The sky was aflame.

Cries from the townspeople were drowned out by the scream of the legions of darkspawn crushing through the streets. The very ground rumbled and cracked as the battle drew on, seeming to never end as the city crumbled underneath the violation of the blight.

The smell of sulfur and burning flesh burnt her nostrils, but still she pushed on, her legs aching and heart pounding. Her mana reserves were low, her fingers grasping her staff as if it were the only thing keeping her firmly on the ground.

A gurgling shriek of a woman reached her ears, but before she could turn to see where it came from the unnatural scream of the archdemon filled the air around them, sucking the oxygen from her lungs.

The blighted Urthemiel flew overhead, his leathery wings beating the hot air over Denerim with ease as he urged his damned army forward unto chaos. His form seemed to fill the sky, and yet he was still out of range from any spells or arrows that could be aimed his way.

The very existence around her seemed to fall apart as the archdemon let out another musical scream, one which she could almost understand the words to, with frightening realization. He was calling to her, taunting her, welcoming her to his embrace –

And then the bright flash of light that seemed to rip through her very soul. A thousand screams shattered her very being as the hot white light filled her vision, pain that she couldn't even begin to comprehend tearing apart her chest and chewing her insides. The music seemed to flow through her, filling her ears with the melody of death as she opened her mouth to cry out, but no sound came from her lips.

There was nothing.

Everything went dark, as though she were floating in a cool, dark pool. She could hear nothing, see nothing, feel nothing, but the thumping of her heart in her chest.

An age seemed to pass as she floated there, her fingers tingling and her hair flowing around her head as though caught in a current that she could not feel.

Movement to her right grounded her in place.

She was lying in a bed, moonlight spilling through an open window. The canopy above her was familiar, and as her eyes refocused she slowly recognized their private rooms in the castle of Vigil's Keep.

Six months had passed since the archdemon had fallen and she and Alistair had left Denerim, once she had finally been well enough to travel. The archdemon had practically torn through her when she had slain it, and she had nearly died anyway.

Now they lay together in bed, safe at last, naked from making love for the first time since the night of the Dark Ritual that had saved both their lives.

She turned to look at her beloved as he slept, his face clear and soft in slumber. A few strands of his ginger hair was laying across his forehead and she pushed it back, reveling in how soft his hair was. She took in his features, his fluttering eyelids and his soft lips she so loved kissing. His straight nose that was smushed against his pillows. She leaned closer, taking in the scent of him, the familiar scent she had grown used to in all their years together –

He mumbled her name in his sleep, the three syllables like a lullaby on his lips. How she loved to hear him say her name. It had been far too long since she had heard him say it. Probably close to two years now –

Years…years…

Solona.

His voice was muffled from sleep, but sounded stronger, more urgent.

So many years together…

Not six months. The timing was wrong. Everything was wrong.

"Alistair -" she gasped, sitting up in the bed. He was not near her anymore. She couldn't see him. An empty spot in the bed where he had ben. But she could still hear his voice, calling her name. No more shrouded by sleep, no. Strained from terror.

Solona.

He sounded so far away.

She tried to get to her feet, but her body suddenly felt like mud. Her legs were tangled in the blankets, and she struggled to get out of them. The sheets seemed as though they were as heavy as brontos and she heaved them off her body, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps.

Solona.

She tried to call out his name again, but it caught in her throat.

Out of the bed and across the room, the moonlight spilling across the tiles a sickly green. She hurried to the window, needing air, needing him, needing anything to grasp onto…

Out on the balcony, in the green gloom stood a mirror. The surrounding area was not the landscape surrounding Vigil's Keep at all – it was miles and miles of barren wasteland, dead trees and carcasses of long dead beasts. The castle behind her was black and evil, its windows tall and gaping like hungry mouths. Draped across the top battlements was the carcass of the archdemon, it's toothy grin leering at her.

