Chapter Text
“Four days!” said Mab as she took Alim's empty plate. “It was a fool's errand in the first place. Who goes looking for the Dalish?” She rinsed the dish in a bucket and set it aside before waving a wet hand at him.“And you! Two days, he said. Three at the most. It's been four days and I still have a bloody mage in my house while that man’s likely been cut to pieces by savages. You have one more day, elf, and then you can find your way back to wherever you came from. I don't care if you're meant for the Wardens, I'll not be harboring magic in this house any longer.”
“Of course,” Alim muttered. She grabbed her bucket and took it outside, leaving him blessedly alone at the rough wooden table. Thatched roof overhead, rushes underfoot, and everywhere in between a constant stream of complaints from old Mab; if there was one thing he could agree with her on, it was that one more day was an intolerable thought. Of course, with Duncan away looking for more recruits, there was no place to go.
Denerim had offered no one. Alim, overwhelmed by streets and scenes that were still familiar after fourteen years, had declined Duncan's offer to accompany him to the alienage. Instead, he had tucked himself into an alcove of the market Chantry, the only bit of familiar that felt comfortable, and pulled out his journal to read. Duncan, alone, collected him close to sundown.
It was his book that he returned to now, pulling it out of his pack and setting it on the table. The book was plainly bound in dark leather, too heavy and thick to be carrying about Ferelden but with years of notes and spells written in his own neat hand, too precious to be left behind at Kinloch Hold. Alim flipped to the point that he'd stopped reading the day before. While the days at Mab's had provided a break from travel, they also left too much empty time to think about people left behind and a home he would likely not be allowed to see again.
So Alim read, keeping self-indulgent sorrow at bay by reviewing what he'd learned in his last few years at the Circle. The reading also kept his thoughts off Mab. Almost. Despite the coins Duncan had given her, she hadn't had a pleasant moment since Alim had known her. Hopefully he wouldn't have to know her much longer.
“Mage!”
Alim sighed, closed his book, and stepped over to the open door. The woman was hurrying back towards the hut, her bucket sloshing clean water in her wake.
“Mage! Duncan is here for you and he's got one of those thieving heathens with him. You get your things and be off. I don't need that savage anywhere near my home.”
Alim looked over Mab’s shoulder toward the forest and saw two figures approaching. One, tall and broad, was obviously Duncan. Alim nodded at his host and turned back to the table to stuff his book into his pack and grab the wooden staff leaning in the corner.
“Thank you, I appre-”
“Go!” she hissed. “I've had enough of you cursed elves, Wardens or not.” She pushed Alim out the door and slammed the door between them.
It took a moment for Alim to realize he'd been included in the insult. Four days of quiet and polite company seemed to account for little with some people. He hitched his pack up onto his back and left to join Duncan.
As the distance closed between them, Alim was momentarily confused. The man walking beside Duncan was tall, taller than any elf Alim had ever seen. He almost thought he was a human until he noticed the pointed ears. And the tattoos… sharp and angular over the elf's dark features. Alim couldn’t guess at what they were meant to represent.
“This is Jael Mahariel.” Duncan inclined his head toward the Dalish, only to receive a hard look in return. “He’s come upon some trouble recently. He’ll travel with us and join the Wardens once we reach Ostagar.”
“Alim Surana.” He nodded at the Dalish but didn’t extend a hand. He had no idea what the other elf’s customs might be and, judging by Jael’s expression, wasn’t sure the other man would welcome the gesture. “Late of Kinloch Hold.”
Jael barely gave Alim a glance; his hostile gaze was reserved for Duncan. He pulled up the wolf-head hood on his heavy fur cloak, hiding his face from view.
“I never gave you my name, shem. Don’t feel so free to hand it out.” His voice was hoarse and grating. Not the rasp that came with age or smoke, but the aftermath of something like hard weeping or perhaps screaming.
The Dalish turned away from them both, pointedly facing the road and waiting for Duncan to get on with it. None of them had any reason to linger.
