all I cared about. Care about.”
Jowan turnd to face his friend. “Alim, you are poisoning yourself,” he said urgently. “I know you, and all this animosity, this hate…it’s not like you.”
“Flowers and sunshine, that’s me, right?”
“I’m serious. You’re no Andraste, Maker knows, but I have never seen someone so miserable about himself and…you have to snap out of it.”
“Oh yeah, and how do I do that?” Alim asked, scowling. Jowan, of all people, had the right to lecture him?
“Make things right. Start with Connor. Kill that demon.”
“Kill that…you do realize I can’t just march to a convenient cave down the road, find her and off her that easily, right?”
“If she gave you the knowledge of blood magic, you can find her in the Fade,” Jowan said stubbornly.
“Why should I do that? Isolde deserves to lose her son,” Alim said savagely.
“Her son doesn’t deserve that. Maker, Alim, what did she do to you that…” Jowan trailed off as understanding dawned in his eyes. “You’re getting revenge on her because of me?”
“She had you tortured,” Alim protested. “I couldn’t let her…”
“Maker, Alim! I deserved everything, I poisoned her husband! If I hadn’t done that Connor wouldn’t have freaked out and accidentally summoned the demon! It wasn’t his fault…or even hers!”
“Well if I hadn’t dealt with the demon and learned the secrets of blood magic, I wouldn’t have been able to convince you to abandon your fool venture of repentance,” Alim snapped.
“And it would have been no less than I deserved! But you did. Now find the demon, and make it right. And then, for the love of the Maker, stop using that accursed blood magic!”
“Oh, for…fine, I’ll try and make things right!” Alim threw his hands up in the air angrily. “When did you turn into a fucking Chantry board? Is there anything else I should be doing, your holiness? Helping old Templars cross the street? Teaching the Chant to orphans?”
“Find your woman and the child.”
“She’s not my woman,” Alim corrected, looking away. “She’s very much her own woman, and the deal was very clear. My life in exchange for my Grey Warden seed.” He chuckled darkly. “Very romantic, wouldn’t you say? I almost made Alistair do it, instead. But I wasn’t sure he’d survive the encounter. Plus, he was already mad at me for putting him on the throne.”
“What did the ritual involve?”
Alim shrugged. “I’d tell you, but I honestly have no idea. The magic she was using was very old and very powerful. I couldn’t make head or tail of it myself. The child was supposed to be born with the soul of an old god - a cleansed god. I guess the ritual worked - at least partially, since I’m still alive. Whether she got what she expected…I have no idea.”
“You should find her,” Jowan repeated firmly. “That child shares your blood, Alim! How can you not care?”
Alim snorted. “Me, a father? I’m…not like you. I never wanted to be saddled with a child.” He sighed. “Maker, I sound like a spoilt brat even to myself.” He dug his fingers into the cool mud, the rain still drizzling gently around them. “I don’t think she’d be that hard to find…”
Jowan nodded, taking his words for the agreement that it was, and for a time they sat in silence. “Your wife will be worried about you,” Alim said after a while, feeling oddly comfortable despite the mud and the cold rain, physically as numb as he was emotionally. “Go away.”
“Only if you come back with me.”
“Fine example of a hero I am,” Alim said, tone as light as he could manage. “More like a drowned rat. I’d rather no one see me like this.”
“You don’t have to pretend in front of her,” Jowan pointed out, and Alim shrugged, bone weary.
“Are you sure you want me to spend time in her company? I might call her a fat cow too.”
Jowan laughed, and Alim managed a tiny smile himself. “Don’t worry, she’s been warned, she won’t take it personally,” he said, scrambling to his feet and holding out a hand to the elf. Alim hesitated, and then took the proferred hand. Instead of allowing Jowan to pull him up, he tugged Jowan down. His best friend fell rather unceremoniously on his knees with a squelch, and Alim leaned in, fast as lightning, and brushed their lips together before Jowan could utter a word.
“Last time, I promise,” the elf whispered, pressing his forehead to Jowan’s and holding him in place for half a second. This was the closest he would ever get to happiness, to love, and he tried to memorise the feel of Jowan's skin against his, the warmth of his breath washing over Alim's lips, his fingers tangled in Jowan's wet hair. It was all he'd ever wanted, but he no longer had any claim on the man. Not that he'd ever had - it had all been inside his head, a dream that failed to translate to cold reality. Their embrace lasted no more than half a heartbeat, as he reluctantly pushed Jowan off and jumped to his feet. “Coming, then?” he asked, already heading off down the road, the levity in his voice contrasting sharply with the pain in his chest.
“Hey, wait for me!” Jowan hurried to catch up, wisely deciding to let the matter of the kiss and Alim’s unrequited feelings drop.
~*~
Alim unlocked the door with a little trick that Zevran had taught him before he’d left for Antiva. He slipped inside, a slender shadow mingling with the rest of the darkness, and let the door click gently shut behind him.
On the bed, Jowan shifted in sleep, but Alim allowed a gentle spell to lull him back to sleep, extending it to Helena as well, who was curled up next to her husband. Alim eyed them sadly, finally allowing his gref to reach him once again.
When they had returned, Alim had barely been given time to clean himself up before the couple had monopolised his time. Helena was a wonderful woman, not bringing up his rude exit, and he knew he would probably have liked her, had she not stolen his man.
Yet it was better this way, wasn’t it? Alim could never have offered Jowan anything except the uncertainty of a tainted lover, and this woman had given him love, happiness, and a beautiful son. A future. Alim padded softly to the bed, looking down at the tiny creature who bore his name, and brushed fingers down soft baby cheeks. He wondered sadly if he would turn out to be a mage like his father, or whether he would turn out to be a completely different kind of man.
Alim reached up to his neck and removed the amulet hanging around his neck. It had been pressed to his skin ever since the Jowan spirit had handed it to him when he was searching for the ashes. It had been an endless source of comfort to him. On nights when he was scared or tired, their endeavors seemingly hopeless, he would take out the amulet and turn it over. On the front there was a Mark of the Chantry, but the back was a simple mirror, a mirror through which he sometimes felt like he could glimpse the man he loved so dearly. It never failed to soothe him.
But it was time to let it go. Just as he had to let go of the real Jowan, who was now out of his reach forever. Alim gently placed the amulet on the baby’s chest, and the tiny creature stirred, opening sleepy grey eyes to blink at him. Alim was afraid it would start wailing, as babies were wont to do, but it seemed more curious than scared. The elf sighed.
