disclaimer type=standard

Anything you recognise is Bioware's. I daresay anything else belongs to them too.

/disclaimer

o_ooo000ooo_o

Kathryn watched the Seeker intently as she slowly paced back and forth, deep in thought. "You appear troubled, Cassandra."

The Seeker's expression hardened. "The Knight-Commander's initial reports were true, after all. The Ferelden Crown did stake a claim on the Tranquil in the Circle Tower. It wasn't just Greagoir trying to cover his ineptitude."

Kathryn smiled. "While I'm more than willing to talk about anything that makes Greagoir look inept, I honestly didn't think you'd prefer to discuss that rather than my wanton slaughter of helpless, innocent templars," she said, finishing sourly.

Cassandra's expression grew thoughtful. "If you were indeed attacked, then I can understand your actions to defend yourself. I am not sure I believe that you were as blameless as you claim, but your version of events is not unsupported by evidence. I find myself morbidly curious as to how you account for the subsequent casualties that occurred before you left."

The Warden eyed her closely. "Oh, I'll get to that, believe me. But you know why I ended that ambush without a scratch, don't you?"

The Seeker gave a sharp nod. "I do know."

The elf raised an eyebrow. "And? What do you think about it?"

"You wish my opinion?" She paused. "I think it was an unintended consequence of a brilliant military strategy."

"Interesting," Kathryn murmured with a smile. "Objectively, I agree with you. Of course, as a citizen of the nation the military action was targeting, I have a different point of view."

"No doubt. But we were talking about your bloody arrival at Kinloch Hold. How did the others die?"

Kathryn raised a hand. "In a moment. I want to know if you know why Greagoir attacked me? Why he ordered me disarmed and stripped?"

The Seeker's eyes narrowed. "I have a suspicion. I have no evidence to support it, however."

"Yeah, it's hard to find written evidence of verbal instructions."

Cassandra grunted in agreement. "Regardless, your eager recounting of the deaths of innocent templar initiates is disturbing, Warden."

Kathryn appeared to consider that. "I suppose it is. Is there anything else before I continue my tale?"

"I need to know about this claim you made on the Tranquil."

"I suppose Anora denied it was her idea."

Cassandra actually gave a short, humourless bark of laughter. "Ha! She insisted that any such claim was manufactured by you alone and did not have Royal approval. I did not believe her."

Kathryn shook her head and laughed out loud. "Ah, that woman. She always assumes that she is smarter than whoever she's talking to."

"So she did stake a claim?"

"She and Alistair gave me a signed document giving me royal authority to remove the Tranquil from Chantry oversight, yes, but I was never meant to actually enact the order."

The Seeker paused her pacing. "What?" she asked with a frown.

Kathryn grinned cheekily. "Let me explain."

o_ooo000ooo_o

"Laying claim?" I questioned, waving a finger at him. "Tut, tut, Greagoir. They don't want ownership, that's tantamount to condoning slavery. The document simply states that they are subjects of the Ferelden crown, and as such they are not slaves for the Chantry to exploit. As you do not pay them a wage, and that you profit mightily from their work, they are by definition 'slaves' and will be protected from your abuse. I shall be taking them with me tomorrow," I finished, deciding that repeating the word 'slave' would really get stuck in the old man's craw.

"You will not!" he screamed, surging to his feet to tower over me. "They are mages, and are thus under the Chantry's purview!"

I turned to the First Enchanter, who was frowning at me. "Irving, do you have a copy of the Justinian Articles in your private library? The first Article, to be precise."

He nodded slowly, raising a hand and pointing to a bookshelf. "I do. It is the leftmost, blue leather tome on the second shelf to your right."

I rose and quickly located the tome. I took it from its place, placed it on Irving's desk, and flipped it open. "The question here is what exactly defines a mage. Here, see? According to the very first Article, a mage is defined as, and I quote, – 'man or woman or elf'," I looked up at the pair. "Notice they don't say female elf. Just an observation." I looked back down and continued reciting. "- 'man or woman or elf, whosoever may temper the Fade to their desires, whosoever can summon power from its flow, whosoever can wilfully change their dreams'." I looked up at Greagoir, who had gone silent and pale. Irving, however, looked rather amused. "I understand that it is more poetic in the original Orlesian, but the present tense is used in the original too, therefore the meaning is clear. Once you force the Rite of Tranquillity on a mage, they no longer meet the definition of 'mage' and are thus no longer required to remain in the Circle. They're free of your control."

Greagoir looked horrified. "You'll cripple us," he wheezed. "We need the revenue the Tranquil provide."

I sneered at him. "How very curious. You belong to an order devoted to a prophetess who freed slaves, and you are suddenly put out that you can't rely on slavery any more. Sorry, but I'm not sympathetic."

Irving cleared his throat. "Kathryn, this is most unwise. If you take the Tranquil, there will be great pressure for the templars to perform the Rite more liberally to refill their ranks."

"Then those Tranquil would also be outside of their control," I replied. "I'm sure some agent of the King will pop by to collect them on a regular basis."

Greagoir slumped back into his seat, the wood creaking alarmingly at the sudden weight. He glared at the document, seemingly trying to will it to change.

