A gift for the lovely Ventisquear as part of the CMDA Secret Santa Exchange. Many thanks to Phthalo and Miasma-Shadow for their beta talents.

Spite ate away all that was good, kind, and loving till nothing was left but the spite itself, coiled 'round my heart like a great worm.
And in my darkest hour, I turned from Her and vowed that I would destroy Her.
At the moment of Her death I knew what I had done, and I wept.
I shall bring the lands of my fathers to Her Word. Therein lies their salvation and mine.
And She came to me in a vision and laid Her hand on my heart.
Her touch was like fire that did not burn. And by Her touch, I was made pure again.
Despair not, said She, for your betrayal was Maker-blessed and returned me to His side.
I am forgiven.

~ Canticle of Maferath, now a part of the Dissonant Verses

Dressed only in his smalls, Jowan rummaged through a small clothes chest at the foot of his bed, a singed robe discarded near his feet. Despite the mid-afternoon silence of the dormitory, he could hear—still!—the laughter of the class as his fire-casting resulted in a back-draft of flame and smoke. His shame had only been compounded when Elijah Surana, so-called friend and all-round show off, immediately performed the spell as though a master of the elements. Was there nothing that Fade-favoured elf could not do?

And all for the sake of a play! The time-honoured tradition of depicting the burning of Andraste as a means of celebrating All Soul's Day was not something which interested Jowan—he was not one of the Faithful, after all. Yet it had been deemed that including an apprentice in the closing scenes of the play in order to light the pyre was justified in terms of artistic flair. That, Jowan thought bitterly, and the ever pressing need to remind the audience why those with magic must be kept in Circles.

Continuing to rifle through the clothes chest in the hopes of finding a robe not quite as crumpled as the rest, Jowan caught his fingers against the edge of something sharp and he let out a sharp yelp, wrenching his hand back and cradling it against his chest. Muttering beneath his breath, he cursed his forgetfulness. A small shard of glass from a broken vial nestled amongst the folds of the robes at the very bottom of the chest. A more subtle choice than a blood-stained dagger, Jowan had appropriated the fragment after a previous incident where Elijah had humiliated him—another elemental-based spell, if he recalled correctly. Sometimes it felt like the forbidden arts were the only way to prove he was capable of his Harrowing…

Jowan shook the thoughts from his head. Sucking on his injured finger, he grabbed the nearest robe and hauled it over his head. Dressed once more, he headed from the dormitory towards the classroom—admittedly, he chose the longest route but he was indeed returning to class. The fact that it might take him the rest of the afternoon was neither here nor there.

Yet it was this unusual route which led him past one of the vast halls in which important gatherings were held. This balmy summer afternoon, a number of Chantry initiates flitted about the hall as a Sister did her best to offer direction to a pretty blonde-haired girl standing on a makeshift stage.

"Molly, to portray Our Lady Andraste with poor posture is surely a sin in itself! Stand straight, girl."

Flicking her long hair over one shoulder, the girl heaved a sigh and straightened up. Recommencing with her recital, the girl stuttered her way through what Jowan generously assumed was a verse from the Chant of Light before the Sister shook her head with a click of her tongue.

"No, Molly! The Maker strike us down if you truly believe that is the Canticle of Andraste!"

Captivated by the chaos, Jowan ventured nearer to the doorway. Apprentices and initiates were forbidden to interact but this was too good a shambles to ignore. Perhaps his spell-casting would not be so out of place if there were the quality of the performance! What a way to celebrate All Soul's Day.

While Molly began a fresh desecration of the Chant, the irritating sound of whispered mutterings distracted Jowan from enjoying the unfolding disaster. Glancing away from the spectacle, he discovered one of the initiates partly obscured by scenery, engrossed in her task of painting and speaking to herself as she did so. She was reciting the very Canticle which Molly was currently destroying and from what little he knew, this russet-haired initiate was word perfect.

"And there I saw the Black City,
Its towers forever stain'd,
Its gates forever shut.
Heaven has been filled with silence,
I knew then,
And cross'd my heart with shame."

Jowan grew still. The Chant had only ever been a perfunctory refrain, a rhythm of which drummed out the dull beat of his life within the Circle, but the deep-seated belief with which the girl spoke somehow resonated within him, soothing his soul. There was a reverence in her voice which was all too often absent in the mouths of others.

Her conviction, simple yet heartfelt, compelled him to speak. "Why aren't you on the stage?"

The girl gave a start and her brush created a jagged line across the backdrop. She first scowled at the paintbrush and then at him.

