Chapter Three: Full Circle

In truth, despite their numbers, the Fangs only had three mages in their ranks. Gray was one, Lienne was another, and Maurice was the third. Gray generally tended to join them on combat missions and excelled at fighting all manner of enemies, but Lienne did not particularly have the stomach for such and was therefore more valuable as a learned Circle mage with an excellent grasp of magical theory and history. Or if they really, really needed someone who was good at number puzzles.

Maurice had joined them at only seventeen and, whilst he tried as hard as he possibly could, he was nearly only ever useful if they wanted someone to trip up and accidentally set a room on fire.

He came in handy more often than they'd like to admit.

Lienne had readily agreed to move her sleeping things in with Needles for the night to keep an eye on their potential magic user, as chirpy as she ever was despite the late hour. Grint had offered to stay and guard the man as well, but their Qunari healer had scowled and curtly told them all that she did not need any more clutter littering her surgery, thank you very much.

Now, with the night's business concluded at last and safe in the knowledge that things were, for the moment, stable, Eruthan eased himself into his own sleeping roll, running his thumb along the fine Dalish embroidery that had been lovingly stitched into the thick fabric. The hands that had made this for him when he was a youngster would never do so again, but he drew comfort from this small remnant of his childhood. Often he wondered what his parents or his Keeper might think about his life now, but he supposed it was an exercise in futility at best; wishing would not bring them back from the grave.

He had not realised how tired he actually was until now. The events of the past week had exhausted him more than he had let himself realise. He went over the things he needed to do when he awoke in his head, a mental checklist, and then curled himself into his blankets and finally found sleep.

On the other side of the camp Needles had finally bedded down herself leaving Lienne not alone, but locked into a quiet solitude. The mage had not come on the mission to Nantwich, but when they had told her of what had happened there she had 'borrowed' a horse and ridden out herself in the cold and wet. There had been lingering traces of magic in the air all around her but nothing concrete that she could have pulled for examination, so, miserable, she had plodded back empty handed and Eruthan had scolded her for running off. Therefore she was secretly pleased that he had asked her to babysit their newest recruit now.

Like her lieutenant, Lienne was an elf. But unlike him, she was not of the Dalish. She had been born in Nevarra, and been taken to the Perendale Circle at five years old. She had stayed throughout the rebellion, believing that the Maker had made things the way they were for a reason, but when Divine Victoria had reformed the Circle of Magi the rest of the rebel mages had been allowed to instate their College of Enchanters and Lienne had decided, a few years older by that point, to leave Perendale and head to join it.

On the way, really too inexperienced of the outside world to have had anything else happen, she had been tricked by a shady merchant into losing all her coin in a tavern, and would have been destitute if the Fangs had not seen everything and Albaticus hadn't stepped in with a timely game of Wicked Grace. He had won all her money back and more and, having never really had the time for cards growing up, Lienne had been intrigued by the complex rules and strategy involved. Albaticus had promised to teach her.

That had been three years ago.

To keep herself occupied whilst her charge slept off whatever maladies had befallen him, Lienne had brought her journal with her to record her thoughts and feelings on the day, something she liked to do whenever she had a spare moment, and now the only sounds in the yurt aside from breathing were the scratchings of her quill on the rough paper of her diary.

That was, however, until a shifting of fabric that did not belong to her caught her ear.

Lienne bookmarked her place in her writing and set it to one side, swinging her lantern around her form so that she could sit a little closer to her present company, being careful not to loom over and scare him like Needles had.

"Don't be afraid. I am Lienne, and you are quite safe. What is your name?" She asked gently, a small ghostlike smile on her lips.

The man stared up at her over the edge of his bed linen with big, deep brown eyes like frightened puppy. At first he declined to respond, and then, so quiet she could barely hear him, he whispered up at her.

"Was it a dream?"
"No, sweetheart."

He pressed his eyes shut once more and grimaced, and then let out a deep sigh through his nose before gazing back up at her again. She did not want to press him, but it was critical that he could trust at least one person here, all things considered, if they were going to find out what had happened at Nantwich.

Time passed at a crawl as he worked through exactly what he should do. And then, finally, he spoke again, answering her initial question.

"I'm Ivian," he murmured, "where are we?"
"Pleased to meet you Ivian. We are about three miles out from Nantwich, west of Wildervale in the Free Marches."
"You're not from the Imperium?"
"No."
"Will you take me back?"

