It was midafternoon when they made it back into the town center, where Ten was immediately nearly bowled over by Pigeon, who apparently had been looking for her all night. The hound stood on her hind legs, one great forepaw on each of Ten's shoulders, looked her straight in the eye and whined right in her face. Don't you ever do that to me again, each breath seemed to say. Ten flinched from the smell - apparently Pigeon had taken a page out of the Redcliff hounds' book when it came to corpse removal, but petted her anyway.

"Down girl. I'm fine," said Ten.

The dog harrumphed and loosed her mistress, but stayed right by her feet, not close enough to trip her, but enough to put several feet between her and everyone she approached. As such, she didn't manage to tell Sten and Lelianna about the next move without accidentally informing half of the village, who were milling about, repairing buildings that had been damaged in the fighting, fishing corpses out of the lake and burning them, and seeing what they could salvage.

"That's awful," breathed Lelianna, "Poor child. I can't imagine the persecution, just for being who he is. So you will go to the Circle?"

"Don't have much of a choice," said Alistair, "And we were probably going to wind up there anyway."

"This is a waste of time," Sten declared.

"Well move on, then," said Ten, "Nothing is stopping you from pissing off back to Par Vollen!"

"No. I prefer to stay and complain," the Qunari stated.

"See this is why nobody likes you people," grumbled Ten.

"Nobody likes yours either," he pointed out.

"You got me there," sighed Ten, "You'll come with me won't you?" she appealed to the hound. The dog pushed her massive head against Ten's thigh. "Don't knock me over while you're at it."

"Someone better tell the witch," said Alistair, "I don't think she wants to get too close to the Circle at all. If she did I'd probably worry she was going to blow it up or something."

"Oh, don't be ridiculous, it's the Chantry she has an issue with," said Lelianna, "I'll go have a chat with her, but I promised the Reverend Mother I would help with relief efforts here."

"You mean you promised that pretty archer you'd spend the night with her, didn't you," Ten said.

"You know, Teneira, there is a saying, in my homeland," said Lelianna airily, "Occupe-toi de tes fesses." With this, she flounced off up the hill in the direction of camp.

"I will mind my own ass cheeks, thank you," Ten called out after her, "While you mind hers!"

"Well aren't you cultured," Murdock, who was walking by with an armload of boards to replace the singed dock, "Forgive me for overhearing, but I always knew there was something wrong with that kid. They kept him shut up in that tower day in and day out. None of us have lain eyes on him since he was a little thing."

"So he's been in there the whole time?" exclaimed Ten. She remembered again standing on the cliff the previous day - had it really only been a day? - and seeing the mirror flash from one of the towers. The mayor set his boards down at the end of the wharf and returned.

"Got to be a bit of a legend," said Murdock, "They say you could see him walk the battlements in the moonlight."

"Well that's one way to keep your child from being found by the Circle," Ten sighed, "Poor kid never had a chance. Anyway, Murdock, you're just the man we were looking for. Heard you can get us over to the Circle of Magi."

Murdock's face darkened, "Are you sure that's what you want?"

"Need," Alistair corrected, "We need to get to the Circle. There's no time to walk around to the ferry, it's a day's journey alone. Please."

"I'm not in a position to refuse either of you anything," he sighed, "But I don't like it. Whole place feels creepy."

"Creepier than facing rotting, walking corpses, night after night?" Alistair countered.

"No, not creepier than that," sighed Murdock, "Very well. My boat's anchored off in the inlet there. We'll have to have someone row us out, my dinghy got burnt to shit."

Two of the fishermen, still grateful for the assist on the whole zombie warrior thing, rowed Ten, Alistair, the dog, and a handful of sailors out to where Murdock's 'boat,' a rather large vessel considering it was bound to the lake, but much smaller than the oceangoing ships Ten was used to seeing docked.

"Just tell me where I can have a nap," said Ten as she clambered aboard the ketch Jeannie Carter. Murdock and two deckhands who were probably related to him immediately started getting ready to get underway. "I get the feeling it's going to be another long night."

One of the deckhands gestured at a pile of sailcloth on the port side, "Just don't be surprised if you get tripped over."

"We need to restock some of the supplies we lost anyway, dock at the ferry and see what what's-his-face at the Spoiled Princess has in the way of nails and tar," Murdock said, "How long do you plan to be there?"

"Hopefully less than an hour," Alistair said.

"It won't be," said Ten, "It's going to be another disaster. I know it. Two weeks, three total catastrophes that it's somehow our lot to fix." It felt a little off to her, being surrounded by all indicators that she was at sea, the bobbing of the little ketch, the screams of seagulls, without the salt smell she had grown used to growing up along the tidal part of the Drakon River. But she curled up on the pile of sailcloth, Pigeon curled up next to her, and she drifted off as the ketch got underway.

