Hello all! And welcome to my Origins fic, the loose prequel to Tale of Two Lavellans. Even though it's not as far along. Yay? For those who started reading this much earlier on, the early introduction chapters have been edited to better capture the characters involved. (And to correct Corvis's use of Antivan language, when he uses it.)

Be prepared for canon-divergence, since there ARE four Wardens (and there will be a surprise fifth joining up at the very end.)

Cheers! Hope you enjoy!

Burning Bright

Corvis chucked a book over his shoulder, tapping his foot in impatience.

He knew First-Enchanter Irving was scheduled to receive an important guest today. Not that Irving had told Corvis of this, even though Corvis was one of his best enchanters; he'd had to eavesdrop the information out of a few gossiping Templar higher-ups. Of course, the Templars had only mentioned said guest's arrival, and not said guest's identity—Corvis would have to do a bit more snooping.

He had an apprentice to teach in ten minutes or so. For now, organizing his desk would relax him, cool his thoughts.

Picking up a quill pen made from a peacock feather—il pavone bello, a lovely rarity in Ferelden—he dipped the tip in ink and set about making labels for the paperwork on his desk.

Reports had to be written for each apprentice, and Corvis had a couple of his own. Budding elementalists, if he was any judge. That was why they'd been assigned to him, at any rate. He plucked a small, square piece of parchment from one of his desk drawers—intended for labeling purposes—and wrote draft lessons plans on it as he set it neatly on top of the apprentices' reports.

There was a new letter on his desk, recently arrived. He spied the signature at the bottom, Sofia Agostini Nalida, and smiled fondly.

If there was one thing he could do for ages without tiring of it, it was writing to his mother.

He hadn't seen her in eighteen years. The very last memory he had of her was watching her shriek profanities and throw everything in sight at the pair of Templars taking him away. He'd been seven years old.

There was a Templar discourse on his desk as well, likely passed around to all enchanters and senior enchanters and whatnot. Something about reminding them to make sure their apprentice underlings conducted themselves properly while using the library resources. Corvis wrote utter bullshit on a label, plopped it blatantly on top of the written discourse, and smirked.

How much time had that been? He checked the timepiece on his desk.

Two minutes only. Mannaggia.

He'd sit down and read his mother's letter, when he had a lot more time to pore over it and write appropriate responses. Sofia wrote incredibly long letters, dotted all over with impeccably drawn heart symbols; if it was anyone else, he might've wrinkled his nose at the sappiness of it all, but his mother could get away with anything.

He checked the timepiece again. He could try playing another round of solitaire—mentally, of course, he had no playing cards at the moment—but decided against it. Mental chess? No one else in Kinloch Hold had ever been up for it. Praying at the tower's small chapel might have been an option for some, but Corvis had never believed in any Maker.

"Enchanter Nalida, are you in here?" a voice called outside the door of his dormitory, and he lifted his head, watching a redheaded woman peek into the room. "Ah, there you are. May I come in?"

"Of course," he said, offering a half smile and ushering her in. Petra, her name was; she was a little younger than him and only a Mage, not yet appointed to Enchanter or anything higher. "You can call me by my first name, you know."

"I'm so sorry, I keep forgetting." Her cheeks flushed a bit, and she flickered her gaze from his eyes to the floor, then back up to his face. "I heard Anders is supposed to return from solitary confinement soon. Did you know that? I'm sure he's missed you."

"Oh? Is he the special guest Irving is supposed to receive today?" Corvis rather missed Anders. The mage was always wreaking havoc on the Templars here, and the majority of his pranks had been nothing short of hilarious. Corvis vaguely recalled helping him spread rumors a while back about some hidden passageways in the walls; the Templars had been pressing their ears to the walls for days.

But, special guest he was likely not. If Petra knew who the guest was, though, she'd correct him, and he'd have his information.

Roundabout, possibly. He could've just asked. But the direct method wasn't often as foolproof.

"Oh, no, no—the guest is already here! He's a Grey Warden." Petra looked equally curious and nervous. "I was in the library on the first floor when he arrived. I think he wants to…recruit someone."

Corvis lifted an eyebrow, pushing out his chair and standing.

"Actually…" Petra continued, "he's been talking a lot about you."

Oh, now this was interesting.

