"I'm sorry, what?" Solona gaped at Irving, her fingers practically pulling the cuff of her robes off. The candlelight in Irving's office cast flickering shadows that played tricks on her eyes, and for a brief moment she wondered if her hearing had become equally untrustworthy.

"Pack a bag," Irving repeated, an amused look playing on his face. "The Knight-Commander has requested your presence on a trip to Denerim this week. You're to meet Enchanter Ellaria, Ser Trevelyan, and the Knight-Captain at the main entry at ten bells tomorrow morning."

Solona blinked, not entirely sure she'd heard correctly. "Why…why me?"

"Greagoir and I have discussed the…unique circumstances of your Harrowing at great length, my girl," he said gently. "He was quite impressed at your resolve in the face of such a powerful adversary. Many of our enchanters would not have survived what you went through."

"I'm surprised he didn't think I made it all up," she muttered darkly.

Irving chuckled. "You give him far too little credit, my dear. His heart is in the right place, despite the way he must seem sometimes. Besides." He patted her on the shoulder. "We were almost relieved there was a reason you took so long. It was quite unexpected."

She barked a curt laugh. "That's one way to put it."

His gaze was soft, grandfatherly, and oddly unnerving. Solona shifted awkwardly under its weight and forced her hands into her pockets when he spoke again. "How are you doing, really?"

"I don't know what you mean."

"When were you planning on telling me about the mark?"

The question wasn't accusatory, and when Solona finally unfroze herself long enough to hazard a glance at his face, his expression was still kind, no judgment in his eyes.

"I…" She fumbled. To be perfectly honest, she had spent the last few days pretending it didn't exist in the hopes that it would disappear on its own, but when she pulled back her sleeve, it was still there, as dark and distinct as ever.

"Solona," he chided. "In all these years, have I ever given you cause for mistrust?"

"No," she mumbled, eyes fixed firmly on the floor. She felt like a small child caught in an idiotic lie.

"I'm not upset with you, girl, only saddened that you felt this burden was yours alone to bear."

Shame flooded her face at both his words and the memories that talking about the mark seemed to stir in her. Memories that directly preceded the mark, and then what had transpired after. Desire - sudden, sharp, and painful - for a life she would never lead pooled heavily in her chest until she thought her very ribcage would explode from the pressure. And the way he'd called her name, reverent and so full of need. Her face reddened even further as she begged the Maker to let her sink into the floor.

It wasn't until Irving drew her into a gentle embrace that she realized she was crying. "There now," he said softly, rubbing gentle circles into her back.

"You're not going to ask me what she offered?" she sniffled.

He shook his head. "No, child. I would not ask it of you, nor would I expect an honest answer if I did."

"Thank the Maker for that," she mumbled. And then, "How long have you known?"

He cocked an eyebrow at her as she pulled away to study his face. "Are you certain you wish to know?"

"I don't know." She squinted suspiciously. "That sounds like a trick question." Her eyes swept over his office as she fought to calm her nerves, balling her hands into fists and digging her nails into her palms. "Maybe. Yes. Yes, I do."

She avoided his gaze again as he answered. "A certain young templar came by the morning after your Harrowing. He was quite worried about you."

Shit. Solona gulped and tightened her fists. "He…was, was he?"

"I didn't ask how he came by this information, or why he seemed so distraught by it." Irving's words were deliberate and carefully measured. "I assume he noticed it on the way to your quarters, am I correct?"

"Yes," Solona mumbled. She chewed on her lip, every second of silence filling her ears with the sound of her own heartbeat.

"I will not pry into your affairs, dear girl, if that is what troubles you. I have faith in your judgment and discretion, and that is all I will say on the matter."

She exhaled a thin stream of air through her mouth, only just realizing she'd been holding her breath. "Thank you." It was barely above a whisper, and she wasn't entirely sure he'd heard her at all. When three curt knocks sounded on his door, she practically jumped out of her skin.

