The twisting miasma writhed around them, making his stomach turn. They'd been here too long. And now they were cut off from escape, even after having fought for their lives. Inquisitor Luvian Lavellan stared up at the monstrosity looming towards them, the Nightmare revealed at last, tightly gripping his staff for support as magic, adrenaline and no small amount of fear shuddered through him. This multi-eyed demon was by far the most terrifying thing he'd seen, and he'd faced down both Corypheus and his dragon. It seemed to be so large and wide that he couldn't fit the whole thing into his field of vision, and that alarmed him greatly. How was he supposed to fight something like that? For some reason, Keeper Istimaethoriel's warnings about the Fade unhelpfully flashed through his mind. It's a bit late for that, Keeper.

He was distracted by a burning hand upon his shoulder, and the glowing form of Divine Justinia brushed past him. 'If you would, please tell Leliana, "I am sorry. I failed you, too."' As she rose up into the air, she began to glow brighter and brighter until Lavellan couldn't even look at her. Forced to shield his eyes from the flash of brilliance that followed, he only got a brief impression of what had happened; Divine Justinia rising and the Nightmare being forced backwards. When the light finally faded, neither the Nightmare or Divine Justinia were anywhere in sight, which was both a relief and sad. The Nightmare had been beaten back, but... She's gone, now. Lavellan realised. She gave herself for us.

But the Aspect of the Nightmare had not been defeated, and Lavellan grit his teeth, glancing back at his companions. Dorian looked exhausted; being a mage like Lavellan, he could no doubt feel the pull of the Fade as strongly as the elf did, and fighting off the demons the Nightmare had sent after them didn't help with the sensation of being thinly spread. Dorian met Lavellan's gaze and, despite everything, managed a shaky but charming grin. I'm getting you out of here, the elf promised silently. Lavellan could sense Cole behind him somewhere, sticking close and using the mage as an anchor to maintain his grip on himself. Not long now, Cole. Almost there. Stroud looked pale but determined, raising his sword in preparation. Varric glanced at Hawke, and Lavellan could see a silent agreement pass between them. Hawke's tired face broke out into a wry grin, and Varric shook his head with a half-smile.

Lavellan looked back the the Aspect, the six spider legs protruding from its spine twitching irritably. Though it had no eyes, it seemed to be glaring at the group, and for some reason that irritated Lavellan. He twirled his staff, narrowing his eyes as the fear left him, and felt the magical energy surge up from the well inside him. Let's do this.

He was halfway through casting his first spell when the Nightmare returned, slamming a leg between himself and the Aspect, making the floor shudder from the impact. Lavellan fell backwards in shock, and Stroud rushed forwards to help, but the Nightmare turned on him and Stroud disappeared into its giant maw. 'Stroud!' Lavellan cried out in horror. The Nightmare faced him, its multitudes of eyes trained on him, and thousands of those spider creatures came rushing out of the dark to engulf Lavellan, their chittering drowning out everything but the pain as he fell into an abyss of fangs and legs and...


Lavellan woke up, crying out in alarm as he writhed in the sheets that had twisted around him. His struggle caused him to fall off of the bed, and not surprisingly the abrupt cold and the feeling of his head hitting the stone floor was enough to shock him into some semblance of calm. He was safe, he was in Skyhold, and that's not how it had happened. He ran a hand over his face, sighing heavily. The dreams that had plagued him since receiving the Anchor had been fairly disturbing, but the ones he'd had since Adamant had been far worse, because they stemmed from real events.

He remembered what had actually happened, the choice he'd made. When facing the Nightmare, after having sent Dorian, Varric and Cole on ahead to the exit, he'd had to choose between Hawke and Stroud. One of them would have to stay to cover their retreat. You were right. The Grey Wardens caused this. A Warden must help them rebuild. That's your job. And then Lavellan had to choose. It had been a split second decision, one that would always have dire consequences no matter what he'd done, and three days after it had happened he was still conflicted. 'Stroud...' Lavellan had said sadly, but he hadn't been able to properly give the order. Stroud had understood though. Inquisitor, it has been an honor. Had it, though? I just sent you to your death.

Lavellan disentangled himself from the sheets, managing to stand and make his way over to the mirror. He didn't really need it to know that his hair was an absolute catastrophe. Green eyes gazed levelly back at him from the other side of the glass. Both Lavellan and his reflection sighed. You cannot change the past, da'len. Istimaethoriel's voice reminded him. I know, Hahren, Lavellan had always responded, but it didn't make him feel better now.