Corvis remembered a fair deal of the outside world from his seven years of it—mostly the trading routes between Antiva City and Denerim, along with all of the trading practices his merchant father had drilled into his head—but Grey Wardens had always been something of a mystery to him. Who were they, exactly? What were they fighting right now? The Circle library had disastrously few resources on the Wardens, and he'd scoured just about every book in the building.

A curiosity, at the very least.

"I might as well speak with him and hear what he says firsthand, si?" Corvis said.

"They say you're a really good mage." Petra followed him as he made for the door, her hand just briefly brushing his arm. "I know you're good at a lot of things."

She'd disguised it as simple praise, but Corvis knew better. And he might have taken her up on her incredibly subtle offer if he wasn't already scheduled for a tutoring session.

"So they say," he said with a slight laugh, continuing out of his room and down the curved stone hallway. A couple of mages, both men with similar shades of brown hair, were walking the opposite direction down the hall; one of them looked Corvis up and down as he passed.

"Might I walk with you?" Petra asked, keeping pace with him, her mage robes swishing around her ankles. "I'm going the same way you are."

"If you like," Corvis said, continuing.

He'd work with the apprentice, first. Then he'd find this Grey Warden and satisfy his own curiosity.

Ellairia Surana groaned as someone gently nudged her awake. Caught in blissful sleep as she was, she resisted the urge to open her eyes, and instead stubbornly flipped onto her stomach and buried her face in her pillow, sealing out the world.

"Come on, Ellie, wake up," the voice said. "Are you all right?"

She swiveled her head to the side, opened one eye, and saw her friend Jowan standing there, black hair disheveled as usual. He never brushed it, no matter how many times she offered to do it for him.

"Demon," she grumbled. She stuck her hand out, palm forward. "Die."

"It's me, Jowan!" he said, backing up a step. "Easy! I know you're just waking up from your Harrowing, but…try to relax."

That she was. Bits and pieces came back to her, like memories of a dream she'd had…maybe because she had been in the realm of demons and dreams, the Fade, during the middle of the night. The Templars had roused her from her sleep to finally take her Harrowing, and they'd used a pool of lyrium to send her into the Fade; she barely remembered solving the sloth demon's riddles, fighting the rage demon, and resisting the pride demon Mouse's trickery. It all seemed like years ago. But she might as well milk the trauma with Jowan, if only for a bit of friendly fun.

"Help me up?" she said, rolling onto her back and holding up her hand.

Jowan grasped her hand and helped her sit up. "I'm glad you're all right. That Templar, Cullen, carried you in this morning. I didn't even realize you'd been gone all night. I've heard about apprentices who never even come back from Harrowings. Is it really that dangerous? What was it like?"

"Oh, Jowan," she said, raking her blonde hair out of her face. "It was…harrowing."

"Is that why they don't tell us what it's about?" he asked; he'd never been one to catch dumb humor. "I know I'm not supposed to know about it, but we're friends, right?" His voice reached a higher pitch than she was sure even hers went. "Just a little hint and I'll stop asking, I promise!"

"You know I can't," she chided.

He huffed. "Oh, fine. And now you get to move to those nice mage quarters upstairs. I'm stuck here, and I still don't know when they'll call my for my Harrowing."

True, that was a benefit to passing the Harrowing… She'd have to gather her things from the chest in the apprentice dormitory and carry them upstairs to her new room, whichever one First Enchanter Irving decided she could have. The thought excited her. Her own room, her own tub to bathe in…wow.

"Jowan, it'll be fine," she reassured him. "They'll call you."

"I've been here longer than you have!" he protested. "Sometimes I think they just don't want to test me. You do the Harrowing, you do the Rite of Tranquility…or you die. That's what happens. And I don't want either of the other options."

"Maker's breath, Jowan." Ellie blew upwards, stirring a fluffy tendril of hair. "They won't kill you."

"They might not. But the Rite of Tranquility is just as bad…maybe worse." He looked worried.

Ellie knew all about the Rite; the Tranquil were all over the Circle tower, after all. She didn't mind them much; eerily collected as they were, they didn't pose any threat to her. Owain, who ran the stockroom, was one of them.

"Like Owain." Jowan kept going, echoing her thoughts. "He's so cold. No, not even cold. There's just…nothing in him. It's like he's dead, but still walking. His voice, his eyes…lifeless…"

"Here I thought you'd come by to congratulate me, like a normal friend," Ellie teased.

