The Alphabet According to Finn Part I -- A through M

[ouyangdan]

From the Alphabet Meme going around on Tumblr. I chose to do them from Finn's perspective.

Rating: T+
Words: 7,825 divided into 13 parts.
Characters: Finn, Anders, F!Cousland (Kahrin), F!Hawke (Saoirse), Carver, with cameos by Ariane, Nathaniel, and Gregoir.
Set in the Amaranth Universe

A is for Arcanum

Everyone talks about him, but never to him. Not unless they need something.

Finn is the mage they seek out if they need help with their Creation classes, or if they are having trouble communicating in their Spirit classes.

At least they have stopped calling him Flora.

His pursuits are seen as wasteful, until someone needs him. He studies "useless" languages, and spends all of his time translating tomes so old that he frets over the covers and bindings. Why bother learning Arcanum when everyone speaks Common? The other mages spend all their time absconded in corners with each other doing things that just hold no interest for him, but it is his pursuits that are seen as worthless.

Reading and studying makes the days pass. Who could resist having a knowledge of something like the language used by the mages of Tevinter? The spells are more logical when read in the original text. So many things make more sense if they can be read from the original source instead of trusting the scrivener's translation.

He doesn't approve of their methods, naturally. Blood magic is far too unsanitary, even when learned in the most proper and formal of settings. Finn is bright enough and talented enough to be able to avoid deals with demons if he wants to pursue such things, but the thought alone makes him shudder. The risks are not worth the power. That he knows how to do it is enough. All knowledge is worth having, even if you don't think you'll ever use it.

Speculum, the first book says, and suddenly it makes so much sense. Everything clicks into place like the mechanism of a dwarven lock, finally, and he pulls out a packet of parchment scrolls that are haphazardly bound together.

The Dalish don't keep books. They are notoriously known for not committing things to writing, and based on the history he's memorized over the years, he can see why. Still, this packet of writings are invaluable as a resource, and he'a been studying it forever. He was chasing after an answer, and it has taken him a while to draw the lines. Ancient magic. Ancient magic that has so many possibilities, so many ways for his mind to wander and ask questions and make theories.

Could they really be used to communicate?

Think of the ways that they could enhance teaching! The ways that they could share information, to bridge great distances for the sharing of magic!

He carefully and painstakingly turns the parchment pages until he finds the section he's been working on. Checking his notes a third, fourth, and fifth time to be certain, his face breaks with a wide grin, the kind that only comes when he solves a puzzle.

Eluvian. He finally puts the pieces together.

It might never be useful. It may never bring him any credit or glory or recognition, but the fact that he now knows what it is has more reward to it than Finn could ever hope to explain to anyone.

All knowledge is worth having, and someday, perhaps, this will prove useful to someone. If not, the satisfaction is enough for him.

He rolls up the scrolls again, gingerly closes the book, and returns them to their nooks. Slinging Vera back over his shoulder, Finn returns to his quarters with a huge, satisfied smile on his face

B is for Baby

He's seen it done often enough. He has even assisted on a few of them.

This is the first time he has ever been the healer. The first time that he has ever ushered a life into the world. The first time that two lives split from one another and it falls on him to make sure that they both survive it.

This one isn't just any baby. The mother isn't just any woman.

He flits around the room, nervously, sending people to collect this and that, to bring him things, even things that he doesn't think he'll really need. Things he hopes he won't need.

He rests Vera against the wall in the corner and washes his hands for what must be the fifth time in the last thirty minutes. They aren't even there yet. She isn't ready.

It's good that she is early, though. She is so small. The babe, for all he can tell when he passes his hands over her swollen abdomen, glowing with blue power, is small, tiny, but strong.

It is different than any of the births he's assisted in the Tower. She is strong, a warrior. She is used to pain, and she grunts through it, refusing any help save his and his alone. They have become friends over the last months, and she trusts him - this means a lot.

But oh Maker it is a lot of blood. The sight of it makes him a bit woozy, and he sways slightly on his feet as he rests one hand on her thigh and threads a bit of healing magic through her, and then a flash of rejuvenation for himself. He mends what he is able, laces pain-relieving magic where he can, and Maker preserve them both, stops the excessive bleeding so many times that he worries when her tan skin takes on a slightly ashen hue.