"Come in," Irving called, robes rustling as he stood up and bustled to the door.

"First Enchanter, the item you have requested has been completed. I hope the quality is satisfactory." The familiar monotone of one of the Tranquil floated through the doorway. Solona shuddered. How Irving seemed so unfazed was beyond her. Did one really ever get used to the fear of becoming one of them? The Tranquil seemed content enough with their lot, though…was it truly such a punishment if the ability to feel regret or remorse is removed entirely? The question only made her stomach churn harder.

Irving had quite the opposite reaction from hers, perking up instantly at the announcement, and Solona stifled a laugh when she imagined Irving as an overeager Mabari puppy. "Just in time! Thank you, Researcher Teresa. We appreciate the work you do for us."

Researcher Teresa. Solona swallowed the lump that suddenly replaced the laughter in her throat. Researcher Teresa had been Apprentice Teresa less than a year ago, and a close friend of Neria's. She tried to imagine Lucien or Jowan speaking that way and fought to keep the bile from rising in her throat. Neria avoided the Tranquil like the plague, and suddenly Solona understood why. She made herself look anyway.

Teresa looked normal enough at first glance. Soft brown hair fell around her shoulders, olive toned skin healthy and vibrant. Even her eyes, at a quick enough look, seemed the same emerald green. She'd long suspected Teresa and Neria had been more than just friends from how Neria described her eyes. Like staring into the forest after the rain. But the look in Teresa's eyes, or rather, the lack thereof, made Solona's skin crawl. They carried a sharp indifference the old Teresa never had, and the musical lilt was completely gone from her voice. In its place was a muted monotone that couldn't be more opposite the vibrant sunburst brand on her forehead. Solona felt her stomach heave and took a deep breath to hold back the nausea.

"Thank you, First Enchanter." Teresa finally bowed her head in farewell and turned to leave. "Be well."

Irving beamed as he closed the door and held out a leather wrapped package. "It seems they finished in time for us to give you a going away present."

She arched an eyebrow in what she hoped looked like suspicion instead of a poor attempt to mask the feelings of panic and disgust that suddenly threatened to overwhelm her. "What's the occasion?"

If Irving noticed, he made no such indication. "I took the liberty of commissioning this for you after Ser Cullen explained what your mark looked like," he said with the exuberance of an academic half his age. "There is some - albeit limited - knowledge on the particular demon you encountered, and we had some of the Tranquil enchant a wristband to counter the rune's magic."

She eyed him, concern still clouding her features, and opened the package. The air exited her lungs in a small gasp when she saw what it contained. The wristband, as he'd described in such a utilitarian manner, would have been more aptly described as a delicate bracelet, an intricately forged thing of silver set with several tiny sapphires arranged like leaves around tendrils of metal bent to look like vines. She slipped it onto her wrist, wide eyed, and uttered a soft "Oh," as the ceaseless buzzing she hadn't even noticed coming from her arm finally quieted. The agitated energy spiraling from the rune suddenly calmed into nothing, and for the first time in days she didn't feel the whispers in her head threatening to swallow her whole.

"It's beautiful," she breathed. And she really meant it, too; never in her life in the Circle had she owned anything so lovely.

"Teresa has truly outdone herself this time, hasn't she? The silver has lyrium folded into it, and the stones are enchanted with a localized disruption field." The old man looked positively giddy. "Designed to look like royal elfroot vines in bloom. It should serve nicely to keep the mark from causing you trouble without drawing undue attention."

Solona rubbed at her wrist and studied the bracelet. Some of the sapphires glinted as they caught the candlelight. "Thank you," she said for the second time, still feeling pointedly undeserving of everything she'd been given today. The image of the little girl with golden curls still pinched at her thoughts, a tiny viper in her mind trapped with no foreseeable way out, and she held in the urge to squirm in discomfort.

