Stone and Sky Chapter 4

[amhran_comhrac]

Title: Stone and Sky Chapter 4: Not so different from Dust Town
Characters: Jowan/f!Brosca
Rating: T for now, eventual M/AO
Word Count: about 4000
Summary: You can't erase the crimes of your past, but you don't have to let them decide your future.
In this chapter: Sif finds the closest thing to Dust Town she's seen on the surface in a very unlikely place, and Jowan makes some interesting new friends.

The Bannorn


The darkspawn were dead. Jowan looked at the bodies and fought back waves of nausea. He had never killed anything before, and could only be grateful that it was something so horrible no one would mourn it- that it was a something and not a someone. The children were slowly making their way down, using a trellis as a ladder. As they did, a woman ran over. Seeing Jowan casting a healing spell on himself, she began to scream.

"Mage!" she shrieked in terror. "What did you do to my children?"

He stared at her blankly, not entirely sure what she was implying. Her children, at that moment, were milling around daring each other to touch the darkspawn. "Nothing!" Jowan finally said when she continued to yell.

She skid to a halt near him, looking past Jowan to the bodies on the ground. "What… what are those?"

Wringing his hands, Jowan glanced around. "Um… I'm pretty sure they're some kind of, um… darkspawn." The last word came out in a near-whisper. He half-expected her to yell at him for that, too.

She sagged, hand to her chest. "Andraste's mercy! Already?" Strangely, the sight of the darkspawn seemed to calm her. It almost seemed as though she had expected them, of all things. "Of course," she went on, more to herself. "You must be headed south, to the battle."

Battle? Jowan hadn't heard of any battle. "Um, yes," he said, hoping it wouldn't lead to follow up questions. He tried to look like a man marching off to war. When that failed, mostly due to having no idea how someone in such a position would behave, he just tried not to look nervous.

"Right," she said, actually smiling at him. "What you must think of me. Here you save my children and I come out howling like a banshee. Please, at least let me fix you something to eat. You're skin and bones. Doesn't the Chantry feed you people?"

As if it had ears of its own, his stomach audibly growled at the suggestion, noticeable even over his polite refusals. "Maybe food wouldn't be such a bad idea," Jowan admitted after a moment, blushing slightly.

"No maybe about it," she said. "Well, come on. You can make yourself useful and light the stove."


Gherlen's Pass

Sif stumbled after the Grey Warden, trying not to look horrified. Shivering, she glanced up once more. "Try not to look right at the sun," he said gently. "You'll hurt your eyes."

"Oh," she said quickly. "Sorry." She darted one more glance upwards, eyes narrowed in suspicion at this now-ominous 'sun.' "Anything else I should know?"

"Nothing comes to mind," he said. "But it's been many years since we've had anyone from Orzammar among our ranks, I'm afraid I may overlook things simply because I've always lived on the surface. I'm sure there will be more as we travel."

"Right," she said. When he saw she was struggling to keep pace with his long strides, the Warden slowed slightly. "You got a real kick out of that, didn't you?" she asked him after they were out of sight of Orzammar and the market near the gates.

"Pardon?"

She laughed. "The guards. I saw the look on your face before you opened your mouth. So, what? You say someone's going to be a Grey Warden and they have to just stuff it?"

He laughed at that; a rich, loud sound. "In essence… yes," he said. "There are ancient treaties in place with every government in Thedas. If we decide to conscript someone there's no legal way to oppose it."

"What if I'd said no?" she asked.

He was quiet for a moment. "As I said, there's no legal way to oppose it."

She darted her eyes up to him. "I could have fought you."

"You would have lost."

Sif snorted. "Says you."

To her surprise, he snorted right back at her. "I was made Warden Commander of Ferelden for a reason, you know," he said. "And trust me when I say I've faced much harsher foes than you." Sif had to admit to herself, he probably had a point there. The weapons on his back and hips were well-made with a shine that could only come from being sharpened on a very regular basis. "I've seen you fight, you're good. Very good, all things considered. We'll make you better."

