For such a decisive action, the burning of Quentin's letter did not herald any further revelations. The problem of Karl, the power of the templars, and even the suspicion with which the Chantry viewed those with magical ability did not crumble to ashes along with the letter. In short, the morning progressed as it always had—and always would, Orsino hazarded.

As the bells struck eleven, a knock roused the First Enchanter from his administrative tasks. The precise timing of the knock alerted him to the identity of the visitor and he rose from behind his desk in order to open the door.

His midmorning ritual: crafting herbal teas. It was as close as Orsino came to original research—hence the initial lure of Quentin's ideas. Yet even this simple indulgence had raised the suspicions of the Knight-Commander and the First Enchanter of the Kirkwall Circle was only permitted to partake in his hobby under the watchful eye of Meredith's personal assistant, Elsa.

Today, the tray she held was lined with an assortment of small jars, each filled with a different ingredient. Once Orsino greeted and bid her enter, Elsa moved with measured step and set the tray down on a side table. She picked up the small kettle which rested in the centre of the tray and settled it near the grate of the fire so that it might remain warm.

"Good morning, First Enchanter," she intoned in a flat voice. "You discussed a desire to create mint flavours. I have brought the necessary ingredients, as well as a selection of appropriate recipes."

Orsino bit his tongue and contented himself with a non-committal hmm. Elsa often brought him recipes for flavours, leaving the neatly trimmed pieces of parchment on the tray in front of the jars and remarking that she had found the results to be of satisfactory taste. The elf suspected that she simply could not understand his penchant for crafting a flavour which she judged to have already been mastered. It was a trait of her Tranquility, he was sure.

The woman turned from the fire and busied herself with arranging the jars of ingredients into a single neat row while Orsino looked on. He had long since discovered that it was more trouble to disturb her process than it was to simply allow her to complete the task.

When he had first been brought to the Gallows from Ansburg, Elsa had been an impetuous young apprentice. Rather than rile against the Chantry however, she had taken a more insidious route; Elsa delighted in engaging the templars in religious debate. There had been precious few who could match her near perfect recall of passages from the Chant of Light and if one were inclined to be churlish, her Tranquility may very well have been approved simply to quieten that grating voice.

The woman straightened, her task complete, and turned to the elf. "I am finished, First Enchanter."

"Very good, Elsa," he nodded. Given recent events, the idea of questioning the woman about her Tranquility was tempting but he knew what responses he could expect, none of which would actually help him towards a solution. He gestured towards the door. "I will be sure to inform you of my success with this morning's experiment."

Standing at the window of his office, looking down on the main courtyard of the Gallows, Orsino conceded defeat. His peppermint tea was an unmitigated failure. It was not entirely his fault, however; the bitterness he tasted was only in part related to the number of mint leaves which he had stewed.

Enough was enough. Setting the delicate cup and saucer down on his desk, Orsino disregarded the incomplete reports and unfinished letters and strode from the room. The heaviness in his heart began to lighten as he made his way through the hallways of the Gallows towards the prison nestled in the very centre of the fortress. His progress was marked by countless templar-knights but none saw reason to intervene as he passed by their posts. He had a sense that might well change in a short while.

As he approached the guard post nearest the cells, a young templar stood to attention on hearing the footsteps. Recognising the First Enchanter, however, she relaxed her pose and a poorly-disguised scepticism clouded her expression. "First Enchanter. The Knight-Commander did not send word..."

"I wish to speak with the apprentice."

"I have orders that he is to see no one."

Orsino arched an eyebrow at the young initiate. Meredith had often sought to shackle his influence as best she was able, but she was yet to uncover a means to diminish the fear with which many of her youngest recruits regarded the First Enchanter. "I am no 'one'."

The templar gave a brisk nod, abashed, and headed down the corridor towards the occupied cell. Following in her wake, Orsino felt his skin begin to prickle and the sensation grew more intense as they neared the cell.

"Who permitted you to smite him?" he demanded of the templar, his face contorted into a snarl.