"I suppose I shouldn't waste your time with this," Jowan admitted. "I was supposed to tell you to see Irving sometime today. He said it's not urgent, just make sure you don't forget. And, well…we can speak later." Worry lines all over his forehead, he turned and walked away, leaving the dormitory and heading Maker knows where.

Jowan was a strange friend, she knew, but she'd always appreciated his presence in her life. They were close to the same age—seventeen, give or take a few months—both brought to the Circle as children, both going through training stages at roughly the same times. He was a decent mage. Irving praised Ellie highly, but she didn't let that get to her head; he probably praised all the young ones that way.

She didn't bother grabbing her things just yet; Irving would tell her where to take them shortly. Not very hungry after last night, she decided to head upstairs instead.

Her route took her out into the hallway, where she listened to her footfalls echoing through the stone corridors as she walked briskly through them. The Templars had left her in her apprentice robes for the night, thank goodness – they hadn't tried to change her out of them. Creepy. Happy to be done with the Harrowing forever, she picked up her pace and did a little skip into the training rooms, pausing only to look up at the towering shelves of books with a sense of awe as she always did.

"Come now, are you a frail old lady?" she heard a smooth Antivan voice say past one of the towering shelves. "Would you rather knit than hold up that ward? Because I could use a pair of stupid fuzzy socks. Red ones. You're being too timid. Have a little faith in yourself."

"But…but…your fireballs are…"

Ellie peeked around the corner and watched. The enchanter threw his hands in the air with a burst of Antivan words and tried again. "My fireballs are—what? Fireballs? Bambino, if you're afraid of fire, it either won't come to you at all or it will blow up in your face. That's the point of this ward exercise. Let go of your fear. Then you can wield a flame properly."

The apprentice's knees knocked together – he was a young lad, several years her junior, and his face was pale as death. "You're going to burn me!"

The enchanter sighed.

Ellie leaned against the dark wooden shelf, sighing herself. Out of all the things in the tower, this enchanter was her favorite thing to study. His name was Corvis Nalida, and she knew he'd been born to Antivan parents but likely in Ferelden—that was why he was here. He had dark skin, wavy hair black as pitch, and amber eyes that always blazed as hot as his favorite spell: the fireball. As far as she knew he'd only been promoted to enchanter a couple years back, which meant he'd been too young and she too old for him to take her on as apprentice.

A tragic shame, really. She would've done anything for his attention.

"Make her do the wards," the apprentice begged, pointing at Ellie and giving her away. "She just passed her Harrowing, after all. Maybe I'll switch to the frost school."

Corvis glanced at Ellairia, who stood up straight and cleared her throat. "But she hasn't expressed an urge to make fire at least fifteen times in the past week," Corvis said, giving her a charming smile. "I heard about the test, Ellairia. Congratulations. You did well."

"Thank you," she said, bowing briefly.

Corvis glanced over at the shivering apprentice. "Run along, bambino," he said. "We won't get anywhere with you soiling your drawers. Go to the library and relax or something. And I'd better not find you in the lavatory vomiting buckets again. Calm your nerves. Enemies wouldn't be nearly as gentle as I was."

"Thank you, master," the young apprentice said, then darted away, back to the dormitories.

Chuckling, Corvis turned back to Ellairia. "So," he said, "was it anything like you expected it to be? The Harrowing, of course."

"It wasn't so terrible," she replied. "Do you…remember yours?"

"Si, si," he said. "I was only sixteen. I had too much fun with it, as I recall. Irving said I was grinning the whole time I was in the Fade and half the Templars wanted to stab me out of alarm. Now, then… Were you heading somewhere? Or shall I throw a fireball at you too?"

"I was going to see the First Enchanter, actually," she said.

"Oh? Let me walk with you, then. I have business with him as well."

"What sort of business?" she asked.

"Oh, things." Corvis liked being vague, sometimes; Ellie wondered often if it was all part of being Antivan. "Piccole cose. Nothing you should concern yourself with."

Not that Ellie could stop concerning herself with anything and everything Corvis did. Half the Circle already knew she had a raging crush on him; but he never let on whether or not he knew, and it made her rather jittery sometimes.

