Despite the inauspicious start, it had been a good afternoon. Fenris and Hawke had gotten lunch together at the sandwich shop near her office. They'd followed it up with an afternoon movie, a very pleasant stop at Hawke's apartment, and an early dinner before Fenris's evening shift started.

Strange, Fenris thought as he and Hawke each pulled a slice of pizza from the plate between them. At times being with Hawke was so easy. More than easy—it was wonderful, better than anything he had even dreamed of having in his life. At other times it was infuriating. He could not for the life of him understand why Hawke sought the help of someone like Anders. He knew she valued her magic, thought she could use it to help people—but why place herself in the hands of a coward who had run from the Circle, just to restore such a dangerous ability?

Had he stayed, perhaps he could have healed the damage before it became so severe.

Fenris was just about to make that point to Hawke when the young man at the counter cleared his throat.

"Um. Is there a Detective Fenris Leto here? Detective?" the young man yelled, one hand over his phone's mouthpiece.

He grimaced apologetically at Hawke, but as he expected, she waved it off. "Take it," she mumbled through a mouthful of her own pizza. "If they're calling you here it must be important."

There are benefits to dating a former Guardswoman, Fenris thought as he took the phone. It was nice to be understood.

"This is Detective Leto."

"Um. Fenris. Detective. Hi. I knew you ate here sometimes. It's Alistair. I mean, Guardsman Alistair. Guerrin."

"I know who you are, Alistair," Fenris said evenly. He liked Alistair—he did—but Maker, the boy did tend to ramble.

"Right. Of course." He heard the younger man take a deep breath. "We need you to get down to First Denerim Bank. There's been a robbery. Witnesses claim it was a team of mages."


When Fenris arrived at the bank, a small team of rank-and-file Guardsmen were all taking statements from the witnesses. Alistair was standing behind the tellers' glass holding out a handkerchief to a bank employee; dark streaks of mascara were running down her cheeks, but she seemed otherwise composed. Fenris was glad Alistair was handling her statement. The young man's slightly awkward but genuine manner seemed to make shaken witnesses feel safe.

And then Fenris's eyes locked onto, of all people, Varric Tethras.

The blonde lawyer was talking to a dwarven Guardswoman named Lace Harding, one of the excellent people Aveline Vallen had brought into her Guard in the past months. Fenris's first feeling was relief that the dwarf was safe, followed by a strange sensation of unease. Lately Varric had seemed more accepting of his presence in Hawke's life—or maybe just resigned to it—but he could not say that they were friends. And it didn't help that Varric and Anders already had a quick rapport and private in-jokes.

"Two humans, one elf. I think the elf was a woman based on her voice. But I wouldn't swear to it. She was wearing pretty loose clothing," Varric was telling Harding as Fenris approached. "And yeah, it was definitely magic. All three of them cast fire spells."

"So much for my hope that it was just a bunch of weirdos with flamethrowers," Harding quipped. "Detective Leto, this is …"

"Varric Tethras. We're acquainted," Fenris said. "So, will we be seeing these events in your next novel?"

Varric snorted. "Please. No one would want to read about such a lousy team of robbers." When Fenris raised an eyebrow, Varric elaborated. "Three-mage team, right? That's a lot of firepower, pardon the pun. This is a small branch; they don't have top-notch magical security. The robbers could have burned their way into a vault from an alleyway, or melted the door to the safety deposit box room, nice and quiet. Instead, they came in through the front door throwing spells left and right and settled for the tellers' petty cash."

"A team of mages could have done quite a bit more damage to First Denerim's bottom line," Fenris agreed thoughtfully. "We are likely dealing with amateurs."

Not that Fenris would be the one investigating this in the end. The Templars would be happy enough to let the local Guard collect tedious things like witness statements, but they would expect everything handed over to them by the day's end when the robbers had obviously been mages.

Unless and until Meredith gets her way.

Fenris had not yet decided how he felt about the Councilwoman's proposals. The Circle crisis had been an undeniable catastrophe. There was much he liked about the idea of giving the Guard more responsibility for magical crime-and strengthening Denerim's regulations on magic and mages. But the ability to investigate and pursue the most hardened magical criminals was not something the Guard could acquire overnight. Developing a team that could handle people like Uldred would take time. Fenris somehow doubted, however, that Meredith was willing to be patient.

The bank's clock began to toll the hour and Varric huffed out a sigh, drawing Fenris back to reality. "Well, shit. Five o'clock. Guess I won't be depositing this check today after all."

Fenris chuckled sympathetically. "I fear not."