"Sorry," Jowan hastily offered, though it could not deter his initial intention. "But you know the words. She doesn't. And you say them like they mean something."

"They do mean something," she retorted. "They are the words of Our Lady."

"I know, I know. I just mean… it's obvious how important they are when you say them."

Lips pursed, the girl eyed him with all the suspicion befitting that of a templar. "Shouldn't you see a healer?"

"What? Oh." As he looked down at himself, his confusion gave way to understanding. His finger continued to bleed and he was in danger of decorating the floor with droplets of blood. "Yes, you're probably right. Wouldn't want them thinking I was a blood mage now, would I?" He laughed weakly.

A shadow of a smile graced her lips. "Anyone who can appreciate the Canticle of Andraste is unlikely to be a blood mage."

"Well, I can't be one anyway. Haven't gone through my Harrowing." He wished his tongue would still. "I'm Jowan, by the way."

Hesitating, she cast a furtive glance over her shoulder towards the Sister. Turning back to face Jowan, she hooked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "Lily."

"Nice to meet you, Lily," he smiled, retreating a few steps as he sensed that she was wary of trouble.

He lingered in the doorway, just out of sight of the Sister… and right in the line of sight of a patrolling templar. Having observed the wound to his hand, Ser Franc was keen to ensure that Jowan was accompanied to the infirmary with minimal delay which ended all further opportunity for snatched conversation between apprentice and initiate.

What with all the additional points of interest along the way, by the time Jowan was finally ready to return to class, the teaching day had ended. So it was not until evening meal that Jowan had to face the enduring mockery of his friend.

"What happened to you?" the perpetually blessed Elijah demanded with a wide grin, shuffling up the long wooden bench so that Jowan could sit beside him. "You never came back to class."

Jowan shrugged, his attention on his plate as he pushed the food about with his fork. "Took me a while to get cleaned up."

"Well, you'll be pleased to know the whole class voted for you to be a part of the play. I think even Wynne was tempted to agree. She had this look in her eye; you know, the one she gets which makes me certain she's got a wild past. Yeah, that look."

"High Enchanter Wynne hasn't got a wild past."

"Oh, she has. She's too serene not to have done something. I wonder…"

"I take it Enchanter Stevy didn't agree, regardless of what Wynne wanted?" Jowan cut through the elf's musings.

"Hm? Oh, the play. Yes, Stevy said she thought it was perhaps too literal a performance if all sinners were consumed in flames. Bad luck, Jowan. Rivi got the part instead."

"Not you then?"

With a snort, Elijah shook his head. "Me, I was hoping for the part of Maferath. But apparently even the traitor who murdered the bride of the Maker can't be an elf. Apparently he wasn't that unfortunate."

"Maferath supposedly had a beard, didn't he?" Jowan pointed out, unwilling to be drawn into yet another discussion on the institutionalised racism of the Circle. Elijah always won, mostly because what he said had truth in it. "You'd never hide your face behind a beard."

"What, with this chiselled jaw-line? Are you kidding me?" The blonde-haired elf grinned again. His perpetual good mood was never far; it stood him in good stead. "Besides, I'd hate to rival the rugged look you've got going on right now."

The goading finally paid off. Brushing his hand over the stubble covering his cheek, Jowan spluttered with laughter. "Well, it's probably just as well you're not Maferath. The girl playing Andraste is terrible."

Elijah arched an eyebrow. "How would you know? It's a Chantry initiate who plays Andraste. Us mere apprentices are forbidden to interact with the initiates."

"I passed by the hall where they were rehearsing. The girl has no idea of her lines."

It was the turn of the elf to begin to splutter, eyes flashing in his mirth. "And how would you know which were the right lines?"

Jowan shrugged, cursing himself for having been drawn on the subject. "Someone told me."

Immediately Elijah was alert. "Now now, Jowan. In a rehearsal where only initiates are involved, pray tell who told you such a thing?"

"An initiate," he grumbled, adding peevishly beneath his breath, "obviously."

"Was it a girl?" the elf enquired in a sing-song voice.

Narrowing his eyes, Jowan first glared at his friend before feigning a look of recognition at something behind him. "Isn't that Anders?"

Even though the mages was not permitted in the dining hall during the apprentice mealtimes, Elijah still whirled round. "Where?"

Chuckling beneath his breath, Jowan resumed eating.

"Oh, very funny," Elijah muttered, though a smile played about his mouth as he settled back down again. "And if I knew the name of this girl, I'd play the same trick on you. But at least I keep my sights realistic; you know the initiates take vows."