The templar started and spun round to face him, her face pale and her eyes darting about. "It wasn't me, Firs Enchanter. Knight-Templar Alrik spoke further with him this morning. He said that the..." there was a hesitation as the templar remembered who she was addressing and scrabbled for the appropriate title, "apprentice had attempted to attack him."

"If that were so, do you truly believe that only a junior member of the Order would be permitted to stand guard?" Orsino retorted. "Open the cell."

"The Knight-Commander..."

"Shares her responsibility with me. Part of that responsibility includes the welfare of all within this Circle of Magi. Open the cell."

The templar bowed her head and plucked a key from the chain on her belt. She raised her arm and struck the bars of the cell with her gauntlet while barking that the apprentice was to move against the far wall.

A hunched figure crawled into the dim light which the flaming torches lining the corridor had cast. His movements were stilted and he slumped against the wall in an awkward position.

The templar barked another command and the apprentice cowered but held out his hands for inspection. They were bound.

"What is this?" Orsino raged. "Why is he bound? Is this more of Alrik's doing?"

"Alrik said that it prevents him from casting."

"If he had been able to cast, do you not think he might have healed himself?" the elf gritted his teeth. "Open the cell and leave us." Seeing that the templar was about to protest, Orsino fixed another steely glare on the young initiate and hoped that in that single look he personified every fear she had ever held about mages. "Go."

She swallowed but obediently turned the key in lock. He half-expected her to demand that the cell be locked behind him but she had obviously come to the same conclusion as he—even the most powerful mage would be hard pressed to escape from the very bowels of this templar stronghold.

Removing the key, she walked away and the sound of her receding footsteps began to fade into the gloom. There were far more than was necessary to return to her post, however. The woman was seeking out her superiors.

Aware that he had a limited amount of time, Orsino stepped into the cell. Karl shrank back, pressing himself against the wall in panic, but relaxed when common sense prevailed that there was no such thing as an elven templar.

"May I come near?" Orsino requested quietly.

The man struggled into a sitting position and nodded.

Ignoring the squalor of the cell, Orsino moved to his side and knelt down, murmuring various healing incantations. He rested a hand on Karl's wrists and focused his energy on the chaffed and bleeding skin but stopped short of removing the bonds; it would go worse for the man if it was discovered that Orsino had taken upon himself to relieve him of his restraints.

"One moment," the elf murmured, rising to his feet and returning to the recently abandoned guard post. He snatched up a small provision of food which had been delivered in anticipation of the midday meal and returned to Karl.

The man's eyes widened as he caught sight of the food.

"Only a few mouthfuls, friend." Orsino pressed the bread into Karl's hands so that he might feed himself and maintain some sliver of dignity. "You will make yourself unwell if you do otherwise."

Karl nodded obediently. He took a few measured bites and then Orsino held a cup to his lips so that he might drink. He eagerly sipped at the water before drawing back and clearing his throat. His voice was rough but he managed to struggle out, "thank you."

"Do not thank me yet. I am here to better understand why you were arrested. Although I do not believe that you will readily admit to practising blood magic."

Wordlessly, the man held up his bound hands. Dirty and with various nicks and scabs, there was no telltale slash of repeatedly healed flesh.

"Speak quickly. We will not be unobserved for much longer."

Karl shook his head. "An ol... old friend. From Ferelden."

"An old friend? Do you mean a fellow mage? Why are they not imprisoned?"

"No. He's—was—an apostate."

"I do not understand."

"He spent his time in Ferelden escaping from the Circle. The Warden-Commander discovered him and recruited him. He's a Grey Warden now, free from the Chantry. He's here somewhere in the city."

"I see. I am not privy to much that occurs in Kirkwall but I have not heard any news about Grey Wardens or any business which might bring them here."

Karl coughed repeatedly, shaking his head again. "He's a Grey Warden, but he's not. Something happened and I think he is on his own. It was only a garbled message. Alrik must have overheard. First Enchanter, I promise..."

"Be still," Orsino soothed, laying a hand on the man's shoulder. If an apostate, protected by the Order of Grey Wardens, was living somewhere in Kirkwall, then he could understand what had prompted the excessive actions of the templars. Understand, but not condone.