That didn't sound so bad. "So…" she said. "Um… what's your name?"

He looked over at her in surprise. "Duncan," he said. "I'm sorry, I introduced myself when we spoke briefly before your… adventure at the Proving. I assumed you remembered."

"Sorry," she said. "I've kind of had a lot on my mind."


Bannorn

Jowan decided going south was the best plan. That she so easily assumed he was headed there to take part in some battle- presumably against the darkspawn- implied others would believe the same thing. Going south, at least for the time being, could keep people from summoning the templars outright.

It wouldn't do to go too far south, though. Running into any mages and templars who actually were headed to the battle would be... bad.

That evening he tried to formulate a plan as he walked. He couldn't stay in Ferelden, that much was obvious. Even though he had destroyed his phylactery the Templars wouldn't simply shrug and wash their hands of him. He was an escaped mage; even worse, he was an escaped blood mage. They would be looking for him in force. The templars who knew him would probably be selected to lead the hunt, and his description would be sent to Chantries across the land.

Tevinter seemed the best option. It was the only place in the known world he wouldn't be considered a criminal, and it was beyond the Chantry's reach. Getting there wouldn't be easy, though. If he went on foot it would involve passing through Orlais. Not only would he stick out as a Fereldan, it was also home to the Chantry. The risk was too much.

The only other alternative was travel by sea. That didn't seem much better. If a Templar boarded he would be completely trapped. And, of a greater immediate concern, he had no idea how much it would cost. Whatever it was would be too much, though, considering he didn't have so much as a copper.

South, though… south, and eventually to Gwaren. He had a vague idea it was in the far east. It was a port city, his history classes said as much. In Gwaren he could get passage to Tevinter and, from there, freedom. Granted, it was a 'freedom' that pulled his stomach into a knot and made him remember a thousand horror stories about the Imerium- slaves, slavers, blood mages fighting in the streets- but he hadn't come so far only to give up and die. If that was his plan he would have just stayed at the tower in the first place so they could behead him quickly.

The idea of seeking out Lily came to him as he walked. She might still be at the tower- there were plenty of cells in the basements, after all. He could… what, sneak in? Rescue her? And not get caught along the way? With a sigh, he realized that was impossible, even if she was still at the tower. If she was in Aeonar, or headed there already… she might as well be dead. No one knew where Aeonar even was, outside the highest ranked members of the Chantry. It was said the veil was so thin most mages, even the ones who never touched blood magic, were driven insane or possessed within hours. Even if he could find it, and somehow managed to get past the templars, and somehow managed to not go mad or be driven to possession, and somehow managed to locate Lily, there was another question: would she actually welcome him?

Jowan's shoulders sagged as he realized it was far more likely that Lily, wherever she was, sat loathing him and cursing the day they met, not hoping for a poorly thought out rescue attempt.


Northern Imperial Highway

Sif was frustrated. She had been pestering Duncan for weeks to give her more details about the Grey Wardens but he only answered in riddles and excuses. She suspected he was trying to outsmart her.

"I'm not stupid," she finally said.

He glanced over at her, clearly surprised. "I'm sorry, where does this come from? I never said you were."

"There's something you're not telling me," she said. "Something bad." They left Orzammar and visited a surface castle, she had seen Duncan whispering with the man in charge. He had said something about hoping for a recruit, but they left alone.

Duncan was silent for a long time. "There is," he finally admitted. "Although… I suspect it is no worse than what you could have hoped for in Orzammar."

"Well, what is it?" she asked.

"You'll find out when we get to Ostagar," was all he said. She was getting used to hearing that, and sighed audibly making her opinion of waiting quite clear. He looked ready to say something, but only sighed much more quietly than she did, shaking his head. "How do you like your cloak?" Duncan asked after a moment.