The faint chill of the morning was giving way to the warmth of afternoon as the party of three made their way along the narrow, weed-choked road. There was scarcely a breeze to stir the air and the sky was a clear, welcoming blue as far as the eye could see. All in all, it was shaping up to be the most pleasant day the fledgling autumn had seen so far, and a fine one for travel.
None of it registered with Jael Mahariel. He was Dalish. Defiance was bred into his bones. He had little use for the city elf walking at the human’s side, and none at all for the human himself. His thoughts lingered with his Clan. He'd thought he'd finally reached a state of numbness, but with nothing to occupy him but the plod of one foot in front of the other, memories of his family pushed into his thoughts.
When he'd realized he had no choice but to leave his home behind, it had all but broken him in two. He'd left his heart in the final, painfully tight embrace of his mother. He'd left his word with Keeper Marethari, that he would do whatever it took to return home. He told himself that he hadn’t been cast out, that he’d taken them with him in a sense. The leather campaign armor, riding so much heavier on his shoulders than the garb of a hunter, carried with it Ilen's skill. The craftsmaster had come to say his farewells in private while Jael had packed, and pushed the gift on him with the wish that it would protect him and help bring him home. Merrill, who knew what it was to leave all you knew behind, had wrapped him a wordless, grief-choked embrace that had left him bruised. And Ashalle and Tamlen, their love was both memory to be treasured and close enough to touch in the wolfen cloak on his shoulders...
Oh, gods…Tamlen.
Jael almost choked on the guilt and pain that came rushing back with the memory of his hunt-brother’s death, but he pushed the grief away with vicious pragmatism. Mourning would have to wait for later. For now, he was infected with the same corruption that had killed Tamlen. Though he strove to show no weakness before Duncan, he ached as if in a deep fever. The opportunistic bastard had offered him his only chance at a cure, so the task ahead was to live through whatever service the shem had in mind for him so that he could return home and make Clan and family whole again. As whole as could be managed.
Jael shook himself back to the present and glared at the human’s back. He had received only vague answers to his questions so far, but perhaps the shem would be less cryptic away from the ears of an entire clan of Dalish. If nothing else, talk would be a distraction.
"What is it you want with me?"
Without turning his head, Duncan replied, "For now, I am taking you and Alim to Lothering to meet the other Grey Warden recruits."
Recruits. Jael's lip curled at the word. That was a nice way to refer to someone you had bent over a fence rail. "And after that?"
"Then we're on to Ostagar."
"And after that?"
"That remains to be seen."
Jael opened his mouth to speak -- to snarl -- but snapped his jaw shut a moment later. Fine. He wouldn't bother wasting his breath. Better to observe, and glean what he could, than to speak for the sake of learning nothing. As soon as he had performed whatever service the shem wanted for the damned cure, he would flee back to the wild to find his Clan’s trail. It might take the whole season to find the wintering ground that the Keeper and Maren had chosen this year, but at least he knew enough to guess where to start. He would see his family again. All he had to do was keep putting one foot in front of the other until this journey was over. He just had to endure.
The other elf, introduced as Alim, had seemed to pay little attention to the exchange between him and Duncan, so that likely didn’t account for the thin-lipped frown. Jael kept his attention on the mage for a time, trying to assess him without engaging. He couldn’t have seen the sun often, for he was as pale as the belly of a frog. His fine robes, just starting starting to show the wear of the road, held Jael’s attention a moment longer than he would have liked to admit; though his people had taken in city-reared elves before, mages who escaped the captivity of Circle towers were rare and Jael had never seen one.
The mage kept his eyes downcast, keeping his thoughts entirely to himself. But for all his silence, he was still the noisiest of all of them as he scuffed along the trail in boots still new enough to squeak. Between making enough noise to alert every animal on the path that they were coming and a gait that said Alim wasn't entirely comfortable with the road as of yet, Jael supposed it was hardly a wonder that the mage looked like a mule hitched to too heavy a load. He obviously wasn’t used to extended travel afoot, and there was no reason to assume that the shem had given him any more choice about the journey than he had Jael. Shemlen were known to keep mages on a short leash, even when they weren’t physically imprisoned.