The man gave a shuddering breath, trembling beneath the elf's hand. "I didn't do anything wrong. Please, don't let them make me Tranquil, please."

In the distance, the echoing thud of footsteps revealed that the young templar had found someone more able to deal with the troublesome First Enchanter.

Knowing he was unlikely to gain any further meaningful detail from the man, Orsino concentrated on administering final healing spells in an attempt to ease the man's confinement. He hoped that Karl might overlook that his pleas went unanswered.

"First Enchanter Orsino." The low greeting of Knight-Captain Cullen signalled that his time with Karl was most definitely at an end. "Your presence here is over-stepping your bounds."

Orsino straightened and turned away from Karl to face the Knight-Captain. "A pity you do not see it fitting to step up to your bounds, let alone step over them."

"I understand that this is a difficult situation for you, First Enchanter," Cullen maintained his respectful tone, even as the dull clinks of his armour revealed that he had tensed. "However, this apprentice is imprisoned for his own safety."

Orsino knew he should have expected as much from the Knight-Captain; the man had been studiously toeing the party line ever since his disgrace at Kinloch Hold. While it was true that Cullen exhibited a more even-handed approach to the mages than some of the others, in that moment the First Enchanter was disinclined to be diplomatic.

"We mages do not aspire to martyrdom, Knight-Captain," he spat. "Do not ease your conscience with declarations of concern for others."

Unperturbed, Cullen stepped into the cell so that he no longer blocked the doorway. "I must ask that you leave now, First Enchanter. I will speak with the Knight-Commander and communicate your concerns."

"Do not trouble yourself, Knight-Captain. I will speak with her myself." Whirling round, the elf murmured a farewell to Karl before storming out, leaving the Knight-Captain and his young recruit to lock the cell.

The Knight-Commander paced her small office with her hands clasped behind her back.

Orsino stood, not having been invited to sit, and watched the performance with a closed expression. He had allowed his temper to break through in his altercation with Knight-Captain Cullen but he could not risk aggravating the Knight-Commander in the same way.

"I would have wished that you had come to me directly with your concerns, Orsino."

"I find it difficult to believe you were not aware of the problematic details of the order for Karl's Tranquility, Knight Commander. You did not observe the absence of concrete evidence, for example?"

"I trust to the integrity of my men," she responded coolly.

"Your trust is misplaced, Knight-Commander."

She bristled but retained her cool demeanour. "I see this has provoked a reaction from you, First Enchanter. It seems this matter warrants further investigation." She strode to the door and called to one of the guards standing in the hallway. "Bring Alrik to me."

Cullen must have anticipated what would follow the meeting between Knight-Commander and First Enchanter because it was within a short time that the man in question was escorted into the office. He stood in front of Meredith and dutifully reiterated his concerns regarding Karl Thekla.

"It was noted that one of the messengers from the city was intent on speaking with the apprentice. He had been paid a good amount of coin to ensure the message was passed on, but only to Karl Thekla. He had been given a detailed description of the apprentice and he refused to entrust his message to the templars."

Orsino clenched his jaw for fear of what rebukes might spill from his lips.

"He was directed towards Karl who was taking his daily exercise around the courtyard. I opted to observe the exchange in the hopes of alleviating our suspicions roused by the secrecy. Unfortunately our fears proved justified. The messenger relayed that a man by the name of Anders was in the city, that he had escaped from the Circle but had become bound to the Grey Wardens, and he wished to renew contact with Karl. The message was relayed only once and then the messenger departed."

Unable to hold his tongue further, the First Enchanter blurted out, "for this, you decide that the Rite of Tranquility is an appropriate punishment to inflict on Karl?"

The Knight-Commander studied the elf for a few moments but made no comment. She shifted her gaze back to Alrik in silent invitation that he continue with his debrief of events.

"I was unable to persuade my superiors to have the messenger apprehended, however. I thought it would be advantageous to determine how the messenger had come by this message, but there was not thought to be sufficient cause. When informed, Knight-Captain Cullen remarked that he was familiar with this Anders and he asserted that the apostate would not have made direct contact with the messenger or his master."

A frown flitted across Meredith's brow at mention of Cullen.