Lienne shook her head. "Not if you don't want too."

So Eruthan had been correct in his assumption. Ivian must have been with the Tevinter expedition that they had gone up against, but he was no magister. She felt a little sorry for him and, without thinking, reached out to softly brush some of his hair from his dirty forehead.

He regarded the action as if she had granted him a marvel, and she wondered herself as to whether anyone had ever done so for him in the past.

"Are you hungry?"
"No."

He was a good liar, but she knew better. She twisted to unclip her satchel and dug out the bread roll she had brought with her, tore it in half, and then offered the bigger half to him. He, once more, took a long time deciding whether or not to accept, and she simply sat still until a long fingered, bony hand appeared from out underneath the blankets to anxiously take it from her, like she might decide to rescind the offer just to make fun of him.

Ivian sat up to eat, rolling the pile of blankets to his lap. He tore small chunks off bit by bit, transferring them to his mouth and chewing slowly. To not make him feel uncomfortable, she ate at the same pace, and for a long time they just chewed in silence. When he was done, he looked around and Lienne realised that he was searching for somewhere to deposit his crumbs. He happily pooled them into her own hands when prompted and she flung them out the front of the yurt for the birds before coming back to his side.

"There now, feeling a little better?" She asked him as she resettled herself. He nodded, and returned her smile with the tiniest one of his own. "Good," she continued, "I'll get Korah to make you something nice for breakfast. She owes me a favour."

He tilted his head a little at the name. "Who is Korah?"

It was positive, she thought, that he felt able to ask such a question of her.

"Korah is our sort of … 'camp organiser', so to speak. She cooks for everyone, but she also assigns all the chores too. No one escapes."
"Chores?"
"Yes, how much do you remember of what happened?"

Ivian brought his hands together in his lap and turned his face away from her, scrunching his nose up as if to concentrate on stringing together the relevant memories.

"There was … a fire … and a man. I … saved him?"
"You did. His name is Albaticus Caelius and he's my captain. You're with The Gilded Fang right now. We're a mercenary company."
"He seemed like a good man."
"He is."

She was surprised that he wasn't asking more questions until she remembered exactly what he was. He'd probably been taught that curiousity didn't just kill the cat, and maybe even something as simple as asking who Korah was had been his limit. Lienne caught her bottom lip between her teeth and chewed in thought, a bad habit of hers.

Maybe he did not like the fact that Albaticus' name was clearly Tevinter in origin.

"Ivian," she said gently, reaching out to softly pat his shoulder to get his attention, "if I ask you some questions would you answer them for me? You can just say yes or no, if you like. You do not have to go into any detail you do not want to."

He considered this, and then nodded.

"Thank you. So you are from Tevinter?"
"Yes."
"And you were a … slave?"
"Yes."
"How old are you?"
"Twenty eight."
"You came to Nantwich with the expedition?"
"Yes, my master brought me."
"And you do not want to return?"
"No thank you."

She smiled in amusement at his polite refusal. It was sweet, in a very courteous way.

"Just one last thing. Ivian, are you a mage?"

This one gave him pause. His eyes widened and he drummed his fingers on his knees, debating internally as to what answer would be the best one to give. But honesty seemed to win out and he stiffly bobbed his head, confirming what she already knew.

It was a gamble, but Lienne beamed cheerfully at him and, with a flick of her hand, conjured a tiny wisp of flame to her palm.

"Oh! You're a mage too!" He gasped, and some of the tension her inquiries had generated vanished into thin air. Lienne shook her hand free of the fire. "I am originally from the Perendale Circle in Nevarra, although I am not sure how much you know of such. Ivian, listen, it is very late and ... really I should have gone to fetch my lieutenant to speak to you. He will be very angry with me for not doing such but I did not want to wake him. So what I propose is that we both get some sleep and talk more in the morning, how about that?"

His eyes smiled rather than his lips this time, happy enough at being granted this courtesy.

"Will you stay here with me?"
"Of course."
"Will the … will the Qunari woman … is she still here?"
"Needles? Yes. But don't worry too much about her. She's not going to hurt you. She's one of us - The Gilded Fang."
"One of us," he repeated back at her, like the words had a special meaning that he'd only just discovered, "I think it'll be okay if you're here too."

Lienne chuckled quietly at this, and then leaned over to affectionately prod the end of Ivian's long nose.

"Things are always okay when I am here."