Irving sighed. "You said, 'in that case'. Was there another possibility, Kathryn?"

Greagoir snapped his head up. "What?"

"Kathryn only presented that declaration when you denied her original demand," he continued.

I nodded in agreement. "Alistair and Anora know that the Tranquil perform a vital, if immoral, service to the Circle and the Chantry. They would prefer for you to agree to allow mages to seek employment. Harrowed mages only, of course, and they would probably accept the First Enchanter's suggestion that the employment only be for limited periods. It would give more mages the chance to serve outside the tower."

"You will destroy the Circle," Greagoir said, horrified.

I sighed in frustration. "No, you idiot, I'm trying to save the Circle. I've seen what happens when a mage falls under the domination of a demon – it's not pretty. Talented children need instruction on how to control their gift, how to be responsible with their power. The Circle does that. Poorly, if personal experience and recent history are any guide, but it is capable. It has the potential to be so much better with some simple changes. But what we don't need is for mages to be imprisoned for their entire lives, not when they could contribute so much to life in Ferelden."

"This is blackmail!"

"It is not!" I retorted.

"It most certainly is," Greagoir retorted, slamming his fist onto his chair's armrest.

"No, it isn't. Technically, it's extortion." I waved that away. "But call it what you will. The fact remains that you have profited from slave labour when you had no legal, ethical or moral right to do so. The Crown could certainly use more revenue for their rebuilding efforts. Of course, they would prefer for you to simply give the mages their independence, it would be far more profitable all round. But they are pragmatic enough to know that true independence is an impossibility. Even their current desire would not be possible, were it not for the current level of public goodwill that mages hold."

"What do you propose," Irving asked, still in those even tones of his that managed to cut through raised voices.

I withdrew another parchment. "The King and Queen have also signed this document. It surrenders all legal claims to the Tranquil, essentially passing their oversight to the Chantry - it legalises the status quo, as it were. That document," I said, pointing to the one still in Greagoir's hands, "gives me the power to walk out of here with every Tranquil in the tower. I have been told to burn one of these two documents right now, depending on your decision to counter-sign the other and begin negotiations in good faith."

Greagoir threw the parchment onto Irving's desk and put his head in his hands. "Damn you, Warden."

"What are you so afraid of?" I asked.

He slammed a fist onto Irving's desk. "The abominations that would spread untold misery across Ferelden!"

I shook my head. "You were obliged to let the mages out to fight the Blight, and not one of them turned into an abomination," I pointed out. "I know I can't convince you that it was your hard-line stance on restricting mage freedom that drove Uldred to do what he did. But even you must admit that not one mage who left the Tower to fight the Blight did anything but acquit themselves brilliantly."

The old templar made a fist and thumped it onto his knee a few times. "I… I can't. If something happened… How would I live with myself?"

"Greagoir," Irving all but whispered. "You are stuck on a course that may destroy the Circle and potentially unleash a generation of untrained mages on the land. Things change. People change, countries change. By denying this, you risk causing exactly what you seek to prevent."

I held my breath, waiting for the denial.

It didn't come. The Knight-Commander sank into himself, suddenly looking very small, as though his ever-present heavy armour was several sizes too big. "Very well, Irving. We need the Tranquil. I will allow Harrowed mages to accept positions with nobles, on the provision that they report to the nearest Mother or Revered Mother so that she knows who to keep an eye on."

I nodded, reaching out and picking up the document on Irving's desk and passed him the other. "Very well. Add your conditions and sign. An agent of Eamon's named William is staying at the Spoiled Princess; he will come to the island tomorrow to conduct the negotiations."

Greagoir grunted, snatched a quill and jotted a few lines at the bottom of the page under Alistair's seal. I picked up the royal claim on the Tranquil. Calling forth a burst of fire magic through my fingers, the dry parchment was soon a slow falling cloud of ashes. Greagoir looked darkly amused.

"You trust me that much? You burn your one bargaining chip?"

I shrugged. "You're honest to a fault, Greagoir, not even I could deny that." I gave him a winsome smile. "Besides, who's to say I don't have another copy?"

He grumbled, but rose to his feet. "I really hate you, Warden."

I narrowed my eyes at him. "Believe me, the feeling is mutual. But, I'd like you to consider this. If there are Circle mages all over the country, advising, healing and teaching - think of how much more effective it will be to locate children who have talent."

"We haven't had any trouble at that before," he snapped.

I rolled my eyes. "Yes, that reactionary methodology you use to only hunt down confused, terrified children who have already hurt someone works so well," I snarled. "I realise that new ideas are often unwelcome, but can you just try and make room in your head for the possibility that there may be a better way? Imagine if you could identify talented children before they hurt someone!"

"Warden," Greagoir growled warningly.

I ignored him, still piling on the sarcasm. "I know, I know, you like being heros, coming to save the day. And discovering talented children before they hurt someone would prevent you templars from basking in that glory. But I urge you to consider the benefits! Fewer people would actually be hurt!"

"Enough!" Greagoir roared. "Your plan still has a fatal flaw in that dozens of mages would be out in communities completely unsupervised!"

