A/N: Several people wanted to know Marin's story so I thought I would begin to tell it. My priority is still The Lion of Orlais and its sequel but I wanted to at least start this. Who knows, I may actually be able to keep two stories going at once…ah, who am I kidding? I'm no juggler.
**Slight spoilers for The Stolen Throne and The Calling** Oh...Bioware owns all except my imagination, although they are welcome to it.

An Inauspicious Beginning

She was sitting high in the tree, listening to the night sounds, her head resting against the trunk. She had been practicing spells when the templars appeared at the gates of Dragon's Mist and her father had sent her through the basement, into the cellar and out to a clearing on the other side, far enough away from the templars and their abilities. She was an apostate and they would show no mercy.

During the occupation, when the Circle of Magi and the Chantry were controlled by Orlesians and their sympathizers, she was not the only apostate. Many, especially the nobles, hid their mage children because there was a very real fear that those same children would be used against them during their bid to expel Orlesian forces from Ferelden. And so she sat, at an age when she was too old for such things, in a tree, waiting for a signal that it was safe again.

She heard him before she saw him. An odd metallic noise coming from behind her and she turned, listening intently. He was checking traps, from the sound of it and he did not belong on their land. Poacher. It figures. She watched as the boy? Man? She couldn't quite tell. Someone dressed in dark clothing, leather from the sound of it, skulking around the trunk of the tree, clearing and resetting a trap.

"You realize that poaching is a crime, punishable by flogging, imprisonment or death?" She spoke softly and bit back a chuckle as the boy (at least she thought it was a boy) jumped and dropped the traps with a muttered curse.

"This is the property of Bann Graydon, of Dragon's Mist. Which means the rabbits you are taking from those traps are not yours," she said, dropping down to appear in front of him. He disappeared into the shadows.

She wasn't expecting the knife that was suddenly pressed against her side, nor the hand that wrapped around her mouth.

"And who would know if I killed you?" he sneered, pressing the knife more firmly against her. She raised a finger and sent a jolt of electricity into him. He fell back, dropping the knife.

"As if you could," she said disdainfully.

Marin hurried along the corridor, soft leather slippers silent. Her hair, loose and falling to her waist, was flowing behind her like a cloak of spun gold and she wore a triumphant smile. The vial she held in her hand glowed a bright green.

"Marin, the First Enchanter wants to see you immediately," Greagoir said quietly and she was startled to see him. He held his helmet in hand, his Sword of Mercy gleaming as it rested at the ready. His grey eyes were somber and he ran a hand through his already graying hair. Marin wondered how long before he was grey from head to foot. The Tower seemed to age everyone prematurely. She smiled at him and he returned the smile with one of his own. He supposed he should maintain some distance and detachment but he had never been able to with her.

Marin reversed course and hurried along the curving hallway. Without knocking, she entered the Irving's office, speaking immediately.

"Irving, I've good news. That formula we devised actually seems to…"

"Marin, we have com – " Irving began at the same time but they were both interrupted.

"Good evening, Marin."

Marin stiffened. What was he doing here? Had he not caused enough damage the last time he had entered the tower? Just listening to Irving's voice was proof of that.

"Well, well, what brings the mighty Hero of River Dane here to our humble tower?" Marin asked, her voice biting.

"Apparently you made a request of the king that he felt compelled to act on. You are, after all, Marin the Mad. How could he refuse you?"

Marin flinched at that cool reply. She fisted her hands and stepped forward. "Do not call me that, your grace." Loghain flinched at that and green eyes clashed with blue. Neither backed down until Irving intervened.

"Please, both of you sit down."

She supposed he could not forgive her for letting Rowan die. That must be where his anger stemmed from. She had tried, Maker knew, she had tried. But in the end, it was as though Rowan herself had simply not wanted to live any longer. Marin sighed, relaxing her tense posture. She sank into a chair.

"Irving, I have a new balm for your throat, it might help a bit."

Irving smiled, his brown eyes almost golden in the light from the candles glowing on his desk. "My dear, I think this is as good as it will ever get. I'm lucky to have a voice at all, I suspect. You have done more than enough." Marin mentally winced, listening to his voice. It sounded like a boot heel grinding gravel underneath it. It sounded painful. It sounded like failure.

Marin turned to Loghain Mac Tir, her eyes accusing. "One of your soldiers decided to step on Irving during Remille's insurrection. He crushed Irving's throat. I found him struggling to even breathe."

Loghain raised a sleek black brow. "And this is somehow my fault?"

Marin sighed, the anger wicking away. No, it wasn't his fault. It was Remille's fault. But he wasn't there to blame. "No, of course it isn't. I just wish you had trusted us enough to warn us. If I am angry it is because of that, Loghain. We fought together. I thought I had earned your trust at the battle of River Dane, if not the battle of Dragon's Mist." There was a touch of sadness in her voice, reflected in her eyes when she finally looked at him again.

"I had no idea what was going on here. I didn't even know if any of you were still alive. My imperative was to get Maric to safety," Loghain said and there was no apology in his tone. There never was, she thought but her anger was blurred and impossible to find again for the moment.