Brightening at the change of topic, Sif pulled the heavy fabric around herself. "It's fantastic!" she said. It was, in fact, one of the few new things she had ever owned, after growing up wearing Rica's old clothes- which were themselves often hand-me-downs from neighbors and cousins. The heavy grey wool had helped counter some of the chill that had been following her since leaving Orzammar. Sif had been told a great many things about the surface, but no one ever seemed to see the need to mention how damned cold it was. "It may be the nicest thing I've ever owned. Even my armor is all bits and pieces."

Duncan chuckled. He had, she decided, a warm laugh. He didn't seem to care for the cold any more than she did. "Indeed? I was curious where you managed to get a set of light armor."

"Made it," she said. "It's mostly bronto leather. The bits here were gloves I found once," she gestured, pointing one section out. "This part was a hat. The top was a man's coat. I, ah, borrowed the buckles from a pair of boots I… found." She probably didn't need to tell him she reached into the window of a rich merchant and snatched his wife's fancy high-buckled boots to be dismantled for armor, adding laces to what was left to wear on her own feet.

He raised his eyebrows, looking amused. "Indeed? Very creative."

She beamed at the praise, especially coming from a man whose armor looked like it cost enough to feed all of Dust Town for a year. "It was tough, getting the needle through the thick bits. But easier than sewing myself up after, you know?" She made a face. Sif had been forced to sew up both herself and Leske more than once after joining the Carta. That was what convinced her they needed more protection than their everyday clothes. She had done the same after making their armor as well, obviously- carta work is nothing if not dangerous- but nothing quite so dramatic as those horrifying wounds from their early careers.

Thinking of that, of course, led her thoughts back to Leske. She wondered what he was doing, if they had punished him once she was gone, or let him off the hook since she had been the actual impersonator. She worried if the remains of the Carta were after him. Biting her nails as they walked, Sif wondered vaguely if she would ever see him again.

Duncan cleared his throat. "You may find our next stop interesting," he said, drawing her attention back from her own thoughts. "We're going to the Circle of Magi. The king has asked me to secure more help in the coming battle.


Lothering

Jowan had noticed the roads became more crowded the further south he went. Knights and solders, all headed southward. He even saw a large group of men and women with wild paint on their faces, accompanied by enormous barking dogs. Mabari, from the looks of them, the dogs said to be as smart as a person.

"Hey!" one shouted to him. Jowan looked over, confused. "Mage!"

"What… what makes you think I'm a mage?" Jowan asked.

The man rolled his eyes, petting the dog. "Well, the robes are a bit of a giveaway, you know."

Wincing at that, Jowan reminded himself that he needed to find something new to wear. "Right," he said, trying to sound casual and managing a small laugh.

"You're ahead of the pack, we saw the rest of your fellows with their templars a day back."

Keeping his face neutral, Jowan nodded as though there was nothing surprising about that. "Did you need something?"

"Aye," he said. "Can you heal my dog? Got into a bit of a scrape with a wolf a couple days back. She needs to be in top shape for the battle, though."

"Oh, sure," Jowan said, relieved that was it. He cast the spell when the man pointed out where the dog was bit, watching closely to make sure it had healed fully. He had never healed a dog before, after all. Once done, the mabari looked at him with liquid brown eyes and seemed to smile for a moment before licking his face.

"You've made a friend for life there," the dog's owner said with a laugh. "She knows you're the reason she's not hurting now." Thanking Jowan, he waved and continued on his way, catching up to his group quickly.

Mages. Templars. One day behind. Jowan glanced back at the road, half-expecting them to cross the horizon at any moment. They didn't, of course, but he decided he had pressed his luck long enough. Leaving the road, he struck out for the east.

While his gut reaction, looking back, was to chalk it up to another flawed decision, he knew that wasn't true. There was no way he could have known that was where the templars would catch up to him.