“I hope you bring more honor to our name than I have,” he told little Alim, before turning away. On the floor next to the bed he placed all the money he had with him, as well as a few trinkets he’d collected on his travels. It was really the least he could do. On top, he placed his Warden’s Sigil ring. Perhaps if Jowan was ever discovered, he’d be able to use it to secure his release, or contact him.
And then he left, sparing only one glance behind him, afraid to tarry in case he couldn't make himself leave at all.
It was still dark when Alim stepped out of the inn into the crisp night air. He paused for just a second to look up at the sky. The clouds had cleared up, and dozens of twinkling sentinels silently watched the world below.
Why do you do it? he had asked Riordan the night before the battle of Denerim.
Why do you? Riordan had asked, instead of answering.
I had no choice, I was conscripted.
And yet Duncan is dead and you could be in Tevinter or Nevarra by now. Why are you still here, fighting darkspawn?
Alim had hesitated. Because someone has to do it, he replied finally, unwillingly.
Exactly.
Perhaps…perhaps it was time to stop fighting the hand fate had dealt him. There was much to do; Vigil’s Keep still needed him, and Alistair was a very reluctant king who was probably just as miserable as he himself was at being forced into that position. Maybe it was time he apologized for that matter and extend whatever help he could. After he tried to save Connor. And find Morrigan, wherever she was.
The elf steeled himself for the long, painful times ahead, and then set off down the road, trying to think of the possibilities opening up in front of him, instead of the man he was leaving behind.
Genre: Angst
Pairings: m!Surana/Jowan
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: ~8800
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Notes: Written for the following prompt on the kink meme:
After being let go for the last time*, Jowan runs into M!Mage warden at an inn and decides to formally apologize for everything (i.e. the events that occurred in Origins). M!Mage could have been in love with Jowan (whether Jowan himself knew or not is up to anon), angry at him, worried about him, etc.
This is set after Jowan's Intention: http://dragonage.wikia.com/wiki/Jowan%27s_Intention
Could be post-game too, like years later perhaps with the warden as Commander of Amaranthine. So long as it follows that quest's continuity.
Fluff, angst, comfort. Anything along the likes of that~
First finished fill on the kink meme!
Warden's Intention
Jowan just stood there, as if he wasn’t one of the most hunted outlaws in Ferelden. His brow was creased with worry, not unusual for Jowan, but he seemed to relax when it was decided he would be sent with the mages, and that once he returned to the tower, his fate would be completely in their hands, whether for good or ill.
Alim Surana just stared. Everyone knew well what his fate would be once returned to the Tower. No matter how much he or anyone else thought he’d redeemed himself, a maleficar remained a maleficar, and was at best offered one of two choices - death or being made Tranquil.
Even if - and it was a big if - Irving and the other mages decided to allow Jowan to keep both his life and his ability to traverse the Fade, Greagoir never would. The Knight Commander was not unreasonable, but no templar, however benevolent, could allow a maleficar to go unpunished somehow. And a rap on the knuckles was hardly appropriate punishment.
“Very well,” Alim bit out, inexplicably furious, not at the decision, which was inevitable, he knew - but at the way Jowan’s face had cleared at the declaration of his fate. He forced himself to unclench his fists, hearing blood pounding in his ears. “Jowan goes with you. But I would speak to him first. Alone.”
The elf ignored the surprised, cautious looks that Alistair and Leliana shot his way, not needing to explain his actions. Jowan had been his best friend for as long as he could remember, and he was not about to let him be fed to the wolves without at least this much.
Irving studied him for a moment, contemplatively, his eyes sharp, even now making Alim feel like an irrational child, and he stared back defiantly. The First Enchanter sighed softly, sounding old and tired, but compassion and perhaps a hint of understanding gleamed in his eyes. “Very well,” he said, inclining his head. “Say your goodbyes.”
Bann Teagan stepped forward, his curiosity well hidden, his manners at the fore. As soon as the door swung shut behind them, leaving them alone in an otherwise empty room, Alim swung on his best friend angrily.
“That’s it?” he asked him incredulously, glaring at Jowan. “You’re giving up?”
Jowan stared back, serenity giving way to surprise. “You want me to run away again?”
“Is that even a question? You know what’s going to happen to you at the Tower…you have to run before it’s too late!”
Jowan stared at Alim in silence, before shaking his head again, sadly, the crease in his forehead returning. “I can’t…I can’t run anymore,” he said, and his voice was tired, as tired as Irving’s had been. “It’s my fault…you’ve seen what happens when I’m allowed to make my own decisions. I deserve whatever they decide to do with me. No more running.”
“No one deserves that, especially not you!” Alim retorted angrily, gesturing wildly, as if trying to shake some sense into his friend. “Come with me if you want to atone for your mistakes!”
Jowan tilted his head, studying his friend, not blind to the anger in Alim. “I’m more likely to help the darkspawn win by helping you,” he said, mouth twisting wryly. “I seem to mess things up more often than not.” He shrugged slightly, spreading his arms. “Look at me, Alim. I’m a blood mage, a maleficar. I poisoned Arl Eamon, and my only idea to fix things would have been for Lady Isolde to die for her son. You, on the other hand, saved Redcliffe from the undead, saved the Circle of Magi and managed to save Connor without further bloodshed. I’m not like you, Alim. I’m no hero.”
“You’re…Maker, Jowan, I can’t let them take you to your death,” the elf said, his anger draining into hopelessness. “I can’t…I won't let that happen!” He looked around feverishly, walking to the only window in the room and fumbling at the fastening. “It’s not too late, you can still escape…”
A hand on his shoulder stopped him, and Alim turned to look into soft, brown eyes. “Alim,” he said softly, and the elf felt his energy draining away from him, replaced by tired despair. Why was it that Jowan was growing a noble backbone now, of all times? “I…can’t tell you how much it means to me, the fact that you want to save me from…all this. But I have caused it, can’t you understand that? It’s time I faced the consequences. I…would not deserve your friendship if I ran away now.”
“Damn you, Jowan, damn you,” Alim’s fist clenched around Jowan’s robe, pulling him close, eyes blazing through tears that threatened to spill. “I hate you so much for doing this to me…”
The maleficar lowered his head, placing a hand over Alim’s fist sadly. “I’m sorry, Alim,” he whispered. “I can’t seem to help hurting everyone I love…you, Lily…”
“And damn Lily!” Alim shouted, whirling and slamming a fist into a wall, once twice, until his knuckles were bleeding. “That Chantry hag! I don’t get it! I would have done anything for you, Jowan, anything, and you go and shack up with that no good whore, who betrayed you the first chance you get…and you still love her? Fuck, I hate her and you both! I hope they do kill you, maybe then I’ll be rid of you once and for all!”