Jael tucked that observation away for later. It was possible he could offer the other elf freedom in exchange for his help when it came time to escape. The Clan had only two mages, Keeper Marethari and her First. And even if his clan hadn't been short of magic-users, surely they wouldn't turn away an elf fleeing the walls of a shemlen prison.
Still, Jael reminded himself, it was best not to risk mentioning that until he had a better idea if his companion was truly an unhappy prisoner or just another fawning, prick-eared dog walking upright.
Duncan tried to draw Jael into conversation as the day wore on, but the Dalish met his attempts with angry silence. If the shem wouldn’t answer his questions, then he was a fool to think Jael would grant him anything other than the same treatment.
The silence between the three of them carried into the afternoon and wore on into twilight, until the trio finally stopped to make a cold camp at the side of the wagon path. Jael kept his distance from both of them. He climbed a large beech tree while the other two prepared their bedding, forcing himself to move with far more ease than he felt. The shem hadn't lied about the gravity of his illness, that much was certain. The corruption was festering away inside his body. It had been less than a full day's walk, but he felt every mile of it in his cramping, exhausted muscles. His brow was hot to the touch and just the idea of eating made his stomach heave. He settled instead for digging out some of the herbs the Keeper had given him at their parting: cat’s tongue to be taken as itself, mint, feverease, and bloodleaf for brewing. He chewed dutifully on a few of the bitter leaves, hoping they would soothe his guts. Wherever they were going, it would be a longer trip still if he couldn't keep food down.
The other elf was up a tree, blades, bow, and all, and Alim was left wishing he had spent a little time of his time in the Circle library reading up on the Dalish. At the time, the Dalish had seemed as distant and fanciful as dragons. In a library it would take a lifetime to work through, the fanciful things tended to get left on the shelf. But now he wondered if they were all as tall as this one. And did they usually retreat to trees in the evening?
"Is he coming down?" Alim asked quietly.
"You are free to ask him," said Duncan, sitting down to eat.
Alim shook his head and pulled out his own food. He’d seen how Jael talked to Duncan - best keep his distance for now. And, in truth, four days with an ungracious host had managed to drain him of his willingness to dispense pleasantries for the time being. The thought of Mab combined with a day of travel left him as weary as he’d been his first day out of the Circle. He choked the travel rations down as quickly as he could, chased them with a swallow of water, and unrolled his blanket before falling into sleep.
*~*~*~*~*
“Your turn on watch.”
It took Alim a moment to remember why he was curled up, sore and stiff, on the bare ground; a moment longer to remember whose voice was nudging him into wakefulness. He pushed himself up and mumbled a thank you to Jael, who was little more than a shape in the dark. His eyes were adjusting, but it was still dark enough to make Alim's mind turn to things he'd managed to push aside since leaving the tower. He wanted a light and a distraction.
“Would it be okay to make a light?” Alim asked, rubbing the sleep from his eyes as he sat up. “Just a small one to read by?”
Jael looked sharply in his direction. The gesture might have gone unnoticed, save for the telltale flash of starlight reflected from elven eyes.
"Didn't the shem warn you?" he asked, keeping his words to a low rasp. "A light might keep hungry beasts at bay, but that isn't what we should be worried about. There are worse things wandering out here… darkspawn and all manner of blighted beasts." His gravelly whisper grew even harsher as he spoke.
"He probably did," said Alim. It was a lie but it seemed likely that he’d simply expected Jael to inform Alim. If not, Alim wasn’t about help fuel the his hostility toward their commander. "And his name is Duncan."
"I don’t give a damn what his name is,” Jael growled. “And I can’t say I think much of his skill as a teacher if he didn’t bother to impress upon you just how dangerous it is out here. He’s as good as left you staked out for the first beast to wander along."
"With respect," Alim said, "I’m not exactly helpless.” Somewhat lacking in common sense it seemed, but not helpless. "Regardless, you should get some sleep. I’m a healer, but that’s not much use if you’re exhausted tomorrow.”
