A thank you gift for the lovely Perahn at CMDA.
Thanks to EasternViolet for her beta skills.
Marian Hawke made sure to keep her head down as she dodged through the courtyard of the Kirkwall Gallows. She did not expect any trouble—the majority of the templars knew her to be one of Athenril's underlings—but she did not wish to chance her luck. Over the last few weeks, she had focused on cultivating a relationship with her fragile contacts: volunteering for any job or errand which might desensitise the templars to the sight of her within the Gallows. When Athenril had questioned her compulsion, Marian had explained that it was simply a means of keeping Carver from the place so that he might not be persuaded to join the Templar Order when their year-long bond to the smuggler was completed. To her credit, Athenril had accepted the reasoning and subsequently ensured that Carver was kept busy with running errands to various other parts of the city, while Marian was assigned almost exclusively to work from the Gallows. It was in the elf's own interests to keep her two promising young recruits, after all.
But right at this moment, Marian had little care for Carver. Years of idealistic imaginings were about to be realised as she ducked through a side door of the courtyard and moved through the winding corridors of the Gallows.
If Father could see me now...
Marian shook the thought from her head and instead concentrated on the floors plans she had spent night after night memorising Through narrow corridors and dingy rooms, she moved swiftly, keeping to shadows wherever possible. Finally, she arrived in the very heart of the Gallows and halted outside a large wooden door.
She rested a hand against the latch and took a moment to savour the heady mixture of apprehensive excitement flooding her body. Yet for all her exhilaration, the sensation was tinged with loneliness knowing that once she had fulfilled her ambition of sneaking into the Kirkwall Circle library, there would be no one to confide in afterward. But that paled into comparison with the sheer pleasure of surrounding herself with the collective learning that existed only a few steps away.
Pulling down on the latch, she pushed open the door, noting the smooth flow of a well-oiled hinge, and slipped into the room. Shutting it behind her softly, Marian turned and took a deep breath, marvelling at the way in which the different stimuli assaulted her senses and mingled into one overwhelming experience.
Her only personal experience of a library had been the small anteroom in the Lothering Chantry. It only contained copies of the Chant of Light and the occasional religious biopic but each book revealed its own personal history. Some remained in perfect condition, their spines creaking as she gingerly opened the front cover, while others offered no resistance and fell open to a passage which had provided particular succour to some weary soul. On occasion, there was a scribbled word or two—she assumed from one of the Sisters as opposed to the faithful who gathered—and her breath had caught in her throat each time she discovered such a rare find, mouthing each word with a reverence which likely bordered on blasphemy while she imagined the kind of person who might leave such a mark.
She had always believed that it was possible to sniff out knowledge. And certainly, the musk of the leather bindings, the acrid taste at the back of her throat from the smoke of the large fire at the far end of the room and the staleness of years of undisturbed dust was surely as close as it got. Marian bit on her lip as her gaze flew up the bookshelves towering above her—the wood was lighter than she had imagined—before glancing around at the long tables—she had expected individual desks—interspersed between and the dozens of candlestick holders dotted about the room.
All of it beckoned to her. Here, within this room, there was the promise of... something. Freedom, perhaps. An odd freedom, to be sure. She had little desire to be shackled and guarded whilst being hated and feared, but being among these books—this collective knowledge and experience—she could at least be herself. In some ways, she was not so different from Carver; he wished to prove himself as a warrior. She only wanted to be recognised as a mage.
The scrape of the library door across the flagstones echoed throughout the library. Slow and deliberate, it was in sharp contrast to the resigned push of the young apprentices or the indifferent shove from the templars when they entered into the room.
Orsino rose from the table, interest piqued and his research forgotten. The crackle of the fire obscured the faint rustle of his robes as he moved with silent step towards the end of the long bookcase and peered around its corner. A young woman leant with her back against the door, head tilted upwards with eyes wide and mouth parted in awe as she looked about. Remaining hidden in shadow, he watched her hesitantly step forward, and stagger in small circles as she strove to take in every detail of the room. The expression of contentment, marred only by the grime and fatigue etched across her face, was one Orsino could only dream of seeing on his own mages.
She brushed against one the bookshelves and the jolt was enough to encourage one of the misplaced books to topple from its precarious position onto the floor behind her. The woman gave a start, whirling round with her hand pressed against her chest, and Orsino permitted himself a smile as she gave a visible sigh of relief at the sight of the fallen book.
