"Jowan….no Jowan… Pourquoi mon ami? Pourquoi avez-vous fait cela?" Florien's voice was agonized as he bent over Irving, touching the elder mage's face with soft hands. Tears blurred his vision, falling down his cheeks in a steady stream. His breath hitched as he helped Irving up, arms trembling and cheeks flushed with the effort to keep himself contained.

Greagoir would want his head. Foolish Jowan, foolish foolish Jowan. They had talked, who hadn't, of what would happen if they learned blood magic. He was interested, they both were but Florien knew it was dangerous, deadly to even harbor thoughts of learning that magic within the confines of the Tower. He did not want to disappoint Irving either. Irving who had taken him under his wing, Irving who had supported his wishes in dressing and acting like a woman, Irving who had taught him so many things. Irving was as close to a father as Florien had ever had, the kind First Enchanter had wiped Florien's tears when he cried, and had been far more steady a friend than Jowan had been. Florien had only wanted to save Jowan from disgrace, to keep him from death, which was where that foolish plan had lead to.

"Nothing, I took nothing." His accent was back; strong as it had been the first day he'd arrived. His eyes turned to Greagoir. "I was following orders, it was my duty to Irving to help him! It was…oh I did not know, Jowan lied. Why did you lie? Why why why?" His breath caught in his throat. Hands outstretched as he gestured wildly.

"Still your actions have made a mockery of The Circle!"

"What? I…non! S'il vous plait Greagoir, s'il vous plait. The Circle is my home." Blinking back tears Florien moved away from the Knight Commander, his heart was hammering in his chest. He dared not draw on his magic, not in a room full of angry templars, but he was not going to go down without a fight. His mind reeled back, falling partially into memory as he remembered the circumstances that had brought about this terrible horrible mess.

Florien felt anger towards Lily, towards Jowan. Jowan was like his brother, they had kept nothing from each other! Or so Florien had thought. The bitter taste of betrayal was in his mouth, acidic and hateful. Jowan was the last mage Florien would ever believe, would ever imagine, to betray him. Jowan who had protected him from other apprentices when they were younger. Jowan who had wiped away his tears with soothing words when Florien had a nightmare. Jowan who had taught him spells before he was supposed to know them. Jowan who had, Maker above Florien had loved Jowan more than anything else in the world beside the First Enchanter. A sob escaped from Florien's throat, his anguish threatening to overtake him.

'Save me…' Florien thought to himself. 'Maker save me from this, I will do what you want, but please do not punish me for a sin that is not my own.' He would not go down without a fight; he would not surrender himself to the hands of men who he knew would take out their anger on him. He would not add more scars to his back, he would not humiliate himself any more for Jowan. Pretty lips pulled back into a snarl and he palmed the two daggers that suddenly appeared in his hand, as if by magic though all the templars knew it was simply Florien's quick movements and cunning hiding places that allowed for such easy access to those simple weapons. "You will not take me as easily as Lily mon amis, for in this I hold no sin to feel guilty over. Hunt down Jowan if you need blood sport but you will not take me for his crimes!"

Templars drew their swords and aimed them at Florien. Gripping the pommels of his daggers in tight fists, Florien shifted his stance, falling into a defensive position. He had trained for years, staring at books and trying to get the position just so. Still for all that Florien knew he was no Bard. He was a mage, and mages were not exactly taught combat like Templars. In fact they were taught the exact opposite, which would give the Templars an advantage.

A throat clearing took away most of the tension in the room. Florien glanced over at the sound, surprised to see Duncan walking towards them. Florien had known since the first time he laid eyes on Duncan that something was different about the man. Duncan was something special; he had something that no one else in Florien's long years at the Circle had. It was quality and a presence beyond measure. Duncan simply did not inhabit a space; he owned it with quiet dignity. He did not overlook a single thing, even if his eyes did not seem to linger long; it was only because the man was quick enough to memorize it on a first glance. Florien could remember staring into those dark eyes, feeling them probing his innermost secrets, examining every flaw he had, and instead of retreating, instead of blushing and feeling embarrassed Florien had straightened and stared right back. Florien was not as skilled as Duncan, but he tried to do the same. He met that stare and did not try to build defenses. He did not hide. He had wondered if it was a test, for the demon Mouse had said that true tests never ended. How odd to get sage advice from a demon. Still the examined each other, silently for a few seconds before Florien had to turn his attention back to the First Enchanter.