She awoke with a start to a sharp bark followed quickly by a low growl. The sun was low in the sky, and the boat was docked. She rubbed her eyes, and was immediately reminded of the gashes down one side of her face. Her hound was standing over her, one set of paws on each side of her legs, baring her teeth at Alistair, who was backing away slowly. Pigeon gave another fierce, warning bark.

"Girl, would you fucking relax!" she shouted. The dog immediately pricked her ears up, her tail started going, and she let her mistress up, stepping squarely in her solar plexus as she moved to get off of her.

"I was just trying to wake you up!" exclaimed Alistair, who had backed all the way up to the mainmast and could go no further.

"Well you succeeded in that," Ten grunted, slowly getting her wind back. She didn't think her back could hurt any more than when she had awoken in the Chantry that afternoon, but she was wrong on that count, and she groaned as she scrambled to her feet and stretched out her spine.

"Got to get one of those for my daughter," Murdock said, "Wouldn't have to worry about any of the lads messing with her."

"I wasn't-" protested Alistair.

"I know," Ten said, "I know. But you can't tell the difference, can you baby girl?" She squatted and grabbed the hound by both jowls, making her smile.

"That thing just tried to take my hand off and you're baby-talking to it like it's not a two hundred pound predator," grumbled Alistair.

"She's my two hundred pound predator," said Ten, "Isn't that right, girl? Oh, you're a smelly girl. Who's a smelly girl?"

Pigeon's tail went absolutely insane and she licked her right in the face where her cheek was shredded. She cursed under her breath, and stood up both to get out of the tongue-range of the dog and to take stock of their surroundings. They had anchored at the dock in the back of the island upon which the Circle, a primitive tower looming darkly above them, stood. This dock was clearly for the delivery of supplies, where the ferry which went between the island and the small settlement on the western shore of the lake would dock in shallower waters. Pigeon went for land first, ignoring the gangway and instead diving and splashing into the water, paddling her way to the steep bank. She got onto shore and immediately shook herself off, spraying the very confused templar who had just walked up with a lantern with the very questionable water of the lake.

"Sorry!" called Ten, making her way down the gangway and up the dock to shore.

"What are you doing here?" he called. Highever accent. Lower middle class. Mid twenties, "The Circle's locked down. Turn around and go back where you came from."

"Grey Wardens. Urgent business," she said, striding up the hill like she owned the place and getting a hand on Pigeon's collar, "Sorry about the dog. You're going to have to let us in, though."

The templar looked down at her, utterly confused, for a moment.

"Ohhh I get it, this is a prank!" the templar finally said, "Someone put you up to this! Was it Arnaud DuBroy? He always liked the elf girls. Look, this is all very funny, normally I'd be laughing my arse off, but this is absolutely shite timing, so you'll need to head right back to Highever and tell Arnie that I - tell Arnie that Kent Gedrith said 'ha ha, piss off, I still shagged your sister.'"

"I will… not be doing any of that," said Ten. She glanced behind her nervously to where Alistair was taking his time getting off the boat, "You really do need to let us in. It's a matter of the Blight."

"Listen, darlin', I won't lie, it's cute, the whole done up in armor thing, but this is actually serious business," said Kent, "The Circle's locked down. There's some very scary shit going on in there."

"What's going on in there?" Ten asked.

"Nothing you need to worry about, love," he said, "Though your dedication to the bit is admirable."

She sighed. I really hate doing this. She threw up her hands. "All right, you got me. But now I'm fascinated. You can't tell me a little bit about what's going on in there?" She approached him, put a hand on his arm, "Arnaud told me about how hard you templars work. And nobody really appreciates the so very important things you do since it's all so… secret."

"Well, sweetheart," he said conspiratorially, "If you must know, there was a blood mage rebellion. Apparently a faction of them has been plotting for months to take it over and force us out. The whole tower's locked down, not a one's been in or out in days."

"Oh no!" she exclaimed, "That sounds horribly dangerous. Are you sure you'll be safe?"

"Oh, it is. But don't you worry about it, we have got it absolutely, one hundred percent under control."

A fiery explosion chose that moment to blow out a window on the topmost floor of the tower, causing a rain of stained glass shards and half melted lead, most of which fell harmlessly into the water.

"Under control, huh," said Ten, brushing a bit of glass from her hair.

"What was that!?" Alistair shouted from the near end of the dock where he had finally decided to get on about it.

"Blood mage rebellion!" Ten shouted.

"Oh shit! Why isn't he letting us in?"

"He thinks I'm playing a prank!" she replied.

"Did you tell him you were a Grey Warden?" he asked.