The advice was met by a hoarse bark of laughter.
"There’s no power in Thedas that I’d trust to quiet my head right now, healer. Our Keeper poured healing into me for three days trying to stay the corruption the shem spoke of. If that's not enough to keep me on my feet, you'd just be wasting your magic." Jael sat heavily beside Alim. "I'll last to Ostagar or I won't. And if I don't, that's not your doing."
He was infected with the Blight. Alim was furious. Would that not be an important piece of information for the one party member capable of healing to have?
Instead of being left behind while Duncan went wandering off into the trees to gather up a Dalish elf, Alim might have gone with him, talked to this Keeper, understood what needed to be done if Jael faltered. ‘Poured healing into me’ was an utterly useless description.
It occurred to Alim that perhaps Duncan wasn't quite sure of what to do with a mage. Maybe there no other mages in the Wardens.
Jael, at least, seemed to know enough to think he could tell Alim what his limits were. He was tempted to give the man a lecture on his accomplishments in the Circle, that he had been the First Enchanter's apprentice, but he suspected it would not make a difference. If Alim couldn't skin a rabbit or climb a tree, Jael was not likely to be impressed.
"I’m sorry, I didn’t realize," Alim said, putting aside his thoughts. The man was dying, after all. “I'll trust your healer's magic."
Jael accepted the verdict with a brief nod as he settled cross-legged on the grass. "Ma serannas. It’s worthy that you offer respect to our Keeper." Silence, not entirely uncomfortable, settled between them. Finally, Jael nodded toward Alim’s journal.
“What were you going to read? I’ve not met many other elves who could. Not even the ones from the cities.”
The question was a surprise. Relieved at the change of subject, Alim reached over to his pack and pulled out his book.
"It's a journal -- a grimoire, of sorts. It's where I've written spells I've learned, notes on magic, ideas. I've been rereading some of it." Alim brushed a hand across the cover. "I have no idea what the Grey Wardens will expect of me. Best to be familiar with what I can offer them." He offered the book to Jael.
Jael's voice dropped into a growl once more. "That makes two of us, then." Despite his renewed ire, he took the book with care that was nearly reverence, glancing briefly to Alim for confirmation before he even opened it. Save for the fact that he had to hold the book near his face to read, the dark didn’t seem to bother Jael. It was the words themselves that seemed to give him more trouble; he used one finger to track the text, and his lips mouthed the words, though he did not read out loud.
Jael finally seemed to notice Alim’s eyes on him. He closed the grimoire and handed it back to the mage with the same care he'd taken it. He nodded his thanks.
"It must be important if you’re willing to carry it across Ferelden. Perhaps you'll have more chance to study at Lothering."
“One can hope."
Alim tucked the book back into the pack, "I'm hoping we'll be staying in an inn for a night once we get there. A bed, a roof, and a bottle of wine… that sounds wonderful to me."
"You'll have a few nights to wait yet." Jael withdrew into his cloak, hiding himself from view once more.“But I don't think I'm going to sleep tonight, healer. If you want some extra rest, you may as well take it."
Going without sleep could not be a good idea but Jael had ignored his advice earlier and Alim doubted he would listen now. He might as well get his rest in case he and Duncan ended up dragging the Dalish man along between them.
"I will," Alim said, "thank you." He pulled his blanket around him and settled back into his bedroll.
If Jael was feeling the lack of sleep the next morning, he wasn’t showing it. Duncan watched him as they broke camp, but Jael didn't acknowledge him beyond obeying direct orders or supplying one-word answers.
Jael's stamina impressed Alim. Evidently, what was difficult for a soft tower mage was nothing unusual for a Dalish. That made Alim curious about what Jael's role was in his clan. There were other questions he would like to ask as well, about the tattoos on his face, about the wolfskin cloak, and about the circumstances of his recruitment. But though Jael was up and walking, he didn't look ready to be pestered with questions and Alim wasn't sure if a few polite words in the middle of the night gave him the right to ask. If they were going to be Wardens together, there was time to learn those things. What Alim didn't feel he had time for was uncertainty about what the Wardens needed from him.