With a self-conscious giggle, she crouched down and retrieved the text and replaced it on the shelf. She wandered down the aisle, disappearing from sight and Orsino hastily repositioned himself. Her arm trailed behind her as her fingers grazed across the grain of the wooden shelves while her head swung from side to side, taking in the impressive sight of the books surrounding her. Once or twice, she stopped to peer at a particularly interesting spine, perhaps drawn by the slight variation in colour or recognising the odd symbol or word, but otherwise she continued on her exploration.
After a while, her confidence grew to such an extent that she at last reached out and carefully removed a text at random from the shelf. She carried it across the aisle to one of the tables and set it down. Her hand briefly reached up to flick away the hair from her eyes before her forefinger began to run beneath the words of the title, her mouth moving soundlessly as she contemplated the pronunciations. Written in an archaic form of the common tongue, her lips begin to falter and a frown darkened her face.
The educator in him could not bear to witness such a willing student become so easily disheartened and he stepped out from his concealed position.
"You need not pronounce the 'e'."
The woman froze.
Drawing nearer to her, Orsino continued with his explanation in the hope that it would convince her that he bore her no ill. "The spelling has since fallen into disuse."
Hesitantly, the woman turned her head to look towards the mage, the tip of her tongue running across her lower lip.
"Try again," he encouraged.
She mumbled a half-hearted attempt but the blush colouring her cheeks spoke to the common humiliation that any student suffers when their ignorance has been revealed.
"A valiant attempt."
Her face lit up for a moment before she remembered her place. Bowing her head, she began to shuffle backwards to the far end of the bookshelves and the way to the door. "I must go..."
"Yes," Orsino nodded, moving towards the table and taking up the book. A quick glance told him that it was a text intended for the younger mages; simple elemental spells, for all they were presented in an outdated tongue. "The templars do not take kindly to the presence of an apostate in their midst."
Her head jerked up and a fear crept across her face, chasing away any sign of the joy she had previously found in her surroundings.
"Here," he proffered the book and gestured towards the cloak she wore with his other hand. "Hide it well."
The woman stared at him, unsure how to respond.
"You wish to learn, do you not?"
"You don't even know me." Her accent was Fereldan. A refugee, no doubt.
"True," he acknowledged. "However, it is possible to understand a great deal about a person by the manner in which they treat a book." Orsino balanced the book against his forearm as he skimmed through its pages, searching out a specific page. "And I believe you will treat both the book and its contents with respect. Here," he located the page and tapped his finger against the basic spell contained on it. "Should you understand the workings of this, return here."
"Won't the..." another frown hampered her features as she scrabbled for the title, "En...chanters... miss the book?"
A wry smile surfaced on the First Enchanter's face before he casually waved a hand towards the bookcases. "If you don't tell them, I won't."
The woman hesitated, sizing him up with a long stare. At last, she stepped forward and accepted the book, clasping it against her chest as though it were a precious gift. "I... I can't hurt anyone with the spell, can I?"
Orsino shook his head, revelling in the unexpected pleasure that his faith in this stranger had been so promptly rewarded. "No, it is a basic spell."
Her fingers curled around the edges of the book and she chewed on her lip, her head tilted to one side.
Orsino had little doubt that the woman already possessed the skill which the book hoped to teach but that was not the point. This apostate, whoever she may be, had crept into this den of lions simply through a desire to better understand herself and her power. That was sufficient enough to capture his attention for now.
"Thank you," she murmured, secreting the book into her cloak. She spared one last glance at him before bolting.
Orsino returned to his abandoned research. He hoped he would see her again.
A week later, Marian crossed the Gallows courtyard and headed towards the Main Hall. When that elf had appeared from behind the bookcases, she had thought her time was up. His gift of the book was unexpected and she had convinced herself that he had been making a mockery of her. Torn between humiliation and indignation, Marian had stuffed the book beneath a loose floorboard as soon as she arrived home and resolved never to look at it again.
Two days later and the fireplace had been filled with snow. As her mother pestered her for an explanation, Marian had feigned ignorance, claiming she had been distracted when casting her fire spell while discreetly pushing the spell book beneath the log pile with the heel of her boot. What was certain was that she would never again mistake a circle with two lines struck through it as the symbol for 'fire'. It was not.
Still, the success of her casting, even with its unintentional results, had reinvigorated her and she had anxiously awaited a new assignment from Athenril which would grant her access back into the Gallows. A request had at last come down and while Athenril had initially been suspicious of the order from the First Enchanter himself, the sovereign included as part payment convinced the smuggler otherwise and off Marian had been sent.
This time though, her stomach lurched as she moved through the Main Hall and up the flights of stairs towards the First Enchanter's office. Deliver the package and try to sneak back to the library; that was as far as her plan went. She was the first to admit that it could probably be improved.
