"Marian? Are you all right?"

This time it's day when she wakes, fuzzy from a long night and use of magic. She knows it's Jowan – she recognizes his voice – but Marian doesn't want to go through the unofficial side of the Harrowing, the ritual hazing by the apprentices the day after some lucky sod finally earns their Circle robes. She's been one of those apprentices, and she knows where they're coming from, but she groans as she realizes what she's probably going to be enduring today. Questions. All the questions in the world.

Great.

"Say something, please?"

Jowan sounds honestly worried this time, and Marian sighs. "I'm fine, Jowan. You do realize you're interrupting my beauty sleep?"

A sly note creeps into his voice. "As if you need it," he says, and she laughs and opens her eyes. He grins at her, and she grins back. Jowan's been a good friend since she was brought to the Tower. He lifts her feet and sits on the end of her bed, letting her rest her feet in his lap. "I'm glad you're all right," Jowan says quietly. "They carried you in this morning. I didn't even realize you'd been gone all night." He sounds stricken.

"It's all right," Marian says, propping herself up on one elbow so she can see his face. Jowan's been having mood swings in the past few months. She's not sure of the cause, but she can usually prod him out of them. She frowns. "Wait, does that mean you weren't in bed last night either?"

Jowan flushes a dark, brick red from his cheekbones down, and she laughs. "Oh," she says. "Who is he?" She sits fully upright, struck by a sudden thought. "Oh Maker, tell me it's not Anders."

"What – no!" Jowan sputters, his hands tightening on her ankle. She kicks at him a little and he scowls at her, his black hair giving him the look of a thundercloud about to burst. "It's nothing like that. I'll tell you later."

"So long as it's not Anders," Marian repeats, dropping back onto her pillow. "Angharad cried for weeks, do you remember? And Lissette – ow!"

Jowan rubbed her foot where he'd pinched it, scowling. "Don't you ever stop talking?"

"You'd better start," she says, unrepentant. "What's got you in such a snit?"

"What was it like?" Jowan asks quietly.

Marian pulls her feet out of Jowan's lap and stands. "Jowan, I love you, but you know I can't tell you anything. It's a secret." For something to do, she takes her hair down from its bun and runs her fingers through it to loosen it.

"So much for friendship," he says angrily. "We're not all as talented as you. Irving's pet," he says, making the words a curse. Marian spins on him, suddenly furious. She's heard the nickname eavesdropping on the other apprentices, but for her best friend to say that to her face – only to find him looking at his hands, forlorn. "I don't know when they'll call me for my Harrowing," he says. "If they'll call me."

Impulsively, she leans forward and takes his hands in hers. "They'll summon you when you're ready," she says gently, and it's hard to avoid the thought that he's not ready yet. There's some truth in the teacher's pet namecalling, terrible as it is to think those thoughts; Irving gives her private instruction sometimes, and she is a more gifted student than Jowan.

"I've been here longer than you have..." he says. "Sometimes I think they just don't want to test me."

Marian can see the storm cloud beginning to form in the creases between his eyes. Of all things she doesn't want to deal with Jowan in a mood – not today, of all days. Letting go of his hands, she stands and picks up a comb, ruthlessly dragging it through her long, curly hair. "There's no schedule to keep for this," she says, wincing as she hits a snarl. "You're ready when you're ready. It'll be soon, I'm sure."

"I've been ready for a long time. I'm afraid they think I'm too weak."

"Oh, Jowan," Marian sighs. She wraps her freshly-combed hair into a messy bun and ties it off. "You worry too much."

"Is that what you think?" Jowan says tonelessly, but he smiles a little when her worried gaze snaps to his face. "Sorry to waste your time with all this," he says. "I was supposed to tell you to see Irving as soon as you woke up."

"What?" Marian yelps. Automatically she glances at the windows and the hour-candles; it's late afternoon already. "Where is he?"

"His study, of course." Jowan shrugs and levers himself up, off her bed. "You should go. Don't want to keep him waiting."

Marian brushes down her robes, checks the nape of her neck for stray locks of hair, then turns for the nearest door. She curses when she sees the two girls standing next to it. They're the worst gossips in the apprentice dorms, and the instigators of many an interrogation session that would put Chantry Seekers to shame.

They don't show any signs of moving, but they also look engrossed in their gossip. Maybe she can slip by while they aren't paying attention. She'd reached the door before what they were saying had a chance to penetrate.

"...that templar, Cullen, said it was the quickest, cleanest Harrowing he's ever seen. He says she's very talented and very brave."

Marian freezes.

"But he would say that, wouldn't he?" They both laugh and go into the lavatory. Thank the Maker for small mercies, because neither notice Marian awkwardly hanging around, listening to them gossip.

Marian shakes herself and slips out the door, closing it very softly behind her. I wonder what they meant by that? She ducks through the library, doing her best to avoid being waylaid by the apprentices hanging around, and takes the stairs up to the second floor. She shivers as she passes the Tranquil Owain and thumbs the Maker's Circle on her chest to ward away bad luck. She hates the Tranquil. She sees herself in them, and she knows exactly which part they're lacking. Looking at them is like looking in a mirror and seeing absolutely nothing at all; she stays away as much as she can.