"Duncan," he said after a few quick steps to catch up with him, "After Lothering, we're heading straight for Ostagar. I'm just wondering what you intend to do with me there. You mentioned the King needed more mages..."
Duncan nodded. "I went to the Circle hoping for more mages for the battle. I am glad, however, that we have a healer amongst our recruits."
"But you have other mages?" asked Alim, " What will they be doing?"
"We have one other mage. He will be doing what is asked of him," Duncan held Alim's gaze for a moment, "And what is asked of him may be different than what is asked of you. More than that, we will see when we get to Ostagar."
He should have expected that answer. Questions about what to expect in the Wardens were generally vague and inevitably circled back to some form of 'you’ll see later'.
The rest of the day passed slowly. The woodlands had thinned out to the occasional stand of trees the day before, now they were left behind completely. Cleared land and fallow fields were all around them. Absent conversation, Alim let his mind wander in every direction but Lake Calenhad. He considered what little Duncan had shared about the Blight and the Grey Wardens, wondered at Jael's tattoos, went over spells in his head, reconsidered the Canticles he had committed to memory. He even pretended some interest in the landscape around them.
Finally Duncan signaled a stop. Alim slipped off his pack and set his staff down.
"I hope you're eating with us tonight," he said to Jael.
Jael looked up from the grassy spot where he'd planted himself almost as soon as a halt had been called.
"If you'd like." Jael still kept his voice low, but the ragged quality was smoothing out.
"I would, thank you," replied Alim.
The evening was pleasantly warm and the work to set up camp was quickly done. Alim pulled his food from his pack then stole a glance to see what, if anything, Jael was having for his supper. That the Dalish had not eaten much had not escaped his notice.
Jael kept the hood of his cloak up, hiding his face beneath the canine visage once more. He picked over his provisions briefly and finally took out some waybread and a strip of smoked meat.Eating a meal with a wolf was not what Alim had expected but, he noted, at least he was eating something.
"Your cloak," he asked Jael, "if you don't mind the question, did you kill the wolf?”
The question brought on a few moments of silence, as if it came as a surprise.
"No," Jael said finally, turning a bit to face Alim. "It was a gift from my family when I took my vallaslin." Another pause, then he added. "My...tattoos."
"What do they represent?" asked Alim.
Jael rose to his feet and gestured for Alim to follow him. He didn't lead Alim from Duncan’s line of sight, only far enough away that they could speak between themselves.
"When Dalish come of age, we choose one of our gods to dedicate ourselves to," he explained quietly, pushing his hood back as he did to allow Alim a better view of his vallaslin. "It is...a personal matter. Some know whose ways they wish to follow from a young age, others may spend their whole childhood seeking an answer. And when we're ready to take on the responsibilities of an adult, we petition our teachers and the Keeper. If they agree, we spend a night in meditation of our path, and at first light, the Keeper takes us away from the camp and tattoos the markings of our chosen god on our face.
"If we cry out during the initiation, the Keeper returns us to the Clan, and we must wait at least another season before we petition again. If we do not, then we return ready to take the responsibilities of hunting, healing, crafting...whatever is needed of us."
Jael paused, looking very near to self-conscious. "Abelas," he muttered apologetically. "I haven't let you ask any questions."
"And you don't have to," Alim said. He glanced back at Duncan, wondering why he merited sharing this information with while their commander was left out. "I think I've been rude. Thank you for telling me, but if it makes you uncomfortable..?"
Jael blinked. "I don't understand. How have you been rude?"
"I've barely known you for two days and I'm prying into private matters," Alim smiled, "I was taught better, I promise."
"Ah." Jael relaxed a little. "I see. I think I explained badly. One's dedication is a personal choice, but hardly secret..." He laughed and tapped the jagged lines at the center of his forehead. "We do wear it in plain view. And the rest...well, you let me read your book. That is more secret than my vallaslin, I think." He shrugged. "Besides, you're an elf."