"Yup. Doesn't believe me!"

"Did you threaten him?"

"Not yet! Was still in the flirting-to-get-information stage!"

"He fall for it?"

"Thank the Maker for vows of chastity!" She turned to Kent, "No offense, darlin', but the lot of you are like fish in a barrel."

"Oh, Andraste's left tit, you actually are a Grey Warden, aren't you," Kent said.

"Oh, so you believe it when a man says it. But yes, we come in all shapes and sizes," said Ten, "So there's a blood mage rebellion that you do not have under control in any way shape or form. How long has the tower been locked down?"

"Couple of days," said Kent, "Come on. You'd better speak with Knight-Commander Gregoir. He's in charge. Allegedly."

"I suppose this isn't going to take less than an hour," Alistair sighed, catching up to them.

"Well we were probably not sailing anywhere until daybreak anyway," said Ten, "If Murdock doesn't have the good sense to turn around and head like hell back to Redcliff."

"No, he's docking over by the inn on the far shore," Alistair said, "Said he and his men are getting drunk and sleeping in a real bed for once, and not to expect him until the sun's high in the sky."

"Are you going to be alright?" asked Ten, "You haven't slept in about thirty-six hours at this point."

"I got a few winks while you were out as well," he said, "Don't worry about me. This I was actually trained for."

She set her mouth in a grim line and followed Kent Gedrith into the tower.

The atrium at the base of the tower looked like not many improvements had been done since the thing was constructed, Maker knew how long before. The mere size of the place dwarfed both the furniture, and the armed men within. The mood of the room was downright dour as well. Templars, at least two of them sore wounded, stood around aimlessly, staring vacantly into the air, but still somehow on a knife's edge of stress. Ten cased about, and noticed a grayhaired templar - the first she had ever seen who had made it to the far side of forty - was sitting at an oaken desk, furiously scribbling on a scroll.

"Who in the bloody fuck just walked into my tower?" he roared without looking up.

"I've got a couple of Grey Wardens here!" called Kent, "They've got paperwork. Says we're obligated by treaty to provide them support in the coming Blight."

"The only paperwork I'm interested in is the word from the capital telling us we're finally allowed to exterminate these bloody magi!" the elder templar declared, "We've no men to spare for the Blight or anything else, and the mages are all going to be dead before a fortnight's out. Tell them to fuck right off."

"Uh, he says fuck right off," said Kent.

"You fuck right off!" Ten countered indignantly. She held up her hand. Alistair shoved the parchment of the treaty with the mages into it, and she strode up to Knight-Commander Gregoir - whom she assumed the elder templar was - and banged it down on the desk, right in front of his face, "Read it, old man, or do you need me to translate it into one-syllable words for you?"

"Did you not hear me, wench?" he growled, rising and bearing down on her, his blue eyes blazing under heavy, iron-gray, brows, "We have nobody to spare."

"I do not give a single shit," spat Ten, getting up in his face, "You are obligated under the law of the land to help us. So figure it out."

"If you were a man, I would beat you so badly you'd never walk right again."

"If you were a man, you'd have dealt with this little problem straight on and not be waiting for permission from Denerim to murder dozens of innocent folk because you couldn't do your job."

"You know what?" Gregoir said, chuckling, "Fine. If you're such a brave little thing, you go in there, rout the blood mages, save whom you will. But if orders from the capital come before you return, I will gladly let you and your impertinence perish in the tower along with all of the abominations therein." He turned to two templars standing at attention in front of a heavy barred door which ostensibly led into the rest of the tower, "Unbar the door, we shall leave this pain in my arse on the other side to find her end in whatever way she is inclined. Don't come back unless First Enchanter Irving is holding your hand and begging for forgiveness!"

Ten found herself, all of a sudden, airborn, as the knight-commander took hold of the back of the collar of her leather armor and lifted her up with one arm like a hay bale he was about to throw into a wagon. He strode across the room with her, ignoring the protests of both Alistair and Pigeon, and tossed her unceremoniously onto the other side of the door. She fell in a heap, and heard the door slam shut behind her, leaving her in the pitch black

"Maker's breath, Ten, are you alright?" Alistair asked, genuinely concerned. She felt his hand on her shoulder and heard the heavy panting of the hound close by, and knew that the both of them had followed her in before the door closed.

She started laughing, stifling it at first, but finding that completely futile, burst out in fullblown cackles. She got herself under control in a couple of moments, and said, "Well I overplayed my hand there, didn't I."

Alistair started chuckling, "To be fair, it does work… maybe a third of the time."

"You didn't have to come with," she said, "That was my fuck-up. Happy to face the consequences all by my lonesome."

"Well I sort of did, being as this is the only way we're going to solve… any of it. But if we get through this, I'm never letting you live that one down," he said.