Jowan grunted. In a bid to change the subject, he remarked, "you know what? I think you can't grow a beard. That's the real reason they said you couldn't be Maferath."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Elijah dismissed the insult with a roll of his eyes. "Just remember, even Maferath acknowledged that no man could compare to a god. Your initiate has already chosen the Maker."

"An expert fire-caster, a noted scholar on the Chant, an authority on the interaction between initiates and apprentices; is there nothing you don't know or can't do, Elijah?" Jowan groused, eyes fixed on his plate.

The elf laughed again. "Make you see sense, it seems." He laid a hand on Jowan's arm, squeezing gently. "You're my best friend, Jowan. It's fun to see you get burned when it comes to fire casting, but not when it comes to women. Just… don't do anything stupid, alright?"

"Would I ever, Elijah?"

"Yes. That's what worries me."

The smothering, if well-intentioned, cautions of his friend only served to fan the flames of Jowan's curiosity regarding Lily. Over the next week, he did his best to catch the rehearsal of the play but to no avail. Whenever he questioned his own fascination in meeting a girl he had only exchanged a few words with, he reminded himself of the soothing effect her recital of the Chant had on him and he resolved anew to discover if she could repeat the feat.

Driven to desperation—or unoriginality of thought—Jowan at last ventured into the one place where initiates and apprentices were both permitted to visit. Walking into the Chantry, he was rewarded with the sight of Lily. She stood at an altar filled with candles, diligently removing those which had burned out as the flickering light cast a warm glow across her cheeks.

Hearing his footsteps, she glanced round and a shy smile brightened her face further.

"Hello," she offered in hushed tones, shaking her head a little so that her fringe did not fall across her eyes.

"Hi," he returned, unsure what else to say.

"I tried to think of—"

"—visited the rehearsal hall."

Both spoke at the same time and then abruptly fell silent on hearing the other, but their mutual interest in this second meeting was already clear.

"I… wondered if your cut was healed," Lily nibbled on her lower lip, darting a glance around the deserted Chantry behind him.

"My cut?" Jowan echoed, before remembering his finger. His cheeks reddening, he held up his hand for inspection. "Oh, yes. Advantage of living with mages. There's always a healer somewhere." Lowering his hand, he scrambled in his head for a question with which to reciprocate. "How's… the play going?"

At that, Lily rolled her eyes. Sneaking a final lingering look around the room, she gestured that he could come and join her at the altar while she continued her task of seeing to the candles. Jowan seized on the opportunity.

"Not well," she confided when he stood by her side. "Molly fell off the pyre."

He stifled his laughter. "Never mind. No one really bothers about the All Soul's Day celebrations. All formalities and no fun."

"It's important to remember the sacrifice Our Lady made," Lily countered swiftly, but her hand stilled in her work. "Though I…"

"What?" he prodded.

Even though she shrugged, Jowan sensed that her disinterest was contrived for his benefit. It touched him that she should be so mindful of his indifference towards the Chantry, or perhaps she was just wary of being teased.

"We commemorate the death of Our Lady without acknowledging the good of it."

"What do you mean?"

Their mutual wrong-doing, this simple hushed conversation, must have spurred Lily to confide in him. "Despair not, said She, for your betrayal was Maker-blessed and returned me to His side. I am forgiven," the girl murmured, catching his eye. "Even after her death, Andraste preached forgiveness."

Much like before, it was the way in which she spoke the words, the reverence in her voice, which connected with Jowan. Yet from the whispered words, he guessed that she was quoting some banned part of the Chant.

"The Dissonant Verses?" he ventured.

"The Canticle of Maferath," she nodded, still speaking in low tones. "There is debate over the last line and whether it is spoken by Andraste or Maferath. At least, the old scholars debated it. We are not supposed to know such a thing even exists."

Curiosity piqued, Jowan frowned. "So how do you know it?"

"Initiates are expected to research the histories of the Circle they serve in. What many seem to forget is that the Circles preserve almost all the knowledge in Thedas, one way or another." She shrugged, looking away from him. "I found an old parchment arguing for the inclusion of the Verses within the Chant of Light."

"And you read it?" he asked in disbelief.

She shot him a hard look. "Wouldn't you?"

Jowan hesitated, but he found he was unable to lie under her penetrating gaze. "Not if it was about the Chant. If it were the Harrowing though… yes, I suppose I would."