I snarled at him. "There are already hundreds of unsupervised mages all over the country, Greagoir - talented children! Mages with no training! We're talking about locating them before they accidentally hurt someone! But no, you'd prefer an unsuspecting child let loose a bolt of lightning at someone for pulling their hair! A local registered mage could break the news a bit more calmly to the family than a handful of armoured guards just turning up one day. Maker, a mage could help teach a child exercises to control their gift before they ever lose control. This will save people!"

Greagoir shook his head. "Perhaps. I don't like it though." He drew in a deep breath and sighed. "You realise that by even allowing this discussion I'm going to be replaced, and the next Commander will not be so accommodating."

I nodded. "Possibly. That is a problem to face when it happens. For now, I have here a list of the noble and merchant families and who want to hire mages and for what purpose," I said, pulling out yet another sheaf of parchment. "I'll leave it to you to decide which mages can be trusted with the assignments. Some merchant families have also expressed an interest in formally hiring a Circle mage, rather than relying on the usual semi-trained apostates."

Both the First Enchanter's and the Knight-Commander's eyes widened on seeing the lengthy list.

"I told you that the public perception of mages had shifted," I said with a smile. "Personally, I'd like to do all that is practicable to ensure the good will endures."

"So it would appear," Irving said. "Greagoir, do you require my input in selecting mages for those assignments?"

Greagoir shook his head. "No, I can manage. I am in charge of the Circle, after all." He glared at me. "This week, at least. Next week, who knows?"

I nodded at him. "Was there anything else you wished to discuss with me?"

He snorted. "I'm not sure I could survive another discussion with you, Warden," he snarled, rising to his feet. "I'm quite sure the templar order would not. If you have no further business, I need to go and write a report to the Grand Cleric. If I have anything to say about it, there will be a warrant out for your arrest within a week."

I shook my head with a chuckle. "Greagoir, I criss-crossed this country and spent weeks in Denerim over the course of a year while accused of being a regicide. Forgive me if I find your threats more amusing than threatening."

"You really shouldn't taunt him so," Irving rebuked me after Greagoir stormed out and slammed the door so hard it all but broke out of its frame. "He is under considerable stress, and your ill-considered actions tonight have not helped."

I grimaced. "He's a poo-head."

"Good grief, are you a child of six?"

"You're a poo-head too."

"Kathryn, I am serious."

"You're always serious; that's part of the reason you're a..."

Irving coughed. "I had thought that constant life-or-death situations would have matured you more."

I narrowed my eyes. "They have. If anything they've made me even more intolerant of blatant stupidity."

He smiled benevolently at me. "Yes, I recall that you never suffered fools lightly."

"I don't suffer fools at all."

"Quite. Was the violence downstairs truly necessary?"

"Necessary? Twenty templars shouting at a lone mage and one of them tries to Smite me. Given my experiences with them and the threats that have followed... no, I didn't go far enough."

"Am I to assume that you didn't taunt them?"

I shrugged. "Assume all you like. I won't confirm or deny it. I'm not interested in your approval, Irving. I told you that on the day I was conscripted after you refused to stand up for me. I swore when I left the Circle that I would never, ever allow myself to be helpless again. I will meet every attack on my person with sufficient force to defend myself and hopefully discourage future attacks. I have a duty to perform and I will not allow anyone to jeopardise it."

Irving shook his head sadly. "So, you intend to blast your way through life, killing all those who stand in your way?"

I sneered at him. "Way to go, putting words in my mouth. Here's a hypothetical scenario for you. What would have happened had the templars downstairs attacked a royal messenger who wasn't a mage? No answer? Let me tell you. They'd have been hanged, that's what. But I'm magically gifted, so those thugs have an expectation that they can do whatever they like to me without repercussion. And what's your response? Blame the mage. Goodness, but you have been indoctrinated well."

"But-"

I raised a hand. "As I said, I'm not interested in discussing this with you. You don't approve; I get it. I just couldn't be any more apathetic. Now, is there anything else?"

He sighed, but rose and made his way over to a lectern and gathered some sheets of vellum. "One of my missing missives to the King contained a request for an audience with you. There is something we need to discuss before Greagoir stumbles across it."

This sounded interesting. "Oh? What is it?"

Irving scratched his ragged beard. "Historically, the Harrowing ritual has fewer successes than failures. It is harsh, yet necessary."

"Why is that?" I asked, interrupting.

He blinked. "You are fully aware of its purpose."

"Indulge me."

He eyed me carefully. "It isolates those unable to resist demonic possession," he said, as though talking to a child.

I barked a short, humourless laugh. "And here I was under the impression that you had to be Harrowed to become an Enchanter, let alone a Senior Enchanter. How did Uldred slip through?"

The First Enchanter sighed. "Your flippant sarcasm is not helpful, Kathryn. Yes, Uldred was Harrowed and allowed himself to be possessed, but you know he was a fanatical Libertarian, obsessed with breaking away from the Circle. May I continue, or do you wish to waste some more time raving about circumstances I am unable to change?"

This was why I hated arguing with Irving. He would ignore sarcasm and accept his faults, only interested in looking for solutions to the current problem. "You're the one who brought up a point of contention as if it were incontrovertible fact. The Harrowing is not necessary."