Shaking and exhausted, he gasps in utter amazement when the tiny girl slides into his hands finally. She doesn't breathe, she doesn't move, and for a moment he is afraid that he's killed the King's mistress, and the woman assisting him helps him tie off the cord and snip it.

Breathe, Andraste's mercy, breathe, he pleads silently, turning her over gently in his hands - she barely fills both of them - and he runs a blue, glowing hand over her tiny back.

Finally, after what feels like time itself stopping to wait, the babe cries out, weak at first and then strong and with force. He breathes a huge sigh of relief, tears almost welling up in his eyes.

"It's a girl, Kahrin. A beautiful little-"

"Take her away," she rolls onto her side away from them, pulling her knees up as far as she can draw them with her middle still a mound. "I can't look at her. Just ... please, Finn," she says, softly breaking into heart wrenching sobs.

Finn nods once, not questioning her. He never questions her. He folds the girl in a towel that the Dryden woman has brought him and cradles the tiny girl gently in the crook of his arm. "Come along, little Princess," he says quietly as he does what Kahrin has asked.

C is for Circle

Finn's life began, in his opinion, when his parents had brought him to the Circle.

He was the brightest in his year. The top of his class. His Harrowing had been quick and clean. He breezed through all of his Creation classes to the point that Enchanter Wynne had let him take over the basic class when Anders wasn't available. Which was pretty frequently, actually. He had topped out of his Spirit classes so fast that he both drew occasional glances from the templars and took up Entropy out of idle curiosity. There were ways he could heal with this school, ways that others hadn't thought of, he knew.

He had a library full of books to read, and secretly he said he was going to read them all. He had almost achieved that goal by the time he'd been a full mage two years.

He was seldom watched by the templars. All mages overly talented with healing and Spirit magic were watched with a measure of suspicion. He was a minor exception in that the templars all but ignored him.

Even when Anders was in solitary for that year, Finn had been permitted certain ... privileges. He'd been allowed to see him, and was able to smuggle letters to him. The idea of doing something that was so against the rules was against his nature, but it seemed such a benign thing for such a good friend ... it was the first time that Finn had ever questioned the rules of the life that he lead.

Finn was not trusted. He was simply uninteresting. He had been spared most of the abuse that went on all around him because he went unnoticed. He had avoided drawing attention to himself because he didn't hide in cupboards with other mages. Finn followed rules. He followed them unthinkingly until the day he was supposed to return from his trip with the Hero of Ferelden.

A choice, she had said. His to make and his alone and she would support his choice either way. It was the most precious and valuable gift anyone could have given him, especially a gift from someone who found his life's work interesting. Useful. Valuable.

He took it. He took the choice, and that had made all the difference. Ten years he existed outside the Circle. He had become a part of something bigger and had been allowed to use his magic freely, without requesting permission from the templars. Ten years without templar control or supervision and he had become better. He had become smarter and more powerful.

Still, after ten years, Finn found himself at the head of yet another Circle, only this one was worlds different than the one he and Anders had grown up in. It was made of free mages. Mages here because they had wanted to be. It was assisted by templars who were there to help, to protect, and not kill. They worked together under the banner of Anders' cause, and despite Anders' protestations to the contrary, a Circle was precisely what they had become.

Finn's life began when Anders brought him to the Revolution, and they had begun a Circle.

D is for Dragon

Dragons are neat! They are huge and powerful and they can breathe fire, and even the little drakes that they are following scare him slightly. It gives him a thrill deep in his belly to be faced with something that terrifies him so. Yet, he is in slight awe and mourns each one that they fell. Even Finn knows that there are times when it is kill or be killed, but it still saddens him. Dragons were supposed to be extinct, and in this Age, it is beautiful to find even one. Here they've stumbled on way more than just one.

He can't help but get close to one, to look it over and admire the sharp teeth and the way the scales scintillate even in the clouded out sun here. He harvests as much as he can carry without anyone questioning his motives. As if he's ever had ulterior motives in his life, he expects the Hero to stop him. The inside of the beast is enough to make him woozy from smell, and he sways slightly in his crouched position. Kneeling might have been better, but then he would have had to put his robes to the dirt and ew.

Instead, Kahrin helps him bottle some of the precious blood without quizzing him as to why. She smiles faintly at his excitement and makes small talk about how this isn't the first time she's done this. She begins to chatter to him about the armour she once had made from drake scales, and he relaxes. She's so easy to talk to and treats him like a person and not a tool to be used.