His honesty was rewarded. She smiled warmly, her nose wrinkling as she did so. The sight of it prompted him to smile too—though not as prettily as she did, he knew that.

"It's nice to meet a like-minded person," she remarked, her desire to laugh evident in the quick catch of her breath.

Jowan basked in her good-humour. "So how would you mark All Soul's Day? Something like Satinalia? Wild celebration?"

"No, we must remember Our Lady. But we should remember her life, not just her death—"

She may have intended to say more but their murmured conversation was cut short by the arrival of a group of templars who wished to complete their nightly prayers to the Maker. Not wishing to loiter and risk drawing attention to himself—or Lily—Jowan made a swift exit from the Chantry, turning only at the very last moment to catch a lingering glimpse of the pretty initiate.

She was watching him too. On seeing him hesitate, she widened her eyes in silent protest at his delay and Jowan hastily ducked out the doorway, unable to suppress a grin. Hastening away from the Chantry and towards the dormitories, he took a shortcut through one of the libraries. Usually, he would have passed through without a second thought but tonight he felt compelled to stop at the catalogue located near the entrance. What harm could it do to find out a little more of Andraste and her story?

"You want to what?"

Stifling a yawn, Jowan strove for what he hoped was an earnest expression. He had spent most of the night hidden away in the recess of the library—Lily had been right about the secrets buried under dust and disinterest—and he was paying the price for it now. Not that it mattered; Jowan had a plan. Unfortunately, it required the help—preferably the unwitting help—of a certain elf.

"Improve my fire-casting," he repeated patiently, meeting the suspicious gaze of Elijah with what he hoped was innocence. "You're helping Rivi hone his skills for the play. Is it really that much more hassle to help me too?"

The elf folded his arms across his chest and pursed his lips. "Oh yes, of course, because it's as easy as all that!"

"Please, Elijah. It might help me get closer to my Harrowing."

Raising his eyes skyward, Elijah puffed out his cheeks. "Fade take me, Jowan! You and your Harrowing! Fine!" He lowered his gaze as a grin began to emerge from his pout. "Watching you singe yourself again will be entertaining. Besides," he shot a pointed look at his friend, "fire-casting will keep your mind off other things. Chantry initiates, for example."

Biting his cheek, Jowan just about managed to stop himself from grinning too widely.

Over the next few days, Jowan invited himself along to all the practise sessions between Rivi and Elijah. While he never explained fully his renewed interest in mastering the elemental spells, there was reason behind his madness. And that reason was Lily. If Elijah suspected, he never said and that was just fine with Jowan. He had no idea how his little plan would pan out, but he was far too committed to deviate from it now.

So it was that the night of the play came round. While the rest of the inhabitants of Kinloch Hold made ready their final preparations for All Soul's Day, Jowan snuck away to the Main Hall where the initiates would be gathered. Fortunately when he reached the hall, all the Sisters and initiates were absorbed in admiring Molly in her costume. Even better, Lily stood near the back of the crowd, separate from the others.

He took a deep breath. To pull this off required a performance all of its own. With all the confidence of the First Enchanter, Jowan strode across the hall and came to a stop beside Lily.

Keeping his expression deadpan, he stated: "Enchanter Wynne would like to speak with you. The apprentice playing the Tevinter guard has an allergy to the paint and she needs information from you."

If the girl was surprised, she gave no hint of it. She merely eyed him and for an awful horrendous gut-wrenching moment, Jowan thought she would refuse to accompany him… and then she nodded.

"Yes, of course. As the Enchanter requires."

It was only once they had stepped out into the deserted hall that Lily whispered fiercely, "what are you doing?"

"Celebrating All Soul's Day as it should be," he explained, reaching to catch her hand in his. "Will you come?"

Lily first looked down at his fingers entwined about hers and then she looked back up, her gaze searching his face. Her eyelids fluttered shut for a moment before she re-opened them, squeezing his hand as she began to smile. "Yes."

Throwing caution to the wind, the pair darted through the hallways, dipping in and out of rooms as they evaded the templar patrols and groups of mages all headed towards the Main Hall in order to watch the play.

Eventually, they reached the more isolated part of Kinloch Hold, rooms given over to storage and the like. Jowan led Lily into one such room, windowless and empty save for a single candle, spluttering near the doorway as it cast its meagre glow.

"You said that we should remember Andraste and celebrate her life," Jowan began, slipping past Lily so that he stood in the room properly while she continued to hover in the doorway, clearly uncertain. "So I did some reading. Tell me what you think."

