"Jowan, my friend," Marian says, collecting Jowan's arm and dragging him along with her as she goes down the hallway toward her new quarters. "If you're stalking me, we're going to have words."
"You'll have to catch me first," he says, with a small smile that immediately vanishes. "Look, I need your help."
Marian hisses at him to quiet him; she deposits him in her room while she checks the two other separated rooms that make up the mages' quarters on this floor. They're empty, and she returns to her own to find Jowan pacing anxiously. He stops as soon as he sees her.
"Well?" he asks.
"They're empty," Marian says. She keeps her voice down anyway; there are no doors to the individual rooms, and the hallway door stands open.
"Do you remember what we talked about this morning?"
Marian prays for patience. "I'm not going to tell you about the Harrowing. I wish you'd stop asking!"
"But..." Jowan frowns. "Wait a moment." He leaves her with no more explanation than that, and Marian scoffs. He has a funny way of asking for help, she thinks, but Jowan has always been secretive in a completely infuriating way.
Her Circle robes, staff, and ring are lying on the bed, and she immediately picks up the staff. It's similar to her acolyte staff in looks and weight, but when she tentatively queries it with her magic, she can immediately feel that it's quite different in reactivity and magical throughput. It'll be interesting to see what kind of power she can obtain with it. She puts on the ring, etched with the symbol of the Circle, and sets the robes aside; Jowan could return at any second, and she doesn't have a changing screen.
Her thoughts inevitably return to her phylactery, and to Denerim. The maps in the library suggest that with a fast horse it could be no more five days ride from the docks, but she cannot leave without more information; wandering around Denerim looking for a secret Templar warehouse is a terrible idea, bound to end in tears.
She can hear Jowan coming back, so she sits on her bed and waits. When he comes through the open doorway of her room, he is not alone.
The girl with him is wearing Chantry initiate robes, but underneath them she's lovely, all auburn hair and glowing eyes. Jowan is holding her hand, as if he has a perfect right to do so, as if she is not sworn to Andraste.
"Jowan," Marian says in utter and complete horror. "What have you done?"
"This is Lily," Jowan says.
Marian opens her mouth to reply with some heat, but something in his eyes stops her, something proud and wondering and terrified. Stepping on that feels like stepping on a kitten. "Oh, Maker," she groans. "Why are you doing this to me? Do you know what Greagoir's going to do to all of us when you get caught?"
"Thumbscrews and the rack?" Jowan offers with a smile.
"No, that's what I'll do," she grumbles, but she doesn't mean any of it, and Jowan knows it. Marian gives up the impossible task of making Jowan feel the least little bit of shame about anything and turns to Lily. "Forgive me," Marian says, smiling. "You have my condolences, for what it's worth."
"Oy!" Jowan protests.
Lily smiles. "I can see why the two of you are friends."
"Oh, ouch," Marian says, then laughs. "Hoist on my own petard, I see. All right." She falls silent for a moment, and when Jowan doesn't immediately start talking, she says, "You can't have got me in here to chat about love."
"I wish that was the only thing I needed to talk about." He glances at Lily. "Remember I said that I didn't think they wanted to give me my Harrowing? I know why. They're... going to make me Tranquil."
Marian frowns. It sounds like more of Jowan's paranoia from earlier, but... "How do you know?"
"I saw the document on Greagoir's table," Lily says, distressed. "It authorized the Rite on Jowan. Irving had signed it."
Marian wishes she were more surprised, but she's always known that Irving isn't the sort to stick his neck out for the axe. "What are you going to do?" she asks.
"We need your help!" Jowan cries, releasing Lily's hand and dropping to one knee before Marian. "Please, Marian. Lily and I can't do this on our own."
If it were anyone else, Marian would at least think about her answer, but Jowan has helped her, schemed with her, studied with her, and supported her. "Of course I'll help," Marian agrees immediately. She puts her hand on Jowan's head, comforting for a moment before she ruffles his hair on that side. "What do you need?"
"Your word on it?" Lily asks, her eyes very steady.
Marian studies her for a moment; she likes what she sees. Lily is strong where Jowan is sometimes weak; they will be good for each other, given the chance. "You have it."
Jowan sighs in relief and stands. "I knew you'd help," he says, smoothing down his rumpled hair.
"Because I'm a sucker," Marian grumbles, but he's right – there was never any possibility of her saying no.