Kinloch Hold was something of a bucket of drama, most of the time. Flirtations, pranks, arguments, cliques forming among small groups, gossip ringing through the halls. Still, she loved it here. She had a sturdy roof over her head, plenty of people to chat with, books upon books to read…not to mention Wynne, who had been teaching Ellie how to heal for years now and whom Ellie loved dearly.

But Wynne had left to join the King's armies, not too long ago. Ellie didn't know what they were fighting. She missed her.

"Were you awake when Irving's guest arrived?" Corvis asked, reaching the stairs leading to the next floor. He grasped the heavy door's handle and held the door open for her.

"What guest?" Ellie asked, slipping through the doorway.

"We shall see, I think," he said, letting the door shut behind him and continuing down the hall. He was much taller than her—being a human, after all, and not an elf like her—but she kept pace well enough.

"I'm just excited to get new quarters in the mage's dormitories," Ellie said, playing with her fingers as she walked.

"Oh, do be careful with those," Corvis said. "Rats come out of the walls at night. Horrible things lurk in the shadows. Irving comes into your room and watches you sleep."

"Oh…what—" Ellie started.

"I'm teasing," he said with a chuckle. "You'll like them, I'm certain. Much better than being crammed into a room like cattle with all the apprentices."

"I think so, too," she said with a big grin.

With any luck, that was what Irving wanted to see her about—promoting her to Mage and giving her new gear and new quarters. And her palms were sweaty with excitement as she and Corvis made their way down the hall.

Elation at her success with the Harrowing made Irving's quick talk with her pass by like she'd been somewhere outside her body during it, and seen it through a thick fog no less. Irving had introduced her to a tall, dark human with a thick, cleanly-clipped black beard, skin as dark as Corvis's, and kind brown eyes – a Grey Warden, he'd said. Ellie knew next to nothing about the world outside the tower, and so she hadn't the faintest idea of what a Grey Warden was. Still, the man – Duncan, he called himself – had been awfully polite to her, even going as far as to ask her about her healing talents and tell her Wynne had spoken highly of her at their camp down in Ostagar. He'd said something about dark-spawn or whatnot, but Ellairia hadn't wanted to ruin her happy mood, so she'd smiled and nodded and regretfully forgotten about it.

She'd left when Corvis gave Irving his report on the young apprentice, to give him privacy, and nearly run face-first into Jowan.

"Yeesh! I almost hit you!" she said. "What're you doing here?"

"Are you done talking with Irving?" he asked, his eyes full of unspoken tension.

"Sure, I am, what – "

"I need to talk to you." He shifted anxiously back and forth on his feet. "Do you remember what we discussed earlier this morning? I, um… We should go somewhere else. I don't feel safe talking here."

Her brows furrowed. "What's the matter?"

"I've been troubled. I'll explain. Come with me, please."

Corvis pored mentally, retroactively, over everything Duncan had said, memorizing each word and facial expression and inflection, not wanting to forget a word. Whatever the Warden's intentions, Corvis wanted to decipher them.

He leaned back in his chair in the library, tapping his fingers on the table in front of him. The chamber smelled of old leather-bound books and oak and the crisp, almost metallic crackle of magic; he pressed a finger hard under his nose to stifle a sneeze.

King Cailin Theirin was mustering a force at Ostagar to the south, Duncan had said, in an attempt to stem the tide of darkspawn welling up from the Wilds. Several of Kinloch's enchanters and senior enchanters had already left to join the forces. Corvis knew why Irving and Greagoir hadn't sent him yet; Greagoir didn't trust Corvis as far as he could throw him, and had said so, in those precise words. The Knight-Commander had, of course, brought up the traditional "Enchanter Nalida is secretly possessed by a Pride demon, there's no other reason he walks around with that smug look on his face" argument, which had started a thrilling argument between him and Irving about the validity of Corvis's supposed possession.

He'd nearly burst into laughter, but had refrained. Surely Greagoir could figure out on his own that every Antivan was prone to looking self-satisfied.

Thank all that was good for Irving; without him to stem the tide of Greagoir's fits, the Knight-Commander might've sent for the Rite of Tranquility by now.

It wasn't like Templars always needed valid reasons to make mages Tranquil.