She rapped on one of the many doors, having asked for confirmation of the office from a nearby templar, and waited for the invitation to enter. As soon as it came, she slipped into the room, garbling her greeting in her earnestness to be away again.
"Delivery from Ath..." Her voice faded away as she recognised the figure sitting behind the desk. "You!" A groan escaped as everything slotted into place. "Maker's breath, you are the First Enchanter?"
"For an apostate, you do not keep your identity well-hidden, Marian."
The use of her first name felt strangely intimate but she did not protest. Instead, she set the small package down on the desk. "It's not my identity that the templars have a problem with, is it?"
"True," the elf acknowledged, relaxing back into his chair as he dropped the papers he had been reading.
"So what's your name?" She hoped her flippant tone would conceal her embarrassment. "Or do you actually like being called 'First Enchanter'?"
The mage nodded. "It speaks to my megalomania."
A snort of laughter escaped before Marian succeeded in biting down on her lip.
"However, it is a title only recognised by Circle mages," a small smile cracked the elf's poker face. "If you are asking what you may call me, my name is Orsino."
"Orsino," she echoed, rolling the name around in her mouth before deciding that she approved. "Alright. So, I take it you didn't order something from Athenril by accident?"
"I did not wish to spend the foreseeable future in the library based entirely on the desire to see if you might return," the elf eased himself from behind the desk.
"Good things happen to those who wait."
"Yet we are encouraged to seize the day. Do we intend to trade irrelevant inanities each time we meet?"
"I'm only delivering a parcel."
"Then the book of spells you carry is only in case you find a moment for light reading?"
Marian narrowed her eyes. "How did you know?"
"I'm the First Enchanter."
She gave a haughty sniff but under the deadpan scrutiny of the elf, she eventually crumbled. With a roll of her eyes, Marian reached into her cloak and withdrew the book from where it had been hidden. "Fine. I brought the book back."
"And?"
"Are you testing me?"
"Perhaps. What did you discover?"
"I'll show you." As she began to cast, Orsino lunged forward, catching hold of her and forcing her arm down. His fingers were warm against her skin as he gently wrapped them around her wrist but she paid little attention as she stared down at the elf in bewildered outrage. "Hey..."
"I meant tell me. Do you wish the templars to sense your magic?"
"I..." she blinked, taken aback at the simplicity of her error. "I never thought about it."
"It is likely the templars overlook any remnants of mana around you as residue from passing through these hallways. However, if you were actually to cast a spell then their reaction would be quite different." The elf released his grip and a chill crept up her arm at the departure of his touch.
Chastened, she dropped her gaze to the floor as she murmured, "snow. It was a spell for a snow flurry."
"Yes. Well done."
His praise sent a small thrill through her and she risked a small glance towards him. His expression had cleared and there was a reflection of her own delight in the smile he flashed at her.
"It was a fluke, to be honest," she confided.
"I did not expect it would be easy. That was the point," he remarked, easing the book from her hands and flicking through the pages as he had done in the library. "It was only intended as a starting point to assess your skill and determination. Now," he stopped at a new page and presented the book to her so that she could glance at the spell. "This involves applying some of the knowledge you have already gained. You will notice that some of the symbols are the same, yes?"
Marian nodded, her eyes skimming the symbols in front of her.
"Build upon your prior knowledge," Orsino snapped the book shut and passed it back to her. "I will send to Athenril in a week's time if you wish to visit me."
She accepted the book, secreting it away once more before flashing a grin at the mage. "I look forward to it."
Orsino studied the woman as she pored over the ancient text in front of her, biting at her lip and absent-mindedly pushing her hair from her face as she concentrated. His familiarity with the gesture brought a warm smile to his face. Over the months, their weekly meetings had quickly turned into twice-weekly and then thrice-weekly. Her enthusiasm for her subject matter was infectious and as he watched her devour the countless texts he presented her with, Orsino had discovered her presence to be a restoring tonic for his flagging spirit. Her visits had swiftly become one of the highlights of his week.
As her knowledge had grown, they had been forced to adjourn their meetings to the library where there was greater access to the necessary texts. It was becoming increasingly difficult to monitor her development without witnessing the way in which she cast her spells. And yet, he hesitated to offer her a place within the Circle. Not that "offer" was the right term but he did not know how else to describe it. So far, her contract with Athenril and her dedication to her family had prevented Marian from raising the question herself. It was only a question of time, however, and Orsino found that he was not so certain of his own motivations that he could be sure his response would reflect the decision which was truly best for her.