“Alim?” Jowan’s voice was uncertain, his eyes wide, and the elf threw caution to the winds, whirling around and kissing Jowan savagely, tangling his fingers into the other mage’s hair painfully, giving him no room to move away. He broke it a moment later, pushing Jowan away with as much force as he’d used to kiss him, furious at himself and the other man both.
Jowan stumbled two paces backwards, staring at Alim with enormous eyes, shocked. “I…I didn’t…”
“You didn’t know?” Alim took a step forward, years of pent up emotion finally unlocked, his walls shattered, the emotions tumbling out of him without restraint. “Yeah well, about fucking time you realized it, genius! I’ve always been right there, and you never even noticed me, always waiting for you when you failed yet again at getting one of the girls to notice you…and then you left me for Lily…and then you left me to face the templars alone…”
Jowan looked devastated, and stepped forward, pulling Alim into a hug. The elf writhed viciously at first, not wanting the comfort - it was far too little, far too late. But somehow tears were streaming down his cheeks and he found himself clinging to Jowan desperately, who embraced him tightly.
They remained like that for a long time, until Alim seemed to have cried himself out, and then Jowan’s arms loosened. The elf looked up at Jowan, before brushing their lips together, and then moved away. He rubbed his face on his sleeves, knowing he must have looked like a mess. “You won’t change your mind?”
“I’m sorry, Alim.”
The elf bowed his head. “Then I’m sorry too, Jowan,” he said, reaching for a dagger at his belt.
“Wait, what…?” Jowan started to ask, eyes widening, but Alim grimly slashed at his arm. Jowan gasped, moving forward, but Alim flung his hands wide and Jowan froze, seeing the air shimmer around the slender elf, the all too familiar haze of blood magic surrounding him.
“You are going to escape right now,” Alim said calmly, moving forwards to stand in front of Jowan, eyes fixed on the taller man. “You will forget this stupid, crazy idea of letting them take you back to the tower…you will run as far as you can until you are certain they have no idea where you are.”
Jowan nodded once, jerkily, his eyes unfocused and glassy, Alim’s magic digging coaxing, cajoling fingers into his mind, his commands irresistible. Alim allowed himself the luxury of studying Jowan’s face for a few moments, lifting a hand and trailing gentle fingers down Jowan’s stubbled cheek, a gesture he’d always dreamed of having the privilege of doing. “Stay safe, Jowan,” he whispered, before turning away. “Now, go!”
By the time the First Enchanter realized that their goodbye was taking suspiciously long, Jowan had disappeared. And by the disappointment in Irving’s eyes, Alim suspected he knew just what had happened - but he couldn’t bring himself to care. Jowan was safe.
~*~
After what seemed like months on the road, Alim barely even glanced at the faces of the people they encountered anymore. As long as they were not trying to riddle him with arrows or frying his ass with lightning, he was quite content to let anyone be. He had enough trouble on his plate already.
Of course however, if they encountered anyone who seemed like they needed a hand, he was quite willing to help. Firstly because some of his companions had too pure a conscience, and secondly because even he wasn’t so heartless as to watch people being slaughtered and stroll by whistling, even if it did tend to slow them down.
So when they chanced upon a band of ragtag peasants being attacked by rabid, infected wolves and bears he quickly unslung his staff, noticing Alistair charging the closest wolf and Leliana sneaking around the fighting to backstab one of the creatures.
Tossing an arcane bolt at the nearest wolf, Alim was more than a little surprised when a lightning bolt shot seemingly out of nowhere from behind him, flinging one of the rabid wolves backwards. Wynne was visible at the corner of his eyes and she was too busy healing to attack the creatures herself.
The last creature being efficiently dealt with by Alistair, Alim whirled curiously around - only to find himself face to face with Jowan.
“Alim?!”
The warden’s breath hitched in his throat, unable to believe that after all the days and nights spent worrying about his friend, wondering whether he had in fact survived or had run afoul of templars, darkspawn, or bandits, he could run into him so unexpectedly. Was this another trick, another spirit that had come to taunt him for his loss as in their search for the ashes?
“I remember you,” Leliana said, the rogue moving closer as she sheathed her blades. “You’re the mage we met in Arl Eamon’s dungeon.”
“What?” Alistair’s head snapped up. With two quick strides he was next to Alim, a frown marring his handsome features. Alim foresaw trouble - Alistair had never forgiven Jowan for daring to harm his precious father figure - and immediately stepped in front of the ex-templar in an attempt to calm him down. Spirit or not, no one could touch his Jowan.
“Alistair, wait,” he began, just as one of the peasants blurted out “Please don’t hurt good Master Levyn! He’s saved us three times over!”
“And what’s he looking to get in return?” Alistair asked, eyes narrowed. Alim placed his palm on the flat part of Alistair’s blade, pushing it down.
“Alistair,” he said sharply. “You know Jowan’s my friend. Stand down.”
“Some friend. He didn’t seem to care about hurting you to make his escape last time.”
“Ah, that was…” Alim stuttered, shooting Jowan a shamefaced look, remembering how he had explained the bleeding wound back in Redcliffe when they had discovered Jowan gone, figuring there was nothing he could say that could make things worse for the maleficar at that point. “Jowan didn’t actually attack me. That was…a misunderstanding.”
“It sounded clear enough when you explained to First Enchanter Irving how young Master Levyn escaped,” Wynne said dryly, disapproval clear in her eyes.
“Please,” it was Jowan who broke in this time, sorrow and regret in his eyes. “I know I’ve done wrong, and I do not deserve your mercy…but I am trying to help, now.” Alim turned to face him again, hope blossoming in his chest. This was no spirit, this really was Jowan, the same pleading, hopeful boy he’d always adored. Before he could speak up, one of Jowan’s companions interrupted.
“If you want to hurt him you’ll have to go through me.” It was a woman who spoke, and she stepped up to stand at Jowan’s side, a blade in each hand. She was obviously unseasoned - she wore no armor and Alim was certain even he could knock the blades out of her hands without effort - and yet she was ready to defend Jowan at risk to her own life. The elf felt a stab of jealousy, and caught himself scowling at her.
“He is a blood mage, child,” Wynne told the woman, her words directed at the woman and Alim both, placing a hand on the elf’s shoulder, which was immediately shrugged off. “They cannot be trusted, no matter what.”
“He saved my child from darkspawn,” the woman said, her voice wavering, her resolve unshaken. “And Steven would be blind if he hadn’t healed him. I don’t care what he’s done before, Master Levyn is a good man.” Behind her, the other peasants nodded, their faces without a trace of doubt.