She stood shakily instead. "I should, uh, go pack?" She cursed the uncertainty in her voice. A large part of her didn't feel like a Harrowed mage yet. That part of her was still Apprentice Amell, marked by her name even here where background wasn't supposed to matter. A cast off noble daughter, too much a mage to actually have a family but too much a noble to find much family among the mages. Too old to justify hiding from the world but too young to face what was beyond the door to her chambers without trembling like a sheet of paper caught in the wind. Being Harrowed was supposed to be an honor, but she only missed the sense of companionship she felt in the apprentice dormitory. Here, she was a mage now, and instead of gaining a family as they so often claimed, she felt more alone than ever.

"Of course, my dear," was his only reply, amicable but brief. He gave her another one of those damnable grandfatherly smiles with the twinkly eyes that used to make her feel safe but now only made her want to shrink into her boots. She nodded politely, grabbed her satchel, and slipped through the door, which closed with a creak behind her.

The templar commons was deserted save for the two other recruits playing a heated game of chess on the other side of the hall. Cullen found his mind wandering as he watched them, faces crunched into tight grimaces as their pieces clacked across the board. He watched their moves with growing interest. The one on the left was attempting to play with some semblance of strategy but was playing far too carefully for his moves to be effective. The other didn't seem to have any sort of strategy in mind at all and was playing with the sort of reckless abandon that made him remember his own floundering during his earliest attempted matches with his sister, who had thoroughly destroyed him at every opportunity.

A smile flitted across his lips as he thought about his family, and he didn't notice Hannah's repeated attempts to get his attention until he felt a tight grip shaking his shoulder.

"Shit, Curly, you're distracted today," she teased, affectionately fluffing up his hair with her free hand.

He bristled at both the ridiculous nickname she'd concocted for him and the way she effectively undid his attempt that morning to tame his unruly blonde curls with a single swipe of her fingers. "Must you call me that?" he grumbled, trying in vain to flatten his hair back down, but once the curls popped free, it seemed no amount of wax would hold them again. He sighed heavily and leaned back on the bench in resignation.

"Only until you learn how to fucking relax on your day off." She plopped onto the bench next to him, entirely too close for comfort, and leaned a knee against his leg as she unwrapped a half eaten sandwich. "Come on," she said between noisy mouthfuls. "You don't have guard duty for an entire twenty-four hours. Wanna go for a tumble on the Spoiled Princess later?"

Cullen opened his mouth briefly, then closed it again. "Hannah, what does that even mean?"

"It means," she said with a crooked grin, "that you need to come out and have a pint with the rest of us grunts before people start mistaking you for a Chantry sister." She pointedly avoided his glare and ruffled his hair again. "Besides, I'm going to Denerim tomorrow with the Knight Captain, Ellaria, and your little mage sweetheart. Figured you'd want to kiss me goodbye."

"Maker's breath, Hannah, why must you-" he trailed off, comprehending what she said. His eyes widened. "Solona is going with you?"

Hannah smirked. "Thought that would grab your attention. We're off to pick up some noble prat before he sets his mum's skirts on fire. Exciting, right?"

He shook his head, confused. "But why Solona?"

Hannah shrugged. "She's a powerful mage and a noble's daughter. The Knight-Commander wants her there as 'proof' that life in a Circle isn't the end of the world for someone from a good family. Mind, her family's a terrible example. Her mother went a bit mad after they brought the kid here, now the family name's worth dirt in Kirkwall last I heard, so I hope this family we're visiting does about as much or less research than Greagoir did. Should be an interesting trip, either way."

"And you're there because…?"

"Oh, sweet Rutherford." She patted his cheek affectionately. "I'm a noble's daughter too, haven't you paid attention to anything I've told you?"

He stared at her, not entirely sure how serious she was being. With Hannah, you never really could tell. "No, I. I don't think you ever quite mentioned that."

Hannah chuckled and jumped to her feet, curtsying with a flourish made triply absurd by the standard issue tunic and trousers she wore, emblazoned with the insignia of the Templar Order. "Lady Hannah Trevelyan of Ostwick, Ser Rutherford. All I desire is your hand in marriage, blah blah inheritance, something something heirs, lineage, dowry, etc. My favorite topics of discussion."

