A/N: Another year has passed. Joss and Joseph are now thirteen. Niall is fifteen, and Owain is sixteen.
Thank you, Lisa, for all your help!

Three

Rummaging around in her trunk for her extra quill, Joss pushed aside the yellowed letter with the faded red seal holding it closed. Maker's balls, why did she still have that? She blinked, running a finger along its brittle edges, looking at the childish block letters.

Three times a year the mages were permitted to write letters to their families. Joss had only written to her family once, when she was seven, and her writing had still been uneven and blocky. The letter had been returned, unopened, and the senior enchanter who oversaw the youngest mages had told her she need not write again. Joss had been too young to do more than nod and take the letter, but the senior enchanter had patted her head lightly, giving her a smile.

Joss still had the letter, but she had no idea why she'd kept it. It was tucked into her trunk with all her other little treasures: a faded ribbon the same color as the rosemary growing in pots in the herbalarium, a tattered copy of her first spellbook, a pair of silver combs that had been in her hair the day she'd come to the tower, and assorted bric-a-brac that had captured her imagination at some point and whose meaning was now lost to her.

"Joss! Come on!" Joseph urged impatiently.

The lid of the trunk made a loud thud as she let it fall from her hands and she stood up, smiling. "Keep your robes on, Joey! There's plenty of time," she said with a grin. Which died when she heard the bell begin to toll.

"Or not. Let's go!"

It did not pay to be late for Lucian Caravel's class. It did not pay, in fact, to upset the man in any way. Joss had learned that very early on, and it was one of the first things she'd warned Joseph about. Joseph hadn't quite believed her until he'd sat in his first Potions class.

Lucian Caravel was just about to shut the door to his classroom when they came careening around the corner at a full run. They slid into their seats, and Joss offered the dark-haired, dark-skinned man a smile.

"Bad things happen in threes," he intoned as he made his way to the head of the class.

Joss thought that he sounded quite cheerful about that information. Or maybe, Joss thought with a shiver, he just liked to scare his students. He was certainly good at it, as half the class looked afraid and the other half looked downright terrified. And she couldn't, for the life of her, understand what his comment had to do with a class about potions and remedies.

Joss was one of very few apprentices who actually liked Lucian Caravel. He was thin and tall, his features as pointy as the end of the blade of mercy that all templars carried. Even his little black beard came to a sharp point. In fact, the only things not pointy on him were his eyebrows, thick and dark like the caterpillars that Senior Enchanter Ines cultivated in her herbalarium.

Rumors surrounded the man, probably because, as Owain pointed out, he was an enigma, wrapped in a riddle and surrounded by darkness. She wasn't quite sure she understood what an enigma was, but if Owain meant he was mysterious, she would agree. He wasn't cruel or truly evil, just enough so to make most of the mages nervous and afraid.

He wasn't a mage, he claimed; just very clever at potions, elixirs, poultices and remedies. Well, that made sense to Joss's way of thinking since that's what he taught. But he could do things with potions that seemed like magic, and were sometimes even better than magic.

She didn't believe him when he said he wasn't a mage. He was a mage, she was sure of it. He just didn't use mana like most mages did. She didn't think she wanted to know what he used instead.

"Huh. Didn't Sweeney tell us that good things come in threes?" Niall asked in a whisper, leaning in close.

"Maybe his idea of bad things is Sweeney's idea of good things? Or vice versa," she whispered back, shrugging.

"Ah, Apprentice Niall, you have some hitherto unknown, but insightful, comment to add to our discussion of remedies?" Lucian Caravel asked in a voice that was guaranteed to make Niall's tongue freeze to the roof of his mouth. Maker knew her tongue felt that way, and she actually liked the man.

Joss could hear Niall gulp as the class waited for him to answer, and, when he didn't, Joss spoke up. "I was just asking him a question, Ser Lucian, and he was answering."

"My, my, Apprentice Josslyn, you are such a curious little mageling, aren't you? Did you find his answer elucidating?"

Joss had no idea what the word meant but she was fairly certain that she should say 'yes' whether she understood the meaning of the word or not. "Yes, ser."

"Splendid. I'm sure the entire class is on tenterhooks waiting for you to share this new knowledge with us."

Now it was Josslyn's turn to gulp. Her thoughts flailed about willy-nilly as she tried to come up with a response. She heard Merrisoo snicker, the only sound in the room, as everyone waited for her to speak. Finally, her mind grabbed a thought and slapped it on her tongue.

"I asked him if the cook was making apple tarts today since he's on kitchen duty this week, ser."