"This is why I submitted the request for the Rite of Tranquility directly to you, Knight-Commander," Alrik had evidently caught the movement and began to press home his argument. "I did not wish to offend Knight-Captain Cullen but I was adamant that the connection between Karl Thekla and this apostate Anders could not be tolerated. Since we have yet to capture the apostate, we must do what we can to sever the unrest which could be caused within the Gallows as a result of his contact."

"Has Karl been questioned with regards his knowledge of the apostate?" Meredith enquired, her expression and voice both masterfully controlled.

"It has not been possible as yet," Alrik shook his head.

"We are certain that Karl does have knowledge of this apostate, however?"

"Yes, Knight-Commander," the man nodded. "I would respectfully ask that it is not forgotten that this is an apostate who insults the very law of the Chantry through his connections with the Grey Wardens." He paused, as though weighing up his options, and then added, "there may also be connections between this apostate and the missing recruits."

Orsino felt his mouth twist into a sneer but had no inclination to fight against it. Missing recruits might go some way to explain the unease he had noted amongst the Order, but Alrik was relying on assumptions and paranoia to advance his argument.

"Apostates have no wish to draw attention to themselves, much less kidnap templar recruits," the elf stated, his tone withering.

"We have discovered corpses drained of blood, Knight-Commander..." Alrik began, refusing to acknowledge Orsino even while he defended his assertions against the First Enchanter's observations.

"Karl had no mark on him," Orsino spoke over the templar-knight and addressed Meredith directly. "Such extensive use of blood magic cannot be hidden with healing spells. Strip him; you will find no evidence that he is involved in anything other than mistreatment by his captors." At that, the elf succumbed to the bubbling rage in the pit of his stomach and he turned his head to level a glower at Alrik

The templar curled his lip at the accusation but continued to focus on the Knight-Commander. Apparently not even the First Enchanter was worthy of his full attention.

Meredith held up a hand. "He may have only been an accomplice but it seems clear that he is implicit."

"An accomplice to what?" Orsino demanded hotly. "You have no idea what crime you should accuse him of! I cannot agree to the Order of Tranquility without evidence. You have failed to provide it, Knight-Commander. I cannot and will not sign."

"Evidence." The Knight-Commander repeated, rolling the word around in her mouth before giving an abrupt nod. "Very well, Orsino; we will uncover your evidence." She straightened and addressed Alrik. "You have my permission to question Karl Thekla with regards these circumstances. I expect a full report by this evening."

Alrik bowed with his arms crossed against his chest. "Yes, Knight-Commander."

"You may go. Send word that Knight-Captain Cullen is to meet with me at once."

The man bowed again before striding from the room.

Orsino regarded the Knight-Commander and hoped that the wariness which was causing his skin to prickle at sight of the woman could not be seen on his face. "May I be so bold as to enquire what you intend, Knight-Commander?"

"I intend to uncover your evidence," she responded with a thin smile, turning her attention from the door to the elf. "I intend that the Knight-Captain will have all the Fereldan apprentices and mage escorted into a room, and that their belongings will be searched before each of them are questioned." Her smile faded as her gaze pierced through him. "I thank you for your diligence in insisting that we uncover the full extent of this matter, First Enchanter."

Herbalism classes were created solely for the purpose of defining the limits of patience, Marian had decided. Sitting in the small classroom, surrounded by herbs which all looked the same while Enchanter Gyle waxed lyrical over the differences in the shape of leaves, Marian knew what it meant to lose the will to live.

Thank the Maker, then, for Rory. A young boy of only eight or nine had been assigned as her partner—an act he took to be a personal insult, as though he alone was tasked with educating this woman he took to be entirely inept. In his tousled head, plant and herbs were catalogued in a manner Marian could only marvel at. She had a sneaking suspicion that if he cut himself, he would bleed green.

The class task for today was to craft a small health potion and Rory had been quick to take the lead. He was in the process of adding some leaf or root—elfroot, maybe?—to a vial filled with a blue-tinged water. It was supposed to be a joint effort—as all their tasks were—but they both knew that Rory was the brains in their pairing and Marian saw no harm in allowing her young apprentice companion his moment to shine.