They've learned to care for one another, something that is obvious to him. He's not imagining it, and he knows it isn't like that. He's never had such a friend before - unless he counts Anders - who seemed to like his invisibility more than actually like him at times. She doesn't criticize his enthusiasm or tell him he talks too much about useless things. It is, after all, his magic that lead them here. His curious mind that cracked the puzzle of what she and Ariane were searching for. His knowledge that had veered into grey areas that proved worth having, again.

She needs a healer like him, now more than ever, she admits with a slight sadness to her face, and part of him wants to commit to that, even as he knows that the Circle will, indeed, want him back. That's just how life is for people like him.

Now dragons aren't just things that excited him or intrigue him. Dragons bring back those memories, those early weeks of finding and settling into himself and realizing that he is useful and interesting and wanted. He isn't invisible anymore. He is needed, and more than that, appreciated.

He isn't a warrior like she is, but he has slain a dragon.

No one needs to know that it was just a tiny one

E is for Eluvian

There are people in the library and they are being loud and he is irritated and oh for the love of the Maker is that a dog?

He is so outraged that he leaves his books open on the small table and storms over towards the Elven Artifact section where he hears the fuss. Yes, fuss and he knows it has to be some initiate, though where the dog came from is beyond him. Dogs drool and pee on things and shed ... though sometimes he wishes he had the freedom to pee wherever he wanted to.

Not that he would pee on the floor, it's just that ...

He stops suddenly, barely poking his head around the tall stack. He recognizes her, everyone does. She's tiny and her tattoo is distinctive and he knows she's the one they call Hero. Well, not everyone does, not after her last visit here. He's still curious, though. What is she doing here?

They are abusing the books! That binding is fragile and it sends a chill up his spine. She probably didn't even wash her hands and she is going to get armour polish and skin oil and dirt all over the pages.

"What are you doing?" he demands, a hint of panic in his voice laced with obvious disbelief that anyone would be so careless. "Do you realize how valuable that book is?" He is getting indignant when the Hero looks way up at him, a raised eyebrow on her forehead.

"If I break it, I'll buy it, all right?"

If she breaks it she'll...

He gasps. "You can't replace it! That single tome is priceless beyond all the pearls in Orlais." Not that he's ever been to Orlais, and he probably never will be, but still. It is a logical comparison.

The Dalish woman with her becomes agitated, in that way that Finn has come to recognize in many people that clearly tells him she is nearly always agitated. She glares at him and he wonders why no one thought to disarm them when they came in the door. That is a lot of swords.

He isn't so irate that he didn't hear what they were discussing, though.

"You're interested in the Eluvian?" he asks, baiting them with little threads of his knowledge. He crosses his arms over his chest and waits. They'll take the bait. He knows the look of someone who craves knowledge that he has.

"You know what an Eluvian is?" the Hero looks at him, her face almost unreadable apart from the single raised eyebrow. She's tiny and he is still pretty sure that she could cause him lots of pain.

Pain is scary.

He chuckles a bit nervously now, and then remembers that she asked. Didn't demand, didn't presume that he would tell her, but asked.

"I do. It's a mirror. A looking glass." He says it simply and so matter-of-factly that she doesn't even question him, but casts an incredulous look at the Dalish woman.

"You don't know your people's word for mirror?" Clearly they've been looking for this for a while.

"It's mostly a lost language," the elf defends herself. She's right. The fact that he's been able to study it at all is remarkable in and of itself. The fact that he knows so much of it is something he is smugly proud about.

"It's a very complicated language. I am the Tower linguist and I only know a little." He is nearly bubbling over with the urge to share that knowledge because they seem interested in him for something beyond how much he can help them with creation spells.

The Hero looks at him and as if she is merely commenting on the weather or asking him what his favorite spell is, she asks "Would you like to come with us?"

"Would I ..." Leave the Tower? With the Hero of Fereldedn? "I mean, if you're asking, I could be useful."

"I am asking," her eyes flick back down to the page she was contemplating, "and I am certain you would be useful. Do you want to, though? I need help, not a burden. Can you heal?"

"Best in my year," he says too quickly. "I mean, I have an aptitude for it." He isn't as good as Anders was, but Anders isn't here, now is he?