"Perhaps. Perhaps not," he sighed, giving nothing away. "That is not the issue in question, however. In the time between your recruitment and Uldred's return from Ostagar, I presided over two Harrowings. Both mages survived."

"Congratulations."

"In the weeks and months following your defeat of the Pride Demon possessing poor Uldred we postponed Harrowings until we were capable of enacting it safely." He leaned back in his chair and placed the tips of his fingers together. "Once we resumed the ritual, the success rate became unprecedented. Only one of the thirteen Harrowings since has ended in failure."

"Congratulations," I repeated. "Maybe Uldred's uprising did the job of weeding out those who would have fallen victim. Those predisposed to it probably joined Uldred."

"I had considered exactly that, after eight mages in a row had survived. I believe that I even managed to convince Greagoir to accept that reasoning. It seemed probable that the unfortunate recent events had perhaps instilled a sense of caution amongst our apprentices. However, against all expectations, no apprentice has made a fearful request to be made Tranquil rather than undergo the Harrowing. No apprentice has shown any trepidation as they approached the chamber." He leaned forward. "It has become obvious that they no longer fear the Harrowing."

"And?"

"Kathryn, did you tell anyone about the ritual?"

Why lie? It's not as though he could expel me from the Circle now, is it? "Yes."

He sighed and shook his head. "I did make it clear, did I not, that it was to be kept secret?"

I nodded. "Absolutely. You were most categorical about it."

"Then may I ask why you disobeyed me?"

"I didn't."

"And yet you just admitted that you did," he said firmly.

I grinned at him. "No, I didn't. There was ten minutes or so between me waking and you telling me to keep the Harrowing a secret." I raised my eyebrows. "Seriously, sending my best friend who was absolutely petrified of the Harrowing to tell me you wanted to see me was silly if you wanted to keep it secret."

Irving sighed. "I see. So now the rumour mill amongst the apprentices ensures that the ritual is no longer a secret."

I barked an incredulous laugh. "The rumour mill about the Harrowing was going long before my turn. Speculation was rife, but there was enough there to piece together what it would entail."

"Speculation, yes, but not certainty. We can no longer rely on it to properly test prospective mages."

"I doubt the poor bugger who failed it agrees. It still sounds dangerous to me. All it means is that our numbers are not being overly culled by the templars."

He sighed. "Conspiracy theories, Kathryn?"

I waved a hand. "I doubt we could convince each other of our own viewpoint, so let's not bother. Although it does lead into a possibility I should bring up. Ever since I became a Grey Warden, I don't dream in the Fade."

Irving's anger had still not abated. "What does that have to do with your divulging of the Circle's secrets?"

I rolled my eyes. "Nothing. It has to do with the very reason you claim the Harrowing exists. "

That brought him up short. He ran a finger over his lips. "Oh? Go on."

"It took a while for Duncan and me to make our way south to Ostagar. I had nightmares nearly every night of Mouse taunting and tempting me."

"Mouse?"

I sighed. "That's the name I gave the Pride Demon in my Harrowing."

"Ah, its tactics have changed since my day, it seems."

I shrugged. "Well, his nightly torments stopped the moment I became a Warden. I dream of darkspawn now. With the scarce exceptions of when I actually enter the Fade, I haven't been tempted by a demon since. I mention it only because giving someone the opportunity to become a Warden may be a more humane alternative to becoming Tranquil, if they fear the Harrowing."

Irving leaned back in his chair. "Interesting. Most interesting." He paused, thinking deeply. "I must say, I cannot recall reading of any Grey Warden mage becoming an abomination. It may well be an acceptable alternative. I shall examine what records we have and present the proposal to Greagoir once things have calmed down."

I nodded, not expecting in the least that Greagoir would go for it. But, it was a single step on the way to a more humane Circle. "I appreciate it." Thinking of Eamon's fear for his son, I continued, "As a special case, if Connor Guerrin is ever considered for the rite, please let me know. I wouldn't put it past his father's political enemies to petition or pressure the Chantry to make him Tranquil. I'll conscript him before I let that happen."

Irving nodded slowly. "I would like to say you are being paranoid, but I understand politics." He chuckled softly. "One does not become First Enchanter without at least a passing familiarity with its dark undercurrents. Should the worst happen, I shall do all that is possible to assist young Connor."

I frowned in thought. "What if I were to recruit him now?" I wondered aloud.

Irving appeared shocked. "He's a child!"

I waved a hand in irritation. "I'm not going to put him through the Joining tonight! I mean, if I were to recruit him now, on the understanding that he would join on his majority, would that protect him from any who push to make him Tranquil?"

Irving blinked. "I suppose so. But Warden recruits are always taken with their recruiter."

I shrugged. "I'm not exactly one for tradition. Here, may I borrow a quill and a sheet of vellum? Thank you." I scratched out a note, formally naming Connor as a Grey Warden recruit. "There. Keep that safe. If he remains safe as he grows up and takes his Harrowing, burn it. He doesn't need to know of it. If however, there is a push to make him Tranquil, you can use it to keep him safe if I'm not contactable. I daresay at that point he'd need to be shipped off to Soldier's Peak or wherever the Warden's base of operations lies, but he wouldn't be made Tranquil."