It was an odd position to be in. With no official training, her skills in some areas were severely lacking while those talents which had proved most useful in her previous life in Lothering meant that she was placed in classes with some of the most experienced apprentices. It amused her that, when not tasked with deciphering the instructions for a spell, Marian was in fact a competent elemental caster.

The liquid in the small glass jar in front of them began to deepen from into a deep red and Rory let out a soft crow of satisfaction.

"There!"

Marian gave a small cheer and offered him a round of applause. "Well done, Rory! Much better than I could have done."

He granted her to a scathing look but before the youngster could treat her to a succinct summary of her failings—a talent of his which she did not admire quite so much as his herbalism— the abrupt arrival of two templar guards disturbed the quiet buzz of the apprentices throughout the room . While one lingered in the doorway, the second templar marched towards Enchanter Gyle at the far end of the room.

The sight of the templar prompted Rory to sidle round the desk, experiment forgotten, and press himself against Marian. She snaked a reassuring arm around his shoulders and flashed him a smile. Her age often acted as a deterrent for many of the templars but she had witnessed the way in which the children were intimidated, especially if they had been tagged as troublemakers. Rory was one who had found himself in disgrace many a time.

At the front of the room, the templar spoke in hushed tones with the Enchanter. The elf gave a timid nod and pointed towards the back of the room in the direction of Marian and Rory.

Beneath her arm, Marian felt Rory begin to tremble and she gave him a quick squeeze as signal that he was to control himself. The boy had done nothing wrong—at least as far as she knew —but he was acting as though he had planned to overthrow the Grand Cleric herself.

The templar advanced on the pair and he cast a wary eye over the boy before settling on Marian.

"Hawke?"

She nodded. "Yes, Ser."

"You are to come with me."

"At once, Ser."

Disentangling her arm from Rory, who practically sagged against the desk, Marian stood and walked out into the corridor with the templar at her heels. The one who had remained at the door grasped at her elbow and steered her in the correct direction so that she was marched down the hallway and through the Gallows. They met with a larger group of mages and apprentices, escorted by a large contingent of templar guards, and were shepherded into a dormitory in the East Tower.

The room had been emptied of furniture but as the templars fanned out around the walls, it was clear that the mages and apprentices were to settle themselves regardless. Looking about her, Marian recognised some of the faces but it was the sound of home which was prevalent in the murmured conversation that caught her full attention. They were all from Ferelden.

"What's going on?" she asked a man standing near her.

He grunted and shook his head, casting a furtive glance towards the templar guards. It was a hint to refrain from talking and she realised that the conversations around her were beginning to ebb as the others had come to the same conclusion.

Sinking down on the floor, Marian was content to follow the general consensus although she strained to overhear the whispered snatches of conversation which continued in fits and bursts. A single question began to be repeated with more frequency than any other: where's Karl?

Marian could not place a face to the name, but she recognised it from her elemental classes. That would mean that Karl was one of the more accomplished apprentices and the most advanced Fereldan apprentices were the transfers from Kinloch Hold. His absence was proving to be a source of disconcertion for his friends. One had assumed that he was with another friend who had believed him to be with someone else. Apparently, no one had seen him for at least two days.

The slam of the door coupled with the templars standing to attention caught everyone's attention. Knight-Captain Cullen stood a few paces inside the room with a sheaf of vellum in his hand.

"Your cooperation is appreciated," he began in a clear voice, his gaze flickering over the faces in front of him, "while we investigate claims which have been raised against you."

Apprehensive glances flew amongst the gathered group but all knew to keep any remarks to themselves.

"The Knight-Commander will speak with each of you independently. This matter will be resolved in due course. However, until such a time, you are not permitted to leave this room and all conversation is forbidden."

Marian flicked her hair from her eyes with a heavy sigh. Suddenly, herbalism didn't seem so bad.

Marian had never wished so badly to be an Amell. The Knight-Commander had ordered that the apprentices and mages be sorted into alphabetical order and Marian was forced to endure the unwavering scrutiny of the templar guards for some hours before she was summoned to face the inquisition.