Kinloch Hold

Boats, Sif decided, were a joke the surfacers had invented to mess with dwarves' heads. Walking above ground was bad enough, but plopping yourself into a little wooden bowl and expecting it to carry you on top of water? As it shook with every wave and every move of the people inside? It was madness, no other way to describe it.

"Perhaps next time you'll be better staying at the docks," Duncan said, looking at her with pity.

"'m fine," she said, wiping her mouth and pulling herself back from hanging over the edge of the boat.

She felt slightly better once inside. The walls were strong stone, with high ceilings and next to no windows. If she closed her eyes she could almost pretend she was home again. With her eyes open that just wasn't possible. The stares of slender elves and lanky humans, all in identical brightly-colored dresses, made it far too clear she wasn't in Orzammar. Or anything remotely like it.

Following Duncan, she tagged along as a man in heavy armor with a helmet that covered all but his eyes led him through a library. Sif thought the man was trying to look scary. The way he turned to stare at the people in dresses when they passed, and how they darted further away or averted their eyes, made her think whatever he was doing was just lost on her.

Glancing around and trying not to look too ignorant, she caught a young woman with wild dark hair listening carefully to a grey-haired elf. Nodding, the man stepped away and she grinned, raising her hands.

Watching what followed, Sif couldn't stop herself from crying out. "Duncan!" she shouted, after a glance around the room showed no one else seemed to notice or care. Indeed, the grey haired elf was standing calmly watching the whole thing.

"What's wrong?" he said, rushing over to her.

"That girl, no one's helping her!"

He glanced over. "Does she need help?"

Sif looked over at him, narrowing her eyes. Had everyone gone mad? "She's on fire! I'd want some fucking help if I was on fire!"

The girl seemed to hear her, since she turned around, shaking her hands. "Did I do it wrong?" she asked the grey-haired man.

"No, no, you were fine," he said.

Duncan leaned over slightly so he could whisper. "Sif, she was casting a spell. The girl is a mage. They all are."

Well, that would explain why the fire was only on her hands. Sif suddenly felt incredibly stupid. "Ancestor's tits, I'm an idiot," she mumbled. The girl was still looking at her. Staring, maybe even gawking. "Sorry," she added.

"'s all right," she said with a shrug. "What are you?"

"Huh?" Sif stared at her blankly, not sure what the question implied. She didn't sound malicious, and her expression was one of curiosity. She could hear Duncan shift uncomfortably.

"Sif is a Grey Warden recruit. From Orzammar," he said pointedly.

Her eyes went wide. "Really? I've never seen a dwarf before! What's it like?"

"What's being a human like?" Sif replied, hand on her hip.

The girl laughed, actually snorting. "Touché!" she said. "I guess that was dumb." She then proceeded to ask to join the Grey Wardens, only to be swiftly turned down on account of being an 'apprentice,' whatever that was. While Sif wanted to write her off as an especially strange human, several other people asked similar questions of her as they moved through the building. Most just wanted to confirm that she was really a dwarf. One asked if it was true dwarves worshiped rocks. Another made her stand next to a particularly tiny elven woman, laughing so hard he almost fell over when Sif turned out to be ever so slightly taller. She was beginning to wonder if all mages were actually insane.

Duncan seemed frazzled by the entire thing. "Mages come here as children," he said quietly. "They… don't really bother with what most would consider proper manners among themselves, and rarely have contact with outsiders."

It began to make more sense as she sat on a tall chair, listening to Duncan argue with an armored man. One of the men in dresses seemed to be on Duncan's side, he was pushing for more mages to be allowed to go to this big battle, but the armored man didn't seem to care. Listening to them, Sif slowly realized the people in dresses were, in fact, prisoners here. The building felt a little colder once she understood that. No wonder they seemed afraid of the men in armor: they were the guards.

In the end Duncan didn't get his way. Even one young man with pale hair, who he tried to entice into joining him as a Grey Warden, flatly refused. "Join the Wardens?" he scoffed. "Not a chance. I want to be First Enchanter, not some… blood covered warrior. Forget that."