Corypheus still needs to be stopped, he told himself. Hawke hadn't left for Weisshaupt yet, so maybe he could give some last minute advice before he went. After all, he and Varric had killed Corypheus before. Besides... Lavellan grinned to himself as he brushed his deep scarlet hair back into something more presentable. There were still so many questions that he had about The Tale of the Champion, and Hawke was a lot more blunt and sarcastic than Varric when it came to retelling his own adventures, which was fun to listen to. It might take his mind off of things, at any rate.

He also needed to see Dorian. No doubt he was seething in the library somewhere. After they'd returned to Skyhold, they'd barely seen each other - mostly because everyone was recovering from being in the Fade or just fighting at Adamant, but also because Lavellan was still the Inquisitor, whether he was recovering or not, and had had a lot of things to deal with in the wake of Adamant and the Grey Wardens joining them.

Oh Maker, the Grey Wardens. Lavellan groaned, tucking the left side of his hair behind a graceful, pointed ear. The right side of his hair remained covering his other ear - he was still torn between being self-conscious after being called "knife-ear" the first few days he'd been in Haven, and being proud that he was Dalish. Cassandra had not been happy about the Grey Wardens. Nor had poor Cole. Neither had Vivienne or Solas for that matter, but he didn't care so much about that. But he believed in second chances, and the Grey Wardens knew who their enemy truly was now. With Lavellan himself being stretched across the whole of Thedas, he needed more people equipped for fighting demons to defend the people.

Speaking of second chances, hopefully Dorian was in a forgiving mood.


'You have remarkably little here on early Tevinter history.' Uh oh. Dorian was idly browsing through the selection on the shelves, and didn't look at Lavellan as he approached. Dorian had, despite his current cool demeanor, a flashy and passionate personality, and the magic to match; Lavellan could sense Dorian's magic whirling around in a maelstrom of emotion, and that didn't bode well for the Inquisitor.

'All these "gifts" to the Inquisiton, and the best they can do is the Malefica Imperio? Trite propaganda.' The disgusted tone told Lavellan that Dorian was not only cross, but he was cross with him specifically, and now Lavellan had to find a way to make him smile again without irritating him further.

'But if you want twenty volumes on whether Divine Galatea took a shit on Sunday, this is evidently the place to find it.' Dorian tossed a book over his shoulder, and when Dorian didn't care about books, you were in trouble. Creators help me. Or the Maker, whichever is listening.

'That's the Dorian I know: critiquing every book in my library.'

Well, it sort of worked; Dorian turned to face him and snapped, 'I wouldn't have to if you could find some rebellious heretic archivist to join the cause.'

'Are there rebellious archivists?' Lavellan asked, holding Dorian's glare. 'Other than you, that is?'

'If Corypheus starts burning masterworks of literature, I'm sure a few will pop up.' He was still angry, but his magic was in check now; Lavellan could sense the vortex quieting down into a softer, swirling pool as Dorian realised he was getting too worked up and too obviously emotional. Dorian didn't like it when people could read him.

Dorian changed the subject to distract himself. 'Did I see something by Genitivi here? I could have sworn...'

Well, tough. After being yelled at over books, Lavellan wasn't about to let it go. 'What is this about, Dorian?' He'd tried to ask gently, but the words had a harder edge than he'd meant. But then sometimes, Dorian would only tell him what he was really feeling if Lavellan was blunt with him.

'When we fell into the chasm, into the Fade...' A flicker of pain crossed Dorian's face, making Lavellan's heart flinch, and finally his lover admitted, 'I thought you were done for.' Dorian... Lavellan couldn't find the right words to express how that confession made him feel. For Dorian to admit his feelings like that showed an immense amount of trust, which Lavellan treasured jealously. But to think he'd made Dorian feel that way, even for a second, filled him with a nauseating guilt.

'I don't know if I can forgive you for that moment.' Dorian finished, sounding more like himself, though still upset.

'I'm sorry you had to go through it with me,' Lavellan finally managed. The Fade was awful even when you were dreaming, but to actually be there... The mages had felt sick from the excess of raw magic, the warriors and rogues had felt the pull of madness that comes with demon energy, and he couldn't even imagine what Cole had been going through.

'I'm not sorry I was there with you.' Dorian turned to face him again and their eyes met, grey on green. 'I thought I'd lost you.'

When Lavellan didn't reply, he shifted in irritation as he found himself having to explain further. 'You sent me ahead, and then didn't follow. For just a moment, I was certain you wouldn't.' Dorian kept looking at Lavellan, the Inquisitor, the man he loved. He looked no worse for wear after physically entering the Fade; his hair was tucked behind his left ear as usual, the dark, swirling tattoo trailing over and around his left eye, both of his green eyes lined with black. He looked pale, worried and tired though, and Dorian had heard a rumour that he was having nightmares again. He could guess what they were about. He'd had a few himself, mostly about Lavellan dying in the Fade.

