The leather binding of tomes emblazoned with gold and silver piping illuminated and flickered in the blue light cast by Dabin's staff. He was the most rebellious of the three young mages, and so it seemed only natural he take the risk of receiving the blame if a Templar wandered past on one of their nightly patrols. "Well who can we count on for support, because I'm not sneaking out to pussyfoot around the issue at hand, unlike some." Alin felt the dagger behind those words pointed at him, even if it was only for pointing out that if they were found to be conspiring, they might face the same fate as the Kirkwall lot, and the Ostwick mages hadn't a Champion to defend them. Dabin had not taken the logical statement kindly, and continued as if the elf had not spoken, "The Libertarians want freedom and mark my words, there's a war coming and we'll be in the thick of it." He seemed oddly proud of that. "But we can't do it with just the Libertarians and apprentices, we need a plan, we need a secret weapon."

Sabine piped up, "What do you suggest, O Fearless Leader, the girl in the Tower, perhaps?" Dabin sighed, the meeting was not going to plan. "I heard she burned down a whole village and that's why she's here. Although if you ask Yveus, the senior enchanter I was telling you about, she's not a mage at all, just some rich bitch from Ferelden."

Alin's pointed ears perked up at the possibility of a mystery, one that might not involve certain death. "Really? I've tried to ask around about her but the best answer I got was that she's a whore from Kirkwall. Somebody heard Ser Brennan talking about her and Marian swears she hears all sorts of noises coming from the tower… or did you tell me that Dabin?" Their fearless leader had all but abandoned hope for the resistance by this point.

"I didn't realise I stayed up after curfew to gossip about some crazy woman in a tower. For all we know she could be one of us, but I'd rather have real, quantifiable evidence of support than a vague inclination that the all-powerful slut in the tower chooses to side with us, that is, if she has any magical abilities whatsoever. If you'd like to discuss her further, by all means, do it next time she's out for a stroll in the gardens when I'm not putting my ass on the line."

This rather monotonous monologue elicited a raised eyebrow from Sabine and a baleful look from Alin; Dabin had recaptured his audience. "Now, about that secret weapon, I think I know where the Templars store their oil…"

Lord Trevelyan,

I write, as instructed to inform you of the progress of your daughter. Despite being an excellent pupil to the Senior Enchanter Ametrine, the young Lady Trevelyan seems only use magic when directly commanded to do so, much to the annoyance of her tutor, I am told she will often perform the menial tasks they asked of her with her hands rather than with sorcery. In the opinion of the Order, she is a wonder. She has already won the hearts and minds of her regular guards and even the Knight-Commander himself has remarked upon her skill and charm. He often joins her for games of chess in the afternoons. Not a single mage in the Circle expected her to pass her Harrowing, but she did, as suspected by the Order, in the fastest time recorded for one so young. She is indeed unprecedented, never has one who did not practice her magic pass. She has expressed wishes to the servants that some new dresses may be needed soon, as the weather turns cold. Yet, talented as she may be, the Lady has expressed a wish not to practice magic any further, only having done the Harrowing as a sign of respect for the Order and her Lord Father.

The only troubling feature of my report is that a particularly overzealous Templar, Ser Garlan, took to following her around, even going so far as to grab her in the gardens, scratching her lip with his ring. The Healer saw to her, and indeed to the Templar when she fought him off, there will be a small scar, nothing more. I can assure you the man suffered far worse, and is on his way to Ferelden's Circle as we speak. She is completely segregated from the other mages, save her tutor, but, as I say, gets on remarkably well with the Templars and myself. If I may be so bold, it seems she is grateful for the company. Do not mistake me, she is a very demure young woman, if I should suspect any untoward behaviour, I shall report it and remove the party involved immediately.

Your faithful servant,

Knight-Captain Ellion Simonin

"Demure young woman, hmm?" Raen raised an eyebrow, feline eyes flashing dangerously.

"Yes, you get a very demure look about you when the Knight-Commander comes to call." Ellion smiled, butting the Mage's head with his own from where it sat upon his bare shoulder. "Honestly, you do, it's very endearing. A far cry from the scandalous temptress who frolics about naked for every Templar in the tower to see…"

She twisted his cloak, hastily tossed over the back of the chair he now occupied, and the woman artistically wrapped it around her body, turning to face him with an expression of mock terror. "Ser Templar, you question my honour? If, and I stress 'if' I 'frolic', as you put it, without my clothes, I do so in the confines of my suite. Can I not help, if a Templar is to burst through the door? Anyhow, I thought you Orlesians loved a scandal… or is this jealousy talking?"

He rose from the chair, and quipped "I'm only half-Orlesian and I'm not jealous, so it's neither." It was clear the latter was untrue. She would have to control the damage quickly, the support of the Knight-Captain was not something she was willing to lose and he had already begun putting on his armour .

"Do you remember the first time we were together like this?" she sighed, as if he wouldn't. Ellion stopped moving, she'd shocked him, it was so easy to do. A bit of thigh here, a touch of vulnerability there.

"Of course", he seemed unsure whether or not to continue, but she waited until he did to move. "It was a year ago, August, you were wearing the green robe because you thought the satin would be nicer to sleep in, I was on guard because Brennan was ill..." She had dropped the cloak and sauntered over to him, draping her long bronze-gold hair over her shoulders, expertly covering her breasts. Not letting the conversation linger on Brennan, nor letting her mind linger upon the fact that it had been a plot of hers, with the help of Mrs Kilarn, to put some rather disagreeably herbs in his midday meal that day. Ellion was far more attune to her machinations than the other Templars, which didn't exactly attest to his mental capacity, yet even he hadn't made the connection yet. No doubt he realised the nature of their relationship was dependent upon occasional "favours", or his acceptance of her suggestions as to what to write to the Lord Trevelyan, or perhaps he simply did not care. It never showed when he talked of the future, uncertain as it was with the Mage Rebellion in Kirkwall. He'd promised to let her go, just once, in a moment of weakness, and was surprised when she enquired as to why she would want to leave. Ser Ellion was no fool and neither was she, so why didn't she leave? The thought crossed his mind in that moment, as It often did when she looked at him like that. Maybe they did have a chance, a virgin's chance in the Black City, but still a chance.

"And I called out." She reached for his cheek, he leaned into the touch, roughly pulling her closer before she sat herself upon his lap, with no lack of subtle motion nor aural encouragement. He was getting better, better than the others, and far more useful.

"You called out my name." he breathed, She hadn't, indeed, called out his name- just a name from a lifetime ago, an old wound that reopened every time she was alone. But it mattered little when she could work it to her advantage. He pulled her, hand grabbing her hair above the nape of her neck, dragging her down.

It worked every time.