"Orsino."
The sound of his name was accompanied by a gentle shake of his arm as she attempted to recapture his attention.
He blinked, torn from his thoughts. "My apologies, Marian. What was your question?"
"Is everything alright?" Her forehead crinkled into a concerned frown as she covered his hand with her own, squeezing it gently.
"The templars," he lied.
"Oh." She resumed chewing her lip and as a crimson speck swelled up where she nicked the skin, he fought the urge to reach out and touch her cheek in the hopes of distracting her. "Is it very bad?"
Orsino raised an eyebrow. "If there was any question in my mind as to whether you have ever been a Circle mage, it has now been answered."
"Tell me."
He hesitated before reluctantly easing his hand from beneath hers so that he could gesture around the room. "Tell me what you see. Here, in front of you."
"Oh." The woman leant back in her chair and let her gaze fly around the room, her frown softening as she became caught up in the sights she encountered.
"It is written across your face what you see here," Orsino remarked quietly, his attention focused fully on her. "It is a wonderful thing to witness."
Her gaze snapped back to meet his as she assessed whether he was mocking her or not.
"The Circle should be as you see it. A haven. One that exists amidst the chaos of the world, but not apart from it," he expanded on his statement, keen that she should not misunderstand him. "It should be a place where knowledge and experience is shared, willingly." As much as he wished to remain idealistic, the bitter reality of his experiences with Meredith and the Templar Order began to colour his tone. "I do not argue that we must punish those who abuse their power but we are not a curse to be hidden from view. The Circle could be more than it is. But any progress is hampered by paranoia of ... demons! Blood magic!"
Sensing his growing agitation, Marian flashed him a reassuring smile. She shuffled in her chair so that she was able to rest her head against his shoulder as she asked quietly, "and are there many blood mages?"
"There is some of everything, Marian," he replied curtly. "But they do not lurk behind each and every shadow."
"I see," she murmured. There was a small pause before she added, "so I shouldn't slit my wrists and dance naked under the moonlight just to fit in?"
Orsino debated for a moment whether to hold onto his outrage or submit to her blatant flirtation as a means of lightening his mood. He found his answer in the response which sprang to his lips. "If that's what you intend, perhaps I'll join you after all..."
Straightening, she giggled and winked at him with a lewdness a sailor would have been ashamed of but which made his pulse quicken.
The elf shook his head and tapped at the forgotten book. "Before the naked dancing, however, perhaps we should ensure that you deserve the title of mage, blood or otherwise. Explain to me this spell."
A heavy tread marked her progress through the Gallows as Marian made her way towards Orsino's office. Her darkening mood radiated outwards and helped to prevent both templars and mages alike from approaching or addressing her.
She was uncertain as to why the end of her bond to Athenril came as such a surprise. But in a few days, the debt owed to the smuggler would be paid and the Hawke siblings would be permitted to find their own way in this strange city she was still disinclined to call home. Yet it was not the uncertainty which lay ahead but the reality that without her connection to the elf, Marian would have no recognisable business within the Gallows and her meetings in the library would inevitably have to stop. That was disappointing, certainly; but it was the thought that her meetings in the library with Orsino would inevitably have to stop which caused the greatest pangs of regret.
Marian had briefly considered remaining in the employment of Athenril: the elf seemed pleased with the work she did and for all the dubious nature of the trade, the smuggler herself seemed to have some ethics. She was aware that there were much worse jobs. But her mother and Carver did not share her view and were already looking forward to advancing their position in the city through other means.
Sighing, Marian pushed the thoughts from her mind and rapped twice on the door of the First Enchanter's office.
As she entered, Orsino turned from the window, his hands clasped behind his back and a frown troubled his expression.
"You look how I feel," she joked, half-heartedly.
"Oh?"
She set the small package down on the desk and was momentarily distracted by the presence of another parcel, neatly tied with string. In all her time visiting Orsino, his desk had remained an island of order and calm where each item had a place and purpose. It was her wicked streak which prompted her to disturb the peace each time she made a delivery. This was the first time she noticed another parcel on the desk.
"I can't stay long," she murmured, tearing her gaze from the odd parcel on the desk back towards the elf. "Athenril is expecting me back. I think she's worried that I'm just going to disappear as soon as my contract is finished."
"Would that be so bad?"
"If disappear means the bottom of the harbour, yes."
Orsino gestured at the package, though he did not directly acknowledge her comment. "A gift, Marian."
"A gift? Whatever for?"
"Just open it."