Escorted from the room, she was ushered into an anteroom some way down the corridor. The Knight-Commander sat behind the desk with reams of vellum spread in front of her. The neat headings under which were written long paragraphs resembled a very full record. Marian cursed inwardly for not anticipating that the templars would take a vested interest in the background of the mages under their care.

"Marian Hawke." The guard accompanying announced by way of confirmation and the Knight-Commander gave a brisk nod in acknowledgement. The guard saluted and excused himself, shutting the door behind him.

Meredith took a moment to look Marian up and down before she spoke. "You are amongst our newest apprentices, are you not?"

"Yes, Knight-Commander." With no offer of a chair, Marian stood in front of the desk with her hands clasped loosely in front of her. "I've only been here a few months."

"You travelled to Kirkwall with your family to escape the Blight, correct?"

"Yes."

The Knight-Commander lowered her eyes to the papers and scanned the information which had been collected. "I see that they remain in Kirkwall."

"As far as I know," Marian agreed tentatively. "I've had no contact with them since I came to the Gallows. As per Chantry rules."

Meredith gave a humourless chuckle but did not raise her eyes. "Indeed. Well, Marian, allow me to inform you that your brother is making his name known amongst the lesser desirables of this city. I am told he keeps company with a dwarf and low-ranking city guard."

"I see." The low-ranking city guard had to be Aveline. Marian was relieved that the obstinate red-head might still be keeping an eye on Carver. She supposed that the dwarf was the storyteller from the Hanged Man; Varric. She hoped that meant her brother was still in partnership with him.

"It seems your brother—Carver, is it?—makes regular trips into Darktown." The Knight-Commander looked up at last and her chair creaked as she leant forward, locking her gaze with the apprentice. "Why might that be, Marian?"

"I'm not sure," she responded in genuine bewilderment. The only reason either she or Carver had ever ventured into Darktown was on behalf of Athenril. Since Carver had been eager to part ways with the smuggler, his continued association with Varric implied that their business venture into the Deep Roads remained on course. Marian could only think of one other reason why her brother might spend time in that area. "My mother likely wouldn't approve. If anything, it will be to do with my uncle."

"Ah, yes," Meredith bowed her head to glance over the reports once more. "Gamlen Amell. Extensive gambling debts."

Marian let out a wearied sigh. "That's him." A sudden fear struck at her and she cast a beseeching look towards the Knight-Commander. "Are my family well?"

"You remain concerned for them?"

"Of course," Marian frowned. "They're my family."

"Yet it is your family which makes your presence within the Gallows all the more suspect," the Knight-Commander stated harshly. "Your father is Malcolm Hawke."

Marian only nodded. She loved her father, but she had never ridden herself of the sense that both she and Bethany were in some ways a disappointment to him because of their magic. She could only guess at what he would think of her having voluntarily joined a Circle of Magi.

"He has not been sighted within Kirkwall."

"No. He passed away about four years ago."

"A convenient excuse," Meredith scoffed. "Am I really to believe that Malcolm Hawke's daughter willingly joins the very Circle from which he escaped?"

Marian blinked. Her father had never spoke of it but she had known he had once been a Circle mage, though she had assumed that he had met her mother having already escaped the Chantry. She had never imagined that it might have been the Gallows that he had escaped from. What had her mother been thinking by insisting that the family return to the city?

"There were also rumours that he became involved with the Grey Wardens."

"I... had no idea," she stammered in a daze. She didn't understand how that fitted in with anything else, but it seemed important to the older woman. How was it that the Knight-Commander of Kirkwall knew more of her family than she did?

"Given that your father resisted submitting to Chantry law, what would convince you to see the error of his ways?"

The threat of betraying Orsino became her new focus. She chose to push aside the revelations surrounding her father in favour of concentrating on more immediate concerns.

"Kirkwall is not the haven for apostates that we had been led to believe," she muttered, acting as though the Knight-Commander had forced the confession from her. "It's true I had hoped that I could hide away here with my family, but the nature of the city... hemmed in with criminals at every turn. I only have a basic skill with a weapon and I found I had to turn to my magic to defend myself. With the templar presence, I knew it would only be a matter of time. I wanted to make the choice willingly than be forced."