She turned back to the mirror once more. It gave off no reflection, and did not shimmer in the magical way that the one Morrigan had disappeared into so long ago had. It was blank and dead, and yet it called to her.

Inching closer, she gazed at its blank surface, willing it to show her something, anything. As she got closer, it felt hungrier, as though it had not fed in many ages and was close to its next meal.

Solona!

Alistair cried, and she realized with dreaded finality that he was beyond this cursed mirror, calling to her. She tried to reach out her fingers to touch the surface, to reach out with her magic and will it to work for her so she may reach her lover. But her arms were paralyzed at her sides, and she found that her body had grown stiff. She stood in the glow of the moon, naked and still, like a statue, gazing upon the strange mirror.

She struggled, a strained moan coming from her clenched jaw as she tried to move. Something was wrong.

And the hairs on the back of her neck stood straight as something crept up behind her. She tried to turn around to see and could not, her eyes rolling wildly in her head as she strained against the forces that held her in place. Her muffled screams had become whimpers as whatever crept behind drew closer, it's cold, deadly breath against her back –

SOLONA!

Solona gulped air as she sat up, soaked in cold sweat and flailing. Her blankets were on the ground next to Shadow, who looked bewildered at her behavior.

Taking into account the small, modest room and low embers in the fireplace, she remembered immediately the room she had rented the night before. Struggling to get her breathing back to a regular rhythm, she ran her shaking hands through her hair, pulling her knees up to her face.

It felt so real.

Shadow let out a low whine, and nuzzled at her thigh in comfort as she slowly rocked herself, before laying back on the thin, wet sheets beneath her.

Staring at the dark ceiling above, she started her slow breathing exercise, counting up to ten as she inhaled and counting down to zero as she exhaled.

It was just a dream. Just a stupid grey warden nightmare.

Except, that nagging voice said from the back of her mind, that was nothing like the regular nightmares she had had before.

She kept her palms pressed against her chest as she slowed her breathing, feeling her heart beat against her ribcage. Her fingertips ran along the jagged scar that ripped between her breasts and reached from her neck to her belly – the final war wound of the Fifth Blight. The price she paid to keep them both alive.

Keeping them both alive had never ended for her.

Thousands of miles from home, in a tiny inn on the westernmost border of the Anderfells, she lay alone. Hearing him say her name through her nightmare was enough to bring a sob to her lips.

Maker, but she missed that man.

For two years now, she had been out here, searching. Two long years, where she could have been by his side, she was instead following lead after lead for a cure. Anything that would free them from their Calling. For a chance to enjoy a long life of retirement, away from solving the problems of the world.

He hadn't been happy at her leaving. Trouble was brewing in Thedas as it was, and she was jumping ship, it seemed. But she had a lead – a very promising lead – and she couldn't let it go.

They had argued the night before she had left. He worried that this was her way of abandoning him, a way of avoiding admitting to him that she no longer loved him.

"You silly man -"

"Yes, that's me. Silly man," he grumbled back at her.

A long silence came after, before she climbed into his lap and then they cried in each other's arms, tearfully reminding each other of how strong their love was. There was nothing more to say, and they let their bodies communicate for them on their final night before her long journey.

The west was wild, and if she hadn't been the woman who had taken down an archdemon the sights would have frightened her. People who spoke in tongues she couldn't even begin to decipher, animals she had never seen before. She sketched some of them as best as she could in her notebook – Solona was not the greatest artist – and pressed strange and beautiful flowers inside the pages.

If nothing else, she would at least have something to show Alistair when she returned home.

Solona buried herself in her research, journeying to any stronghold she could find on a map, letting Shadow lead the way as they tracked down any sign of civilization. She dug through ancient libraries, some still used and some abandoned, trying to find anything to do with the blight, with magic, with anything. She wrote endless notes on phrases, incantations, ruins – anything that she felt needed more research when she returned. She only took what she felt was necessary – which was a lot.