Widening his stance, Jowan brought his elbows close to his body and held out his hands, palms upwards. He took a deep breath, striving for the clarity of mind which Elijah had emphasised was so important, and encouraged the energy created by his mana to pool in his fingertips. All at once, a spark ignited between his hands and rapidly grew into a wild licking flame, stretching high into the air as he struggled to exert his control.

Lily shrank backwards, her hand pressed against her mouth as she strove to muffle the frightened gasp which escaped at the sight of the flame. Jowan squeezed his eyes shut, summoning all his concentration. When he risked a peek, the licking flame had settled into a ball of fire, spitting and sparking under its own energy, but under perfect control.

He shot a sideways glance towards the door. Lily was no longer cowering away. Instead she seemed drawn to the fire, eyes wide in wonder.

"Watch," he instructed softly, bolstered by her reaction.

Raising his head, he sent the ball of flame upwards and then with a flick of his wrist, dispersed it into a thousand different sparks in the air above them. Each pinprick of flame became a star and the room was bathed in the soft glow of the constellations of the night sky.

He felt something at his elbow. Lily was now at his side, gazing upwards, enraptured by the sight. It was as good a cue as any to begin.

Jowan turned his attention back to the spectacle above them. "Astronomers say that when Our Lady Andraste was born to her tribe, there was a foreshadowing of what was to come," he spoke, voice timid at first. "She was born beneath the shooting fires of the sky."

A shower of stars danced across the ceiling, prompting a murmur of delight from the girl. She pressed closer against Jowan, captivated by the scene.

Bringing his hands together, Jowan commanded the fire to re-converge into the silhouette of a woman, her long hair seemingly billowing as the flames flickered.

"In fire, so they say, Andraste was forged," he continued, his confidence building. "Yet the fire was allowed to burn low…"

The image of the woman disappeared as Jowan abruptly doused the flames. Seven individual sparks fell to the floor, plunging them into almost darkness.

"… as Our Lady struggled to understand the dreams she experienced." The flames were almost extinguished as thin ribbons of smoke trailed upwards. "All she saw was the destruction wrought by those around her and she despaired, weeping for the fate of her brethren. Each tear she shed threatened to extinguish the fire completely."

Lily let out a whimper. Unable to ignore her distress, Jowan stepped behind so that he could loop his arms around her waist, his chin resting atop her head as he continued his tale.

"But the Maker had seen her light, a blazing beacon in the darkness of the disgraced, and He knew He could not allow Her fire to go out."

The dull flickers exploded into flame, drenching the room in light.

"The Maker reached out to Our Lady once again. But having suffered, Andraste was now better able to interpret the visions He bestowed upon her. From this understanding, Andraste was better able to summon what would become the Exalted Marches against the blaspheming Imperium.

"But she was betrayed." Jowan allowed the flames to grow wild once more, spitting and hissing as they arched high into the air. This time Lily did not recoil, safe as she was in his arms. "And the Imperium sought to destroy Our Lady by putting her to the pyre." The flames were frantic now, fully encircling the pair. Despite the heat, Jowan felt Lily shiver. "But Archon Hessarian saw the error of his judgement and ended the suffering of Our Lady."

The flames, now at their brightest, surged upwards once more as Jowan recreated the shape of a sword, the very sword emblazoned on the tunic which Lily wore.

"Our Lady returned to the side of the Maker and sits there still, where she urges Him to take pity on His children."

The sword burnt low as it collapsed into a single flame. Moving towards Lily, it danced in front of the girl.

"In each of her followers, the same fire burns," Jowan murmured.

As though entranced, Lily stretched her hand out towards the flame. Jowan mirrored the movement with his own hand so that his rested beneath hers, and then he manipulated the flame so that it hovered directly above her palm.

"And they seek always to bring Thedas into the grace of the Maker once more," he said softly, lips brushing against her hair as he spoke into her ear.

Sensing that his mana was nearing its limits, Jowan extinguished the flame. The pair were left in the flickering light of the single candle by the doorway.

"All Soul's Day blessings, Lil."

Shifting in his arms, Lily spun round and rested her hands against his chest, her eyes locked on his Gazing down at her, Jowan experienced that same compulsion which had led him to address her the very first time.

"Her touch was like fire that did not burn," he quoted in hushed tones, his hand pressed against the small of her back as he pulled her closer. "And by Her touch, I was made pure again."

Standing on tiptoe, Lily grazed her lips against his. "All Soul's Day blessings, Jowan."