"Let's see about arranging this, shall we?" It's still a request. He's floored that she seems to be asking his opinion.

"Me? Really? I mean, yes! Of course!"

All knowledge is worth having. He knows this now more than he ever did before

F is for Flora

Flora! Flora! Flora!

They taunt him, they follow him, and Florian has never had so much attention focused on him ever in his ten years. He knows that his parents gave him this name because they loved him. They carefully picked out and gave him all of their favorite names because he was the only child they would have. That they could have.

Flora! Flora! Flora!

Children in the Tower could be vicious. He knew this beyond the shadow of any doubt. Any sign of weakness would immediately set up and picked at until it opened a wide and painful wound. He's never considered that his name wasn't wonderful. He's never been called that before. It shouldn't bother him and he knows this.

Flora! Flora! Flora!

Still, tears pull at his eyes and threaten to spill, which will only make it worse. The tears will be seen as weakness and it will only encourage them, and that thought frustrates him to where he knows that he is going to start crying any moment. The tears are like shards of glass and they sting and hurt. He's always been separate from them in these past months. He's never fit in quite right, and he doesn't have even one friend that he can name.

Hey there, Finn!

He is so surprised by this that he jumps, and the other children laugh and keep chanting. He's surprised to hear the salutation and he's surprised to see from where it came.

Florian is tall for his age, towering by a head over the other apprentices in his year, but Anders is taller. He's taller and older and very well respected. He's popular and funny and even the Enchanters are nice to him. He is Anders and Florian has watched him work at Creation and spin lightning casually and now he is addressing him.

The older apprentice puts an arm around his shoulders companionably and gives him a friendly grin and Florian looks up at him gratefully but with eyes full of disbelief that Anders is not only talking to him, but he's somehow managed to part the crowd and make them stop.

"Uh, hello, Anders."

Anders gives his shoulders a slightly rough squeeze. "Heya, Finn. I was having a bit of trouble finding a book in the library. You know the library pretty well, don't you?"

He can only nod, eyes wide, and wonder why he is calling him that.

"Great! I just can't seem to get the hang of Entropy, but I've heard you seem to have it mastered." He guides Florian out of the corridor and towards the library in a silence so sudden he can still hear the voices echoing in his ears.

Flora! Flora! Flora!

He's not Flora, though. Never has been, but now he never will be.

G is for Ghastly

Finn is lucky, and he knows it. He is more than lucky, he is privileged. Even Anders sometimes looks at him slightly jealously when he receives mail. Today it is another letter and a parcel. He hasn't received a parcel since his mother was going through her candy-making phase.

He kind of misses the candy-making phase.

That thought actually gives him a bit of pause, but he cracks the Aldebrant wax seal on the parchment and opens the letter.

My Dear Boy,

I hope you are well and that you get this soon in your studies.

Thank you for the poultices you sent. They have helped because your Father is still sick with the Fever.

I made you the enclosed-

"Oh! Enclosed!" He carefully unwraps the parcel to find the orange and yellow monstrosity. It's positively ghastly, but she made it and he pulls it on his head as he finishes the letter.

- to keep you warm in your studies.

Hope to hear from you soon.

Love,

Your Mother

xoxo

"That is the ugliest hat I have ever seen," Godwin says. That is really saying something, because Finn knows the hats that are traditionally worn by mages. Godwin has been on post duty today, and he is looking around at all of the post and glares slightly at Finn's because it wasn't opened by the templars before he received it. Everyone's mail is searched, except for Finn's. Finn can move about unnoticed, and if he were the type of mage who enjoyed trouble he would have had ample opportunity because of this.

Of course, were he the kind of mage who enjoyed trouble, Finn was fairly certain that he wouldn't be so invisible.

He yanks the hat off of his head and stuffs it into the pocket of his robes. "My mother made it."

Godwin laughs, and it is a cruel sound, and Finn knows the man only picks on people that he deems inferior to himself. "I thought your parents actually liked you."

Finn knows that this is a bit of a sore spot among some of the other mages. When he writes home, his parents write back. They've been allowed to visit him a scant few times, and they do love him, even if the magic he possesses means that they no longer have an heir to their humble holding.

They love him still, and he knows this is not the truth with many of the other mages he's grown up knowing. With most of them they were too young when they arrived to remember their parents now.