Everyone she passes has a comment or a kind word or a question for her, and it takes her all of an hour to get through the mage library. Old Sweeney takes half of that time with reminiscing.

Irving's office is at the end of one of the curving half-sections, just before the third floor stairs. Marian knows she's supposed to go straight there, but she can't help ducking into the mage quarters on this floor and looking at her new rooms for the first time. She's never had a room of her own, or a bed that wasn't shared, and while she's going to enjoy the quiet, all she can see when she looks at her hard-won freedoms is that it's finally time to plan her escape.

Freedom's been her dream for ten years, and it's never been closer to her hand than it is right now. A slow burn of wild exultation begins to burn in her chest; she thinks about dancing, and laughs out loud. Marian drifts more than walks out of the rooms and back into the hallway, turning right to go to Irving's office, and actually walks right into a templar's cuirass.

She comes back down to earth with a thump and looks up, her mouth open to apologize.

It's Cullen.

He's got his hands up, ready to catch her, but Marian hastily takes a step back and smiles. "My apologies, Ser Cullen," she says. "I wasn't watching where I was going."

She can't get the gossiping apprentices out of her mind, or the one downstairs who had brushed past her and whispered I hear Cullen's in love with you.

It's nothing more than idle fancy, and she's heard that kind of thing before in the hothouse atmosphere of the Tower, but it's information Marian has no idea what to do with. Nor does she know how to talk to the man in front of her.

"No - no matter," Cullen says, swallowing. He drops his arms too quickly and his gauntlets clash against his fauld. "I... I am glad to see your Harrowing went smoothly."

Well, perhaps she's not the only one.

"As am I, ser," Marian says, smiling. "As am I."

Cullen's voice drops a little; she leans in slightly to hear him better. "Th-they picked me as the templar to strike the killing blow if... if you became an abomination." She doesn't know what look comes over her face, but it must have been something, because Cullen waves his hands in agitation. "It's nothing personal! I'm – " He swallows. "I'm just glad you're all right. You know."

There's something adorably endearing about the way he can't seem to get out a sentence without tripping over his words. Marian has sworn to herself never to trust anyone in the Tower, templar or mage, but in truth, she's never even been tempted, until now. Cullen is a good man, which is all too rare among the templars.

Even so, Marian can't help but tease him a little. "Would you really have struck me down?"

"I would have felt terrible about it," Cullen confesses, his face solemn. "But... I serve the Chantry and the Maker, and I will do as I am commanded."

All her levity flees at his words. She's a little ashamed of herself, in fact. "I'm glad it was you," Marian says in all seriousness, and struck by a sudden notion, she steps close, lifts herself up on her tiptoes, and kisses Cullen's cheek. When she draws back their eyes meet; his are very serious, and Marian hopes he can see the sincerity in hers. "Thank you, Ser Cullen."

"You're welcome, Mistress Amell." Cullen bows a little at the waist.

Marian doesn't know what his real feelings for her are, or if he in fact has any, but in that moment she loves him a little.

She steps back and says lightly, "I am distracting you from something very important, I'm sure."

"Oh, you're not distracting. I mean, you are, but... " Cullen covers his eyes for a moment, exasperated. "You're not. I mean, you can talk to me anytime if you want."

Marian grins at him and this time he grins back, shy but appealing; then she goes on her way and Cullen goes on his.

Irving's office is the third door after that, on the outside. As she approaches the door, she can hear Greagoir using his outdoor voice. It's tempting to dawdle in the hall until he leaves, but she's already late enough, and in any case Irving has never minded having an audience for Greagoir's temper. She slips in through the open doorway.

Her ears have deceived her; there is another man there, watching Greagoir and Irving argue with thinly disguised impatience. He is tall and very dark, and wears armor quite unlike the full plate the templars never take off; over top lies blue and white livery, emblazoned with two griffons back to back. It's the Grey Warden heraldry, Marian knows, and she can't help but feel a thrill of excitement climb up her spine. A Grey Warden? Here?

The Warden looks away from the arguing men and sees her hovering beside the door. "Irving, someone is here to see you." Greagoir pauses, mid-sentence, and he and Irving both turn to look at her. The warden gives her a faint smile, which she returns; she knows exactly how loud they can get, and she sympathizes.

"Marian, my dear!" Irving says with a smile, coming toward her, hands outstretched. "Congratulations on your ascension to the Circle." Marian hears what he's not saying: Congratulations on not dying.

She knows that in Irving's eyes, she has just become - not an adult, because she is only eighteen; Irving patronizes Leorah just as much as he does the newest apprentice, and she is near thirty - but she is now part of a smaller group, one he has to pay attention to.