If it wasn't for her expertise in traveling light in all those months during the Blight, she would have been royally fucked – as luck would have it, however, she had mastered a spell that helped her carry all she needed effortlessly in a small satchel around her waist.

Being a mage was really fucking useful.

Not that she ever said this out loud. Her staff had broken, long ago when she had defeated the archdemon – since then, she hadn't used one. Whether it was having the soul of an old god tear through your very soul, or if she was just an incredibly talented mage – perhaps a little bit of both, she figured – she hadn't felt much need for a staff afterward.

A sword hung at her hip, entwined with magic. She had grown skilled with a sword – with some training from her former-templar husband, of course – and used it as a camouflage as she travelled through strange lands.

There was no telling how the locals would react to a stranger, let alone a mage.

But as the months slipped by, she slowly worked her way through a list of people and places she wished to visit; one she added to often, but not fast enough to avoid completing.

Perhaps it was time to accept defeat – for now, she reminded herself. Perhaps she should search closer to home. Take all of her findings and sit with Alistair and they could spill over it all and see if she missed anything.

A part of her knew she just really missed him. Perhaps he would come with her this time. They could travel the open road, just like old times.

But whenever she felt that urge to turn homewards, something pulled her away. Another lead, another hunch, just one more try…

Shadow had now jumped up onto the bed and was licking her cheek, and she scratched him behind the ears as she curled her body around him.

It was tough to feel unsafe when you had your own mabari hound, she thought, as dreamless sleep finally carried her off to daybreak.

The road leading deeper into the Anderfels was not much of a road at all; sand blew across it so often that one often lost track of it completely. Solona kept her scarfs pulled up and around her face as she and Shadow slowly trekked eastward, towards where her map said Hossberg was situated.

She was still technically the commander of the grey wardens of Ferelden, and yet had not received any sort of report from them in the two years she had been traveling. She figured one of two things would be the cause of that – either the messengers couldn't find her, which was likely, or no news was good news, which is what she figured. Solona was not under the impression that she could simply disappear as needed, and if someone really wanted to track her down, they could. Having so many friends who had been spies or assassins had taught her just how easy it was to find a needle in a haystack if you knew how to look.

Still, Solona longed for word of home. Was Anora still the queen of Ferelden? Was Celene still Empress of Orlais? Did the quarrels between templars and mages still rage on? Was Arl Eamon still bitter that Alistair was not put on the throne so he could play puppet master? All these could be answered by the nearest bard or minstrel, one of which she had not seen in a very long time.

Shadow trotted happily at her heels as they reached the top of a hill, where she paused and gazed down upon a city in the distance. She pulled her map out of her pocket and glanced at it – if her calculations were correct, that should be the city of Hossberg.

She was the closest to civilization than she had ever been in months. She found she really missed the hustle and bustle of the city.

But what Solona hoped for most of all was news from the south. Just something to reassure her that the whole world hadn't completely gone to shit in her absence.

Despite all of her travels, she did not yet have her own horse. Sometimes, she dished out to pay for a carriage or ship when needed, but she didn't want to burn through her funds too quickly. One did not want to be completely broke while so far from home. Solona enjoyed walking, her faithful hound at her heel, and once her blisters had formed blisters over her blisters, her feet didn't mind so much, either.

The thin path she had been following soon joined the main road that came from the south – home, she thought, as her feet picked up the pace to join the few travelers who were slowly making their way to the capital on oxen-drawn carts.

Shadow barked excitedly at a strange looking horse with a big hump on its back – Solona thought they were called camels but couldn't be sure – and the creature grunted at the dog. Solona laughed merrily despite the disgruntled look the rider gave them. She had never figured out why, but Shadow always had to greet the hump-backed creatures whenever he saw them.

The wind still beat down on them, although as they neared the city the walls blocked the worst of the weather. Solona let her hood down, letting her dirty red hair tumble from their restraints. Her face was dirty with sweat and dirt – wherever she stayed tonight, it was crucial it had a shower.