He is lucky, and he knows this.

He also knows better to argue with Godwin, who will just twist it around and tease him more, so Finn collects the remains of his package and heads back to the Enchanters' Quarters and closes himself in his room.

It's a measure of privacy that he has earned, faster than the others in his year. He settles on his rack and pulls out the ghastly hat from inside his robes and shoves it back on his head. Settling back he reads and rereads the letter, smiling to himself.

He still misses the candy-making phase

H is for Healer

Healing comes easily enough to Finn, and he knows that it is in part due to his ability to sense and communicate with the denizens of the Fade. He can feel them all around. They move and shift in the Fade and he knows they are there.

The day that Enlightenment finds him is a milestone for him. All the best healers have the assistance of benevolent spirits, and this one has been drawn by his curiosity, but his nearly endless thirst to constantly improve. She embraces him through their connection, and Finn never again has to worry about pulling the Fade because it is there as surely as his heartbeat. He can no sooner imagine what it feels like to be cut off from her, from the Fade, than he can imagine being parted from his own head.

He is the best of his Creation classes, and has learned how to use Entropy to save lives. He remembers the look on the Templar's face after the rebellion when Finn carefully relieves his lungs of the blood that was pooling inside of them. Ser Hadley struggles against the feel of the subtractive magic, even then, but he is too weak to fight Finn off. That single act earned him the actual trust of the Knight-Lieutenant, although in retrospect it was probably not the blessing Finn has always thought it was.

Healing has guided him. His talent doesn't go unnoticed, and after leaving the Tower for the first time with the Hero, it is only a matter of time before she discovers his talents. Unfortunately it isn't news that she was looking for or wanted, but he can't change the diagnosis any more than he can change his being a mage. Even if he wanted to. She nods by the firelight at the camp in Kadash Thaig and he feels a pang in his heart for her. He's seen too many women in the Tower with the same reaction, and he offers her all the possible solutions he knows. It is a rather lengthy list.

She refuses them all, crying into her hands and making garbled sounds asking how she is going to handle this and what she is going to do now, and he awkwardly hugs her because he's heard the stories about her and she's now crying on him and getting snot on his robes and oh Maker that's disgusting.

Healing is as much listening as it is magic, so he lets her cry it out.

Carver is injured and she is beside herself in panic and he's never seen her so scared. He doesn't ask how it happened, even though he has a feeling that he knows and he simply does what comes naturally, pressing a hand to the wound that is seeping blood and pulling the blue power around him to try to knit it closed.

Kahrin is screaming at him now, terrified and she pushes him away. She smears Carver's blood across her face while scooping her hair back as she takes over holding the wound closed. Wash your hands, she yells. Don't touch your face, she sobs. Hurry, she pleads and he's never heard her beg for anything, but he does as she asks and together they get Carver healed. She orders him, actually orders him to burn his robes, promises to get him new ones, and spends a great deal of time fussing over him to make sure he hasn't come into contact with any of it.

"I could have lost you both today," she chides him gently as she calms and realizes he is just fine. "You need to be more careful," she orders him, but it is soft and more a request. "There are some things you can not heal," she says finally.

It had never occurred to him that there were things he couldn't fix, and Finn gives her a hard look, nodding in understanding

I is for Isolation

Vera has been taken from him and set in the corner. He can see her, he can feel a phantom of the cool metal of her against his palm and it is only then that he begins shaking. He didn't tremble when he was chased down by the Hunter. He didn't flinch when she severed his grasp on the Fade, and he hadn't even begged when he held to the edge of the dock in the port of Denerim though he doesn't know how to swim.

"You have been missing for nine years, Enchanter Florian," Gregoir says mildly much of the gravel in his voice softened over those years. He stands behind the large desk which is still highly polished and even more neat than Howe or Hawke keep their desks at the Keep. "That is quite a long time to be away, Enchanter Florian."

Finn stands as still and tall as he can will himself, hands folded benignly in front of him, unable to meet the Knight-Commander's eyes.

