They approach the tower of the Circle from the north. They'd left the North Road behind two days ago, plodding along on horses that are no more in a hurry to go southward toward the cold than she is, but Marian's been able to see the spear of the tower in the distance for hours. She doesn't know what to expect, so she can't prepare, and the templars are close-mouthed about what happens when they get there. She thinks Ser Danneel would tell her more, but Ser Jadic is terse and distant. She has more than one bruise from his careless handling.
On her right, Lake Calenhad stretches out into the distance. She's never seen anything so big, or so beautiful. She wants to run down to the shore and take off her shoes to go wading. She wants to push Carver into the surf. She wants…
She wants many things. Marian rubs at her eyes angrily.
"We're almost there," Ser Danneel tells her. He is very large behind her on the horse, and she has to tip her head back to look him in the eyes. "We have to take a boat across part of the lake."
She has never been on a boat before. The idea occupies her for all of three minutes, but the reality is far different from her imaginings; the man with the oars smells like fermented fish, and there is an appalling odor coming from down the shore. The boat rocks nearly sideways sometimes, with no rhyme or reason that she can tell, and Marian feels that she's going to be ill at any moment.
"If you're going to sick up, do it over the other side, for pity's sake," the ferryman grunts without looking at her.
For all that she hates the trip, the view is incredible. The lake stretches far, far into the distance, speckled with white in places where the wind is whipping the water into froth. Marian pinches her nose and stares into the distance, wishing herself far away from this place, free to fly as she pleases with the birds.
They dock on the island and Ser Jadic stays in the boat with the boatsman while Ser Danneel takes her into the tower. The tower doors are large, dark, and forbidding, but they open just like any other doors, and Marian takes a deep breath and walks through them.
Ser Danneel presses on her shoulder, a silent command to stay where she is, and steps forward, coming to attention. "Knight-Commander Greagoir, ser," he says to the silent figure standing in the entrance hall. Knight-Commander Greagoir is not wearing a helm, and his face is stern in the pale morning light. "I'm Danneel, ser, out of Byerley, east of Highever."
"Greetings," Greagoir says, and then he looks at Marian. "Is this a mage child?" His gaze is cold, and she doesn't breathe until he looks away, back to Ser Danneel.
"She sparked in the middle of market day," Ser Danneel says, weary amusement in his voice. "The old biddies raced each other to report her."
"And her family?"
"Left her," he says, and this time there is no amusement at all in his voice. Marian knows enough of Danneel to know that he is angry on her behalf now, angry at the people she has made up out of whole cloth. She can't help the guilty feeling that spreads down her chest and sinks into her stomach. She owes him nothing, she knows, but she still feels as if she is stealing his kindness and concern.
"Perhaps for the best, then," Greagoir says, echoing Danneel in the market square. "Did you question the villagers?"
"Yes, ser. There's no family in the township missing a child her age; I've sent a notice to the next two towns east and west on the North Road, but the child says they're traveling folk."
Greagoir sighs. "If you can locate them, well and good, but you're not likely to find a traveler who doesn't want to be found."
Ser Danneel turns and motions at Marian, who hesitates before moving to stand beside him. She grips the small sack with all her worldly goods in her hand.
"This is Marian Amell," Ser Danneel says to Greagoir before looking down at her. "Marian, this is Knight-Commander Greagoir."
"Good morning, Knight-Commander," Marian says automatically. She's struck with a sudden memory of Mama going over and over proper greetings until she wanted to scream. You're an Amell, Mama was fond of saying. Act like one.
Greagoir's eyes thaw a little bit, and he unbends enough to incline his head in her general direction. "Greetings," he says. "Welcome to the Circle."
And that is that. Ser Danneel disappears, somehow, before Marian can say goodbye to the last person she knows, and she is whisked up to the head mage in charge of the Circle. He takes one look at her and snaps an order, and she's pressed down into a chair and offered tea and a slightly aged scone.
"My dear," he says – she didn't catch his name, and is now too shy and her mouth is too full to ask again – "You must be exhausted."
Marian nods. She's not actually that tired since it's not yet noon, but she is mentally exhausted, and close to tears again. She has been leaning on Ser Danneel all unknowing since they left Byerley, and now that he is gone she misses everyone, even the stupid boy she threw a rock at. She would give anything for this to be one hideously bad dream.
"Child, what is your name?" the mage behind the desk asks.
"Marian Amell, ser," she says, hastily swallowing her last bite of scone. She washes it down with her tea and sets the cup and saucer down on the edge of his desk, for a lack of anywhere else to put it.
"Amell is not a Ferelden name," he says, tapping his finger against his mouth thoughtfully.
"It's my name, and I'm Fereldan," she says, confused.
He smiles. "Of course. I apologize." She can see in his face that he doesn't believe her, but he doesn't say anything else, only sits there with a half-smile on his face.
Marian swallows. "I didn't hear you when you said your name, ser," she says.
"I am First Enchanter Irving, child," he says, sitting forward in his chair. "You understand what's happening, yes? You know you're to live here now?"
"Yes, ser," she whispers. Marian battles tears for what feels like the millionth time in the last week. She is tired of crying.
Irving sighs. "I know you're upset, child. We have all been through what you're going through right now. Each of us are taken from our families when our magic first erupts, and are brought here for training. I'm very sorry, but this is the way it must be."
Her father has spoken of this before, but she didn't understand all of it. He told her once that she would understand more as she grew older, but that doesn't make any sense to her – grownups don't act any smarter than she is, but she trusts her father. This is something to do with that, and Irving seems to expect something, so she nods. Irving rewards her with a smile, gestures with one hand, and another mage instantly comes through the door. Marian stares; she's never seen magic used so casually, so openly.
Irving winks at her as he addresses the other mage. "Torvay, this is Marian. She's a new apprentice; would you see that she finds a bed in the apprentice quarters and then ask Cassandra to provide her anything she might need?"
"Of course, First Enchanter," Torvay says, bowing. She is much younger than Irving, and her mage robes are new and stiff, crackling when she moves. She holds her hand out for Marian's, and after a glance at Irving Marian takes it, hastily grabbing her sack with her other hand.
The ghost of her mother urges her to thank the First Enchanter, Marian, think of your manners, but she will not thank the people who have taken her from her family. She will never thank them for anything.
Torvay leads her to the door. "Welcome to the Circle, Marian," Irving says from behind her. She doesn't turn.