The shadow of Hossberg blocked the sun as she entered the great gates; she knew that this was a city that had once been nearly destroyed by the darkspawn – if not for the heroes of the Fourth Blight, it would have been. She smiled to herself; maybe one day, a few hundred years from now, people would discuss the heroes of the Fifth Blight – and hopefully how they broke their curse and had lots of babies and grew old together and lived happily ever after.

Scoffing at her own imagination, she rolled her eyes. Growing up as a mage of the circle, husbands and children were always out of the question. For many, becoming a grey warden dashed those dreams too. She felt dirty even wishing for it, and yet it was still there in her mind.

As her eyes and ears and nostrils were filled with the sights, sounds, and smells of a city during the height of its action, she pondered heading northward towards Weisshaupt. She had not yet visited the main headquarters of the grey warden order. She smiled to herself, imagining them having the very answer to her woes if only she would go and ask. Agents from Weisshaupt had visited Denerim after the Fifth Blight, visiting her while she was recovering in the royal palace and wondering how she had survived slaying an archdemon. Her and Alistair had agreed to keep the Dark Ritual a secret – who would understand, anyhow? – and so they had played dumb.

A gift from the Maker! A miracle! Divine intervention! Yet the people of Weisshaupt had always remained suspicious.

And rightfully so, Solona thought. What they had done had definitely broken at least a few rules.

But the payoff had been brilliant.

The life she and Alistair had had was amazing, after the Blight. Hunting darkspawn and dealing with politics weren't fun, obviously – but being together at the end of the long days kicking bad guys in the ass made it worth it. Being apart for weeks at a time to be greeted by his grin and tight hugs and sweet kisses…and the sex was always good too.

The queen had always remained civil towards the pair, and sometimes they had attended celebrations at the royal palace. Dressing up with her love was fun to her, and more than she could have ever expected while growing up in the Circle. Their wedding had been a small affair – a couple of close friends, and a dog – but it was special, just like they were.

And of course, they had worked hard to rebuild the wardens in Ferelden, putting recruits through the Joining, training junior wardens, researching past Blights and how to beat them, tracking down leftover ghouls from the previous Blight, keeping up to date with the other wardens from neighboring countries…and Alistair was always there at the end of a long day, to rub her feet and her shoulders and run her a nice hot bath and feed her wine…

Best husband in all of Thedas.

Solona had never been good at expressing herself, however, and had never been able to express just how much he meant to her. She worked through actions, not words. She was going to find them a Cure, so they could keep on doing what they're doing.

But all Alistair saw was her leaving.

Everything else they had done together – except the paperwork, which was usually left to Solona because Alistair whined that much from having to sit at a desk and do things. She remembered when they had traveled with Isabela and Varric to figure out once and for all what had happened to Alistair's father. The conclusion had been shit, but it had at least been closure for her husband.

And catching up with Isabela had been nice, Solona thought with a coy smile.

And yet –

She knew something was going on with the Wardens, when she was packing up to leave. And the mages and templars were fighting, which wasn't news but it was apparently getting worse. But Solona knew it would all be figured out at the Conclave – it just had to be.

And she had wanted Alistair to stay, to be the person she trusted to keep everything together lest the Wardens fell apart again.

A part of her regretted leaving him behind. But she figured, not for the first time, that no news was good news.

No messengers had come racing after her with news of another Blight, or anymore chantry's blowing up, or anything of the sort.

All was calm on the home front.

After wandering the markets of Hossberg for a couple hours, picking some strange looking fruit to eat and a book in a different language to try and decipher – a fun hobby she had that Alistair and many others made fun of her for – she headed towards the eastern gates where she had gathered from the locals had the nicest inns for a reasonable price. She chose the one with the many hanging baskets full of colorful flowers – she had always loved flowers and used to garden at the Circle tower under the watchful eye of a certain handsome templar who she still harbored extremely complicated feelings for – and paid for a week's stay up front. She needed some time to think about what her next move would be.