Mei and Shianni stared at the television as it cut to commercial, both stunned into silence.

"So. Magical bank robbery. That's new," Shianni said finally.

"New to me too." Mei blinked, as if blinking might make the news report they'd just watched go away. "Maker," she murmured. "That's going to create a mess. As if the Circle wasn't enough to send everyone into a panic over mages."

Shianni tilted her head thoughtfully at Mei, but did not ask the obvious question. The shelter's director almost never inquired directly about the circumstances that led people here unless it became clear that they needed help with trauma or illness. But Mei suddenly felt as if she'd just revealed too much.

"I should walk home before it gets too dark," she said, standing. "I'll be back with more pastries soon."

Shianni smiled. "Keep saving those bear claws."

Mei's apartment was a roughly twenty-minute walk from Shianni's shelter, on the third floor of a ramshackle brick townhouse that had been lazily converted into apartments. After living there for about a month, Mei had realized that the layout of her apartment was almost aggressively nonsensical. Her kitchen was awkwardly wedged in a triangular corner, the bathroom door hit the toilet every time she opened it, and there was no place to put even a small table so she generally ate standing over the kitchen counters. But by the time she saw its shortcomings, it already felt more like home than anywhere else she'd ever slept, and so she stayed.

She had put her apartment together bit by bit, starting with the bed and moving on to a single armchair, an only-slightly-broken set of drawers, and whatever mismatched pots, pans, and plates the secondhand store had in stock that day. The only thing she'd purchased new, and the most expensive thing in her apartment by far, was the heavy lockbox she kept underneath her bed. She pulled it out now and spun the combination, her fingers moving easily through the sequence.

Three books lay inside. One was a spiral-bound notebook filled with Mei's handwriting. The second was an Elvhen-to-Ferelden dictionary. The third was the reason she'd bought the lockbox: a slim, faded volume written in spidery Elvhen, bearing a title that Mei had translated as The Training of the Arcane Warrior.

She had found the little book—more a pamphlet, really—in a rare-books store in Denerim. One glance at the diagrams told her that this was something worth investigating. The illustrations portrayed slim elven mages in armor that should have crippled a Qunari warrior, tossing their enemies about as if they weighed nothing at all. Mei wanted to be careful about using her magic as an apostate—now that she was no longer a Circle mage, any spell she cast was illegal—and the prospect of a spell that would be all but invisible while still letting her defend herself was tantalizing.

She had managed to persuade the bookstore's owner to let her pay for the volume in installments. Then she bought the dictionary and began her work. Like many mages, Mei had studied some Elvhen, but it had still taken her the better part of a month to complete her translation. There had been a few false steps, a few words that could mean two things, but after long and careful trial-and-error, she had unlocked most of the pamphlet's secrets.

Mei sat cross-legged on the floor, opened the spiral-bound notebook side-by-side with the real book, and turned both to the relevant page.

To build the Arcane Warrior's strength, release thy magic through the chakras and weave it through the muscles to strengthen and support them. The original pamphlet contained a helpful diagram.

Mei pulled a stopwatch from the lockbox and hit its button to begin the timer. Then she closed her eyes and drew on her magic, felt it flow through her and gather, ready for use. She pushed it out—raw magic, dangerous if not controlled—and immediately drew it back towards herself, letting it flow into her arms and legs and torso, winding its way through her muscles and bones.

She opened her eyes and glanced down at the timer. The process had taken forty-three seconds. She smiled, pleased. I'm getting better at this. She hoped to get that time down to less than ten seconds, eventually, but forty-three seconds was much better than the five minutes it had taken her the first time.

She scratched down her time on the log in the back of the book, dismantled the spell, and readied herself to start again. Maybe tonight I can get it below forty.


And the day just keeps getting better, Max thought as the terrified trainee sat down in front of Cullen's desk. Natalie Lovell folded her hands tight in her lap and straightened her back to ramrod stiffness. Max wanted to revert back to his old role as Cullen's right-hand man—the genial lieutenant who patted the trainees on the back when mean old Agent Rutherford chewed them out—but he forced himself to be quiet. This was a disciplinary hearing and it was Cullen's show to run.

But one look at Cullen told him that this was not going to go smoothly.

His friend rubbed a hand over his face, passing new wrinkles and dark circles underneath his eyes. "Ms. Lovell," he said coldly. "Would you care to explain these?"

He slapped a packet of letters down on his desk. The trainee's lips parted uncertainly as she looked at the first one.

"I. Um. I wrote them," she said quietly. "To—to Jill."