"Yes, and so you did. But we lost a lot of good mages, a lot of good people. Two years later and we're still scrambling to train the apprentices so they can take the place of the enchanters we lost that day."

Loghain sighed, rubbing his temples before he spoke again. "And will you always be angry with me, Marin?"

Marin blinked, surprised by the conciliatory note in his voice. "Probably. I am, after all, Marin the Mad."

"I'm not sure that the people of Ferelden meant it quite like that when they named you thus," Loghain replied with a quirk of lips.

Marin studied him. He was wearing traveling leathers and his bow had replaced his sword and shield. He looked pale and drawn and there were violet smudges of fatigue under his eyes. He met her gaze with a raised eyebrow.

It was impossible for them to ever be friends, she supposed. But perhaps they could at least learn to be in the same room without tearing strips of the other and apparently he thought so as well because he seemed less guarded then was customary. She should at least meet him halfway. If she could.

"So why did King Maric send you with the answer to my request?" she asked finally and there was just a hint of warmth in her voice.

"Because his answer is to have me escort you to Dragon's Mist," Loghain replied dryly.

Marin sat up in her chair, turning to him and she was angry again. "Ever the impetuous king," she bit out and stood up, restless energy radiating from her as she began to pace the room.

"Perhaps I should leave," Irving said quietly, standing up as well.

"That might be wise," Loghain agreed in the same dry tone. Marin was more than just angry, he could see in the way she was gripping her hands together, wringing them as she paced. He was used to her anger, he was not used to the flicker of fear. He found it unsettling.

Even when the battle had raged around her, she had stood straight and tall and remarkably calm in the midst of the carnage, casting her spells, ducking and dodging those who tried to stop her. It was how she had acquired her moniker. He had seen it himself and still couldn't believe she had been crazy enough to fight in the front lines with those who were armored when she wore nothing but her riding leathers. Yet when the battle was over, she stood unscathed, tending the wounded. And Maker's breath, there had been so many losses that day. He sighed, twisting his mind away from the memory and back to the present.

"You do not need to escort me to Dragon's Mist, Loghain."

"But as the Teryn of Gwaren, Maric thought it would be appropriate for me to do so."

"So there are to be no more banns of Dragon's Mist then? My brother is truly gone?"

Loghain stood up and came to her. He hated this duty. He had performed it too many times over the years and he had never found a way to lessen the pain. He didn't want to take any more away from her than he already had but he found himself telling her about Bann Kendran's death at the hands of the Orlesians. "We sent him to negotiate with Orlais in good faith. Apparently someone didn't want that to happen," he finished, and bitterness laced each word.

Marin was still, her face pale, eyes dry. But he saw that her hands were white knuckled as they gripped each other.

"Is the king going to appoint a new bann?"

"No."

"So Dragon's Mist will just cease to exist? Maker's Mercy, I hate the thought of that," Marin whispered and tears dampened her words, but not her eyes. "My family has held the title and land since Calenhad."

"Better that then some sycophant who doesn't care about it."

"Well yes, I imagine you would think so as it is now your property," she bit out, willing the tears away with anger. She turned away from him and began pacing again. What was Maric thinking, sending Loghain to escort her to a home that was no longer in her family? To remind her of her father's treachery? Had she not served the crown to prove that she was loyal, despite her father's betrayal? Had Kendran not done the same?

"The question that Maric would not answer is why you wish to go there," Loghain said and Marin was startled as he had once more moved to her. It amazed her that someone so big could move so quietly. No doubt his days as a poacher, she thought ungraciously and took a step away from him.

"The Maker, it seems, has a fine sense of irony. I have been branded a malificar. Maric has held the Grand Cleric off for months but she will exact her pound of flesh. She wanted my execution immediately. Maric negotiated a compromise. I'm to report to Aeonar in two month's time."

Loghain was silent. He was angry at Maric for keeping the information from him, angrier still that he had kept the negotiations from him. He wondered if he would ever notbe angry with Maric. He rubbed his temples again and then looked at her. She seemed to be taking her fate rather well. Too well.

"Aeonar is a death trap, even I am aware of that. You served Ferelden with distinction. This won't do," he began, now pacing away from her. She merely watched him.

"Is there no hope of changing her mind?" he asked finally, breaking the uncomfortable silence.

Loghain turned around again to face her, staring intently at her. He had forgotten that her face was a roadmap to her emotions. He saw anger and fear and sadness, guilt and finally humor. She smiled and it was the first smile that had actually made it to her eyes since she had entered the room.

"The only way to change her mind is by using blood magic and controlling her thoughts. That would hardly prove me innocent of her charges, although I could certainly give it a try."

"Are you mad?" he asked, clearly shocked.

"So they tell me," she replied and laughed lightly.

"Don't tell me Irving is allowing this," Loghain ground out and he was pacing the room again, his long legs carrying him in quick strides.

"The Grand Cleric laughed him out of her office when he went to see her. She likes the idea of a healer being imprisoned there, apparently they are short of healers."