North, to Weisshaupt, which would undoubtedly be full of more questions – or south, to home and her loving husband's embrace and two year's worth of sex?

Decisions, decisions.

Mostly, though, she didn't want to sleep out in the wilderness anymore. It was too quiet, and her nightmares were getting worse.

At least in the middle of the city, she was distracted by the noise of people.

Because since her nightmare a couple of weeks ago, it hadn't stopped.

Every night, she was called to, from the borders of her consciousness.

Solona. Solona. Solona.

She loved how he said her name, but it was not the same. In the nightmares, it was desperate, frightened.

She hated hearing him like that, and had no idea what had sparked it. She had been away for him for so long…why now?

Dreams were usually just that – dreams. But she was a mage, and mages had a strange connection to the Fade that could sometimes mean that dreams meant so much more. Wynne had taught her that much, in their time together. She wished Wynne was here with her now, she would ease her mind. Tell her it was just nightmares, and not to worry.

She had attended Wynne's funeral, as she had headed west. How she missed her.

Solona felt like the lion with the thorn in its paw, unable to get it out. It was right there, and yet she couldn't pull it out and examine it. She was looking at it the wrong way…

…and it was just a dream, she reminded herself.

"Ferelden?"

The voice pulled Solona from the book her nose was buried into. It took her a couple of moments to comprehend that someone had actually spokento her – had it really been that long?

"Ah," she said, glancing Shadow at her feet under the table. "The dog gives it away, doesn't he?"

The young man licked his lips and shuffled on his feet. "Warden-Commander Solona Amell?"

Solona rolled her eyes. "Warden-Commander Solona Theirin, why don't they – um, yes. What gave that away? The red hair?" she said, rolling her eyes but smiling all the same. "How long have you been looking for me?"

She was sitting on the deck outside of the inn, near the gardens. The sound of the fountain tinkling in the background soothed her, and she liked to watch the birds. She was now over halfway through her book after a week and felt like she understood a third of what she had read.

"A couple of weeks, actually," the young man said. His accent sounded like a Marcher. "I have a letter from you."

"From my husband?"

The man frowned. "I – I don't -"

"From Vigil's Keep?"

"No. From Skyhold."

"What's that?"

"The base of the Inquisition, serrah," the young man said. "Are you Warden-Commander Solona Am…Theirin?"

Solona smiled. "Yes. Let me buy you a drink?" The young man shuffled again, clasping a letter in his fingers. "Please, indulge me," Solona added. "It's clearly been a while. I didn't even know there was an inquisition."

The young man sat, and Solona gestured to a serving girl that she needed service. A fresh pitcher of Antivan wine was served, and Solona beamed as she poured a fresh cup for her guest. "So, what is your name?"

"Aaron," the man said, taking the cup from her and taking a tentative sip, before gulping the drink greedily.

"Sweet, isn't it?" Solona said as she sipped her own. "So, an inquisition," she crossed her legs and leaned forward, chin resting on her hands. "Tell me how that started."

Aaron opened up slightly as he drank the wine with her, and Solona soon learned all about the explosion at the Conclave, the ongoing battle between mages and Templars, the new threat that was Corypheus.

"And so, who is the head of this inquisition?" Solona said, after her new friend had filled her in with the basic history.

"Well, Lady Pentaghast and Sister Leliana started it off," Aaron said slowly.

Solona smiled kindly. "Ah. Leliana. Of course."

"And, um, Commander Cullen is the head of the military -"

"Cullen?" Solona said, perhaps too quickly as Aaron flinched.

"Yes, serrah," Aaron answered. "Cullen Rutherford, an ex-templar. He came from Kirkwall after the rebellion and helped build the inquisition army to what it is today - something that could match any nations army, in my opinion." A look of pride crossed the young man's features.

A soft smile spread across Solona's lips. "I always knew that boy would do great things," she said.

"And then Lady Trevelyan – um, the Inquisitor."

"Yes?"