"To Apprentice Jill. A mage of this Circle." Cullen's voice snapped like a whip, and even Max almost wanted to flinch. "You flaunted the rules about fraternization over a childish crush. Explain to me why we shouldn't throw you out in disgrace right now."

"We're just friends!" Natalie protested, starting to find her voice. "There aren't many chances for mages and Templars to talk so we started leaving the letters instead. We—just read the letters, Agent Rutherford. We weren't fraternizing. We talked about books we like, which spells are the scariest, music she hasn't heard before."

"All of it utterly inappropriate," Cullen snarled. "Do you know why mages and Templars are kept separate from one another, Ms. Lovell? It is because mages are dangerous, and we are the only thing standing between them and those who cannot defend themselves." He stood and began pacing the floor behind his desk. "The mages we guard are not your friends. You must maintain distance and discipline if you are to serve your purpose. If a demon possessed your friend"—he put an ugly, sarcastic twist on that word—"could you do your duty and strike her head from her shoulders?"

Natalie Lovell swallowed hard and did not answer.

Cullen's lip curled in a sneer. "If you cannot say 'yes' without hesitation, you are utterly useless to the Order. Collect your things. You are no longer a trainee at this Circle."

Natalie's jaw dropped. Max's did too. Technically, as the head of this Circle's Academy, Cullen could expel students he didn't think were promising, but … no. This wasn't right.

"I think that's an extreme punishment for something that's barely a crime, Agent Rutherford," he said smoothly. "There's nothing in the letters suggesting a physical relationship. And if Templars and mages don't see each other as potential colleagues, how are we to expect them to work in the field together? So long as the friendship remains a friendship and nothing more, I see no reason to discipline either of them."

Relief shone on Natalie's face—along with just a hint of disappointment. Max suspected that Natalie's feelings for Jill were not entirely on the friendship side of the equation; he would have to talk to her about that.

But it was Cullen's reaction that worried Max. When Cullen turned his head and met Max's gaze, his golden-brown eyes were practically blazing with fury. "Agent Trevelyan, it is my right as—"

"Knight-Captain Trevelyan," Max said sharply. "And it is my right as Knight-Captain to overrule you." He wasn't happy he'd had to say something like that in front of Natalie, but Maker's breath, Cullen hadn't left him much of a choice.

He turned to Natalie with what he hoped was a stern expression. "Ms. Lovell. Drop by my office at seven tomorrow morning so we can talk about this further. I may not be expelling you, but I think we need to have a serious conversation about conduct for Templars. You are dismissed."

With a grateful nod, Natalie Lovell all but fled the room.

As soon as the door closed behind her, Cullen lowered his palm to his desk with a hard, angry smack. "What in the Maker's name are you thinking, Max?"

"Me? What in the Maker's name are you thinking? They send a few notes about favorite bands and suddenly you're throwing a decent recruit out on her ass?" Max snapped back. "And 'Templars can't be friends with mages'? What in the Void are you talking about?"

"You know exactly what I'm talking about. And you know I'm right." Cullen's voice was low and rough, nothing like his usual controlled tenor. "We are guardians, Max. Protectors. We are the only ones who can stop mages from misusing their power. It is our duty to watch these mages for signs of corruption, and we cannot perform it unless we keep our distance. How can you not see that after what happened here?"

Max drew a breath deep into his lungs. "Mages and Templars fought side-by-side to beat Uldred. If it wasn't for Mei Surana I'd be three kinds of dead right now." He paused, hoping Mei's name would remind Cullen that he had once cared deeply for a mage, but Cullen's expression remained stony. Max's stomach sank. "We need to work with them, not treat them like they have some sort of contagious disease," he finished.

Cullen shook his head. "You're wrong, Max. Maker. How can you be this blind?" But his voice held sadness more than anger.

Max's heart actually ached in his chest as he made his way back to his office. What in the Void was he going to do about Cullen? How could he be so vicious with someone like Natalie after breaking every rule the Circle had to be with Mei Surana? Did he not realize the hypocrisy? Or had the demons somehow twisted his love for Mei into a hatred for mages?

I want to give him time. But what if time isn't enough?

He had no answer to that question. At least, none that he liked.

Max's sole consolation was the fact that his calendar was free for the rest of the day—but almost as soon as he'd thought it, he heard his office phone ringing through the door. With a mounting feeling of dread, he picked it up.

"Knight-Captain Trevelyan."

"Ser? This is Guardswoman Lace Harding of the Denerim Guard. We've got a case we believe may fall into your jurisdiction."