Laughter erupted from the students and Joss felt her shoulders relax. The only one not laughing was Merrisoo, who clicked her tongue in a disapproving manner. Joss reflected that Merrisoo was in danger of becoming a smaller version of Wynne, which wasn't a compliment. At. All.

"And what was his answer?" Lucian Caravel asked, his dark eyes narrowed at her.

As Joss had actually asked that question of Niall earlier, she was happy to report that apple tarts would, indeed, be served with supper. She was also relieved because Joseph had recently told her that her eyes always opened too wide and slid to the left when she told a lie. As she looked at Lucian Caravel's pointy beard, she tried to keep her eyes steady and their normal size. There was no way she was going to look in his eyes. There was a rumor that he was a mesmer, and she didn't want to find out by being…well…mesmerized.

"I'm sure we're all aflutter at the prospect of apple tarts. Now, perhaps, you'd care to tell the class what ingredients are necessary for an elixir of renewal?"

Joss puffed out her chest, grinning. Potions, Elixirs, Poultices and Remedies was her favorite class. Lucian Caravel had once told them that he could teach them how to make a healing potion using nothing more than steeped tea, dirty socks and hay. Joss was determined to learn, not because she ever thought she'd need the information, but because it didn't sound possible.

"Bark from a live oak tree, spirit of camphor and crushed thyme leaves."

"Exactly so. And what are the proportions?" he asked, spinning around and pointing a long, skinny finger at Petra, who looked petrified.

Joss could almost see the answer fly out of Petra's head. Lucian Caravel had a way of doing that to even his brightest pupils. Petra blinked and her mouth opened and closed several times. Without a thought for the consequences, because she was too impulsive, according to just about everyone, Joss began to tap the table. Three raps of her knuckles on the table to indicate how many strips of bark were necessary.

Petra looked down at her hands, which were clasped so tightly that Joss was expecting to hear the sound of bones crunching. Joss tapped the table again, wondering if she would ever learn how to whistle properly because now would be a good time to do it.

"Three strips of bark!" Petra fairly shouted and then fell silent again, a frown pulling her brows low.

Joss coughed. Once. Twice. Halfway through the third cough she stopped, offering a smile of apology to Lucian Caravel. "Sorry, something got stuck in my throat," she said around her smile.

"I imagine so. Perhaps the answer?" he asked.

She couldn't tell if he was enjoying her discomfort or not, but she suspected he was because there was a hint of a smile hiding behind his beard. Before she could answer, Petra spoke up in a voice full to the brim with relief.

"Three strips of bark, two and one-half drops of spirit of camphor and the powder from four crushed leaves of thyme!"

"Thank you, Apprentice Petra. Your ability to count does you credit."

For the remainder of the class, Joss tried very hard to sit still and behave. It wasn't easy as he began to discuss the healing properties of barley. Apprentice Poppins kept interrupting to ask the dumbest questions that Joss had ever heard about the temperature barley was best grown at and what type of barley was best. Who cared, really? She couldn't help it, she yawned. And, once she'd yawned, another student yawned. And another. Joseph glared at her and yawned. She giggled. And yawned again.

"Perhaps it is time you all took out your quills and vellum. I suspect an essay on the merits of barley would stir your blood," Lucian Caravel said in that cold, calm way of his.

He walked back to the front of the classroom without another word. Joss rolled her eyes at Poppins, who treated her to an impressive sneer. Joss made a rude gesture with three fingers, just as Old Phinneus had taught her.

Unfortunately, Lucian Caravel decided to turn and look at the class again, his caterpillar brows rising up like they were going to fly away. He was not happy. At. All. Just as he opened his mouth to speak, the bell began to toll, announcing the end of morning classes.

"You have my permission to leave."

Joss heaved a sigh of relief as she stood up. Lucian Caravel was known to make misbehaving students clean the floor of the classroom with a tiny brush when he was angry with them, which took hours and hours. Or so others said. She'd never actually misbehaved in his class. Well, except for now.

"Except for Apprentice Josslyn. I noticed a few spots on the floor and I very much fear for their lives."

Oh yes, he's so very clever, that Lucian Caravel. No wonder everyone likes him so much. Oh wait! No they don't!

Shoulders slumping, Joss watched as her friends gathered their belongings and prepare to leave her to her tedious task. Joseph patted her arm on his way by and Niall whispered a word of encouragement and Petra, one of apology. Not that any of them stayed to help her, the wretched buggers. Merrisoo smirked and tossed her perfect blonde ringlets as she passed Josslyn. Joss promised herself that she would make the perfect little mage regret that smirk.

