(Enter, the mage. It IS a romance, afterall ...)

[Author's note: Joao is supposed to have a squiggle accent over the "A".]

{Continues the account of Talita da Motta, Knight-Commander of Rivain, written by her own hand as she is held prisoner. Story is a flashback, moving back in time to the months before the beginning of the 5th Blight.}

Chapter 5: The Mage

As there lies a world of difference between studying how to hold a sword and actually wielding one, so is the breech between studying mages and actually meeting one. Or guarding him. Doing one's duty. When one studies account after horrific account of mages doing dark things, becoming raving abominations, using forbidden blood magic, one begins to expect those behaviors to surface, eventually, in all mages. I never would have thought myself prey to such delusion, but that first encounter, close and personal with someone afflicted with the mage curse, as some would say, found me off balance and uncertain. Much to my dismay, Ivonetta had assigned me to drive the wagon. I had assumed I would ride with the rest of the soldiers, that Renaldo, the eldest of our group and a man with more grey in his hair than dark, would take the wagon. I opened my mouth to protest, but Angelo was still there, waiting to see us off. I would not make a scene in front of him, so I ignored the poorly-hidden mirth in the eyes of the escort riders and climbed up into the driver's seat. Moments later, the mage was climbing up the passenger side. I ignored him as I gathered the reigns.

"Is is a beautiful morning for travel ," he ventured.

I grunted non-committally. It was true, though, what he said. The dawn was promising to be spectacular, the air cool and refreshing. I scowled all the more deeply. It was a fine morning for a ride, and I would be plodding along in the wagon! The Blight take Ivonetta!

Joao Carlos studied my expression. The cargo had been loaded and the strapping was secure. Angelo said a brief word of blessing over us, and the Chantry gates were opened. Remembering my grandmother's warnings about sour goodbyes, I tried to school my expression toward neutrality, at least. Smiling was out of the question.

We were out of the gates and through most of the city before Joao Carlos asked, "Are you sure you're a templar?"

I glared at him. "What do you mean by that?" I snapped.

"I've never seen a templar without heavy armor and shield."

"I've trained in both, but on ship, it's better to stay light," I answered.

"And you're far too pretty to be a Templar."

I blinked, not believing his audacity. "And you're far too glib for a mage!" I growled. I was blushing, though. I hated it, but there it was. Miserable mage!

He laughed. "Yes, so I've been told," he admitted. The wagon bounced painfully over the uneven road, but he easily kept his balance. "We haven't been properly introduced," he said. "I am Joao Carlos del Medina."

I didn't answer him, using my attention to the oxen as an excuse to ignore him. He waited. I decided not to answer.

"I could choose a name for you, if you'd like," he offered.

I said nothing.

"How about …Rosa? That is a beautiful name. Rosalind del Jadina! And you can call me Juca. Only the First Enchanter calls me Joao Carlos."

I kept my eyes focused on the road ahead as our cart rolled slowly along; a rocking, creaking affair. He watched me and seemed not in the least put off by the uncomfortable ride or my silence. Minutes passed.

I sighed. "I am Talita da Motta," I said quietly.

He smiled, and bowed even from the awkward seated position on the rough bench. "I am honored, my Lady."

"I am no one's "Lady", mage!"

He laughed again and seemed content.

I wondered then, if there were things such as Charm Demons and if so, had this mage been possessed already? It was going to be a much longer journey that I had believed only minutes before.

%%^^&&**

If there is an opposite to that dark monster that pulls at fears of fate, it has to be found in the morning light dancing upon the waters of Rialto Bay. It is a weightless, irrepressible energy, full of possibility and optimism. The power of it struck me as we rounded through the wide port gate of the capital and began the final descent to the docks. I remembered the feeling well; it was the very same intoxication that had completely captured me while I still wore pigtails. Was this the hand of the Maker, I wondered, or just chance? Was this the light of Creation, and if so, what was that darkness that had touched my soul only the night before? There is only one Maker, the Chantry teaches, but why would he make both the moments of light and of darkness?

Maker's breath, as they say, but the sight was beautiful. I smiled to myself, Maker's breath indeed.

Oddly enough, my jocular companion made no mention of the view. I stole a glance in his direction. Joao Carlos, or Juca as I remembered he asked to be called, was introspective, not really seeing the waters of the bay at all. The wind had shifted with the dawn, suddenly gusting strong and cold behind us. His cloak and hair billowing, Juca still held a faraway expression. What DID mages think about, I wondered. Did their thoughts wander into the Fade, pulling the power to work magic deeply into themselves? Were abominations simply mages who had let their minds wander too far? I shivered.

"Do you suppose the captain will have breakfast available?" Juca asked.

I blinked, and laughed.

Juca looked bewildered. "Was it something I said?" he asked.

I shook my head, vowing to myself to never again guess at a mage's thoughts. Juca tilted his head inquiringly.

I snapped the reins at the oxen, who had slowed. "We can check with the ship's cook when we board. Or, sometimes there are vendors dockside, trying to make some last minute coin."

"You sound as if you've done this before."

"I…yes, but it's been years."

"Is that why there are knives in your boots?"

"Maybe," I answered, and smiled. "Or maybe that's for mages who run faster than I."

I meant it as a joke, but his expression clouded.

"I'm kidding!" I said quickly. "Besides, I haven't thrown a knife and meant it in years."

He studied me for several moments. "You are a very strange templar, Talita," he concluded.

"I'm only a trainee," I corrected him. "I haven't yet –"

"Yes, I know, taken your vows. A very strange woman then."

Woman. I was accustomed to Angelo referring to me as a girl, and everyone else as, "recruit" or "trainee". I looked away and busied myself by watching the movements of the neck yokes on the white oxen.

Juca smiled again. It was like the sunshine returning from behind the clouds. "Strange can be good, you know."

What does one say?

(The story has needed him sorely, and he's finally here! Review/comments are so very welcome!)