'I thought: "This is it. This is where I finally lose him forever."' Dorian watched Lavellan's reaction, seeing the pain and concern dance across his face. Lavellan had never hidden anything from him, mostly because he was a poor liar anyway. But he seemed particularly exhausted today. 'Are you... all right?' He finally asked the elf. Of course, he wasn't just talking about whether he was tired or not, and Lavellan knew it.

'It was like walking in a nightmare, but everything was real.' Lavellan said slowly. 'I couldn't...' The elf broke eye contact, shutting his eyes to whatever image his memory had just conjured.

'Ah, it's as I thought.' Stroud... Lavellan had chosen, and was weighed down by his choice. Of course, Dorian couldn't say that. 'The Fade is an ordeal under normal circumstances.' He tried his best to sound like the authority on the subject. 'To be the only real thing there... beyond description.' They both knew that wasn't what Lavellan had been thinking of, but Dorian hadn't survived Tevinter this long by being tactless. 'That any of us made it out alive is difficult to believe. That you made it out? A miracle.'

Lavellan looked up at him again, his green eyes sad, and Dorian tried to keep his own emotions in check. 'You do realise that this feat hasn't been performed in over a thousand years? Corypheus and his contemporaries entered the Fade and began the Blights. In comparison...'

Lavellan wasn't going to be distracted. 'At least you were at my side.'

That finally got the smile the elf had been hoping for. Dorian gave a short chuckle, 'No offense, but I'd almost rather I hadn't been.'

Lavellan's mouth quirked up in one corner. 'No sense of adventure? That's surprising.'

'I've not your talent for survival, and not everyone is as discerning as I. If you can walk in the Fade, others will try to follow. Who knows what secrets Corypheus has revealed? Not all of them will be so lucky as you. What they could unleash...'

He had a point. If Corypheus had indeed seen "the throne of the gods", then there were so many questions that needed answering. And no doubt the Chantry or the Templars would like them to be answered. The sheer amount of philosophy being confirmed as fact or fiction was enough to make your head hurt, and what if someone found their way into the Fade and made something worse than the Blights?

Seeing Lavellan working it all out, Dorian put in, 'My advice? Keep this quiet, let them speculate. Too many will see this as a challenge.'

He was right, of course. 'That's a good idea.'

The relief on Dorian's face clashed harshly with the irritation that accompanied his next thought. 'There are too many idiots in the world who think if they just use enough blood magic, their problems will vanish. It's exactly the sort of thing I want to stop back home. This... This I don't need.'

He turned back to the bookshelf, quelling his irritation with a slowly-forming plan. 'What I do need is a copy of the Liberalum. I'll wager I can find Corypheus' real name. If I can prove he was a grasping ankle-biter with no family to speak of? The luster will come right off.' He glanced back at Lavellan with a wry smile. 'Wish me luck.'

'Good luck,' Lavellan smiled back briefly, but for some reason the way he said it made it sound like "good bye", and Lavellan found that he couldn't bear the thought of that. 'Ar lath ma,' he blurted, surprised at his own outburst. Why had he said that? He'd said it before, once or twice, after he and Dorian had spent the night together and he was tired and not paying attention. But now he was fully conscious, and he'd said it anyway. Dorian shot him a quizzical look, and Lavellan remembered that Dorian didn't speak elvish. Feeling foolish, he turned to go, but Dorian's curiosity had been piqued.

'Hold on a moment. What did you say?'

'Nothing.'

'You, Inquisitor Lavellan, are a terrible liar. I insist that you tell me what you said.'

'It's nothing,' Lavellan tried not to blush. He'd never really thought about not blushing before, but he wasn't sure it helped. Normally it just made the tips of his ears go pink. 'You know I lapse into elvish sometimes when I'm tired.'

Dorian peered at him suspiciously. 'You seem wide awake to me.'

'I need to speak to Hawke before he leaves,' Lavellan said, firmly changing the subject. 'I have some questions about The Tale of the Champion that I think Varric will anwer vaguely. I'll speak to you later.' He added the last promise quickly, so as not to offend him. Dorian was still watching him closely as he turned to go.

'I need to find an elvish to common tongue translator...' He heard Dorian mutter to himself as he left the library, and Lavellan hoped fervently that there was no such text anywhere in Thedas.