"She is the Herald of Andraste, you see. She survived the explosion at the Conclave, and they say that Andraste herself saved her and chose her. She fell out of the Fade and has this mark on her hand that can close the Rifts I was telling you about – it's amazing, serrah."

"That does sound amazing, Aaron," Solona said, finishing the contents of her cup and refilling it. "So, to recap. Lady Trevely-whatever," she grimaced. "I'm usually good with names, forgive me. But she falls from the Fade, but she can control the Fade? Like, close the Rifts and such – and then the Templar and mage war is essentially over, Empress Celene was saved from assassination and still rules Orlais…Aaron, I've very much enjoyed our time together, and don't take this the wrong way…but why on earth did an advisor of the Inquisition send you all this way to deliver a letter?"

Aaron opened his mouth to respond, but she continued. "I mean, this Inquisitor of yours, she seems to have everything mostly under control, does she not?"

"Well, yes -"

"So, what does this have to do with me?"

"The Wardens were involved," Aaron said quickly, then closed his eyes as though he had said something wrong.

"Were they?" Solona leaned back in her chair, eyebrows knitted together.

"And, well, um -" Aaron gulped.

Solona watched him carefully. "You're afraid." It wasn't unkind.

"We drew straws," he said simply.

"Pardon me?"

"We – drew straws, on who would deliver this letter," he stammered.

"Why?"

"We were all afraid."

"Of what?"

"To be the bearer of bad news," Aaron got to his feet suddenly. "Just…read the letter, Warden-Commander."

Solona sat up straight. "What happened to the Wardens?"

Aaron sighed. "The Inquisition marched on Adamant – it was a messy battle with many losses – lady Leliana wrote of it in the letter. There's more…I can't say…"

"Was Alistair there?"

Aaron got to his feet and dug into his pocket and put two silver pieces onto the table next to his empty cup. "Thank you for the drink, serrah. I will be around if…if you wish to send any message back to Skyhold."

Solona watched him hurry away, clutching the letter between her fingers.

Back in her room, Solona read the letter three times before it finally sunk in. Leliana had always been the wordy sort and had explained everything from the beginning. The Wardens, and Erimond, and Corypheus, and Commander Clarel.

Everything.

And then about the Fade, and Alistair.

Such a brave, brave, wonderful boy, and the ultimate sacrifice, and you should be so proud stared up at her from the page.

This wasn't real.

She tried to wake up but realized in vain that this was no longer a nightmare.

This was real.

But the nightmares…were they real?

Solona.

She shook her head, rereading the letter one more time, then again, desperate to find something else.

This couldn't be it...she refused.

No.

Lady Trevelyan used the Anchor to open a Rift and was able to walk physically into the Fade.

Well, then.

Aaron stayed for four days, and without any word from the Hero of Ferelden, he decided to take his leave.

Meeting her in person had been the opportunity of a lifetime, despite the circumstances. She was as beautiful as the songs said – all flawless skin and clear blue eyes and bright red hair – everything the goddess. And fearsome, too – he had been in awe from the start and her aura was so frightful, so powerful. He wasn't sure if she even knew she had that effect on people.

But she was so nice and personal, too. He could see how so many liked her. She was likable.

Still, he didn't want to bother her for a response. She had just found out she was a widow, after all. She would respond in her own time. And he couldn't wait. He had to return to Skyhold.

He was saddling his horse in the stables outside Hossburg when a figure marched in with a great mabari hound in tow. He looked up in awe as the Hero of Ferelden halted in front of the stable master, wearing her silver and blue Grey Warden armor, her red hair in braids that fell down to her waist and looking every part the archdemon slayer he had heard about.

She dug under her cloak and pulled out a pouch that clinked with coin. She dropped it into the hands of the stable master – although she was a good couple of feet shorter than he, the stable master seemed to be shadowed in her presence.

"There is enough gold coin in there, I assure you," the Hero of Ferelden said. "I need your fastest horse."