Something was wrong. Mahanon opened his eyes and jumped out of bed. The door exploded the next second, a dagger embedding itself in his chest. He pulled it out and threw it at his attacker, lodging it in the man's eye as his fellow tried to decapitate him with a sword. He ducked just in time, feeling the tip nick his throat, before grabbing the flat of the blade in both hands and tugging. It was a desperate move, cutting his hands in the process, but it worked. The thug hadn't been expecting it and was tugged off balance. Mahanon couldn't quite rip the sword away, his palms were too slick with blood. So he kneed the man in the groin now that he had him close, dropping him. That left one, a mage who grinned at him wickedly, raising his arms to cast.

"For the Followers of S-"

He was cut off by the dagger slicing his throat. Cole let the man drop, looking around the room with calm eyes. Mahanon turned to kneel next to the groaning swordsman on the floor.

"You're hurt."

Now that the fight was over Mahanon could feel the truth of that. His hands and chest burned, his shirt wet with blood. He could bide for a few more minutes though. His attention was focused on the gurgling noises emitting from the man on the floor. He was smiling, mouth starting to froth.

"The Followers of…She have succeeded…"

Mahanon grabbed him by the shirt. "The Followers of who?"

"Inquisitor…he's dying. He took poison."

The man coughed, already slipping. He started coughing, the blood mixing with his saliva. Mahanon let him drop in disgust, the light leaving his eyes. As he rose he stumbled straight into Cole, black spots flickering across his vision. Cole braced his shoulders. Mahanon shook his head, trying to clear his vision.

"Cole. Get Cassandra."

"The blades, they coated them in poison. You're dying too."

"Well…shit."

That was the last he could manage before he blacked out.

Cassandra was pacing outside of the Inquisitor's door, certain her concern was palpable. It had been a long, terrible night, and there seemed to be no end in sight. True to Cole's words, Mahanon was fighting for his very life. And there was nothing she could do to help. She had arrived too late, to find the elf looking very much the way those who feared the Dalish expected them took. A feral, tattooed creature covered in blood and surrounded by corpses. Only the blood had been his own, the poison already taking its toll. She could only hope the healers, both human and elven, could help him.

Cole chose that moment to reappear, shaking his head. "Not the spiders again. Why is it always spiders?"

Cassandra sighed, not even having the energy to ask. "Were you able to help him?"

"The antidote came too late. But he is strong. He fights against the poison. The old elf does not know how he has lasted this long. He walks in the fade now."

"Thank you Cole."

She was still uneasy around the boy, but time and again he had helped save the elf's life. Like tonight. She did not want to know what would have happened if Cole hadn't found Mahanon when he did. It was a mistake to come to Wycome. I should have been more insistent we stay at Skyhold. Much to her chagrin, Cole caught that.

"It's not your fault. He would have come with or without you. Skyhold is too empty for him now."

Cassandra opened her mouth to remind Cole to stay out of their heads, only to be interrupted by the door opening. The aged Keeper of clan Lavellan emerged with the local healer in tow, both looking drained. Istimaethoriel, a name Cassandra hadn't even attempted to pronounce, frowned when he saw her. His First emerged as well, black eyes as troubled as his elder's. The Keeper looked ready to say his piece when the human healer bowed, cutting off whatever the elf was about to say.

"Most Holy. I want to reassure you I have done everything I can for the Inquisitor. Without the elves' interference I m-"

Cassandra waved her hand. "I am not Divine yet, and even then I would not want some sugar-coated version of the truth Ser Hammond. Keeper Lavellan how is he?"

"To put it plainly, he was given the antidote too late and lost too much blood. If he makes it through the night he might have a chance. But only just. If you'll excuse me, I want to explore some volumes I have tucked away that may hold some answers."

"Of course. Let me know if there are any resources you need access too. Ser Hammond shall assist your research in any way he can."

The man stiffened visibly, but was just smart enough not to argue. Not with the Inquisitor's life at stake. The older elf turned, gesturing the First to follow him. The young man paused, then looked to Cassandra.

"If it is alright, Lady Pentaghast, I would like to stay. Praying seems to be the only thing we can do now."

"I would not turn you or your prayers away at such a time."

The Keeper's frown deepened. "Ma nuevin Da'len. Ir na abelas."

The First bowed his head, as if in acquiescence. The tone of disapproval didn't fit the words granting permission. Cassandra put that away to puzzle over later. She gave a final nod to the two gentlemen and entered the room, taking the chair next to Mahanon's bed. He looked terrible, eyes roving in his sleep, the skin that was normally dark as an acorn far too pale and sickly looking.

She bowed her head and clasped her hand together, readying herself for this vigil. "Though all around me is shadow…"

Dorian sighed yet again, pouring over his letter to Mahanon. He knew coming back home was going to be difficult, but it had been far worse than he had imagined. He found he missed Skyhold despite how blasted cold the castle was, and now found Minrathous too warm and empty. The people he had thought he missed here, the ones he had been so determined to fight for, had nothing on the man he had left behind. He set his quill down and rubbed his temples, trying to get a certain pair of green eyes out of his head. Dorian had already decided he was heading back in six months during the summer. He just had to bide until then. Giving up on his own missive he threw sand on what he had and set it aside. He pulled out the elf's last letter, smiling to himself at the familiar hand. It was untidy and rough, the letter a mess of scratches and ink blots. And it was entirely Mahanon.

Dearest Dorian…

Are you really coming home that soon? Please say yes so I don't fall to begging. It's undignified how often I'm on my knees for you. First things first, Cole would like you to know there is a package on the way that will help but he won't tell me what's in it. Oh and I love you. Now back to this secret package thing…

He fell into reading, sipping at his wine and chuckling as he reread Mahanon's account of their trip to the Hissing Wastes and the giant spiders and wyverns that had almost eaten the Iron Bull. Every now and then Mahanon reminded him that he loved him and that he was an ass for leaving. Dorian was inclined to agree. He was absorbed, so he didn't hear the knock at the door, or see his father enter.

"Is that the letter from the Inquisitor again?"

His eyes snapped up and for a moment Dorian was sixteen again, debating shoving the note from his latest romp under what he was really supposed to be working on. He exhaled though, recalling himself, and nodded.

"It is."

His father seemed hesitant, hand on the doorway. Dorian was already irritated.

"If this is to be another lecture about him being an elf-"

The man raised a hand, pulling a paper from his robes. "No. It is not that. A note arrived not ten minutes ago from the Inquisition. My son I…"

Dorian did not like the look on his father's face one bit. It smacked of regret.

"Father what is it?"

"The elf is…he was attacked in Wycome. He did not survive."

Dorian froze. No, it cannot…he cannot be…No!

"You lie!"

He got to his feet, crossing the desk. He ripped the letter from his father's hands. Cullen's hand.

Dorian,

I deeply regret that this duty has fallen to me. Mahanon was attacked by a cult in Wycome. They used poison blades, and the healers were unable to administer the antidote in time…

He crumpled the letter in his hand, shaking his head. "No. This cannot be. This-"

He choked on the words, falling to his knees. He barely registered his father's hands on him, voice gentle. All he heard was the roaring in his ears as the world fell apart.