"We've had several Circles looking for you, Enchanter Florian," he continues, and Finn is suddenly seventeen summers again being cautioned against the dangers of his particular talents with the Fade's inhabitants. "You've had no templar escort. You leave without permission-"

"I- I had permission. Knight-Lieutenant Hadley-"

"Did not have permission to grant you leave, and I am certain that when he did, he did not intend for you to be absent for so long." The Knight-Commander's hair and beard are no longer the salt and pepper that he remembers but have faded into a silvery white. He paces back and forth and Finn is growing more and more nervous and he notices that Gregoir still has his sword sheathed. Gregoir almost appears to bounce off of the far wall when he faces Finn again.

"You are a healer. One of our most valuable Spirit Healers, as well as a medium, Enchanter Florian. You realize what this means?"

Finn blinks at the Knight-Commander, unsure that what is going through his mind is the correct conclusion. "I have not been corrupted, Knight-Commander."

"So you say. If you had been, how can you possibly expect us to believe you. No, Enchanter Florian, a mage of your particular skills will have to be isolated from the population until we can be certain."

He tries one more time to reason. "But I am working with the Grey Wardens," as soon as he says this he knows it is a mistake and wishes that he could take it back.

"You are not a Grey Warden, however, the last time I checked. I tire of their endless call for mage assistance." Gregoir slices a gauntleted hand through the air. "There is no Blight and we are no longer obligated." Gregoir motions for the Hunter to come back and Finn's hands are manacled which is something that has never happened to him before in all of his years.

He can't feel his magic still and it is a cold and lonely feeling as they lead him not up, but down the steps in Kinloch Hold and he is shoved a little more roughly than he needs to be into the tiny cell. He only idly notices this is one down from where Anders was held all those years ago before the door is slammed shut and the dwarven mechanism that is worked with a sigil that won't allow it to be breached with magic clicks shut with an ominous echo.

He is there for an amount of time that he can't determine when he can feel the presence of something and it chills him as it prickles at his skin. It crawls like gooseflesh up his spine and all he can do is lie on the stone cot and shield his mind.

Finn has never been this alone for all of his time seeking solitude and quiet. He can no longer feel Enlightenment on the other side of the Fade and he can't draw even the smallest spell - no wisps to summon or even a flame by which to see.

The problem is, and Finn knows this in the very depths of his soul, that he is not alone.

He withdraws into himself, humming a tavern song that Anders once taught him over and over again.

They will come for him. He knows they will. He has to believe they will.

Hopefully they will come before he can't fight it any longer

J is for Joining

Kahrin has conscripted him away from Gregoir. The man may have once been her ally, but he is very put out by the fact that she's had his mage all these years. Kahrin is quite put out that Gregoir has placed a mage into solitary who has been under her protection all these years. Damn foolish, she insists, to put a mage in solitary if possession is a concern.

Gregoir forces her hand, and she says the words that she's dreaded ever saying since she offered Finn the shield of the Wardens to hide behind.

Fine, I hereby invoke the Rite of Conscription for Florian Phineas Horatio Aldebrant, Esquire.

Gregoir nearly has an apoplexy over it, but in the end there is little else he can do and Finn is released to them.

Anders has argued with him over it for weeks now. Kahrin refuses to discuss it at all, and Carver - who nearly never speaks but suddenly is the only one who will discuss it - tells him that they are just concerned for him. Carver says that there is no reason to actually put him through a Joining, because who is going to be the wiser unless Weisshaupt starts poking their noses in? Carver thinks that's really unlikely.

Finn, however, is irate. He's tired of being treated as defenseless and having people decide what is best for him. Tired of people having to shield him from things. This is his decision, and if no one is going to tell him why he shouldn't be allowed to do it, then he asserts that he should be allowed. It is the first time that Finn angrily speaks up on his own behalf and Kahrin looks at him, a mixture of sadness and pride in him crossing her features.

Oddly, it is Nathaniel who is the voice of reason, and no one expects it, least of all Finn. Nathaniel points out Finn's years of service and his abilities in relation to their shortage on non-abomination healers. Also, he dryly points out the fact that Finn is a liability to the Order if they don't grant him his wish. For the first time ... Finn really appreciates the Ranger. Whatever his reasons, Finn is grateful and tells him as much. This solicits a grunt and a shrug and the Bard is surprisingly short on words for him. This aspect of Nathaniel, however, surprises no one.

Begrudgingly Anders prepares what they need and Finn stands resolutely refusing to let anyone see him even slightly nervous. He is ready for whatever it is. Truth be told he's been skirting the edges of what he is or is not allowed to know anyhow. This, in his mind, has always been inevitable. When the cup is handed to him there is an odd vibration about the concoction.