"So, you are leaving your recruits here to complete their education?"

I gave a sarcastic snort. "Do you want me to pay for his tuition?"

Irving gave a small smile but shook his head. "No, I'm just sorry such matters are necessary."

"Yeah, me too. I'd do it for all the apprentices in the Circle to keep anyone from becoming Tranquil, but I suspect that doing so would have some serious unforeseen consequences."

"It is good to see you thinking about consequences, Kathryn. You shall face several in the coming weeks. Speaking of the Tranquil; the legal position you presented to Greagoir was superficial at best." He eyed me carefully. "Your research was sloppy and inadequate."

I raised my eyebrows. "Oh? Why do you say that?"

He smiled at me. "It appears that you have not read the many addenda to the Articles added after the various Convocations. There was one addendum in particular that affected your position."

I smiled back. "Despite your allegation, I was most diligent in my research. Are you referring to the Convocation of 2:63?"

"Ah, yes indeed."

I smirked. "Wasn't that the Convocation that was convened just after the Emperor of Orlais came to a similar conclusion regarding the legal status of the Tranquil? Didn't he decide that it would be far better for the profits from their labour to be added to his Treasury rather than the Chantry's coffers? And didn't the Convocation conclude with an agreement that, in exchange for all profits for ninety-nine years, the secular governments would cede any and all future claim on the Tranquil?"

Irving chuckled softly. "Yes, well summarised. Tell me, had Greagoir known about that particular Convocation, what would you have done?"

"I had a contingency. I still have it, in fact," I lied, patting the diplomatic pouch. "I did test the waters first, you recall, by questioning him about the number of mages I could recruit. He thought it was a law, which is a common misunderstanding. His ignorance in that matter meant that there was a high probability he had just assumed the Tranquil were considered the same a mages."

"I see. May I say just how interesting it was to watch you in action? I don't believe I've ever seen someone negotiate for something to which they have no right, by offering what their opposite number already possesses."

"Thank you. I think."

"And what happens when some learned scholar at the Chantry points out your duplicity?"

I shrugged. "Eamon's agent will be over here tomorrow morning to get things sorted. Hopefully Circle mages will be out in the world within the week, providing a positive service. The Crown would be at an advantage in further negotiations at that point. Besides," I put on an air of confused innocence. "To what duplicity are you referring?"

Irving frowned. "Your claim on the Tranquil."

I looked pointedly at the ashes on the desk. "What claim?"

"Ah. I see. Very well played."

"I laid the groundwork, but it was mostly Anora. Tell me, Greagoir hinted a few times about manpower problems. Why are there so few fully trained templars here? The reason I was so aggressive downstairs was because I was expecting to get hit by a dozen Smites at any second."

Irving sighed. "I am not consulted about such things. But recent events have caused some... logistical difficulties in obtaining certain supplies. I believe the more experienced templars have been reassigned for the duration."

My jaw dropped. "You've run out of lyrium and the templars with larger addictions have been taken away?"

Irving's jaw dropped, mirroring mine. "You know? How did you know that?"

"Lucky guess. How bad is it?"

He glared at me, not answering my question. "That is one of the Chantry's most guarded secrets, Kathryn. How did you know?"

I shrugged, doubting that Alistair would care if I told Irving. After all, what could the Chantry do? "Alistair. I spent the better part of a year travelling around with him; you know he was a templar initiate before his conscription. He was quite happy that Duncan saved him from inevitable lyrium-addiction," I replied.

That little tidbit of information changed things. During the fight downstairs, I had expected several templars to Smite me from afar. Despite Alistair's assistance, I doubted I would have resisted such concurrent attacks. I reviewed the events in my mind, incorporating the new information. Apparently, the reason I wasn't aching in a Smite-induced torpor was that the templars downstairs were initiates. It also neatly explained why I managed to emerge from the fight unscathed, why the templars acted like they'd never fought together before and why none of them put a stop to my magic.

Irving gave a hum of agreement, disapproval radiating from him like heat from a fire. "Yes, there is a lyrium shortage at present."

I frowned. "Really? Is that just here at the Circle?"

"No, it is a general shortage due to the dwarves marching en masse to assist with the Blight."

I frowned. That didn't make sense. The warrior caste marched, of course. And they were joined by some of the eager casteless and the more experienced nobles and deshyrs, but the mining caste on the whole stayed home to work. "Did Greagoir tell you that?"

Irving sighed. "Yes, but it is true. It is my responsibility to catalogue the lyrium we receive from the Chantry. Our recent deliveries have been less than a fifth our usual ration. Surely you know of the shortage? It must be more difficult than usual to obtain lyrium outside the Circle."

I shook my head. "I wouldn't really know. I make my own lyrium potions; they're far more potent than the ones you can pick up from back-street vendors, and cheaper than buying them from Wonders." I thought back to the last few months in Denerim. "I don't recall there being talk of a supply problem. I still have a large amount of dust from the last time I was in Orzammar, though. Half a pound or so at least. Do you need some? Or some more potions?"

His gaze turned grim. "I suspect that your actions this evening have eased the pressures on our supplies for the near future."

