FIC: Reflections

He has, he reflects, traded one sort of captivity for another. Certainly he has far less to worry about inside of Redcliffe Castle; there are no templars, no Enchanters to scold him for his progress (or lack thereof), no real worry that he'll be sold out. For the first time, Jowan realizes, he has what amounts to worth, to value. The Arlessa needs him to tutor her son, in magic as well as the more conventional subjects to hide the reality of the situation from Arl Eamon. After all, who else does she have to turn to? Not the Circle, certainly, and intelligent, well-spoken apostates don't just happen along every day.

Not that his happening along was an accident, of course. Teyrn Loghain had seen to it, that their paths had crossed. Jowan hadn't been presumptuous or stupid enough to ask how.

But he also can't leave, now that he's here. Jowan knows that he has no one else to turn to, either, now that Talaerion is gone, probably dead. He needs the safety and protection that the posting offers, from the Arlessa as well as from Loghain. If he leaves then the templar in the village might spot him. He's as much a prisoner here as he was in the Tower, unable to leave the island, and the servants look at him with the same sort of uncertainty that his fellow apprentices often did. He can't blame them. Most people never see magic or even see a real mage, he knows that, and the fact that they are suddenly in close proximity to one must be alarming. They may not know about Connor, but Jowan's robes give his own abilities away clearly enough.

Some of them, in any case.

Still, it's not a bad life. He's given liberty to enjoy the sun outdoors in the courtyards, to eat when he pleases and even sit at the family table with Connor sometimes, to discuss his young student's progress--though he discusses the boy's magic privately, with Isolde. He has access to the Castle's library, a modest but reasonable salary, and funds to allocate toward the purchase of any magical items his pupil might require. He even has comfortable rooms of his own rather than a bed in the servants' quarters, private and even nicer than the ones the senior mages at the Circle have.

Redcliffe Castle is a cage, to be sure, but at least it's heavily gilded.

Unfortunately, it's also starting to feel a bit cramped the longer he works here. And he's starting to learn why it's a bad idea to be on two different payrolls. Jowan frowns a little and rubs at his stubbled jaw, brow furrowing as he makes his way through the hallways. Dust motes float lazily in the rays of late afternoon sunlight streaming through the windows, spinning and dancing as the mage passes before calming again. Arl Eamon is... nothing like the man Loghain painted him to be. He seems to have Ferelden's best interests at heart rather than be any sort of threat, he's stern but kind, deeply attached to his family. It presents quite the moral dilemma.

But home and family and love are what Jowan craves, too. And Loghain promised him that with the Arl eliminated, he would make things okay with Irving and Knight-Commander Greagoir. Surely the regent of Ferelden can be trusted? Jowan quells the fluttery feeling of uncertainty in the pit of his belly. He usually trusts his gut instincts, they've always served him well, and right now they're telling him that maybe he's doing the wrong thing, maybe he should stop and come clean. Eamon is slowly succumbing, but it's not too late, not yet. Jowan's instincts have always been to heal, never to harm, and he hates what he's doing. If he stops...

And yet the idea of returning to the only home he knows is something he can't put out of his mind, not even now. Of course Loghain will follow through, he has to. Maybe he'll even know what happened to Lily. Jowan narrows his eyes slightly. He's given up so many times.

He won't let this chance slip through his fingers, too.