Still, that had been a little while ago, and the subject of Duncan was more interesting to muse over. The man was here to recruit mages to the Wardens, no doubt about that—he didn't have to say so. But who?

"Enchanter Nalida," came Ellairia's voice, and the slender blonde elf trotted up to his table, robes swishing around her ankles. "Might I have a moment?"

"Certo," Corvis said, straightening in his chair. "What did you need?"

Brown eyes darting quickly to the floor, Ellairia wrung her hands together, looking troubled. "I have need of a rod of fire, and I was hoping you could sign off for one. I won't damage anything with it, promise."

"Rod of fire, mm?" As far as he knew, she'd never been interested in the elemental schools of magic. The only shock spell he'd ever seen her try had fizzled into sad nothingness the second she'd tried to summon it, and she'd stuck to the healing and spirit arts ever since. "Whatever for?"

"It's…" She scrubbed the back of her neck. "…personal."

"You can't think of a reason that's slightly more descriptive?"

Her face turned a soft shade of rose. "I guess I just decided I wanted to research…burning things."

Corvis raised an eyebrow. Right. Sure. "Did Owain send you for a signature? He mentioned you needed one from a senior enchanter, yes? And I'm fairly certain I can't qualify as a senior quite yet. Give it twenty more years."

"Oh. Drat." Ellairia's thin shoulders slumped, and Corvis could almost hear her spirits hit the floor with a wet, dreary thunk.

"But don't fret," Corvis said. "I picked up one from Owain a couple of days ago, to help an apprentice. I'll let you have it for a day. But only set fire to things that aren't alive, capisce? Or Templars. They don't count. Burn them to your heart's content."

"Thank you!" she exclaimed, bouncing on the balls of her feet. "I'll wait here while you get it. Thank you so much. I'll make it up to you, I swear it."

If anyone else had said they'd make it up to him, Corvis would've assumed they were offering to trade something of the more sexual variety for his efforts. Not an uncommon thing around here, surprisingly enough. But this was Ellairia Surana; he was fairly certain her mind had never traveled to such lewd places in her entire life.

"It's no trouble," he said, getting to his feet.

If anything…things in the Circle were about to get doubly interesting today.

It was strange, how easily plans went awry.

The rod of fire hadn't worked on the blasted door after all. Lily, who was apparently Jowan's secret lover that Ellie hadn't heard about until a few minutes ago, had realized with a start that the magical wards on the door were much too powerful even for a fiery blast. So they'd gone the long way round, not to mention fighting animated suits of armor and things that looked like miniature dragons with worm heads. Ellie, being a healer, had stayed out of the fighting and kept Jowan and Lily unharmed, for the most part.

Eventually they'd discovered a room within the grey stone chasms, a room that shared a wall with the phylactery chamber. Good fortune had smiled on them today, and one of the walls was rotting to the point of crumbling into little gravelly bits; even better, a strange dog statue that apparently magnified every magical effect stood facing the wall. The rod of fire had worked splendidly then, blasting the wall apart and allowing all three of them into the chamber.

Ellie had felt a strange, sickening sense of unease when Jowan had finally reached his phylactery and had dropped it on the stone floor, shattering the glass. Crimson blood pooled below the crystalline shards.

Something didn't feel right. And she couldn't decide what exactly that was.

Jowan and Lily, intent on immediate escape, had charged up the stairs and out of the repository; Ellie had ran after them, keeping pace, only to skid on her heels and halt when she saw the welcoming party waiting for them outside.

First Enchanter Irving. Knight-Commander Greagoir. Three templars. All with stiff shoulders and disappointed frowns. All staring at the three of them.

"So what you said was true, Irving," Greagoir said; his voice held none of the triumph Ellie anticipated.

Ellie remained silent, hanging her head in shame. No words she could string together would free her from this mess she'd gotten herself in. She'd taken a risk trying to free Jowan, and here was that risk now, come back to slap her in the face.

"G-Greagoir," Lily stuttered, obviously barely holding herself together.

"An initiate, conspiring with a blood mage," Greagoir said, pointing a gauntleted hand at Jowan. "I'm disappointed, Lily."

Ellie's heart stopped for a beat.