"You could have forced him, couldn't you?" Sif asked as they were walking to the guest rooms.

"I could have," he said. "But I'd rather not take people who are that opposed to the idea when I can come back in a month or two for a willing volunteer. That young lady with dark hair will be a full mage soon enough, she asked to join. Someone like that would be much better to have on our side in battle."

Late that night she heard an argument in the hall. Opening the door a crack, Sif listened. "I don't bloody care," a woman was saying. "You're a traitor, Daylen. You worked for the templars." The way she hissed the last word made Sif think the mages were far less content with their lot in life than it had seemed earlier today.

"He was a blood mage!" that voice was male, pleading. "What should I have done? Helped a maleficar escape? That's insane!"

"He was your friend! If you would betray your best friend… how can anyone trust you?" peeking out, Sif saw the blonde man who had so adamantly refused to join the Grey Wardens arguing with the dark haired girl. "It's just you and your hand tonight," she said. Covering her mouth, Sif resisted the urge to laugh. Apparently things weren't that different from Dust Town here.

"Come on," he said. "Don't be like that." No, not so different from Dust Town at all. It seemed even men who lived in towers and never went outside used the same lines as what she had gotten used to hearing since her teenage years.

"Well…" she said, sounding reluctant, "maybe I can do something…" She took his hand in hers, bringing it to her face. A laugh did escape when the girl spit in his palm and shoved him away, hissing "traitor!" once more before turning and storming off.

Sif closed her door quickly, before he could see who laughed, and ran back to the bed, giggling all the while.


Outside Lothering

The fight, if one could even call it that, was over before it had started. Jowan raised his hands, preparing a spell, only to have it sucked out of him, along with every ounce of energy in his body. He sagged to the ground, knowing he should run and too exhausted to try.

"Will you come peacefully?" the templar asked, pale eyes staring through the slit of his helm. Two other stood next to him, blades drawn.
Jowan sighed in defeat. "I will," he said after a moment. What choice did he have?

They clamped irons on his hands and ankles, with a chain so he could still walk, and began the long hike back to the tower. Why do they bother with this? Jowan mused as he struggled to keep up. Bring me back so I can be killed immediately? Makes no sense.

He suspected the Chantry liked the idea of mages being paraded across Ferelden in chains. It would be remembered by anyone who witnessed the scene, burning the idea of mages as dangerous criminals into their minds.

You sound like Anders, he thought, and then realized how many times the older mage had made this same hike. Fortunately for him, none of his trips had the same ending Jowan expected. Well… so far.

On the third day they came across a group of soldiers fighting off a small band of darkspawn. Jowan stared in frustrated horror as the templars rushed off to help, leaving him bound. He raised his shackled hands, trying to cast a spell at the darkspawn, but couldn't manage anything. A glance down revealed why: lyrium-filled wards carved into the iron.

Should probably have expected that.

The fight was over quickly, even without his help, and one of the templars asked if he could be 'trusted' to heal someone. Jowan only nodded in response.

"You're a mage?" the soldier asked. Before Jowan could answer, he turned to another of the men. "Didn't the Teyrn say we should be on the lookout for an apostate?"

"That he did," the man said. Before Jowan could respond he nocked an arrow and sent it flying. He smiled in grim satisfaction when it hit the mark- right into the slit of one of the templar's helms.

Not more than an hour later he was on a wagon, along with the lone surviving templar. Both were bound, although this time it was with common rope. The templar was unconscious.

"Where are we going?" Jowan called up to one of the men.

"Denerim," came the reply.

"Why?" he wondered if this was something worse than what had been waiting for him in the Circle.

The man laughed. "Calm down, mage; we just saved your ass. We're taking you to someone who can help you… in exchange for a small favor."
Listening to him, Jowan realized with a jolt of shock that the man was either a highly accomplished liar, or he actually believed every word of what he said. Help, Jowan thought with amusement. That's a nice change of pace.