Lily and Jowan explain their plan, what there is of it; naturally, it's missing all the important details, like how to keep the templars away, what to do with Jowan's phylactery after they steal it, and exactly how they're going to get out of the Tower afterward and across the lake without the templars noticing.
"Your brilliant plan is to blow up the door leading to the phylacteries?" Marian asks, dumbfounded. "You know the cells are down there, right? The ones they keep Anders locked up in? They won't have to take you far to lock you up. Oh, Maker," she says, covering her face with her hands. "Don't talk to me. Let me just – I'm going to go get a rod of fire. You try not to come up with any more ridiculous plans while I'm gone."
Marian refuses to think about Jowan's plan anymore, in the hopes that refusing to think about it will make it less stupid. Naturally, Owain won't hand over a rod of fire on a whim, so she needs a senior enchanter who will sign her request form without actually thinking about it.
Another hour of her life later, she has a signed request form for a rod of fire and Old Man Sweeney has remembered her name for the first time in ten years.
Marian hesitates before turning out of the library into the circular area that is the heart of this floor, where the storeroom is located. She could turn Jowan and Lily in to Irving, she knows. In all honesty, they'll probably be caught at the docks, or the small village on the shore of the lake. She might even be doing them a favor.
Marian rolls her eyes at herself; she knows perfectly well she's not going to betray them. Even if Jowan weren't her friend, even if she hadn't liked Lily practically on sight... all Marian wants is to escape the Tower, and she can't deny other people the opportunity she would so dearly like to take for herself. Neither will she condemn her friend to a fate worse than death.
With Sweeney's signature on her requisition form, Owain hands over the rod of fire with no questions asked. Marian gathers Jowan and Lily from her room on her way to the stairs; a mage, an apprentice, and an initiate attract a few looks going through the library on the first floor, but nobody stops them as they pass through the basement and the Victim's Door to reach the door of the reliquary.
She uses the rod of fire on the door's locks.
Nothing happens.
"Why isn't it working?" Lily asks.
"I don't know," Marian says, distracted. She reaches out to the rod with her magic, feeling along the pathways of her skin into the rod –
It's not working. Something is blocking her magic from moving outside of her skin. Marian tries again, unease climbing her spine in shuddery waves that lift the hairs on the back of her neck, but again her magic is blocked at the point where it would leave her body.
Marian has never not been able to do this.
"Lily..." Jowan says, the same unease she's feeling clearly present in his voice. "I can't cast spells here. Nothing works."
Marian immediately tries to cast the very first spell she learnt as an apprentice, a simple floating light that doesn't require a staff. She cups her hands together and encourages her magic to pool in the way she was taught, but nothing happens. Jowan is right. Neither of them can cast anything. She's never felt so defenseless or exposed.
"Oh, no," Lily says, touching the door and tracing the most intricate of the stone carvings that cover the door. "Oh, I never thought of this. These are wards. Anti-magic wards."
Without conscious thought Marian takes a step back, away from the door. "Templars can do that?" she asks uneasily.
"I didn't know," Lily says, fingers still on the stone carving as she turns to speak to Jowan. "But I should have guessed – why else would they use ordinary keys?"
"How are we going to get in now?" Jowan asks. This is usually the part where he panics, and Marian can only hope that he'll keep it together in front of Lily.
Marian eyes the door, backing up a little more. The hinges are on the inside, so they can't dismantle the door, and the stone is thick and strong. They won't be getting through here, not without magic.
"Maybe there's another entrance around the side?" she suggests.
Jowan scoffs. "What are the chances of that?"
"If there isn't one," Marian says grimly, striding toward the other door that leads into the basements proper, "I'll make one."
Her words are more accurate than she knows; Marian does indeed have to make a door into the phylactery chamber, but after that they're inside, with nothing between them and Jowan's phylactery except a really angry animated Guardian.
She finishes it off with a lightning strike and gestures for Jowan to precede her up the stairs to a long, low table strewn with phials. "Which one?" she asks, looking between the phials; they are all different shapes, some with round, bulbous bottoms, some look like wine bottles, and others look like reused potion bottles.
"I don't know," Jowan says with some distress. "I never thought that I wouldn't be able to tell."
Of course you didn't, Marian thinks, clenching her teeth to keep from saying it right out loud. He has thought none of this through, and Lily is so blind with love that she will follow him anywhere when she should be leading him by the nose so he won't do anything stupid.