Blood mage? They'd sent for the Rite of Tranquility because Jowan was a blood mage? He'd asked for her help, trusted her, fought alongside her, been her friend for their whole childhoods, and yet he hadn't mentioned he was a blood mage? Her eyes blurred. Her cheeks heated to the point of discomfort. She felt betrayed, utterly betrayed by someone who she'd trusted and stood behind nearly her entire life.

Her head spun.

"The initiate seems shocked," Greagoir continued, "but fully in control of her own mind. As does the healer. Not thralls of the blood mage, then. You were right, Irving. The initiate has betrayed us. The Chantry will not let this go unpunished." He gave Ellie a sour look. "And this one. Newly a mage, and already flouting the rules of the Circle."

I'm dead, Ellie thought. I'm dead. There's no chance.

"It's not her fault!" Jowan said; whether that referred to Lily or Ellie remained unclear. "This was my idea!"

"I am disappointed in you, child," Irving said, his sad grey eyes boring into Ellie like a mining drill. She could barely stand.

"As Knight-Commander of the Templars here assembled," Greagoir announced, drawing on the full power of his commanding voice to silence Jowan and Lily when both began protesting, "I sentence this blood mage to death. And this initiate has scorned the Chantry and her vows. Take her to Aeonar. As for the young healer, well…" He turned a cold gaze to Ellie. "I will send for the Rite of Tranquility."

Ellie's knees threatened to knock together.

Whether or not Jowan felt remorse for sentencing Ellie to the same fate he'd been so desperate to escape from, he didn't say.

"The-the mage's prison?" Lily gasped as a Templar advanced on the three of them. "No! Please, no! Not there!"

"No!" Jowan screamed. "I won't let you touch her!"

He whipped out a knife and slashed his palm. Blood sprayed from the cut, making Ellie yelp in surprise and shield her face. Then Jowan shoved his hands forward and sick, twisted magic flooded out of them, too powerful to resist; the blast caught Ellie and she hit the floor, skidding a foot or two, her vision going black.

Ellairia's head felt like it had been crushed in a vice when she finally woke.

The rough, chilled stone floor was not a pleasant place to lie down on; her back had seized up by the time she tried to sit. She pushed herself to a sitting position, dizzy, her nerves tingling painfully all over her body. Her tongue felt like a swollen, useless lump in her mouth.

Her skin and robes were splattered with blackening blood; she looked like a crime scene. Blood stained the floor in telltale wave patterns, filling the air with its iron stench.

"I can't possibly imagine what happened here," she heard Corvis say from somewhere behind her.

She twisted to look at him. He was surveying the room at present, offering her a view of his aristocratic Antivan profile; to her shock, he himself didn't look terribly surprised by the bloody mess Jowan's magic had made.

"Enchanter Nalida," Irving groaned. "Help an old man up, would you? These old bones…"

"Certo," Corvis said, offering Irving his hand. Ellie watched his bicep flex as he all but hauled Irving to his feet.

"Where's Greagoir?" Irving said, steadying himself briefly on Corvis's arm before he let go.

"I knew it," the aforementioned Knight-Commander said; Ellie saw him get to his feet and help another Templar up. The other two Templars hadn't moved, and she couldn't see any swelling of their diaphragms beneath their armor. "Blood magic. But to overcome so many—I never thought him capable of such power."

Excuses tumbled through her head. He hid this from me. I didn't know about this. I'm not a blood mage. I'm hurt too. He HID THIS FROM ME. But she held her tongue.

"Jowan? A blood mage?" Corvis asked from behind her. "That one was full of surprises."

"Surprises, he says, as if the cook had announced there was a new kind of lunch meat on Tuesdays," Greagoir snapped. "Watch yourself, Nalida. I've had my eye on you for years."

Ellie blanched.

"Naturally," Corvis said, seemingly unfazed. "The idea of a mage having power makes you cry yourself to sleep at night. That, or you've had latent homosexual tendencies for years. This is a safe environment, Greagoir. Keep your eyes on male enchanters all you like."

Greagoir snarled. "Enough, or so help me, I will send a smite your way."

"I'd love to see you try."

"Gentlemen, gentlemen," Irving interrupted, his voice raspy and his eyes tight. "That's enough of that. Greagoir, Enchanter Nalida has always served the Circle well. Let's return to the situation at hand." He turned to fully face Greagoir, leaning on his staff. "Are you alright?"