He couldn't help but laugh at her antics. The thought of Hannah - the brash, rude, foul mouthed soldier with a heart of gold - being shown off prettily in a gown at some society gala somewhere was quite possibly the most ridiculous thing he'd ever imagined. "You, in a dress? Now that, I would pay to see."

Hannah winked. "Stick around and you might see me in even less." Cullen felt his cheeks turn bright red at her over the top flirting and tried to cool his face with the backs of his hands. He expected more teasing at his lack of response, but she simply sat back down, somehow more unceremoniously than the first time, and resumed eating her sandwich, speaking between bites. "Anyway, this family is supposedly ridiculously important and their strategy for avoiding scandal is to flaunt it like some great honor. So they're sending two fancy former ladies of the court-"

She trailed off and admired the remains of her sandwich appreciatively. "Maker, fuck, what do they put in these?"

"Hannah."

"Oh, right." She shoved the rest of the sandwich into her mouth and continued after a few chews, "-two fancy former ladies of the court to stand there and look pretty and display the 'exemplary lives of noblewomen who went on to serve the Chantry' and all that." She quoted with her fingers in the air as she swallowed the remains of her meal with a noisy gulp. "Put on a pretty little dog and pony show and ensure the kid gets to come back with us without hurting anyone's feelings. Sounds like a dream, doesn't it?"

Cullen snorted. "I would rather be torn apart by a pack of mabari."

"Hah!" Hannah clapped him on the back. "Sullen Cullen does have a sense of humor."

He barely heard her jibe as he stared at the floor in thought. "How long will she…you be gone?" He felt the heat creep into his face again. Hannah would trade him mercilessly for his slip up later; this much he knew with ironclad certainty.

"Two weeks, probably. More if things don't go smoothly." Hannah's expression was serious and surprisingly sympathetic. "You should go find her before we leave tomorrow."

You should find her- Maker's breath.

She grunted when elbowed her in the ribs. "Don't say that so loudly!" he hissed, looking around to see if anyone heard. The only other occupants of the room - the two men playing chess - remained absorbed in their game and made no indication they'd heard anything. Still, he felt the anxiety rise just the same as the reality of his situation began to sink in.

Oh, Maker. Not only was he involved in an inappropriate relationship with one of his charges, he had lain with her. Twice now. Surely the entire Circle would know within days, and then he would be harshly punished, and she would be…

He forced himself to swallow through the tightening in his throat. Her fate, should such a thing come to pass, wasn't something he wanted to thank about.

"Oh, Cullen," Hannah sighed. She kept her distance this time but squeezed his shoulder in reassurance. "Breathe, my friend. No one else is around. No one heard. You will be alright. And I have your back on this, I swear it. Besides, she's already Harrowed, and if what I hear is true, she's also quite the asset to this Circle's research. She will come out just fine, no matter what happens. That I can assure you."

From anyone else the physical contact would have made him profoundly uncomfortable, but somehow from Hannah it was genuinely soothing, and eventually he felt the sense of panic quelling as he slowed his breathing again. She had a strange way of practically reading his mind when he was troubled around her, so her words probably shouldn't have come as a surprise, but he found himself wondering once again how she managed to figure out exactly what it was that worried him.

"Why would you put yourself at risk for me over this?" he asked finally. Hannah was a good friend, but at this point she'd take the fall with him if he and Solona were ever caught together.

She laughed with a distinctly unladylike hoot and clapped him on the back again. "Because, dummy. We're friends. Have you never had a friend before?" She shoved at him lightly and shooed him off of the bench. "Now get up, go find her!"

Solona had only barely left Irving's office, completely lost in thought, when she collided squarely with something cleared her throat awkwardly as she looked up. "I'm so sorry, is there something I can…" She trailed off when she found herself looking up into a very familiar pair of amber eyes.