Join us, brothers and sisters. Join us in the shadows where we stand vigilant. Join us as we carry the duty that cannot be forsworn. And should you perish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten... and that one day, we shall join you.

It smells worse than the inside of the drake Kahrin had helped him gut in the Dragonbone Wastes but he takes it and drinks from it all the same. He does it fast before he or anyone can change their minds. It is the single most foul thing he's ever tasted and his body's first reaction is to retch but even that would take effort and he has no control anymore. His head pounds and fills with a buzzing and he sees flashes of green and black and finally his eyes roll up into his head. Anders catches him and still looks slightly agitated. Kahrin is distraught and paces violently back and forth until Anders checks Finn's pulse and nods once.

"He lives."

K is for Kadash Thaig

He's never been away. He's never been out. He's never felt that he was free to do what he wanted, to cast how he wants to cast. To feel the thrill of an adventure that he never knew he craved.

The Deep Roads are dark and dirty and, really, a bit frightening if he is honest with himself. Despite the fact that Dwarves don't interact with the Fade, he can feel it strong here, he can feel the gentle prickle of spirits and even demons on his skin while they traverse the fallen tunnels and finally break into Kadash Thaig. Enlightenment, who pulls close to him, brings him comfort from the strange sensation, and he remembers why he's chosen her and she him.

It is the most beautiful place he's ever been in his life. There is greenery everywhere and statues that tower to the cavern ceiling that even someone tall like him has to crane backward to see. The air is a little fresher and even Finn can see how some of Ariane's ancestors were able to live here in hiding.

Logically, it would be a fantastic place to hide.

The little nods to the past, to history, fairly mesmerize him and he loses himself from time to time picturing the dwarves who crafted them as they laid chisel to hammer and etched their runes into stone. It is a place where time has stood still and the world has begun to reclaim what was hers.

Holding Vera gently aloft he casts a soft glow that helps him read some of the writing on a crumbling obelisk, and loses however many moments it takes for Kahrin to pull him out of his reverie.

By retching over the side of one of the many footbridges.

He promises that it isn't blood magic, which isn't precisely the truth, but it's a grey area that he really doesn't want to have to explain. Ariane clearly is skeptical, but she doesn't understand magic. Kahrin watches with enough curiosity that he can tell that she is more pragmatic. She needs this information, and is willing to allow him to obtain it without question. He's the expert, she tells him. What does she know about magic, she reminds him.

Finn is thrilled again, because he's never done a scrying. Mediums are watched so stringently and any sort of communication with the Spirits is strictly controlled and observed. He feels so accomplished when the ritual points them in exactly the direction they need to go, and for once, Finn is being looked to for help, and it due to his work and research and interests.

It is an awful lot of travel, though. It would be so much easier if they could simply ask the dog to fetch a Morrigan

L is for Liesel

By now Finn has delivered several babies. He's offered his help among the citizens of Amaranthine. He's become fairly skilled at it. His bedside manner is commendable by the woman delivering and her family both. Of all the parts of healing that he's mastered, this is what he loves the most.

Though, this time it is Anders' child. Anders, his one true friend from the Tower. Anders, who has spared him from a lifetime of being called "Flora". This is the most precious thing in the world to him, and he is trusting Finn, even though Finn believes that Anders is the better healer.

Saoirse swears. A lot. He's never really heard a lot of those combinations used together, even from Kahrin. It's really creative, he finds himself thinking as he tucks his gloves into his belt and pushes up the sleeves of his robes.

He's delivered at least a dozen babies, and he still blushes when he tells Saoirse that he has to check her. This is Anders' wife, and suddenly he's embarrassed. This passes quickly when she starts calling Anders names that aren't really, very nice, and only some of them mildly true.

The birth itself is easy enough. Saoirse is strong and the babe is ready if not reluctant to make her debut. She's been a cooped up in there a couple of weeks longer than Saoirse is happy about, but he keeps reminding her that there is no rushing these things. This has earned him nothing but glares from the redhead over the last few weeks.

Anders has moved up to the head of the bed to hold her hand, and Finn is exhausted because this has taken all day. Long enough that they've missed a meal or two, though Finn hardly notices.