As she knelt on the hard stone floor with her small brush in one hand, she tried not to feel sorry for herself. It wasn't easy, and when Lucian Caravel heard her mumble a curse, he took her small brush from her and gave her a tiny brush. She glanced up at him as he sat at his desk and she was surprised. She was expecting to see one of his gloating little sneers and instead he looked a bit sad.

"You have a gift for alchemy and would make a fine apothecary, Josslyn. It's a shame to see it wasted on those less talented. Some day you may come to regret your decision to assist those who have no aptitude in the field."

Joss scrubbed more vigorously, trying to hold back the angry spill of words that tumbled around in her mouth. Not only was he insulting her friends, he was also telling her she wasn't smart enough to learn if she was helping her friends.

"Bollocks. I can do both." The words just fell out of her mouth and seemed to hang in the air, waiting for Lucian Caravel to swat them down. Which he did.

"Your arrogance does you no credit, Josslyn. What if you had to choose between helping one friend and learning something that would help a great many people?"

Well, what kind of a question was that? She lived in a tower, surrounded by healers. She blinked, sitting back on her heels, the tiny brush clenched in her fist. "I'm a mage of the Circle, Ser Lucian Caravel. The chances of me ever helping anyone, other than my fellow mages and friends, are as tiny as this brush," Joss said.

It was hard to tell who was more surprised by her sassing him. She tried very hard not to cringe once her tongue finally fell silent. The traitor.

"You underestimate yourself, Josslyn. I foresee your name becoming quite well-known one day. In fact, to that end, I suggest you spend this evening practicing your full name. I expect no less than three hundred times should do the trick."

His dark eyes seemed to look right through her and she shivered, wishing that she was anywhere else in the Tower at that moment. Except maybe in the basement, listening to Old Mendric's singing. Lucian Caravel really was a creepy crawly in his own right, she decided, scrubbing the floor with angry little swipes. And mean.

It took three hours to clean the floor to his satisfaction. Josslyn's knees and back felt like they were permanently twisted, and her stomach was grumbling for food. She went straight to the dining hall, but lunch was over. Of course it was over. And probably delicious, knowing Cook Killdare. She wandered into the kitchen and found Niall sitting at a table, peeling apples. She sank down beside him, tired and out of sorts.

"Lucian Caravel is dispictable," she muttered.

"Despicable," Niall corrected, nudging her shoulder as he peeled.

"That's what I said. And did you see Merrisoo's little smirking face? Someone needs to take her lips and twist them into a knot and then freeze them."

"Ah, she's all right," Niall said, his cheeks becoming as red as the apples he was peeling.

Joss reached over and snatched a peeling, biting in to it with relish. Her stomach wasn't all that impressed, however; it just grumbled louder. "I don't know how anyone as smart as you are can like someone as prissy as Merrisoo."

The blush darkened and looked more purple than red. For a minute Joss thought he was going to pass out. That much color in the face wasn't healthy, at least it didn't look healthy.

"She isn't that bad, not like Owain."

"Bastard," Joss muttered, rolling the word around on her tongue. She liked the sound of it, even though she knew he wasn't really a bastard. Still, whenever she heard one of the senior mages using it, she couldn't help but smile and want to use it herself. It just flowed off the tongue.

"Bitch," Niall replied with a grin.

They bumped shoulders and fell silent. It wasn't until Niall finished peeling the large pile of apples that Josslyn's mind began to turn over evil thoughts of retribution. It didn't get very far before her stomach complained again and forced her thoughts to turn to food.

"Do you think Cook Killdare would notice if I took some bread and cheese?"

Niall shook his head. "Lucian Caravel said you weren't to be given lunch, that your attitude would keep you from starving. Whatever that means. First Enchanter Irving was standing there when he said it and agreed. Sorry, Joss. Here, have another peel."