"So you will just cast yourself upon the mercy of demons and who knows what else? I can't believe Maric would approve of that."

"Maric approved because the alternative would have been a very public execution, an example to any apostate or malificar or worse, if he didnt' give me over for that, an Exalted March."

"I forbid it," he said, implacable.

Marin laughed at this proclamation. "You haven't any power to stop it, Loghain. And I can't imagine why you would try."

Loghain swung around to face her, twin spots of red on his high cheekbones. His eyes were narrowed, the color of a winter storm and just as cold.

"You are wrong, Marin. I do have the power to stop you and I am more than willing as you seem intent on rolling over and allowing this," he bit out and neither of them understood why he was so angry.

"If there is an example to be made, I would rather it was me than some poor innocent," she assured him and head held high, she sailed from the room.

"We leave at first light!" he called after her and then he too stormed out of the room, in search of Irving.

An hour later found Loghain sitting across from Irving, trying to understand why Marin felt the need to throw herself into the hellhole that was Aeonar.

"She has nothing to atone for, Irving. She proved that at Dragon's Mist and River Dane."

"Still, she carries the burden of a father and a lover who sold their countrymen to Orlais. Every death at their hands left blood on hers, at least in her mind."

"And a pointless death will help how?" Loghain asked, leaning forward, hands on his thighs. He quirked a brow at Irving, waiting for an answer but Irving gave a small shrug and remained quiet.

"And why, for the Maker's sake, does she need two templars to travel with us? She didn't need them before. Surely she is no more dangerous now that she is in the tower than when she was an apostate?"

"As an apostate she didn't follow the rules of the Chantry. As a mage of the Circle of Ferelden she is required to."

Irving picked up the wine bottle on his desk and offered some to Loghain, who sighed and nodded. A headache was forming behind his temples and he was sure in the next month he would have many more of them.

"There is nothing that can be done?"

Irving steepled his fingers and shook his head. "The Divine herself is involved. There is nothing that can be done."

Loghain took a long pull of the wine and set the goblet down on Irving's desk. "She is unbelievably stubborn," he remarked quietly. "I'd forgotten that."

Irving refrained from the remark that came so readily to mind as he stared at the stubborn set of Loghain's jaw. As the new First Enchanter, he was still learning politics and there were times when those were harsh lessons to learn.

Loghain shifted in his chair and finally stood up, running a hand through his hair, anger at Maric and the impossible situation he had placed him in flaring again. It rankled that Maric had assigned him to watch Marin like he was a damned nanny. He had duties to attend, responsibilities and he couldn't remember the last time he had been home. The guilt started to gnaw at him. He sighed and pushed it away as he so often did.

"We don't have the extra horses for your templars."

"The Circle has a stable across the lake."

Loghain wheeled around, leaning across the desk and glaring at Irving. "Make sure these templars are at least people she trusts," he instructed and without another word, left.

Marin was in the storeroom, pulling out her old trunk. She was almost afraid to open it, not sure what she would find. With a shudder, she pushed back the lid and lying on top, forgotten for years, was the miniature of her mother and Kennie and her, done when she was ten. Tears came unexpectedly, hot and bitter, scalding her skin. She rested her head on the edge of the trunk, wishing for the impossible.

"Do you need help with that?" Irving asked, coming quietly to stand above her. She reached out blindly grasping the hand that she knew would be there for her.

"I won't say goodbye, you know that."

"Then I'll not say it either," Irving promised, hoping that he would be able to keep the promise.

She rummaged through her trunk and found her old riding leathers and boots, in remarkably good condition considering the neglect they had suffered at her hands.

"Do you suppose the Maker is punishing me, sending Loghain? I can't imagine that Maric would be deliberately cruel," she asked finally.

"I'm sure the Maker has more important things to attend to," he said and knelt down beside her.

"I know. A burst of self pity. This too shall pass."

They were silent for a moment as Marin collected herself. She sniffed away the last of her tears and gave him a watery smile.

"I can't imagine that the Knight Commander is happy about my leaving, and so quickly at that."

"As to that, he has agreed to send Greagoir and Corwin with you."

Marin's smile widened. "You, my friend, are a miracle worker. I couldn't have chosen better."

"Now, let's get you packed."

The morning was grey and a mist was caressing the waters. Marin, dressed in her dark brown leather breeches and jerkin, was standing at the dock, pulling her dark green cloak tightly against the chill.

"Tell Wynne I've left her my notes. The archivist has them. That should surprise her."

"She is not going to be happy when she returns from Cumberland and finds you gone."

"Nonsense, Irving. She will be relieved to have me gone. I don't think she ever quite trusted me," Marin responded with a grin. No need to tell him that Wynne saw her as a rival for Irving's affections.

She reached out and cupped Irving's cheek and was about to speak when Loghain appeared, impatient and issuing orders.

"It's time, Marin."

"Though all before me is shadow, yet shall the Maker be my guide," Marin whispered with another grin and she leaned forward, kissing Irving gently before stepping into the waiting boat. She took her seat and stared resolutely at the far shore, refusing to look back even once as the tower was swallowed by the mist.