"What, getting picked up with one hand by some sixty-something codger and lobbed ten feet in the air like a sack of potatoes?" she giggled, "Don't tell Sten. He'll get ideas." She assessed herself with her hands. She'd landed sprawled on her front, but her forearms had taken most of it, and her head was, aside from the gashes in her cheek, intact.

"True, if Sten learns that's possible he'll start just chucking you out of the way whenever you do something he doesn't like. As hilarious as that would be, I'd rather we didn't have to stop to fish you out of a river every time he's displeased."

For some reason this struck Ten as uproariously funny, and she shrieked with laughter, 'I'll probably just wind up drowning in a retaining pond here in the ass-end of the nation! Not how I wanted to go!"

"What is that riot!?" a familiar voice called out of the darkness beyond. There was a soft glow as lamps were lit along the walls. In the light, Ten could see that they were in an enormous vestibule, and they were not alone.

"Don't mind her, she's stark raving!" Alistair called.

"You don't have to shout, I'm right here," said the voice. A lamp lit closer to them, and Ten could see it was held by the elderly mage she had met at Ostagar, standing over them, looking down at her like an unimpressed schoolmarm.

"Wynne!" Ten exclaimed, her laughter dying in the air.

"You were the girl at Ostagar!" the mage said, recognition dawning on her face. She extended one gnarled hand to help her up. Ten took it, and rose, "I'm afraid I don't remember your name."

"It's Teneira," she said.

"Well you've seen better days," the mage said. She put her head down a moment, and with a wish and a flash, the scrapes on Ten's arms and the gouges in her cheek had closed, "What are you doing in here? I thought all the Grey Wardens perished!"

"You're mostly right," said Ten, "And I suppose we're here to save the day, as best we can."

"I should hope so," Wynne said, "They've trapped us in here. It's only a matter of time before they gas us, or burn us up."

Five small children had silently appeared, staring wide eyed at the strangers, each clinging to a handful of Wynne's skirts with one chubby hand. The eldest was maybe seven, the youngest was less than four years old, a little girl with her hair still baby-fine curls and her thumb in her mouth. Ten was struck with a sort of sympathy for Isolde, seeing these babies taken from their parents, shut up for the Maker knew how long. No wonder she didn't want her boy in here.

"Can I pet that dog?" asked one of the kids in the middle, an elf of indeterminate gender, probably five or six.

"Sure, kid," said Ten, "Pigeon, behave. No mauling the children."

Pigeon, who had no intention of mauling the children, was quite pleased at the attention. She sat on her haunches and put her head back as the child scritched her behind the ears..

"I had a dog before," said the kid, "Her name was Lucy." Ten's heart broke a bit. The kid sounded like her dad, who'd grown up in the northern part of the Free Marches, pronouncing the name 'Lew-cee' and dragging it almost out into three syllables.

"This one's called Pigeon," said Ten.

"Good Pigeon. Good boy," said the kid, stroking the soft fur of Pigeon's ears.

"Pigeon's a girl," said Ten, "Not that I think she'd be offended."

"They don't let us have dogs in here," the kid said, "Nanna Wynne, can I have a puppy after this is over? If I'm very brave?"

"Oh, I don't know, dearheart," said Wynne, "Why don't you all pet the dog, and the grown-ups and I will have a talk."

Pigeon was suddenly in the very best mood a dog could be in, surrounded by adoring small people. She preened and held her head high.

Ten and Alistair followed Wynne behind a partial wall, probably there for support rather than to subdivide the room, where two other mages, grown men in their twenties or thirties, were seated crosslegged on the flagstones amongst piles of books, playing a very tense game of cards.

"It seems the cavalry has arrived," Wynne announced. Both mages looked up and took them in, skeptically.

"Not much of a cavalry, is it," said one, a blond human who sounded like he was from Denerim commented, dismissively.

"Well it's the best we're going to do," the elderly mage said, setting her jaw, "I think it's time to storm the rest of the tower."

"You're a braver man than me," said the other mage, an elf with dark hair falling over his ears..

"It's that or wait for the Templars to slaughter the lot of us!" the old woman cried, "We can't just sit here and wait for our doom."

"Oh, I assure you we can," the human said.

"Then you," Wynne said, clearly already knowing that arguing with that one would be futile, "Walk in there and meet our fate."

The elf looked up with sorrow in his dark eyes, "Ma, you're twice the mage either of us are. We'll stay here with the babies. You go out in your blaze of glory. Someone needs to be here to hold them at the end. So they're not alone."

Wynne nodded perfunctorily, "Very well. Come on, Teneira, and you… whatever your name is. If we fall beyond that door there, at least we didn't die on our knees."