There is a surprising amount of politicking among the senior mages for the post of First Enchanter. The post is traditionally appointed by the Knight-Commander, but even he listens to the tides of power and opinion in the Tower. The posturing for influence and precedence gets sort of silly sometimes, and Marian is sure that Irving and Greagoir encourage it; perhaps they think that if mages are pursuing worldly power, they won't also become maleficars. It seems short-sighted to her, but of course nobody has ever asked for her opinion.

Marian has just graduated to the status of full Circle mage, and that makes her a new quarry for the influence games; she has just completed a very fast Harrowing, and that marks her as someone to watch. She will be courted by the various fraternities, the Isolationists, the Libertarians, and the rest. She inclines to the Aequitarians on strictly moral grounds; they believe that mages must hold themselves to a code and ruling oneself above all. But in the end, none of the politics or philosophies matter a damn to her, because she is getting out and leaving all this far behind.

But if she doesn't want anyone to become suspicious at her complete lack of interest, she's going to have to play the game.

Damn it.

Marian smiles at Irving. "You sent for me, First Enchanter?"

"Yes, of course," he says, gesturing for her to come further into the room. She comes to meet them, stopping besides Greagoir, who greets her with a stiff nod.

"This is...?" The warden murmurs to Irving, watching her intently.

Irving nods. "Yes, this is she."

Marian turns that over in her mind for a moment - Irving has been talking about her? He's been claiming credit as her mentor, of course. Perhaps that's all there is to it.

"Well, Irving, you're obviously busy. We will discuss this later," Greagoir says and stumps out of the room, his armor making cheerful jangling sounds in direct contrast to his obviously poor temper.

"I look forward to it," Irving says, his voice saying exactly the opposite, and then he beams at Marian and the man next to him. "But I've been remiss! Marian, this is Duncan, of the Grey Wardens. And Duncan, this is Marian Amell, our newest Circle Mage."

"Pleased to meet you," Marian says, and she means it. The Grey Wardens are everyone's favorite bedtime story; she never thought she'd meet one in person.

Duncan bows to her and comes up wearing a smile, one that says he knows exactly what she's thinking. "Good day, Mistress Amell," he says. His voice is very deep.

"You've heard about the war brewing to the south, I expect? Duncan is recruiting mages to join the king's army at Ostagar."

"You're recruiting here?" Marian asks. "For mages or for templars?"

"For mages, I hope," Duncan answers. "Although as I understand it, the templars would come with you free of charge."

Marian is sorely tempted to ask for permission to go, although she knows it will be denied; she is too fresh off her Harrowing to be sent anywhere, especially the front lines of a darkspawn war. "I hope you find what you need, ser," she says instead.

"As do I, Mistress," Duncan replies, his eyes thoughtful. "With the darkspawn invading, we need all the help we can get, especially from the Circle. I fear if we don't drive them back, we may see another Blight."

Irving laughs. "Duncan, you worry the poor girl with talk of Blights and darkspawn. This is a happy day for her."

"We live in troubled times, my friend," Duncan says, a note of reproving in his voice.

"All the more reason to seize on moments of levity when they occur." Irving smiles beatifically at her. Marian feels a little bit like a prize horse being inspected by its owner; maybe she'll be asked to show her teeth next? Unaware of her increasingly defiant thoughts, Irving continues, "The Harrowing is behind you. Your phylactery was sent to Denerim. You are officially a mage within the Circle of Magi."

It's the first time anyone has so much as mentioned where the phylacteries are kept. Irving can't be so stupid as to just give her the only information she needs to make a successful escape. He can't.

Can he?

Perhaps it's not so large a stretch – after all, she has never been rebellious except in the confines of her mind, and Denerim is across the entire kingdom. It might not even be true.

"I am honored, First Enchanter," she says calmly. Marian has been given many gifts today, and the possibility of her freedom is the most precious.

Duncan looks from Irving to Marian, confused. "I'm sorry – what is this phylactery?"

"Blood is taken from all apprentices when they first come to the tower and is preserved in special vials," Irving explains.

It's Chantry-sanctioned blood magic to keep mages on the leash, of course, but somehow that's an acceptable compromise to them.

Marian admits she might be a little biased.

"So they can be hunted if they turn apostate." Does she imagine the reproach in Duncan's voice?

"We have few choices. The gift of magic is looked upon with suspicion and fear. We must prove we are strong enough to handle our power responsibly." Irving shakes his head and turns to Marian. "You have done this. You now have the right to wear Circle robes, to bear a Circle staff, and wear a ring bearing the Circle's insignia, all of which can be found in your new quarters. Wear them proudly, for you have earned them."

"Yes, First Enchanter," Marian says, bowing a little. The acolyte staves are notoriously underpowered, and she can't wait to get her hands on a proper staff.

Irving waves her off with a warning not to talk about the Harrowing and asks her to escort Duncan to his guest quarters. Marian does her best not to drill him with questions on the walk, but she can't resist asking just one or maybe two about the Grey Wardens; Duncan seems willing to talk, and she lingers in his quarters for a moment until she notices how tired he looks.

Marian excuses herself with a smile and leaves the guest chamber. In the hallway, waiting for her, is Jowan.