"I've been looking for you," he said softly, a smile playing on his face.

"Oh," she breathed. In the two weeks since her Harrowing, they'd shared stolen kisses in hidden corners and behind bookshelves, and he'd even visited her quarters again, much to her surprise. Their coupling had been quick then, fully clothed, against the wall, and full of clinging touches and desperate kisses spurred on by the ever present fear of getting caught. She couldn't deny finding a certain thrill in that, too. Cullen was, if nothing else, a welcome distraction from the aching monotony of life in the Circle, and she practically welcomed the risk with open arms. Part of her worried about his fate if they were discovered, but his lips against her skin had a funny way of silencing her concerns.

Before she had time to say anything else, he'd grabbed her by the wrist and all but dragged her into a nearby storage closet, locking the door behind him with a faint click. "Cullen, what-" she started to say, but the rest of the words fled her mind the second his lips crashed into hers.

"I missed you," he whispered finally.

"Fuck, me too."

She looped her arms around his neck and stood up on her toes as he kissed her again, trailing his lips down her jaw and nipping lightly at her neck. His stubble scratched gently against her skin, and she stifled a moan against his shirt when his tongue grazed her pulse point. She closed her eyes and marveled at how easy it was to lose herself in him, sandalwood and leather filling her senses as she breathed in deeply against his neck. How many times had he kissed her now? And he'd been inside her twice. Twice. She thought back to other trysts she'd been a part of. There never was a twice before. Twice meant you liked them enough the first time to go again, and that always led to dangerous territory.

She dimly realized he'd stopped kissing her and simply buried his face in her hair, strong arms drawing her closer and squeezing her against his chest. Dangerous territory, a voice in the back of her mind warned. Kisses were all good and well, but what they were doing now implied feelings, and that alone was terrifying. Feelings were fantasies, a luxury reserved for people outside of the circle. Feelings had no place here, in this gilded prison where loneliness was wielded like a weapon to keep you cowed and compliant. Feelings were dangerous.

Solona knew deep down that this had long since progressed past dangerous. Every adoring gaze and tender caress hammered it home, the nauseating idea that feelings had already happened long before that night they'd confessed as much to each other in the throes of passion. I'm yours. Yours till the Void takes me.

He was whispering it now, fingers winding through her hair and stroking her cheek as his lips moved against her forehead. "Yours," he murmured. "Always."

Fuck. She already knew what she wanted to say, and it was beyond frightening when the word slipped from her mouth. "Always," she whispered into his shoulder in agreement, heart hammering in her chest.

She couldn't take it anymore. The intimacy of the moment was at once exhilarating and nauseating, and she could feel the terror pooling thickly in her stomach. Pleasure, she thought dimly. Pleasure was good. Pleasure was familiar. She knew how to handle pleasure. She slipped a hand between them and grazed her fingertips against his length, already hard beneath his breeches. His breath hitched when she stroked him gently through the fabric. She sank to her knees and fumbled with the ties of his trousers, slipping them just loose enough to free his cock from its confines. He gasped when she stroked him and swirled her tongue around the head.

"Solona, you don't have to-"

She ran her tongue along his shaft before she answered. "Let me," she whispered. "I want to." His cock twitched when she took it in her mouth, her hand pumping lightly at the base. She slid her hand down to cup his balls as she slowly eased him into her mouth entirely, her nose brushing against soft golden curls as she inhaled the musky scent of his arousal. He groaned softly at her touch as she pulled her head back, her tongue dragging under the shaft until she released him with a soft pop.

"Maker's breath, Solona," he moaned, tangling his fingers into her hair. She licked the bead of pre-cum that had gathered at his tip and teased the underside of his head with her tongue.

"Still think I don't have to?" she teased.

He groaned and shuddered in response. "Oh, you are wicked."

"Am I?" she smirked and took him back into her mouth, pumping in earnest this time, coating his length with her saliva and his own arousal. His breathing quickened with her movements until he was panting, eyes closed, thrusting gently into her mouth in time with her motions.