Alim let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “No one’s going to hurt him,” he said finally, irritably. “Alistair, Arl Eamon’s fine, so just…let it go. Wynne, you’ve heard them. If this isn’t atonement, I don’t know what is. You of all people should know that good and evil aren’t always clear cut.” Wynne met his gaze head on, her clear blue eyes sharp and piercing, but eventually nodded, looking away.
“Very well,” she murmured. “I will trust your judgement on the matter.”
“Thank you,” Alim said, unable to keep the sarcasm out of his voice. “Now let’s go to Eamon before we have no Ferelden left to save.” He turned back to Jowan, who seemed relieved - as if he hadn’t been certain Alim would be able to stop his companions from hurting him. The warden felt a familiar rush of anger - why could Jowan not understand that he would never, ever let anyone hurt him?
“Thank you,” Jowan said, smiling tentatively. “I’ll…you won’t regret letting me go this time, I promise.”
Alim nodded once, curtly, not trusting himself to speak.
“Let’s go,” Jowan said, turning to his companions, and the warden found himself staring at Jowan’s retreating back.
That’s it? He wanted to scream incredulously at Jowan. I haven’t seen you in months, I did not know you were alive, and you walk away as if it’s nothing at all? But he didn’t speak, his jaw clenched tightly shut, afraid of what he would actually say if he let his tongue loose.
“Alim, we need to go,” Leliana said gently, when Alim remained rooted to the spot, face so stony it spoke volumes. The elf nodded once, a quick jerk of the head, and turned away. Resolutely ignoring the thoughtful look in Wynne’s eyes and Leliana’s sympathetic glances, he led the way to Eamon, away from the most important person in his life.
~*~
Alim cradled his mug of cheap ale, sitting alone in a corner at the tavern. The Hero of Ferelden had finally decided that Vigil’s Keep could live without him for some time - and, more importantly, that the Warden Commander needed time away from his duties. So here he was, traveling aimlessly, blending into the crowd - at least as much as an elf carrying a staff could blend in with commoners. But templars didn’t worry him. He never stayed long enough in one place, and the Warden’s Sigil Ring he carried should be enough to prove his identity, if necessary.
He wasn’t one for socializing, and ignored most people unless it was to glare at them for disrupting his thoughts. But one voice snapped him to attention, a voice he knew all too well, a voice that belonged to the boy who had been his constant companion for roughly twenty years, just before he’d been forced to leave the tower.
Except that Jowan was hardly a boy anymore. He had ditched the robes and staff - instead he was wearing clothes that were plain but looked well made. There was a small blade at his hip, and there was something different about him that Alim couldn’t quite put his finger on.
Jowan seemed to sense the stare and looked up, straight at Alim. The apostate froze, and a conflicted look immediately crossed his face, before he looked down at the men at the table and murmured something to them. Then he crossed the tavern to stand in front of the warden, who couldn’t help a beatific smile from lighting up his face.
“Jowan,” he said, and Jowan finally smiled in return, shaking his head.
“Alim,” he said, sitting down opposite him at the table. “It’s been…you’re incredible,” he said, a familiar look of wonder in his eyes, the same expression that he’d worn so often back at the tower when the two of them had been practically joined at the hip. “Your name is on everyone’s lips. You saved Ferelden…I couldn’t believe it. Except that I could, of course. You’ve always been one of a kind.”
The glow of pride that suffused through Alim felt like a warm summer’s eve, all the more surprising because praise for killing the archdemon had been heaped on him so often that it was starting to be annoying, rather than gratifying. Yet hearing it from Jowan was different. This was something he could treasure.
“Aren’t you worried I’ll get a big head with all this praise?” he asked Jowan somewhat teasingly. The apostate laughed.
“You have problems with an overinflated ego?” he asked wryly, and Alim stuck his tongue out at him. He was never one to be modest, but then he believed in credit where it was due, and he had always been ahead of the other apprentices.
“How are you doing, Jowan?”
“Levyn,” the other corrected. “It’s Levyn now. No one calls me Jowan anymore.” He smiled, somewhat wistfully. “I’m…not the same man you knew before. I was so stupid, Alim.” He took a deep breath. “I have you to thank for that. If you hadn’t made me run away, they would have made me Tranquil. My life would be over.”
“Being made Tranquil was the reason you ran away from the tower in the first place. I couldn’t let that happen.”
“And you didn’t…although…” Jowan’s eyes flickered once around the tavern, seeking potential eavesdroppers. “Alim, you really shouldn’t be using…that magic. It poisons you, corrupts your mind.” He frowned at the table surface, fingernails trying to dig grooves into the wood nervously. “If I hadn’t dabbled back then…things would be so different now. It ruined everything.”
“Your crazy feelings for Lily ruined everything,” Alim retorted sharply. “Like we didn’t have enough templars hounding us all day, you needed more Chantry interference.”
Jowan winced. “I still can’t believe you called her a fat cow,” he said under his breath. “If only we hadn’t been caught…”
“And then you’d have done what?” Alim asked, unable to restrain the surge of irrational anger. “Run away and got married, and then what? Are you still pining after her? She betrayed you, have you forgotten that?”
“No…no, Lily was a long time ago,” Jowan said, turning his head away. “Alim, back at Redcliffe…you said…”
“I said many things, you’ll have to be more specific,” Alim shrugged nonchalantly, but his heart pounded suddenly, in fear or anticipation - he wasn’t sure which.
“I left you to face the Templars alone,” Jowan said softly, looking pained. “I’ve thought of that ever since Redcliffe and…I have no excuse. I couldn’t face anyone after Lily’s rejection and…I never stopped to think that you got into trouble for me.”
“For helping a maleficar destroy his phylactery and attempt escape from the tower? So unlikely,” Alim said, a hint of anger still showing. It wasn’t that he wanted to see Jowan suffer, but the thought had haunted him ever since that night. He had helped Jowan despite the fact that he just wanted to set Lily on fire, and then it had blown up in his face. Topping it all off was the fact that his so called best friend had escaped and hadn’t even stopped to drag him along.
“It’s hard enough already to live with what I’ve done, Alim, you don’t need to rub it in,” Jowan clenched his jaw, looking miserable and Alim sighed.
“Well, I wouldn’t have been conscripted if that hadn’t happened. I suppose it turned out for the best, in the end,” he muttered, feeling wretched himself at the sight of such a despondent Jowan.
“You mean…that’s why you joined the Grey Wardens?” Jowan looked stunned, and Alim blinked in surprise.