"Yeah, well, I'm still not sorry about that. Not sorry at all. I'm never going to sit back and allow myself to be attacked without responding in kind."

He closed his eyes wearily, accentuating the already prominent bags under his eyes. "Kathryn, I know you did not view the templars favourably during your time here, but surely you feel some disquiet over the fact that you just killed eight of their number?"

"No," I said emphatically. "And I'll tell you why. While I was here, I thought I hated them with a passion. They threatened us, spied on us and abused us. I had three elven friends during my apprenticeship who were executed after templars accused them of being maleficars. Oddly, each of the three had just blossomed into women and had also just spurned their accuser's unwanted advances, but those little facts weren't considered pertinent during the very, very brief investigations. The only reason I was spared from that fate was Cullen's infatuation with me; it marked me as unavailable to the others."

Irving looked uncomfortable. "Those unjust deaths pained me too, Kathryn."

I shook my head. "Not enough for you to actually stand up to the bastards though. And anyway, after seeing how the templars acted during Uldred's uprising, running away in terror and leaving little children behind to fend for themselves, well, I had an epiphany. I realised that when I was an apprentice, templars were only a pet peeve." I glared at him. "Now, templars are a psychotic hatred of mine."

"All templars?"

Oh, you bastard. "No, not all. But the good ones I've met are either dead or insane. How is Cullen, by the way?"

"He is greatly recovered. However, the tower was proving to hold too many bad memories for him, slowing his healing, so he has been transferred."

I sighed, wondering if some poor backwater was being shipped a damaged templar. "Where?"

"To the Free Marches. I understand he is well thought of at the Kirkwall Circle. Greagoir tells me that he is being considered for promotion to Knight-Captain. At such a young age, too."

I took a deep breath, and let it out, wondering why I felt so much more relieved that I expected. Not even the templars would promote an insane man to a position of authority. "That... that is good to know."

He actually smiled. "And that," he said softly, though audible to my elvish ears, "is also good to know."

"Well," I said, standing. "I'm off unless there is anything else you need to discuss."

"Have you been assigned quarters for the evening?"

I shrugged. "No idea. If Greagoir tries to stick me down in the dungeons, I'll fight him."

"I believe you. I shall request that you to be quartered in the room where Duncan stayed during his last visit."

Inwardly, I winced, but nodded. "Thank you, but I really need to get going."

Irving stroked his beard. "Oh? You have other urgent business that requires you to depart at night?"

I nodded. "Yes I have other business here in the tower but no, it doesn't involve you. I have letters to deliver and people to see."

He sighed deeply. "I don't suppose pointing out that all Circle correspondence needs to be approved by Greagoir will convince you to run it by him?"

I laughed. "Not on your life. But I'd best get out of here now, before he comes charging back in, yelling and screaming," I said, hauling my pack and the diplomatic pouch over my shoulder.

"Oh?" Irving said, clearly confused. "He has quite the task ahead of him. Why would he come back?"

I opened the door and stepped through. Over my shoulder, I replied, "Oh, he'll be back here at some point soon, depending on where he went to work through the list. And he'll be pretty angry, I imagine."

"Yes, but why?"

I gave a grin of total satisfaction. "Because when the esteemed Knight-Commander refused to allow my mabari into your study with us, I told Thunder to go and crap on on his pillow."

I was followed as I left Irving's study, as expected. My shadows tried to do 'surreptitious', but barely managed to avoid 'bleeding obvious'. Greagoir obviously wanted me under surveillance, and for now I had no objection. I went straight down the stairs and to the apprentice dorms. A quick question of the duty guard gave me the specific bed I needed. I quietly made my way along the bunks, counting them under my breath. Once I reached my destination, I bent down and reached for the slumbering boy. "Connor?" I shook the small figure gently.

Eamon's son awoke, looking bewildered. "Huh?" he said groggily.

"Come with me please," I whispered.

A nasty laugh came from the next bunk. "It's about time they took you away, Demon-boy."

Another apprentice took up the taunting. "Demon-boy's gonna be made Tranquil!"

I felt Connor stiffen. As more and more children awoke and started jeering, I raised a hand and called forth a brilliant white flame. "Enough!"

My tone was enough to cow the youngsters, but whispers further away still reached my ears.

"Come on," I said to him, as kindly as I could. "Nothing is wrong, and you are not in trouble."

I slipped a hand across the boy's trembling shoulders and led him from the dorm. Once we were out in the corridor, he blinked in the light of the torches, looking up at me. "I know you," he said, his voice soft, defeated.

I nodded. "Yes."

"You're the elf who saved me. In the Fade."

"That's right."

"Are you here to save me again?" he asked, longing in his voice.

I winced. "Only in a manner of speaking. I have a letter for you from your father," I said as I led him through the double doors to the library. The place hadn't changed at all.

The templar on duty snorted himself awake at my words. "Letters from outside the tower are forbidden," he snapped in a warbling, adolescent voice. He strode forward with a hand outstretched.

I levelled my gaze at him. "As I told Greagoir not a quarter of an hour ago, interfering with Royal mail is a capital crime. I would prefer that Connor here get to read his letter without me resorting to violence, but if having you and every other templar in the tower hanged is what it takes, that's a price I'm willing to pay," I said evenly.