Dragging Alim off to tell him of the tattoos made marginally more sense. It was good to hear Jael laugh, despite how weary he looked. Perhaps he wasn't as somber as Alim had assumed.
"Ah well, I have the ears, I suppose. I'm not sure that counts for much," Alim said. "And there's not much for secrets in the book of a mage barely out of apprenticeship."
"You count." Jael glanced back toward the distant woods. "Our ways may not be your ways, but we have a common heritage. It does no harm for me to share it."
Alim didn't look back to Jael. He needed a moment to process what Jael had said beyond 'you count'.
Alim had made dismissive comments many times in the past: to put a human at ease or to excuse his ignorance to other elves. He never thought of it as a question, let alone that there might be an answer he wanted to hear. Strangely, the realization did not make him happy.
"Maybe tomorrow," he mumbled. Then, more clearly, "You need rest. Duncan and I should be able to handle watch tonight."
He paused, a hand going to his braid and then back down to his side. He should say thank you. Instead he turned and went back to Duncan to discuss the night watch.
Jael watched Alim go, frowning as he considered the situation. He did need to sleep, and badly. That didn't mean he would be able to. He didn’t want to put his camp duties on Alim either. Perhaps they would be able to pull a double watch and keep each other awake. Even so, he should at least try to rest.
It was an unseasonably warm night. Unpacking blankets seemed too much of a bother. Jael pulled his hood low and curled up under his cloak, using his bedroll as a pillow.
Despite his exhaustion, sleep was elusive. Nightmares that were all splintered shards of memory and lurking horror sliced through his rest and left him sitting upright and shaking, rivulets of cold sweat trickling down his spine. The memory of Tamlen's horrified face as the eluvian unveiled its malice was burned behind his eyes and lingered, even through his waking. His head throbbed with the pounding of his heart and his stomach kept trying to churn into his throat with every agonized beat.
He bowed his head, teeth bared, whispering the Way of the Bow as he tried to center himself. Bend but never break. He had to remember that. And to bend only as far as absolutely need be.
Only just settled enough to keep his hands from shaking, Jael rose to his feet and stalked toward Alim. He sat before a small fire. The shem must have felt they were safe here, closer to their destination, Jael decided. Jael stepped slowly and deliberately to alert Alim to his presence. After a moment’s thought, he dropped his hood; there was no benefit to startling a mage, after all. Not if you didn’t want your hind parts scorched.
He didn't speak at first, only settled down a few arm spans from Alim, staring into the fire. He'd thought to ask more questions, but Alim seemed to step carefully around personal matters, so whatever his life had been before the Circle seemed an unlikely topic, perhaps even a rude one. Bad place to set foot. He'd thought to ask about the Circle, to try and make sense of the few pages he'd read from Alim’s book, but he found he didn't have the energy to link the half-recalled concepts into sentences. In the end, all he could offer was a nod.
"Aneth’ara. I couldn't sleep," he said by way of explanation. "I hoped you wouldn't mind the company."
"Not at all," said Alim. He seemed surprised to see Jael up. "Did you get any sleep at all?"
"Not much," he admitted. "Enough to get us through to Lothering tomorrow if I read the map right. At least then we shouldn't have to worry about who's on watch." Jael scuffed a foot toward the flames. "I'll sleep there, probably. I have some tea to help. And you will get to study. And...we'll see who else the Wardens have 'recruited' to their order."
"Yes, their definition of recruit is very flexible. Thank the Maker for that." Alim said, smiling. He paused, obviously searching for the best way to ask his next question, "They have a way to help you, I assume. With the Blight. Have they told you what it is?"
Jael snorted. "Why would a slant-eared rabbit need to know something like that? He told me I could serve his order or die. And if the Keeper hadn't made me promise to live, I'd have seen him leave empty-handed."
Alim glanced away a moment, cleared his throat. "Well, I'm glad she made you promise. It's good to have some company during watch. Duncan said the same thing to me. More or less."