“You didn’t know? Greagoir hit the roof, Irving gave me a speech and they couldn’t decide what to do with me.” Alim didn’t mention how he’d been so hurt at Jowan’s betrayal - his best friend had been in love with Lily, he hadn’t saw fit to trust him with the secret of blood magic and then he abandoned him - that he’d lashed out at the Knight Commander and First Enchanter, not with magic but with words dripping with spite and hate. If Duncan hadn’t stepped in, Alim still didn’t know what punishment they would have meted out for such insubordination. “Duncan stepped in, slapped an order of conscription on me and - just like that, I was out. Out of the Circle and into the fire,” he added under his breath.
Jowan’s eyes were wide, uncertain. “I guess it was for the best then,” he seemed to conclude. “You saved Ferelden, you’re a hero. You’d have been wasted in the Circle.”
Alim snorted. “Butter me up, go on,” he said, but the tension eased from his shoulders. Jowan was still staring at him in wonder, but then he leaned forward, his eyes turning earnest.
“Alim, promise me you won’t use blood magic anymore,” he whispered, and Alim frowned.
“That’s rich, coming from you.”
“You should listen because I’m the one saying it. You start using it and it becomes easier every day. I know what I’m talking about, and I’m sure you do too, if you had the nerve to use it on me and you didn’t even bother to make me forget it.”
“I don't see the need to hide anything from my best friend," Alim snapped. "And you left me no choice, being so intent on dying, or losing everything that makes you you by nobly deciding to go quietly back to the tower.”
“That’s the trouble with blood magic, isn’t it? It’s always because we think we have no choice.” He held up his hand to ward off Alim’s retort. “No, listen. It really is always the case. I started dabbling because I thought I had no choice - not if I wanted to pass my Harrowing and become a full mage.” He laughed, a short bitter laugh. “Ironic, as it turned out. But I wanted so badly to be like you - able to learn anything new at the blink of an eye.”
“But I never used blood magic,” Alim protested. “You can’t seriously tell me you did it so you could be more like me.”
“I just wanted to be on a par with you. Crazy, I know. But you choosing blood magic makes things ten times worse because you’ve seen firsthand how badly things can go wrong. I don’t understand how you can still justify its use. And I was lucky, I stopped almost immediately. Before it consumed me.”
“Maybe I’m stronger than you,” Alim snapped, immediately growing aggressive. “And maybe it’s none of your damn business. How do you think I managed to face and defeat an Archdemon? I’m not just running around babysitting refugees.” As soon as the words were out, he regretted them, seeing Jowan’s eyes shutter.
“Jowan, wait,” the elf said, reaching across the table to grab Jowan’s sleeve as the apostate stood up, looking hurt. “I’m…I didn’t mean that, alright? Sit.”
“I should be getting back to babysitting refugees,” Jowan said bitterly, and Alim winced.
“I’m sorry, Jowan…please sit down. I haven’t seen you in so long…I miss you. I will follow you if you try to leave,” he added, seeing Jowan still undecided.
The apostate sighed irritably. “You are so mule headed, Alim,” he said, but he sat down again, albeit reluctantly.
“You’ve known that for a very long time.”
“Far too long.” Jowan sighed, shaking his head. “And you haven’t changed a bit.” He paused, looking down at the table. “I mean it, you know,” he continued softly. “I have been lucky, considering. You gave me a new life back in Redcliffe. Even though you shouldn’t have. By sending me away you gave me the chance to redeem myself. I’m helping people, Alim. I never thought I…I’m glad you gave me a chance.”
“Jowan, I…” Alim said, licking his lips and nervously trying to summon enough courage - the same courage that enabled him to face an army of darkspawn without flinching - to tell Jowan just how much he meant to him, but Jowan continued musing as if he hadn’t heard.
“Look at you. The Hero of Ferelden, and a Warden Commander. How on Earth did someone like me befriend someone like you?”
Alim snorted. “Don’t. I hear enough of that. I’m no different from what I was back at the tower.”
“That’s probably true,” Jowan said wryly. “Still obnoxious, still rude. But, seriously - why didn’t you tell me to fuck off? You hated everyone else.”
Alim shrugged, casting his mind back twenty or so odd years.
The first time they’d met, Alim Surana was a six year old who hated the entire world, but most especially the templars, the Chantry and the Circle, the callous heartless people who had torn him from his loving (if poor) family in the alienage, not to mention all shem in general, on principle. So when this shem, a couple of years older at best, came looking for him, Alim was anything but friendly.
He was huddled under a bed, hidden from prying eyes. He was pretty sure he had a lesson he was supposed to attend, but what did he care? He hated them and their rules. He hadn’t asked for magic and didn’t want it. He just wanted to go home. So when Jowan poked his head under the bed, looking for him, it was by pure luck that he managed to dodge the well aimed kick that Alim headed his way.
“Hey!” Jowan frowned, moving safely out of reach of the elf’s legs, but keeping him within sight. “What’s the big idea?”
“Go away,” the elf had growled, crossing his arms across his chest and directing a glare at Jowan that should have made him quail in fear and run away. Unfortunately for Alim, a six year old does not make for a very formidable opponent, and Jowan seemed unimpressed.
“What’s the matter with you? We’re waiting for you to start the lesson!”
Alim snorted at the thinly veiled excitement in the shem’s voice. “Who cares? I don’t want magic,” the boy complained, keeping an eye on Jowan to ensure he didn’t try getting any closer.
“You don’t?” The surprise in Jowan’s voice made Alim pause. “Why not?”
“Why should I want magic when it’s just going to keep me locked up in here for the rest of my life?” To his horror, Alim felt tears prickle at the back of his eyelids, and he blinked rapidly, trying to dispel the tears. He was not going to cry, especially not in front of this shem!
“But think of what you’ll be able to do with magic,” Jowan said, settling back on his haunches, a small dreamy smile on his lips. “We’ll be so powerful…”
Alim had opened his mouth, ready for a scathing response when he saw the fervor in Jowan’s eyes. “Oh yeah?” he asked instead, somewhat impressed despite himself. “Can you cast anything yet?”
Jowan had nodded proudly, an eight year old with bright brown eyes and an easy smile. “I can! The freezing spell is my favourite so far.”
Alim digested this in silence. “Show me,” he decided, tentatively moving closer to the other boy but remaining safely under the bed. Jowan blinked.
“Now? But…I’m not supposed to cast any spells without the enchanters around,” he demurred, shaking his head.
“Come on,” Alim wheedled, moving even closer. “No one’s around - who’s going to know? Show me!”
Jowan cast a furtive look around, but Alim was right - the dormitory was empty. “Okay,” he agreed, getting up and spreading his hands. He cleared his throat somewhat self consciously as Alim crawled out from under the bed for a better look. “Here goes.”