"I am not only looking for mages for the King's army, I am also looking for them for the Order."

Greagoir paled, Florien had not seen Greagoir ever do that before. Then the fury was back, a raging fury as Greagoir denied Duncan his request.

"I would like to protect my country." Florien's voice had eased once more, his stance still wary but he was no longer feeling like a mouse trapped in a corner. "I would like to serve, magic exists to serve man never to rule over him. I am here, I have magic, and the Grey Wardens serve not just men, but all races." His comment drew smiles from Irving and Duncan though only seemed to draw Greagoir farther into his wrath. Though he would not admit it aloud, Florien had always liked Greagoir, he was like another father to him. A very strict unyielding father, but one who stood between him and the horrors of the outside world. Florien could also see, though he tried to not see simply so he could give them privacy, how Greagoir and Irving interacted. How they spoke and bantered, and felt comfortable with each other. They were like an old married couple, the first blush of romance long faded into something stronger and longer lasting. Perhaps it was this odd relationship, and how Florien knew he had come to matter even just a little in Greagoir's life that made the old Templar so angry. Perhaps he was worried, that there was going to be danger untold in Florien's future in any matter and Greagoir was angry that he could not protect him from it.

Florien felt his heart softening a bit more, even as he still felt the open bleeding wounds on his heart. He smiled at both Irving and Greagoir, his golden eyes softening. "I am going to fight and perhaps my help with turn the tide in battle and keep the Blight from taking over." He put away his daggers and stood, waiting for the formalities to go aside. If he did not go now, then he would escape and find Duncan then. He did not mention it to anyone, ever save Jowan, that it was Florien who had helped teach Anders how to pick locks and scout the Tower for various ways to escape. Florien was comfortable in his cage, but Anders was not, just as many others were not. The Tower could stifle the life right out of someone if you did not tread carefully.

"Go child and always remember the Circle never forgets its own."

Irving's gravelly voice had Florien taking several steps before he wrapped his arms around the old mage. He held onto him tightly breathing in the scent of magic, potions, and old musty books that was unique to the First Enchanter. It felt like a hand was squeezing his heart, making the throb of Jowan's betrayal ache more. Jowan had left him to his fate, but Irving, Irving was fighting for Florien's freedom and safety. Florien loved the old man for it.

"Take care First Enchanter and light a candle for me, so I may always have a light leading me back home."

He stepped back and nodded at Greagoir, silently communicating that he would be well, that he would miss him, and to not be too hard on the younger apprentices. Finally he let his gaze rest on the only other person within the room who he cared to say goodbye to.

"Cullen…"

Florien's voice was soft and he reached up, standing on his tip toes to let his fingers glide across the tanned skin of his favorite Templar. He did no more than this, just content to touch, however briefly, the one man who had made Florien want. The one man Florien could never have because vows stood in the way, vows of chastity that Florien would not coerce or ask Cullen to break. Cullen's duty was as important to him as Florien's duty was to Florien. Still Florien could not help but dream of maybe, of imagining more even as a tiny voice in the back of his head protested. Cullen had his affection, his desire, but they could never love each other openly. Could not even do as what Irving and Greagoir did behind carefully closed and warded doors. Besides what of the man, that beautiful haunted bloody man, whose life Florien had witnessed in visions, whose soul he had met in the Fade, the one who whispered in his ear of how Florien would be his. Forever his and only his and that he would make Florien forget about the charms of naïve Chantry boys.

That man was simply a dream, and would forever only be a dream. Just as all other dreams but not dreams were.