"Yes," he mumbled, and she felt heat course through her core at the sight of him, fingers clenched in her hair, completely at her mercy.

You could use him like this. To escape. The thought floated to her mind, and she almost choked. Fuck. No. What the fuck. No! Oh, Maker. She was having conversations with herself in her head with a cock in her mouth. Andraste's ass. She forced herself to focus and ran her nails lightly down the inside of his thigh instead, and the sound she drew from him then sent a fresh wave of dampness pooling between her legs. Cullen was making those sounds above her. Sweet Cullen, her innocent Chantry boy. Her lover.

Her templar sweetheart.

No, no, no, don't think about that.

"Solona, I won't last much longer-" he gasped, but she interrupted him.

"Come for me, love," she crooned, then sank her mouth onto his shaft again, matching the rhythm of her hand to her mouth. She cupped his balls lightly with her free hand. Soon, she felt them tighten, his body tensing, and then he was spilling into her mouth with a muffled groan. She glanced up and saw that he'd buried his face in the crook of his arm. Resisting the urge to smile, she swallowed every drop, swirling her tongue around him one last time before letting his member slip from her mouth. She tucked him back into his breeches with an affectionate pat on his thigh.

He grabbed her beneath the shoulders and hauled her to her feet for another kiss, his mouth seeking and desperate. She expected him to recoil from the taste of himself on her tongue, but it only seemed to stoke the flames of his desire for her, and he kissed her with the wild abandon of a man starved for the heat of her lips on his. They tangled and touched and explored, until finally the need to breathe pulled them apart. She stared into his honey gaze, his eyes brimming with affection she'd never seen in any of her previous partners.

Yes, this had long since barreled past dangerous. She needed to break things off, needed to remind him of the risks and how nothing they had between them was worth the consequences.

"I think I'm in love with you," she blurted out instead. Fuck. Why had she said that?

"And I, you," he murmured softly before leaning into capture her lips with his one more time, and she suddenly knew exactly why.

Her entire life had been a long experiment in profound loneliness that even her friends never could adequately sate. The voice in the back of her mind was always there, always taunting her about the life she could never have, but here in his arms, for the brief moments they were able to steal, the voice was blissfully quiet. She was lost, she realized, utterly lost in him, in his boyish enthusiasm and pure adoration. She was lost, and there was no turning back.

It frightened her, yes, but moments like this made her wonder if she would rather stay lost forever anyway.

"I'm leaving tomorrow," she said finally, finding his eyes with hers in the dimly lit darkness.

"I know," he said, fingers carding gently through her hair. "Hannah - Ser Trevelyan - told me."

She felt her eyebrows raise in surprise. "Did she now?" Does she know about us? she wondered.

"She was the one who told me to find you today."

Solona stiffened and pushed away from him. "You told someone?" she hissed.

"It's not what you think," he murmured softly, recapturing in his arms with ease. She huffed but let him draw her back against him. "Hannah is my closest friend. She thinks you're good for me."

"Must be a shit templar, then," Solona grumbled. She felt him chuckle behind her, low and rumbling in his chest.

"She has said that about herself before, yes." He tightened his grip around her and trailed kisses down her forehead to her nose. "She also swore to me to help keep our secret safe."

Solona wasn't convinced. "Why the fuck would she do that? She works for the Chantry, same as you."

He laughed again. "She seems to think our friendship is a bond worthy of such insubordination."

"Hmph. Sure you're not fucking her, too?"

She half expected him to bristle at her terrible joke, but to her surprise, he just nuzzled her nose with his and pressed a chaste kiss against her lips. "That honor is reserved for you alone, my lady," he murmured.

Solona gave in and melted into his arms again, letting the sandalwood spice of him fill her nostrils as her tongue met his, aching and wanting. This - whatever they were doing - was dangerous, but something about this moment felt a lot more like salvation.