The confession came as a surprise. Jael had assumed Alim had been given some choice in following the Warden. After a moment of thought, however, he admitted it was probably a foolish conclusion. The shems weren't known for giving their magic users any kind of freedom, after all.
"What did you do that deserved death?"
"Something I shouldn't have." Alim stared down at his hands, seemingly unable to meet Jael’s gaze. "Something I knew was wrong. Something that deserved punishment, in any case. So it was serve or die… Duncan only told me the truth," Alim let a small smile return, "I still refused him though. He had to conscript me. There's your warning - I can be terrifically stubborn sometimes."
"I would warn you of the same, but I think you've figured that out by now." The tiny, watered down smile Jael offered in return trickled away as the fresh burn of cramping muscle traveled through his body. He gritted his teeth until it had passed, then spoke just above a whisper.
"I let my hunt-brother die. We were exploring a ruin and we found old magic. I should have dragged him away at the first sign of danger. Gone back to the Clan, told the Keeper. Instead, we both wound up stricken with this corruption. Tamlen... died alone in the woods, and our Keeper only just saved me."
"I'm sorry," said Alim. "Hunt-brother? He was a good friend?"
"Hunt-brothers..." Jael struggled for the familiar to help bury the grief. He wasn't even sure why he had decided to speak of Tamlen. Perhaps it was just wanting him to be remembered, even if outside of their family. "Formally, it doesn't have to be more than a partnership, two hunters who choose to work together and whose skills compliment each other. Friendship almost always grows, if it was not there before. But Tamlen was as close as my brother. We were born a week apart and raised in the same aravel." Jael took a deep breath, willing himself steady. "Yes. He was a good friend."
"I understand," Alim said. "I do. I had a friend like that, from almost my first days at the tower. I’m lucky he put up with me then." He spent several moments lacing and unlacing his fingers before he spoke again.
"I helped him escape the Circle. I helped him destroy his phylactery - how the Templars track mages - and now he's free. Out there," Alim waved a hand, "somewhere. The Circle doesn’t think much of that sort of thing."
The quiet confession boosted Alim by several notches in Jael's estimation, and not only because he'd defied the Templars, an act Jael approved of on principle.
"That took courage," he said. "Were you caught, or merely suspected?"
"Caught. And no, it didn't take courage," Alim shook his head. "What would have taken courage was if I'd gone to the First Enchanter when Jowan asked for help. I didn’t realize it at first, but he was using blood magic. There were enough clues, I should have known.”
Jael grinned at him, a glimmer of humor in the dark. "I only commented on your bravery, not your forethought." But his amusement was short-lived.
"I don't know much of magic compared to the Keeper," he admitted, "but I have heard of the mercy of Templars. I don't think much of it. Whatever else can be said, you were still brave to help him escape."
"We'll disagree then," Alim said, a sharp edge to his words. "And I'm not sure what you've heard about the Templars but I'm quite grateful for their mercy. The tower was my home and the Templars were the ones who brought me there. Campfires in the wild are charming for a bit, but frankly I would be right back in the library, with Templars at every door, if they let me return."
Jael turned his gaze back to the "charming" campfire, surprised at the strength of his disappointment and, even more, his embarrassment at how badly he'd misjudged. He had let his own desperation blind him to the nature of his companion: a dog longing for his kennel. There would be no clandestine plans for escape, not with this mage. He was on his own as surely as he'd been when he'd followed the shem away from his people.
"What I've heard about your Templars," he growled, "is the grief from the lips of parents who've been threatened into giving up their children… or from those mourning the ones who would not and were killed. And the anger from smaller Clans who were harassed and abused for ‘harboring apostates'. My Clan tends to avoid shemlen and we're strong enough that those canting cowards don't mark us as easy prey when we can’t, but that doesn't mean we keep our ears shut." One thought bled into another: Templars, magic, Keepers, family, death...
Jael rose to his feet. "I'm going back to sleep," he said, knowing it was a lie. "Sorry to interrupt your watch."
He turned on his heel and left Alim silent and alone at the campfire.