Jowan concentrated, and as Alim watched eagerly, frost burst from his splayed fingertips, shooting forwards excitedly and erratically. It vanished in a puff almost immediately, the apprentice far too young and inexperienced to have the desired effect, but Alim seemed fascinated.
“More,” he demanded, and Jowan, emboldened by the semi success of his first spell decided to try for a fireball. His face scrunched up in concentration, a small ball of energy - more light than fire - glowed between his fingertips.
Alim’s jaw fell open. “Wow,” he breathed, reaching out towards the suspended glowing orb between Jowan’s hands. He just wanted to feel the heat emanating from it, but Jowan - already jumpy at breaking the rules - panicked.
“Don’t!” Alim jumped as the ball shot out of Jowan’s hands erratically, the flustered apprentice losing control of his spell. The small sphere sailed in an arc straight out of the open door, growing bigger and brighter just to explode right in the middle of the corridor outside.
There was a roar of anger and a Templar appeared in the doorway. “Jowan!” the man said accusingly, and Jowan stared in horror, frozen to the spot. Alim took only a second to wonder why the boy didn’t run before he was grabbing his sleeve and dragging him to the other door.
“Run, stupid!” Still horrified, Jowan allowed himself to break into a run after Alim. They tore through the tower like two little demons, Alim still too young to know that running away was pointless. This wasn’t the alienage, where one tiny elf could get lost amongst the crowd. But Jowan ran right along with him, bug eyed in horror at the thought of the ensuing punishment.
And he was punished, of course, when caught, which didn’t take long. Alim was left off the hook, but he had snuck away from dinner with his food and gone to where Jowan was miserably staring at a book, with only stale bread and water to eat, and had shared his food with him. He didn’t know what had made him do that, what had made him take a shine to the shemlen boy, but Jowan gave him such a grateful, wide eyed look that - later, much later, he thought that was the moment that he fell well and truly in love.
From then on, the two of them were inseparable.
At first he followed Jowan around like a puppy, but after a few months in the tower, their positions were reversed. Alim’s aggressive nature made enemies everywhere - he was rude to the other apprentices, spoke back when the enchanters chastised him, and took pleasure in being disobedient. But Jowan - anxious and often cowardly - followed him everywhere, allowing him to lead him into trouble on a daily basis. Their friendship, all the more unusual because Alim couldn’t stand anyone’s else’s company, baffled mages and templars alike.
They had tried separating them, but it hadn’t worked. Furious, Alim had refused to eat, drink or attend his lessons, no matter how many stripes they painted on his back. In the end they had given up, not just because of Alim’s stubbornness, but also because, despite the trouble they got up to, Alim had the patience to help Jowan in his studies. Naturally talented and gifted, Alim often chafed at the pace the enchanters set to accommodate slower students. Jowan was his direct opposite - he learned slowly, needing repetition to master anything more complicated than the most basic spells, and Alim was more than happy to spend hours helping him perfect his techniques while enchanters kept a sharp eye on them but focused their energies on other students. Away from the watchful, critical eyes of the templars and enchanters, Jowan’s studies progressed even faster under Alim’s tutelage, and no one was happier than Alim about this.
He had always watched over Jowan like a hawk. Jowan was mostly liked by the other apprentices, although his penchant for talking and acting before thinking often made him the butt of others’ jokes. But no one dared to do so with Alim around. It was soon evident to pretty much the entire tower that Alim was irrationally, completely, and absolutely head over heels for Jowan. Evident to everyone, that is, except the apprentice himself. Jowan was completely oblivious and this was the one secret that Alim hid from him, even as they grew up, and he suffered the cocktail of hormones that puberty inevitably brought with it.
Things were fine as they were. Certainly, it was difficult to have the target of his affections with him almost constantly and having to restrain himself, especially when they woke up in the same bed and Alim wanted nothing more than to roll on top of Jowan and act out all the fantasies that plagued him day and night. But in the Circle, one did not confess true love, have it returned, and live happily ever after. Alim had been certain that eventually, things would progress. No other mage would dare to touch his Jowan, and those that even so much as glanced his way twice eventually regretted it. Alim had no qualms about being a bully or a jerk, especially when his best friend was concerned.
Eventually Jowan would finally realize his feelings, and of course, would figure out they were not only perfect for each other, but belonged together. So Alim had left things as they were, patiently waiting for the inevitable. But he had misjudged Jowan, and much to his dismay, Jowan had fallen well and truly for someone that was not him, a threat that he had never anticipated because he had never seriously considered that his friend could be interested in an initiate. Not when Alim hated the Chantry so much and all it stood for. Inevitably, it had all been downhill from there.
“Are you really still that dense?” Alim asked finally after a moment’s silence, returning to the present where he was a Grey Warden and Jowan a reformed maleficar. “Jowan, I think I made myself abundantly clear back in Redcliffe. I have always been crazy about you. I…”
“Don’t,” Jowan said, turning his head away, wincing. Alim stilled his tongue immediately, feeling his cheeks flush in shame. Jowan squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, murmuring something under his breath before looking back at the hero of Ferelden, eyes pleading for understanding.
“Alim, I’m…married now.”
Alim’s world teetered. “Married?” he asked blankly.
Jowan nodded, fixing his eyes on the table again. “Her name is Helena. We’ve been married almost a year now.”
A numbness had settled over Alim, as the elf struggled to reconcile the idea of Jowan married with the relentless idea he’d had that the two of them were meant to be together in the end. Surely after all they’d been through, after he had ensured he lived, surely it had to have a happy ending for him, for them both.
But Jowan was married, married to some woman Alim had never even met.
In sickness and in health, till death do them part…
He was still staring blankly at an anxious Jowan when a petite woman entered the tavern, looking around as if searching for someone. Her face lit up when she saw Jowan, and she approached the two of them. “Levyn?”
“Helena!” the apostate said, evidently relieved at the interruption, getting to his feet and placing a gentle hand on the woman’s back. Somewhere in the back of his mind, there was a stab of angry jealousy, but Alim was too numb to feel it, detachedly realising what was different about Jowan. It was confidence. He had always been an unsure, nervous boy, but now a strong, confident man stood there, a man who had found something to live for, someone to die for. Someone who was not Alim. “This is the Hero of Ferelden. Alim, this is my wife Helena.”
She was pretty, Alim’s analytical mind supplied, the only part of him that seemed immune to the numbness penetrating his soul; prettier than Lily, and he hated her, and she smiled at him.
“I’m so glad to finally meet you,” she said in musical tones. “Levyn has told me so much about you.”