"Be strong Cullen, be watchful, and be safe."

"F-florien, may the Maker watch over you."

"May the Maker watch over us all, my Templar." His voice was soft and bittersweet as one last lingering caress flittered across Cullen's cheek before Florien turned to look at Duncan. He walked away from the Circle then and into the Grey, he felt as if tiny silken threads that had bound him were suddenly cut loose and once again he was free to spread his wings and fly.

They made only one stop, to his trunk where he used the offered pack to place any items Florien could not live without. His most guarded, most prized possession were a silver comb and brush, engraved with flowers and vines, a most Orlesian luxury but it was not of Orlesian make. Jowan had given it to him years passed, enchanted to never break, to never tarnish, to always shine so prettily. It had always reminded Florien of his mother, when he used them, and despite Jowan's betrayal he could not simply leave them behind.

"You've travelled before."

It was a statement, not a question, that was posed to him by Duncan when they had stepped off the boat and started their journey. Florien chanced a glance at Duncan, weighing his options and how he should answer for a moment.

"Yes." He said finally, his voice no longer so thick with foreign accent, now only colored but something sweet and lilting. It was an ambiguous voice, a lovely alto, bordering on tenor, that was smooth and rich. It was a voice that captured the attention of those who heard it, bringing their attention to what Florien was saying. "It has been a long time since I have walked roads, so I am not fit for long stretches yet, but once I walked all of Thedas."

"Not alone you must have been a child." And Florien smiled at Duncan's observation.

"Yes, it was not alone. I walked with my mother she was not Dalish, not like my father. She was Orlesian, and she was a Bard. She travelled many places, Antiva, Orlais, forests and woods, open roads and fields small villages, grand cities. Fereldan was the last place we travelled. She died and I then went to the Chantry and the Templars, seeking refuge."

"Did she know?" Florien could feel Duncan's eyes on him, once again trying to see the truth of Florien, what lay behind the pretty smile and makeup. Florien turned his gaze towards the sun. Florien did not know that Duncan was looking at him and remembering another, whose smile was just as sweet but who had an attitude that could challenge even the most patient of men. Though Duncan wondered if it was Kateriel or Fiona that held the strongest resemblance to Florien. Maric would have liked this young man, and remembering his dear friend and dead king brought about a pain to his heart. Yet he didn't let himself get too lost in his memories and musing, preferring to listen to his newest recruit and gauge how well he would do amongst the others.

"Yes, it is why we travelled so much; she took assignments that would never keep her in any place for too long. She told me my father was a keeper for a Dalish clan, that he was very powerful, and one day she knew I would be like him. That she was going to be selfish and hold me for as long as she could before Templars came and took me to the Tower. I think she would have preferred me going to Orlais' Circle, but one cannot choose what fate deals out, only how to play the cards given. I am Fereldan now, my life might have begun in Orlais, but the Circle became my home when I had nothing left."

He was wise, Duncan could see it now. Despite being caged, despite being secluded and inundated with Chantry teachings, Florien had experienced pain and suffering, had kept a head on his shoulders and dealt with the wounds as best he could, and if what Duncan had seen was correct Florien held a fighting spirit that would not give up or back down. It was that tenacity that was carefully hidden, that strength of spirit that was veiled in those warm golden eyes, that made Duncan realize that this recruit would be perfect. He would face the horrors of the Blight, help them fight the Darkspawn, fight the Archdemon, and would not break or waver. Duncan could imagine this pretty little slip of an elf curling his lips back into a ferocious snarl, like he had given the Templars only hours before, and dared them with every breath to take him down, warning without saying that he would make them pay for every drop of blood they wished to get and that his spirit would never break beneath them. He would be righteous fury on the battlefield, quick and destructive. 'He should work well with Alistair' Duncan mused to himself. Florien would be the kind of friend the young warden would need, a kind ear, and soothing smile, and a strong immovable presence when Florien felt like someone was about to do something stupid. He could see Irving was correct, Florien would make a great Warden.

Maker knew they needed those.