She picks up the nearest phial and thanks the Maker and all his servants when she turns it over and finds that it's labeled neatly on the bottom:
9:24 Dragon
Llewellyn
They check the bottom of every phylactery until they find Jowan's, neatly labeled 9:18 Dragon. "I can't believe this tiny vial is all that stands between me and freedom," he says, wondering. "It's so fragile."
He's talking more to himself than to either of them, and neither reply. Jowan opens his hand and lets the phial drop; it shatters on the stone, spraying blood and glass everywhere. He scrubs his toe in the blood, smearing it a little, then spins and grabs Lily, hugging her and laughing. "I'm free!"
Lily laughs with him, looking down at him with something soft and delighted on her face. Marian doesn't have the heart to disturb them... but they're not free yet, no matter what they think. Next they must get past the templars guarding the front doors, and then they must brave the lake.
"We have to hurry," she reminds them, and they reluctantly part. Marian tries the inside of the first door, the one they had been unable to open; this time it opens easily, and when it does she feels the ward dissipate like so much cloud in the breeze. They leave the basement, each step quicker than the last; they're almost laughing when they burst out of the basement door. The end is nearly in sight.
Greagoir's voice interrupts their relieved laughter, silencing them in an instant. "So what you said was true, Irving."
"G-greagoir!" Lily stammers, shocked.
He has obviously been waiting for them; he stands with Irving and two templars, arms folded and a scowl on his face. A thousand stories flicker through Marian's mind, but in the end there is no story that will prevent Greagoir from checking the phylactery chamber if he has the slightest suspicion of what they've been doing.
Still, she would do it again, and that thought squares her shoulders and lifts her chin. She will not be intimidated.
And maybe she and Anders can talk to each other in their cells.
"Good evening, Knight-Commander," Marian says, keeping her voice steady through an effort of will. Something flickers in Greagoir's eyes, something that looks like unwilling respect, and then it's gone; but that gives her something to hold on to. Greagoir appreciates courage, and loyalty, and civilized behavior; he will set the length of their sentences, and it's best they stay on his good side.
Greagoir shakes his head. "An initiate, conspiring with a blood mage. I'm disappointed, Lily."
Marian stares at him, too shocked to protest or question and too scared to say anything at all. A blood mage? This isn't just solitary confinement material; collaboration with a blood mage is grounds for the Rite of Tranquility. Or worse.
Greagoir beckons to Lily and she obeys, standing before him with her head bowed. He lifts her chin and examines her eyes. "She seems shocked, but fully in control of her own mind," he says over his shoulder to Irving. "Not a thrall of the blood mage, then."
Marian isn't entirely sure she's breathing. She is not a blood mage, and she cannot believe it of Jowan; this is all a mistake, a terrible mistake that will be cleared up. None of the awful things she is imagining are going to happen.
She bites her lip. If only she believed herself.
"The initiate has betrayed us. The Chantry will not let this go unpunished." Greagoir lets Lily go; she steps back into submissive invisibility, something she must have learned in the Chantry, before Greagoir turns on Marian. "And this one – newly a mage, and already flouting the rules of the Circle."
Marian swallows.
Irving sighs. "I'm disappointed in you, child. You could have told me what you knew of this plan, and you didn't."
Marian ruthlessly suppresses the instinct to tell Irving exactly what she thinks of him; it will not make an iota of difference, and in fact will make this horrible situation even worse, but oh how she wants to. If she'd told him what Jowan was planning, he would have betrayed all three of them in an instant for some momentary advantage in a power play with Greagoir or one of the factions.
"You don't care for the mages!" Jowan says, anger in every word. Marian winces. "You just bow to the Chantry's every whim!"
"Enough!" Greagoir strides forward toward them, the force of his steps making his armor clash more than usual. "As knight-commander of the templars here assembled, I sentence this blood mage to death."
He's not looking at her, Marian realizes; he's looking at Jowan. They can't possibly think Jowan is a blood mage, and she opens her mouth to say so before Greagoir continues, pointing one massive gauntleted finger at Lily. "This initiate has scorned the Chantry and her vows. Take her to Aeonar."
Aeonar? Marian darts a look at Lily, who's just gone even more pale than usual. "The... the mages' prison. No..." She's begging and backing away from them until she steps out over the empty space at the top of the stairs leading down to the basement; Marian just catches Lily's arm before she can fall. "Please, no," Lily says, desperately clinging to Marian's arm. "Not there."
Marian happens to catch Jowan's shoulders tighten out of the corner of her eye; she knows it's not a good sign, but she can't reach him from where she stands. "Jowan..." she says, warning him off.
