Absolved

to free from guilt or blame or their consequences

Jowan woke with a start, the terror of what lay behind sleep worse than any trip into the Fade. He'd heard the song, that melody a dirge to life. A requiem for the fallen. He'd seen it, felt it, was part of it himself; the horror that was the archdemon. Every twisted breath for the creature was agony, and it was determined to spread its misery to everything in its path. Whether or not what the Chantry taught was true, and mages had in fact corrupted the Golden City, the Uthemiel's contempt for all life was not a question. And now, he was part of the darkspawn as much as the darkspawn were a part of him. He could almost feel the tug of it now, as he sat awake. The taint coursing through him, longing to return to the side of the Archdemon. There would be peace at its side. Maker's breath, there was a reason there was the word demon in the abysmal creature's name. But this was the price he'd agreed to pay, when he'd accepted the Warden's Right of Conscription. He didn't feel better, he felt darker. More contorted on the inside, not less.

Suddenly a hand covers his. Its a large hand. Patterned with rough callouses and scars. They are so very different from his own soft, eloquently fingered hands. Jowan rubs his thumb along the side of the warm hand, attention catching on the jagged nails. They'd been chewed. His eyes should already be adjusted to the dim light, but they take a moment to focus. The flesh of the hand had a slight golden hue to it, there was no question who it belonged to. He traced the line up the blunted fingers and well muscled arm, there looking genuinely elated to lay eyes on him was the wayward Templar recruit who had quickly become the object of Jowan's affection, quite to the contrary to every drop of sense the Maker saw fit to give him. Which wasn't anything to brag about in the first place.

"Duncan said that sometimes the Joining is harder physically on mages," he said. The lightness in his tone sounding strained. There was worry in those blue eyes of his, they tugged at Jowan. He shouldn't have worried, the mage did enough worrying for three people, "But you've always been stronger than you looked."

And Alistair had always been more sensitive than he looked. They were quite a pair, they looked like complete opposites. Anyone simply looking at them couldn't understand their attraction to one another. What could a mage and Templar have in common except maybe a naughty sex game or two Zevran had pointed out several, they'd yet to complete the list. The whole concept of loving another man was still new and confusing for Alistair, loving anyone again had been a concept just as strange to Jowan. But deep down, they were both children sent away because of what they were, a thing they couldn't change no matter how they tried. At the same time Alistair had been sent to live at the Chantry, Jowan had been left on the Chantry's step. There were too many parallels in each other, its what had initially interested the both of them.

And now...

The bed jostled underneath him as Alistair clambered for a place. In plain dark trousers and a long sleeved light colored tunic, the man made himself comfortable before pulling Jowan down to him. Hesitantly he started to pull his fingers through the mage's hair. It wasn't something they talked about. Sometimes Alistair just needed someone to hold. Much more than Jowan ever needed to be held, but it was a fault the mage could live with. It was only awkward for the first instant, before the scent of the bigger man lulled him.

"There is a price, for killing an Archdemon,"

The soft words seemed to echo, Alistair had never sounded so ominous before. It wasn't something good, Jowan could almost guess.

"And whats that?"

"The Warden who lands the killing blow, dies as a result. Usually its the oldest Warden," Alistair said.

Which meant Riordan would take it. Jowan's mind quickly went to the next Warden in line, of the Wardens in Ferelden the honor would next fall to Alistair. No, he couldn't allow that. Alistair was too good a man to die. It should be Jowan, but as a mage he'd hardly have a good shot at the beast from behind everyone. The Aeuducan scion was a monster with his hammer, he could kill the Archdemon. Jowan chided himself for his black thoughts, wishing death on another so the man he cared for would live. No Alistair would take the fatal stroke if Riordan fell. It was simply who he was to do things the way they aught to be done.

Except in loving a man. A maleficar.

"There is no other way then?"

There was a long pause from the man, finally Alistair said, "No, its nothing."

"What are you trying to hide, your not very good at it you know," Jowan replied, sitting up to glance sidelong at his unlikely partner.

"Morrigan mentioned something. No good can come of it."

The Templar was too tired, near the edge of sleep as it was, to resist the extra nudge Jowan gave him towards slumber. Morrigan had mentioned something. That was all Jowan needed to know. The swamp witch had something unsavory up her sleeve that disagreed with Alistair's delicate sensibilities. He believed in right and wrong, black and white, all or nothing. The world hadn't been that simple for Jowan in a long time. He did know one thing, he deserved to live. Was it greater to sin, or refuse to commit a sin to save the life of someone you loved. It wasn't the first time he asked himself that question. Perhaps in saving Alistair, he too could be absolved.