"Your enlightenment seems contrived, at best," the Knight-Commander shook her head before calling out to the guard standing in the hall. When the guard entered into the room, she turned back to the apprentice. "I wish to examine this issue further, Marian."

Marian offered a submissive agreement.

"You will be removed to the prison for the time being."

The templar guard deftly caught hold of Marian's wrists and expertly bound them before she could even protest.

"Wait!" she blurted out, panicked. "Wait, no, surely that's not necessary, Knight-Commander?"

Meredith glanced at the rope binding her hands before lazily raising her gaze to meet Marian's eye. "Our trust in you is shaken, Marian. There is no other option. Rest assured, if you are proven innocent then you will be returned to your rightful place in the Circle."

With a flick of her hand, the Knight-Commander indicated that she was finished and Marian was forcibly ushered from the room.

Marian lay sprawled on the floor—it was more comfortable than the stone slab which passed as a bed—and stared up at the ceiling. At least, she would have if she had been able to see it. In the dank gloom of the prison cell, for all she knew, up was in fact down.

She wished she had a book. Arcane magic, ancient culinary recipes, children's stories; anything would be a preferable alternative to the incessant circling of thoughts in her head.

Before she was reduced to examining each and every detail of this Maker forsaken day, the scrape of boots coupled with grunts and curses alerted her to the arrival of another prisoner in the cell next to hers. A thud signalled that the prisoner had been deposited in the cell but there was no indignant objection or cry of pain.

"Clean him up," a gruff voice ordered.

The slop of water in a bucket and then the patter of droplets against stone could be heard. Manoeuvring the best she was able with bound hands, Marian slunk nearer the edge of her cell, careful to keep against the wall just in case the templars decided to check on her.

"Shit, Alrik really did him over. He'll need a healer," another voice, different from the first, swore.

"Alrik likes them to suffer."

"What if the First Enchanter pays another visit? Or the Knight-Captain? It's you and me who'll suffer for it, not Alrik."

"He's fine. Look," there was a moment of silence before a sharp slap. "Wake up."

A low groan signalled that the prisoner had regained some consciousness.

"See?" the same voice remarked. "If he dies during the night, it'll probably be a blessing for him. Alrik is determined to see him made Tranquil."

"Poor bastard," the second voice—the one who had suggested a healer—sighed.

"Careful the Knight-Commander doesn't hear you; she'll have you down as a mage sympathiser, Thrask."

"Tranquility is a violation. It robs them of their souls. It would be better to kill them outright rather than force them to endure a lifetime as emotionless husks," the voice—Thrask—muttered. "I'll fetch one of the apprentices in the morning. They can usually be persuaded to keep quiet if they see it's in the interests of other mages."

"Suit yourself. I won't be losing sleep over it."

"These Fereldan transfers have suffered enough," Thrask argued. "They don't need to be brutalised by the Order."

Marian stiffened, her head now resting against the cell bars as she feigned sleep. Karl.

After a time, the templars left the cell—one hit her bars, commanding her to get back—before leaving the two prisoners to the dank darkness.

She heard a whimper and her heart lurched. She called out, so soft that it was barely audible.

"Karl?"

The whimper eased but she could just make out the very quiet snuffling of sobs.

"Your friends are worried about you, Karl. Do you know what's going on?"

Still nothing.

Obstinate to the last, Marian pressed against the bars of the cell to see if she could catch sight of the templars. There was a glow of torch light a short distance away but from the muffled conversation, it did not appear that the templars were paying particular attention to the prisoners. She realised she didn't really care if they were, anyway: years of watching over her younger siblings had forged her into a protector which was much a part of her identity as her magic.

"Goodnight, Karl," she called, hoping he would take comfort from the tone of her voice as she tried to pour as much kindness and tenderness into it as she could. "You're not alone now; just remember that."

Thanks to EasternViolet for her beta magic!

I usually respond to reviews via PM but since that isn't possible for Guest reviews, I'd just like to say thank you to the Guest who commented on Chapter 2 :)
As ever, thank you to all who read, review or follow this little tale.