Lucian Caravel was right. Bad things came in threes. Her stomach rumbled.

~~~oOo~~~

There were only three people in the library when Joss began her writing assignment. Two of them left and then Owain came in, sitting at a desk not far from her. She found it very difficult to concentrate but she concentrated on concentrating and that seemed to help.

"Here, Josslyn, let me help you," Owain said, standing over her and resting a hand on her shoulder.

Joss's stomach fluttered and dipped and she felt quivery all over. He never touched anyone. It made him feel uncomfortable, he said. But here, with the lamps lowered in the library because it was getting late, he didn't seem to mind much.

"Thank you, Owain, but Lucian Caravel probably knows my writing. I've only got another hundred to go, anyway."

He gave her shoulder a squeeze and then bent down to whisper, "I can copy anyone's writing, Josslyn. He'll never know."

His breath tickled her skin but instead of pulling away and giggling like she usually did when someone's breath tickled her, she smiled and wanted to scoot her chair closer to him. Which was silly because he was sixteen and spoke in a deep voice, and was quite handsome, and she was only thirteen. He was heaps older than her and she knew for a fact that Apprentice Aerica, who was fifteen and experienced - whatever that meant - liked him. What hope did she have when compared to Aerica?

She felt as disappointed as it was possible to feel when he went back to his desk. She bent her head back over her vellum and dipped her quill in the inkpot. Of course he didn't want to help. But then her heart and stomach fluttered because he brought his quill and vellum and chair over to her desk and scooted her chair to the side to make room for him.

"Your name is quite pretty, you know."

Joss looked at him, thinking there might be some truth to the stories that he was just the wrong side of sane. Her name was ridiculous. Josslyn Winifred Amell. It was horrible and made her sound like a disease. It didn't sound soft or pretty or even clever.

"I like it," he continued as he wrote out her name.

Well, there was absolutely no reason for her heart and stomach to start dancing in her chest, but they did anyway. She found herself grinning and the harder she tried to suppress her grin, the broader it became.

"I heard that you like Niall. Is that true?" he asked a bit later.

Was he really crazy? Why would she like Niall? Sure, as a friend, but not in the other way, the way that made her want to practice kissing with Owain's pillow when he wasn't around. Not that she had. Well, once, but nobody had seen her so it didn't really count.

"He's my friend. We used to practice kissing, but only because he wanted…erm…he's a friend," she finished, a blush creeping all the way up from her toes to her eyebrows.

"Was it fun?" Owain asked, sounding as wistful as she felt at the thought of kissing him.

"With Niall? No. I – I bit his tongue," she confessed as the blush began to warm her cheeks with the heat of a thousand fires. Maker's bald head, could she be any dumber? She needed to tie her tongue in knots, that's what she needed to do with her tongue.

"If you practiced with me would you bite my tongue?" Owain asked, as matter-of-fact as if he's asked her what day it was.

It took Josslyn a few minutes for her tongue to actually start working again. "Not if you warned me ahead of time," she finally said, wondering why her voice had become so quivery and husky.

"I would do that, but I'm not really sure why someone would stick their tongue in someone else's mouth. It doesn't sound very hygienic."

"I think it's probably just as hygienic as lips touching, just different."

"Maybe when we're done, you would show me?"

Joss surprised herself by not jumping out of her chair and grabbing him right then so they could find the nearest practice room, which was two doors down. Her heart was no longer dancing around in her chest. It was running around like a madman. Or maybe a madwoman.

She was surprised, an hour later, when he actually took her hand and walked to the practice room. Ser Bran, the templar who had taken Ser Haggerty's place, was standing at his post just across from the practice room. Joss liked Ser Bran: he seldom wore his bucket, almost never yelled and seemed very interested in magic.

"You two behave in there. I don't want to smite you," he warned them with a wink.

Owain looked solemnly at the templar and replied very seriously, "There will be no need for a smite, Ser Bran."

As soon as the door closed behind them, Joss felt her nerves jumping along her skin. Owain smiled at her and if it was just the littlest bit grim, she imagined her answering smile was just the littlest bit goofy.

"Close your eyes," she said and when he closed them, she stood on the tips of her toes and pressed her lips to his.

"Oh."

Maker's arse! Had she done it wrong? It had made her insides feel like warm, clotted cream, but he was frowning. "I'm sorry, Owain, I'm not very good at kissing."

"No, you're fine, Josslyn. I think I should put my arms around your waist, though. You seemed a bit tippy."

Joss thought that was a fine idea. She stepped closer and raised up on her toes again but Owain put his hands on her waist and bent his head down, his mouth slanted slightly. Oh yes, definitely better. And he had very soft lips.

"One more and then we should return to the dormitory."

She blinked. She'd be happy to stay in the practice room practicing all night. "All right, Owain. Are you enjoying it?" she asked, to her absolute disgust. She really needed to learn to hold her thoughts inside instead of just blurting them out.

Owain gave her a smile, a real smile that lit up his usually somber eyes. "I think so. May I stick my tongue in your mouth this time?"

Her heart exploded into a hundred little sparks that all decided to flutter in her chest at the same time when he slipped his tongue inside her mouth. She held as still as she could, afraid to scare him away, but her tongue insisted on touching his,and he seemed quite pleased by that.

That night, when sleep laughed at her, she stared into the dark. He had only kissed her three times but Andraste's baked arse, Sweeney was right.

Good things did come in threes.