He's delivered still babies before. It never gets easy, and in his mind he laments that this babe has been born as such. The colour flees his face and he doesn't know how to tell them. The pregnancy was unexpected, and they have both been waiting so long and eagerly.

"Anders, I ..." he says quietly, nerves evident in his voice.

"What is it, Finn, what's wrong?" Anders is by his side in two strides and Finn is trying anything, but nothing works. She won't breathe, and she is already stiff and slightly cold.

"She's not-" A tingle prickles along his skin and he feels a definite presence that is unfamiliar. Suddenly, Liesel is crying, wailing really, at the top of her lungs and the blue pallor is fading.

Finn can't explain it. One moment he is facing having to tell his best friend that his child is dead, and the next, Anders is clapping him on the shoulder as they are lying the girl on Saoirse's exposed belly.

"Finn, you are a far better healer than even I knew, and I've always said you were better than I am." Anders is beside himself with joy.

They're so happy. Anders is practically floating and Saoirse is lost in the moment of becoming a mother, and Finn doesn't have the heart to tell them that he didn't heal the girl.

He's afraid to think of who possibly did

"M is for Mage

Florian is almost nine when it happens.

He's never had a real friend before. He is an only child, and apart from one trip to a Landsmeet, he's never really been far from home. Father provides the best scholars his money can buy to tutor him. He has more books than most children his age have seen in a lifetime, and has read each one. Florian, however, has always just wanted someone to play with him.

He wants someone to play with so much that it is all he can think about. He wishes for a playmate when he goes to sleep at night and longs for a companion to talk to when he's alone in the library. He knows he'll never have siblings. Mother explains to him one day and the details make his ears red and he never asks again.

So much does Florian want a friend that when the little green ball of bright light appears in front of him, trilling happily and zipping around his room he doesn't even think this is strange. Lots of children have imaginary friends, he has heard his tutor tell him. This is apparently a perfectly normal thing that only children do.

He calls her Vera because he thinks this is the most beautiful name in all the world, and she seems to like this. She circles around his head wherever he walks and he can understand the things she says. It is as if she is only speaking to him. When Mother has tucked him in she appears and casts a soft light that keeps him from being afraid in the dark.

Florian likes to hide in little nooks and crannies around the estate, and Vera always finds him. The best part is that he can always tell when she's getting close. He gets gooseflesh across his skin from the tingles that are the telltale sign she is near. Even though he knows she isn't real, it makes him giggle to know she will eventually seek him out. It's like they are connected, as if she is part of a dream that's he's had for years.

They are in the dining hall one rainy afternoon and he has tucked himself up on a chair under the table. It isn't the best hiding spot, but this doesn't matter because he wants her to find him. She bops up and down and circles the rafters before whooshing under the table, letting out a chirp of glee when she hovers in front of his face. He smiles broadly, laughing deep from his belly. She is the greatest thing he's ever known.

"Florian? What are you doing in-" Mother lets out a shriek that she is too slow to stifle when she finds them. For a moment, Florian is confused. Why is she scared? It takes several moments for him to realize that she can see Vera.

He doesn't understand how this is even possible.

It is when Mother starts quietly crying, hands over her face, that the realization begins to form in his mind what this means.

Florian has summoned Vera from the Fade, and only a mage could have accomplished such a thing. She's not imaginary, she is very real, and she is what the scholar calls a wisp. A small spirit.

The scholar calls Florian a mage, and he knows what this means.

Mother and Father talk late into the night, and even though Florian is supposed to be in bed, he and Vera have crept up to listen outside the study. His heart breaks when he hears what they are talking about.

"We have to take him, we have no choice. If we do not, they will send templars."

"But he's our son. Our heir. Our only child. Do you know what this means?"

Father is quiet for a long time, and Florian knows that he must have communicated without using words, because Mother sobs inconsolably for several minutes. He creeps slowly back to his bed, and when Vera chirps at him, he rolls over and tells her to go away. She hums sadly, and he knows she's sorry, but he pulls the coverlet up and over his head.

This is her fault. All of it. He's going to be sent away, to that place where they take the mages, and if it hadn't been for Vera this wouldn't have happened. No one would ever have seen him do magic, and everything would be like normal. With a sad trill she fades away, back to wherever it is she came from - the Fade, he guesses - and Florian cries softly into his pillow.

He misses her already.