Alim felt bile rise at the back of his throat, an automatic vitriolic response, but his attention was distracted by what the woman was carrying. What had seemed like a bundle of rags was in actual fact a little baby boy, swathed in swaddling clothes. The tiny creature blinked sleepily at him, an expression of hopeful curiosity that was so familiar to Alim that he would have known the child anywhere even if his eyes and face hadn’t been almost a miniature replica of his father.
Jowan.
The venomous, cutting response died on his lips. This woman wasn’t Lily, she wasn’t Jowan’s girlfriend; she wasn’t even just his wife - she was the mother of his child. The pain in his chest suddenly tore through his numbness, flooding him with an anguish he hadn’t thought himself capable of feeling.
“He looks just like you,” he managed instead, as the child made tiny gurgling noises. Jowan looked inordinately proud as Helena beamed down at him fondly.
“His name is Alim,” she said softly, looking up at him with a gentle smile, and what was left of Alim’s heart shattered into a thousand pieces.
“I have to go,” he mumbled, making a break for the door, leaving behind him an anxious Jowan and a bewildered Helena.
He ran without direction, sinking ankle deep in mud made worse by the rain beating the ground mercilessly, until he staggered to a halt, lost in more ways than one. Jowan found him sometime later, soaked through, sitting down in the mud, his back to a barn. His head was resting against the wall, his upturned face being caressed gently by the rain, the same expression of abject misery that his six year old self had worn the first time they’d met.
Jowan approached him tentatively, but Alim didn’t move.
“Alim?”
“You named him after me,” the elf said, eyes squeezed shut, fists clenched. Jowan nodded. Alim shuddered, lifting his knees to his chest and wrapping his arms around them, before laughing bitterly. “You shouldn’t have. Kid deserves better.”
“I’m pretty certain Alim will become the most famous name in Ferelden,” Jowan said, attempting to lighten the atmosphere, without success. “But I don’t care that you defeated the Archdemon. You’ve been the best friend anyone could ever ask for, and that’s why I named my son after you. No one’s ever meant so much to me. I can only hope he turns out to be like you.”
Alim snorted, raking a hand through his hair savagely. “Like me? You want your son to be like me? Don’t assume you have any idea what it means to be me!”
“I know that you’ve always…”
“I bargained with a demon and traded the soul of a boy for the power of blood magic,” Alim interrupted flatly, voice hard, eyes like chips of ice. “For revenge on his bitch of a mother. I fought the archdemon because I had no choice. I use blood magic without care because I’ve nothing left to lose. I…” his breath caught in his throat, his voice rising in volume with every word. “I…got a woman with child in blood magic ritual to survive the archdemon. I don’t even know where the woman or my child is. So don’t ever fucking say that you want your son to be like me.”
Alim’s voice broke on the last word and the warden bowed his head, silent tears streaming down his cheeks, mingling with the rain. After what seemed like an eternity, Jowan sat down next to Alim with a sigh. “You traded Connor’s soul for knowledge of blood magic?” he asked sorrowfully. Alim nodded, looking away.
“I don’t even feel sorry for it,” he said, scrubbing at his face with dirty fingers. “I’d do it again if I had the chance. I wanted that bitch to suffer, and I’m only sorry she won’t know it was me. Everyone thinks killing an archdemon makes me a hero, but they have no idea what it really meant…what it took to get there. Besides, I wasn’t the only one fighting the damn thing,” he said wearily. “I struck the killing blow, whoop-de-doo. I’d have been absolutely useless without Alistair and the others backing me up every step of the way.”
Jowan sighed. “Are you sure you wouldn’t save Connor if you could go back and change things?” he asked softly. “You’re miserable, Alim. You’re obviously not happy with yourself, with what you did.”
“I’m not happy with myself because I have darkspawn blood in my veins, and given a few years I will turn into one myself,” Alim snapped. “You know what I’m expected to do? Go out in a blaze of glory while fighting darkspawn before that happens. Being a Grey Warden comes with such wonderful benefits.”
Jowan looked shocked, but then he placed a hand on Alim’s shoulder. “I’m sorry,” he said sadly. “That’s my fault. I would undo it if I could. But you said you have years before that happens. Are you going to waste your life being utterly miserable?”
“I’m not...”
“You wouldn’t act like the world hates you if you were happy,” Jowan said, and Alim slammed his first into the ground next to him.
“What the fuck do you want from me?” he shouted. “I can’t do anything for myself because someone always needs something - crown our king, kill the werewolves, save the tower, save Ferelden, kiss my ass…what do I have to show for all this? When has any of it ever resulted in something that I wanted?”
“What do you want?”
“I want you!” Alim yelled. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted and you’ve never even looked at me twice, and now you’re married and have a son and are happy and I have absolutely nothing!”
“But…but I thought…” Jowan trailed off, looking upset. Alim slumped back against the wall, feeling spent.
“It doesn’t matter,” he said woodenly after a long, long silence. “I gave up on that fantasy the day you introduced me to Lily.”
“I never thought…after Redcliffe,” Jowan said softly. “I never thought I’d see you again. You were off saving the world and half your friends wanted to kill me. I didn’t realize you still felt that way. I thought you were crazy, and you had to come to your senses sooner or later.”
Alim spread his hands, as if to say well, now you know.
“You have a son?” Jowan asked, as if he couldn’t think of anything else to say.
The warden shrugged. “I don’t know. Could be a girl. Could have been stillborn. I have no idea if Morrigan even survived, let alone the child. I never gave it much thought. I survived the archdemon and that was all I cared about. Care about.”
Jowan turnd to face his friend. “Alim, you are poisoning yourself,” he said urgently. “I know you, and all this animosity, this hate…it’s not like you.”
“Flowers and sunshine, that’s me, right?”
“I’m serious. You’re no Andraste, Maker knows, but I have never seen someone so miserable about himself and…you have to snap out of it.”
“Oh yeah, and how do I do that?” Alim asked, scowling. Jowan, of all people, had the right to lecture him?
“Make things right. Start with Connor. Kill that demon.”
“Kill that…you do realize I can’t just march to a convenient cave down the road, find her and off her that easily, right?”
“If she gave you the knowledge of blood magic, you can find her in the Fade,” Jowan said stubbornly.
“Why should I do that? Isolde deserves to lose her son,” Alim said savagely.
“Her son doesn’t deserve that. Maker, Alim, what did she do to you that…” Jowan trailed off as understanding dawned in his eyes. “You’re getting revenge on her because of me?”
“She had you tortured,” Alim protested. “I couldn’t let her…”
“Maker, Alim! I deserved everything, I poisoned her husband! If I hadn’t done that Connor wouldn’t have freaked out and accidentally summoned the demon! It wasn’t his fault…or even hers!”