But Jowan's not listening anymore. "No! I won't let you touch her!" he shouts; he reaches into his robes and pulls out a little knife, rounded near the hilt and very sharp. The idea that he could take on three templars and the First Enchanter with a little knife like that – Marian starts to shout at him, and Lily is clinging to her arm, keeping her from reaching him –
Jowan drives the knife down into his own hand. He bleeds, and he bleeds, and bleeds; instead of thinning out and slowing down, the blood flow increases, spattering everyone and everything within reach. Jowan says one sharp word and gestures with his wounded hand, and the blood leaps up from the floor to surround the templars, Greagoir, and Irving. Then they collapse, abruptly, like a marionette with cut strings.
"Jowan," Marian breathes in horror. "Jowan, what have you done?"
"I couldn't let them take you," Jowan says, turning. He's talking to Lily, of course, and there's an obscure pain in her chest; even after all this, after everything that's happened, Marian resents Lily for coming between her and the best friend she's ever had.
She supposes she didn't really require an answer to her question, in any case. The apprentices have been buzzing for days about a blood mage somewhere in the Tower, and for once, they've stumbled on the right answer. It explains everything - his mood swings, his absences, his terror over the Harrowing. It explains everything except why.
"Blood magic?" Lily says, still clinging to Marian. "By the Maker – how could you?" Her voice is full of the same betrayal Marian is feeling. "You said – you promised..."
"I just dabbled!" Jowan says, holding his hands out entreatingly. "I thought... I hoped it would make me a better mage!"
Lily shakes her head, her eyes very wide in her face. "Blood magic is evil. It corrupts everything it touches."
"I'm going to give it all up!" Jowan says, pleading. "Everything, all the magic. I just want to be with you, Lily – I love you. Come with me. Please."
Lily looks at him for what seems like an age. "I trusted you," she says eventually, letting go of Marian's arm. She steps forward, toward Jowan, and he is forced to back away as she moves; the betrayal on her face is unbearable. "I was ready to sacrifice everything for you." Lily breaks off, shaking her head. The quiet strength that Marian had so admired before is back. "I don't know you, blood mage. Stay away from me."
But she points to the exit.
Even that is a concession; Lily and Marian together probably can't overcome his blood magic, but they could try. Lily still bears the mace and shield Marian stole for her, and Marian has a trick or two up her sleeves Jowan has not seen yet.
Jowan opens his mouth, then closes it again. His shoulders slump and his head bows, the very image of a defeated man. He turns to leave, and that's when he sees Marian, standing exactly where she's been this entire hellish confrontation.
"Marian..." Jowan has said her name like that a thousand times, whenever he needs help, and she has always given it to him if she could. She doesn't honestly know what he wants from her this time, but whatever it is, she cannot give it to him.
"Go," Marian says, her heart heavy. "While you still can."
Jowan hesitates for a moment more, then heads for the front doors at a run. He doesn't look back, and after one last glance, she lets him go.
With Jowan's disappearance, the group on the floor starts to stir; Marian moves to help Irving, who is old and feeble and the only one of the four who will accept a mage's touch. He sits up with only a little difficulty. "Are you all right, child? Where's Greagoir?"
"I am here," Greagoir says, struggling only a little under the weight of his plate armor when he stands. "I knew it... blood magic. But to overcome so many – I never thought him capable of such power."
"I didn't know." Marian feels an overwhelming urge to make them understand, make them realize that she had no idea. "I never thought... I thought I knew him."
"None of us expected this," Irving says while she helps him to his feet.
Greagoir turns on Irving. "If you had let me act sooner – "
"You cannot know that," Irving interjects.
"Now we have a blood mage on the loose and no way to track him down," Greagoir continues as if Irving hasn't spoken at all.
"You'll think of something." Irving dismisses Greagoir the way Marian wishes he would do more often.
Greagoir grunts, displeased, before rounding on Lily. "And you! You helped a blood mage! Look at all he's hurt!"
Lily squares her shoulders. "Yes, Knight-Commander. I was accomplice to a... a blood mage," she says, swallowing. "I will accept whatever punishment you see fit. Even... even Aeonar."
"She didn't know," Marian objects.
"Thank you, but I can speak for myself," Lily says, and though her voice is not unkind, it's a command. Marian does not object further, though she wants to.
Greagoir gestures to the silent templars who have been with him the entire time. "Get her out of my sight." They come forward and take her arms, and Lily is led away, just like that.