The young templar stopped his advance and jerked back, as though stepping back from a cliff. "You- you can't threaten me!"

"What threat?" I snapped. "I merely made an observation."

"The Knight-Commander shall hear of this!" he all but wailed at me.

I waved a hand at him condescendingly. "Off you go then. Run along to Greagoir. I'm sure he'd let you cry on his shoulder. You can tell him all about the mean, nasty elf who wouldn't let you get your own way. I'm sure he'll be very impressed."

Connor's eyes were wide with fright as he looked up at me. "Um, we're not allowed to tell the templars what to do!"

"That is going to change," I said darkly. "Well?" I asked the dumbfounded templar. "Sod off already!" He backed away and reluctantly resumed his guard position. Even with all the labour issues, Greagoir still had someone guard a sodding library. Idiocy permeates everything, wherever I go.

"What do you mean?" Connor asked, hope seeding in his voice.

"The templars are not going to have so much control over the Circle soon. Your father is helping Alistair, Anora and me to fix it. He probably tells you about it in his letter."

He sagged. "Father never writes to me. No matter how many times I write to him, he never writes back."

I pursed my lips together. Greagoir was holding so tightly to failed policies that he was all but ensuring another Uldred-esque cock-up. "Oddly enough, he has the same complaint. It seems that all his letters to you have gone unanswered, and he was worried."

I led him to the main table and sat down. "Here, read it now."

Connor's fingers trembled slightly as he ran his fingertips over the wax imprint of his father's signet. After a moment, he carefully broke the seal. As he read the letter, I looked the lad over. His months in the Tower had not been kind. Whereas before he was a healthy, raw-boned youth with freckled, sun-touched skin, now he was pale, almost sickly. He had grown an inch or two, but had lost weight. The Circle was not agreeing with him at all.

His breathing became sniffles as he worked through the letter. He began wiping the back of his hand across his increasingly red eyes. "He-he says that he loves me. That he's worried about me."

I smiled. "I could have told you that."

Connor looked up at me. "He says that if I haven't got his letters then they've probably been taken by the templars."

I nodded. "More than likely."

"Why do they do that?"

I snorted. "Because they're so afraid of us that they want to believe that treating us like real people is not in our best interests."

He gave me a reasonable impersonation of a goldfish. "But- but they can stop magic! They are allowed to kill us!"

I chuckled softly. "Connor, listen to me. Most of what you hear about templars is rubbish. Yes, they can drain you of your magical strength, and yes they can negate magical effects. They can even call forth what they call a Holy Smite, which almost always leaves a mage helpless, stunned and easy prey." I looked directly into his fear-filled eyes. "What they don't want you to know is that not all of them can do that."

He blinked in shock. "What?"

"I have been reliably informed that besides Greagoir, there is only one other templar currently in the tower with the ability to generate a Holy Smite. It takes a great deal of discipline to pull one off, and only very experienced warriors have that level of mental and physical control. I believe there were one or two others earlier today, but they're dead now."

He gasped, covering his mouth with his hands. "Dead? What happened?"

I gave him a grim smile. "They tried to stop me entering the tower. As I'm on a royal mission, I didn't allow them to stop me. Things got a little out of hand."

"You killed them?"

I nodded. "I did. I didn't like it, but duty comes first. That's why your father suggested the King send me. I won't let anything stop me."

"But how? If they can stop your magic, how did you..." he couldn't finish.

I rapped a knuckle on my breastplate. "Last year, I rediscovered a kind of magic that the elves used centuries ago. It enables mages to channel their magic into their muscles, making them strong enough to wear armour and use weapons. I suspect that once I start teaching other mages how to use it, the Chantry will try to ban it."

His eyes widened, and I recognised a hint of the boy I'd met almost a year ago. "Mages who fight with swords? Wow! Father had the arms-master at home teaching me how to use a sword before... before..." he trailed off.

I examined his face, looking for something in his eyes. "Are you being treated well here? Are the templars singling you out for punishment?"

He ducked his head in shame. No, not the templars, I thought. "No," he said.

I sighed. "Are the other apprentices bullying you that much?"

Still with his head down, he shrugged noncommittally.

Growling under my breath, I reached out and gently grabbed his shoulder. "Connor, listen to me. What happened in Redcliffe? Not your fault."

"But I summoned the demon! I can't even remember it, but everyone says it was my fault!"

I placed two fingers under his chin and gently but firmly raised his head so that he was looking at me. "Listen to me very carefully. This guilt will make you more vulnerable. It was not your fault. Your mother should not have tried to hide your gifts. Jowan should have taught you better. Loghain shouldn't have had your father poisoned in the first place. Anyone who blames a child for being afraid of losing a parent and accepting help is an idiot and can safely be ignored."

Tears filled his eyes. "But so many people died," he whispered.

I nodded. "Yes, they did. Your mother didn't care. I was quite put out with her because of that, and told her so in very specific terms. Let's just say that I'll never be on her First Day list. You, however, do care. That makes you a good person, even if you feel you did a bad thing."

"Are- are they going to make me T-t-tranquil?"