“Well if I hadn’t dealt with the demon and learned the secrets of blood magic, I wouldn’t have been able to convince you to abandon your fool venture of repentance,” Alim snapped.
“And it would have been no less than I deserved! But you did. Now find the demon, and make it right. And then, for the love of the Maker, stop using that accursed blood magic!”
“Oh, for…fine, I’ll try and make things right!” Alim threw his hands up in the air angrily. “When did you turn into a fucking Chantry board? Is there anything else I should be doing, your holiness? Helping old Templars cross the street? Teaching the Chant to orphans?”
“Find your woman and the child.”
“She’s not my woman,” Alim corrected, looking away. “She’s very much her own woman, and the deal was very clear. My life in exchange for my Grey Warden seed.” He chuckled darkly. “Very romantic, wouldn’t you say? I almost made Alistair do it, instead. But I wasn’t sure he’d survive the encounter. Plus, he was already mad at me for putting him on the throne.”
“What did the ritual involve?”
Alim shrugged. “I’d tell you, but I honestly have no idea. The magic she was using was very old and very powerful. I couldn’t make head or tail of it myself. The child was supposed to be born with the soul of an old god - a cleansed god. I guess the ritual worked - at least partially, since I’m still alive. Whether she got what she expected…I have no idea.”
“You should find her,” Jowan repeated firmly. “That child shares your blood, Alim! How can you not care?”
Alim snorted. “Me, a father? I’m…not like you. I never wanted to be saddled with a child.” He sighed. “Maker, I sound like a spoilt brat even to myself.” He dug his fingers into the cool mud, the rain still drizzling gently around them. “I don’t think she’d be that hard to find…”
Jowan nodded, taking his words for the agreement that it was, and for a time they sat in silence. “Your wife will be worried about you,” Alim said after a while, feeling oddly comfortable despite the mud and the cold rain, physically as numb as he was emotionally. “Go away.”
“Only if you come back with me.”
“Fine example of a hero I am,” Alim said, tone as light as he could manage. “More like a drowned rat. I’d rather no one see me like this.”
“You don’t have to pretend in front of her,” Jowan pointed out, and Alim shrugged, bone weary.
“Are you sure you want me to spend time in her company? I might call her a fat cow too.”
Jowan laughed, and Alim managed a tiny smile himself. “Don’t worry, she’s been warned, she won’t take it personally,” he said, scrambling to his feet and holding out a hand to the elf. Alim hesitated, and then took the proferred hand. Instead of allowing Jowan to pull him up, he tugged Jowan down. His best friend fell rather unceremoniously on his knees with a squelch, and Alim leaned in, fast as lightning, and brushed their lips together before Jowan could utter a word.
“Last time, I promise,” the elf whispered, pressing his forehead to Jowan’s and holding him in place for half a second. This was the closest he would ever get to happiness, to love, and he tried to memorise the feel of Jowan's skin against his, the warmth of his breath washing over Alim's lips, his fingers tangled in Jowan's wet hair. It was all he'd ever wanted, but he no longer had any claim on the man. Not that he'd ever had - it had all been inside his head, a dream that failed to translate to cold reality. Their embrace lasted no more than half a heartbeat, as he reluctantly pushed Jowan off and jumped to his feet. “Coming, then?” he asked, already heading off down the road, the levity in his voice contrasting sharply with the pain in his chest.
“Hey, wait for me!” Jowan hurried to catch up, wisely deciding to let the matter of the kiss and Alim’s unrequited feelings drop.
~*~
Alim unlocked the door with a little trick that Zevran had taught him before he’d left for Antiva. He slipped inside, a slender shadow mingling with the rest of the darkness, and let the door click gently shut behind him.
On the bed, Jowan shifted in sleep, but Alim allowed a gentle spell to lull him back to sleep, extending it to Helena as well, who was curled up next to her husband. Alim eyed them sadly, finally allowing his gref to reach him once again.
When they had returned, Alim had barely been given time to clean himself up before the couple had monopolised his time. Helena was a wonderful woman, not bringing up his rude exit, and he knew he would probably have liked her, had she not stolen his man.
Yet it was better this way, wasn’t it? Alim could never have offered Jowan anything except the uncertainty of a tainted lover, and this woman had given him love, happiness, and a beautiful son. A future. Alim padded softly to the bed, looking down at the tiny creature who bore his name, and brushed fingers down soft baby cheeks. He wondered sadly if he would turn out to be a mage like his father, or whether he would turn out to be a completely different kind of man.
Alim reached up to his neck and removed the amulet hanging around his neck. It had been pressed to his skin ever since the Jowan spirit had handed it to him when he was searching for the ashes. It had been an endless source of comfort to him. On nights when he was scared or tired, their endeavors seemingly hopeless, he would take out the amulet and turn it over. On the front there was a Mark of the Chantry, but the back was a simple mirror, a mirror through which he sometimes felt like he could glimpse the man he loved so dearly. It never failed to soothe him.
But it was time to let it go. Just as he had to let go of the real Jowan, who was now out of his reach forever. Alim gently placed the amulet on the baby’s chest, and the tiny creature stirred, opening sleepy grey eyes to blink at him. Alim was afraid it would start wailing, as babies were wont to do, but it seemed more curious than scared. The elf sighed.
“I hope you bring more honor to our name than I have,” he told little Alim, before turning away. On the floor next to the bed he placed all the money he had with him, as well as a few trinkets he’d collected on his travels. It was really the least he could do. On top, he placed his Warden’s Sigil ring. Perhaps if Jowan was ever discovered, he’d be able to use it to secure his release, or contact him.
And then he left, sparing only one glance behind him, afraid to tarry in case he couldn't make himself leave at all.
It was still dark when Alim stepped out of the inn into the crisp night air. He paused for just a second to look up at the sky. The clouds had cleared up, and dozens of twinkling sentinels silently watched the world below.
Why do you do it? he had asked Riordan the night before the battle of Denerim.
Why do you? Riordan had asked, instead of answering.
I had no choice, I was conscripted.
And yet Duncan is dead and you could be in Tevinter or Nevarra by now. Why are you still here, fighting darkspawn?
Alim had hesitated. Because someone has to do it, he replied finally, unwillingly.
Exactly.
Perhaps…perhaps it was time to stop fighting the hand fate had dealt him. There was much to do; Vigil’s Keep still needed him, and Alistair was a very reluctant king who was probably just as miserable as he himself was at being forced into that position. Maybe it was time he apologized for that matter and extend whatever help he could. After he tried to save Connor. And find Morrigan, wherever she was.
The elf steeled himself for the long, painful times ahead, and then set off down the road, trying to think of the possibilities opening up in front of him, instead of the man he was leaving behind.