After they go, only Greagoir and Irving are left with her. Marian is acutely aware of her part in this sordid episode, and she is the only one yet unpunished. That won't last, she knows; Greagoir will never let anything like this slide. She will be made an example to the others.
Greagoir turns on her. "You! You know why the repository exists. Some artifacts – some magics – are locked away for a reason."
Marian bows her head. She is sorry, in a way – sorry she ever woke up this morning. But that will not help her, so she stays silent, waiting.
"You have made a mockery of the Circle," Greagoir says, when it is obvious she doesn't intend to speak. "What are we to do with you? You helped a blood mage escape. All our prevention measures for naught – because of you!"
Marian is caught between her guilt and her defiance. Helping a blood mage escape – but the Circle is a prison, another part of her argues, and they should all be free... She goes around in circles without deciding anything.
Greagoir opens his mouth to proclaim her sentence – Tranquility or death, her mind whispers – but another voice from behind her cuts him off. "Knight-Commander, if I may..." It's Duncan, the Grey Warden.
It's only because Marian is watching every little detail of Greagoir's expression that she notices him close his eyes and sigh, just a little.
Duncan comes up behind her, and she turns to look at him. "I am not only looking for mages to join the king's army, I am also recruiting for the Grey Wardens. Irving spoke highly of this mage, and I would like her to join the Warden ranks."
Marian has no idea what to say. It sounds heaven-sent – a chance to escape, and to avoid whatever torment Greagoir has in mind, but in another way she feels that she doesn't deserve it. Whatever reasons she may have had, whatever she knew or didn't know, she has helped a blood mage escape the templars.
"Marian has assisted a maleficar," Irving says. His voice is cool and lacks its usual ingratiating notes. "She has shown a lack of regard for the Circle's rules."
Greagoir nods. "She is a danger. To all of us."
"But it is a rare person who risks all for a friend in need," Duncan says thoughtfully. Marian is not so sure – she's been manipulated and deceived twice in one day, and that doesn't speak well for her. "I stand by my decision. I will recruit Mistress Amell."
"You may not have her," Greagoir growls, folding his arms. "She must be punished, not rewarded; an example must be set for the rest."
"And what does she want?" Duncan asks, catching her eye.
Marian hesitates. She wants to leave – she cannot question that goal, not after so long, but she doesn't know what might be required from her in the Grey Wardens. It could be a case of jumping from the frying pan into the fire.
And yet anything she can imagine seems better than the Circle, and the templars, and the things that happen in the dark.
"I will go, ser," Marian finally answers in a low voice. "If you will have me, I will go."
"No!" Greagoir protests.
"Greagoir, mages are needed," Duncan says. "This mage is needed. Worse things plague this world than blood mages – you know that." He locks eyes with Greagoir, and after a long moment, Greagoir is the one who looks away. "I take this young mage under my wing and bear all responsibility for her actions."
Greagoir laughs bitterly. "A blood mage escapes, and his accomplice is not only unpunished, but is rewarded by becoming a Grey Warden. Are our rules nothing? Have we lost all authority over our mages? This does not bode well, Irving."
This is not the first time Greagoir has talked about the mages of the Circle like they're his dogs. Marian stamps on the familiar outrage simmering in her veins before she makes any more trouble; she is for the Wardens now, and speaking up at this point in the conversation is probably a bad idea.
Irving sighs. "Peace, Greagoir. We have no more say in this matter."
"What now?" Marian asks Duncan.
Duncan takes her elbow and steers her gently toward the hallway that leads to the front doors. "We must make our way to Ostagar, where the king's army is camped. You will be initiated there. I will explain more when the time comes."
Marian packs while Duncan retrieves his things from the second floor; she rips open the straw bedding of her tiny bunk bed in the apprentice dorm and retrieves the only two things in the world she cares about: the toys she'd stolen from the twins before she left home. She stuffs them into the bottom of her pack and covers them with clothing and any spare rags she can find in the lavatory. There are a few apprentices watching her, but none of them try to speak to her, and she ignores them as much as she can. They've probably heard all about her offenses already; the Tower gossips are very efficient.
Duncan is waiting for her with two saddlebags when she comes out of the dorm. "Are you ready?" he asks.
Marian nods. There is nothing left for her here, and no one to say goodbye to.
"Good," he says, and leads them to the front doors; the templars guarding them let them pass, and then she is free.