I sighed, wondering if my request to Irving was prophetic at all. "I doubt it. After all the effort the mages went to in order to save you, well, there'd have to be a damned good reason. I won't let them do it anyway, I'll make you a Warden first. I promise, you'll get your Harrowing when you're ready. Have you heard what you need to do from the other apprentices?"

He nodded slowly. "I'm supposed to save someone trapped in the Fade, to bring them out."

I rolled my eyes and groaned. "Who told you that?"

"Yvonne and Darren."

"Let me guess. Darren was one of the apprentices who called you Demon-boy, wasn't he?"

Again, his head dropped in shame. "Yes."

Again, I gently dragged his head up. "Don't listen to bullies. The Harrowing is dangerous, but the key to succeeding is to leave everything and everyone you meet there in the Fade. Understand? Don't trust anything, and make fully sure you come out alone. Do that, and you'll be fine."

"Hey!" the templar shouted.

I silenced him with a glare and turned back to Connor.

"Are you sure?" the boy asked, sounding more confident already.

"Absolutely. It's a test to make sure you can resist a demon's advances, both overt and subtle. You know what sort of tactics demons use, so you're already in a better position than those idiotic bullies. Now, write a reply to your father. I've got to go and meet with a couple of other people. I'll come back in an hour or so and pick it up, okay?"

The templar marched up to me as I rose. "You can't tell them about the Harrowing!" he shouted, jabbing a gauntleted finger into my chest.

I shoved him backwards. One thing about wearing a massive metal breastplate and cloth leggings is that you tend to be top heavy - and easy to push around, even by a tiny elf maid. "I'll break your fingers if you ever jab me again," I told him. "And Connor was being given advice that would have seen him possessed."

I could hear the snarl behind the helmet. "Then he gets possessed. We will take care of him."

I glared at him. "Did you join the templars so you could indulge an existing urge to slaughter helpless children, or do they instil those as a matter of course during your training?"

The templar raised a gauntleted fist. I gathered my magic.

"ENOUGH!" a voice roared from the stairwell entrance. Greagoir stormed over to us, eyes flashing and face flushed. "What is this? Initiate! Report!"

"Knight-Commander, ser! This elf just told that apprentice there about the Harrowing Ritual!"

Greagoir glared at me for a long moment. "Well?" he demanded.

"Well what?"

"Are you going to defend yourself against the accusation?"

I spread my hands and set my expression to one of intense confusion. "What would be the point? You've never taken the word of a mage over the word of a templar in your life."

Greagoir ground his teeth together, his left eye twitching alarmingly. "I'm listening now. Did you tell this apprentice about the Harrowing?"

"No."

The templar guard gasped. "What? You did so!"

I sighed. "I did not say anything about the ritual itself. I gave him some good advice to counter the bad advice he has been given."

Greagoir looked down at Connor, who shrank back and stepped behind me. "Boy, what did the Warden tell you?"

"J-just t-to c-come out of the F-f-fade alone, sir. Not to t-trust anything," Connor stammered.

Greagoir sighed. "Fine. I don't know why I'm surprised." In a sing-song voice, he continued, "Come on in, Warden. Kill some templars, Warden. Destroy our way of life, Warden. Threaten to financially ruin us, Warden. Undermine us as we endeavour to ensure mages are not a danger, Warden." He shook his head. "I find myself morbidly curious to see what you intend to do next."

I tilted my head to one side. "Are you done? This cloak of self-pity doesn't become you."

"Oh that's rich, coming from you."

I raised an eyebrow. "Coming from someone who has been abused by templars all my life, you mean?"

He spat out a curse. "I didn't come down here to mediate a dispute between you and a guard. I came down here because your dog did a shit on the chair in my study!" he finished in a scream.

I blinked. "He did what?"

"You heard me!"

"Your chair? Really?

"Yes, really!" he said, sarcasm dripping from his tongue.

"Don't get your smalls in a twist. Go and get an apprentice to freeze it solid and then just pick it up. Problem solved."

His hands clenched and unclenched. "It is not 'problem solved', Warden! Why did your dog defecate on my furniture?"

I shrugged. "How should I know? I certainly didn't tell him to soil your chair," I replied with very specific honesty. "You didn't exactly put yourself in his favour, what with attacking me downstairs and refusing to allow him to protect me in Irving's study. Maybe he felt the need to express his displeasure in a less indirect form?"

Thunder was really building up the good works. At this rate, I was going to have to stuff him full of his favourite foods until his belly burst.

o_ooo000ooo_o

AN: Thanks to my reviewers - Ledilettant, Nightbrainzz, Rhagar, qweenseeker, Arsinoe de Blassenville, MB18932, Bored and Sleepy with Waffles and Girl-chama - they really inspire me to write more.

One thing that I wanted to put into the conversation but wouldn't fit is Greagoir's seeming indifference to whether or not a mage is guilty. In Mage Origin, it is claimed that he has evidence that Jowan has been practicing blood magic. But, the first words out of his mouth after Jowan knocks him on is arse are "So, it's true." Thus, my extrapolation that he doesn't take a mage's word over a templar's, and has little regard for 'evidence'.