"As good as can be, given the circumstances!" Greagoir snapped. "If you had let me act sooner, none of this would have happened."

Ellie barely stayed focused as Greagoir spotted Lily still standing in the corner and sentenced the poor girl to life in Aeonar's prison. Lily didn't deserve this; her shock at hearing of Jowan's magic, the betrayal clearly written across her face, the fact that she was still standing here, meant she had been deceived, just as Ellie had. But the Templars hauled her away regardless. She zoned out as Greagoir and Irving discussed her own Rite of Tranquility; Irving protested, but nothing he said could change the Knight-Commander's mind. Ellie would lose her connection to the Fade, and lose everything that came with it – her magic, her dreams, her feelings.

Everything.

And then someone new strode up to the them.

Ah, Duncan. They Grey Warden. A friendly face. He was in full armor now, a sharp sword at his belt, its steel glinting in the dim light of the tower.

"Knight-Commander, if I may?" Duncan said politely. Ellie turned to face him, wrapping her arms around herself; she needed to hug someone, but she'd have to suffice alone. "I am not only looking for mages to join the king's army. I am also recruiting for the Grey Wardens. I had originally come to recruit this enchanter," he gestured at Corvis, who nodded, like he'd known about it, "but both Irving and Wynne have spoken highly of this young healer, and I would like her to join the Warden ranks as well."

"WHAT?" Greagoir snapped, his head whipping so fast in Irving's direction Ellie thought it mightfly off. "You not only promised him one of our enchanters behind my back, but you recommended another as well?!"

"She has served the Circle well," Irving said, giving Ellie a pained smile that damn near broke her heart. "She would make an excellent Grey Warden, as would he."

Duncan's eyes were kind when he looked down at Ellie. "We look for dedication in our recruits. Fighting the darkspawn requires such dedication, often at the expense of all else."

"Absolutely not," Greagoir snarled. "This young one has aided and abetted a blood mage. And Enchanter Nalida cannot be trusted farther than you can throw him."

"All because I apparently look smug," Corvis said. "Hooray."

Greagoir whirled on him. "You were unfazed by Jowan's blood magic. Not to mention you were spotted letting young Surana borrow your rod of fire, which she used to tear down a wall into the repository. I could easily have you charged with aiding and abetting, as well."

Oh, Maker, Ellie thought. I implicated him. I've gotten him in serious trouble. Maker, Maker, Maker…

"Greagoir, mages are needed," Duncan said calmly. "We have need of healers, and we have need of those with a powerful command of the elements. Worse things plague this world than blood mages—you know that. As such, I will take this young mage under my wing and accept full responsibility for her actions. And I will also be recruiting this enchanter. If I must use the Right of Conscription, I will do so."

"No arguments from me," Corvis said.

Greagoir tossed his hands in the air. "You can't be serious!"

"Mangia merda e morte, Greagoir," Corvis shot. "We're out of your control, now. You don't have jurisdiction over Wardens."

"Bloody thorn in my side," the Templar snapped, before forcibly composing himself. "Fine. These two mages are your issue, Warden. Investigating Jowan's escape will have to be my number one priority at the moment."

He turned on his heel and strode away. Irving offered Ellie a sad, disappointed look before he followed Greagoir, the only alive Templar striding after him.

No goodbyes. No parting words of wisdom. Nothing. Just a sad look and a sight of the First-Enchanter's back as he left them there. Much as Ellie's throat tightened over that…she couldn't be upset over the idea of seeing the outside world again.

And Wynne. Wynne was out there.

Hope took root in her heart.

"Well," Corvis said, looking down at her when she turned to look up at him, "that was rather exciting, wasn't it? I could use a five-year nap. And whiskey."

"Not yet, I'm afraid." Duncan chuckled. "Come, the both of you. Let me explain our course of action."

The plan unfolded – Duncan still had business in Highever and somewhere in the Brecilian forest, so Corvis and Ellie would travel south to Ostagar by themselves. According to Duncan, the darkspawn were still held at bay by the old fortress, so the roads leading to Ostagar would be safe. Ellie smiled and glanced in the direction she knew the front doors to be, knowing after years of wondering, she'd finally get a chance to see the world outside.

If that meant fighting darkspawn, it didn't matter – she'd just been given a second chance, and she didn't intend to squander it.