Marian loosed the knot of the string before pulling at the ends, watching the scraps of linen which protected the contents falling away to the side. Inside, a dark green robe was folded neatly and she grasped at the neckline, pulling the robe free of the packaging in order to better examine it. "What is..." she began before shooting a bewildered look towards Orsino. "Circle robes? These are Circle robes... aren't they?"
"You would be welcome to join us here, Marian. It will not be easy and many of your ideologies will be sorely tested, but I believe we can offer you what you seek," the elf remarked quietly. "And I believe your presence will herald its own change within these walls."
"My mother... and Carver..."
Orsino held up a hand in acknowledgement of her conflicting loyalties. "It remains your choice, Marian."
She eyed him, wondering whether to remark on the fact that of all colours available, the elf had succeeded in picking her favourite. Maybe she was reading too much into coincidence but something about his reluctance to meet her eye told her differently.
"What about us?" she asked at last.
"That also remains your choice, Marian."
The answer startled her. They had never spoken about the blossoming relationship between them and now faced with the reality of his reciprocation of her own feelings, Marian found herself at a loss for words. Rather than respond, she concentrated on carefully repacking the robes into the protective cloth and retying the string around the bundle. Finally, she muttered, "I need to think."
"Of course."
Marian backed towards the door, clutching the package to her chest. "As I said, my bond ends in a few days. Don't request any items from Athenril unless you actually need them."
She waited only long enough to see Orsino nod his agreement before taking an abrupt leave.
Orsino rubbed at his eyes as the strain of reading faded documents in murky candlelight finally caused him to go cross-eyed. Dusk fell too quickly at this time of year and it seemed there was never enough time to complete the array of administrative tasks Meredith insisted upon. Regardless, he persisted in the hopes that his compliancy might someday reflect favourably on the mages under his stewardship and spare them from her wrathful fervour. The noble sentiment did little to make the chore any more bearable, however.
As he stared blankly across the room, a templar barged in. Without a staff or quill, the man was clearly under the impression that the mage was shirking in his duties and thrust a sheaf of vellum towards Orsino with an impatient tut.
"Attendance reports. As requested."
"Requested by your Commander," Orsino corrected as he accepted the papers, though his rebuke was half-hearted at best. "Not by me, Ser."
The templar grunted before turning on heel and, without waiting to be officially dismissed, slammed the door behind him.
Orsino ran a disinterested eye over the sheets, reading through the names and picturing their faces. His Circle was not large and he knew each mage personally. Some better than others, of course, but none were purposefully excluded. If Meredith had thought to extend the same basic courtesy, she might have found that her concerns in some way alleviated. Familiarity might breed contempt but it was the fear of the unknown which was the real threat.
As he neared the end of the list, Orsino ignored the flickering hope that he would find her name recorded. It had been four weeks and three days since he fumbled his offer and he had heard nothing. Cool practicality had to take precedent.
Even so, when a hastily scribbled addition to the list caught his eye, his breath caught.
Marian peered at the strange symbol. It made no sense. She was certain the symbol denoted broth but she was yet to encounter a spell which demanded a nice loin of rabbit be boiled up into a thick broth before casting could commence. The rabbit, she could believe. The broth; not so much.
As she continued to mull over what this little discovery might mean, acknowledging that the rabbit broth actually sounded quite appealing, the sound of deliberate footfalls announced the arrival of another.
Marian continued to study the text in front of her, head bowed as she waited.
"You wish to improve your understanding of ancient culinary recipes?"
"Recipes?" she wrinkled her nose before lifting her chin to gaze at the elven First Enchanter. "That might explain the broth, then."
"Perhaps."
She laughed and eased the book shut with a sheepish shrug. "Maybe I'm getting ahead of myself. I only came to the Circle today, after all."
Orsino settled into the chair next to her. "Why didn't you tell me?"
"I needed to make sure my family were provided for. It took longer than I expected," she returned her attention to the book, her fingers splaying across the binding as she rested her hand against it. Softly, she added, "and I thought you might have forgotten."
Reaching out, he eased her hand from the book and raised her open palm to his lips, brushing a kiss against it. "I had not."
"So I see." A smile curved the corners of her mouth as she caught his eye, reassured by the small unexpected sign of devotion. "It's the robes, isn't it? Green is my favourite colour, you know."
"Oh, so you came for the robes?" he raised an eyebrow.
"Oh no," she scoffed with a brusque shake of her head. "They're nice and all, but no." A wickedly mischievous glint appeared in her eye, one she fully expected would earn her the Rite of Tranquillity should the templars ever spy it. But then it wasn't a look intended for anyone but the elf in front of her. "So tell me; when does the naked dancing start around here?"