She sits apart from the rest of us, as usual. As the others jest and laugh, she remains focused, almost unaware of her surroundings. Her amber eyes cannot tear away from the tome she reads, devouring every word. From the moment I handed it over, it has consumed her.

I leave the campfire and walk to her side. The others look at me strangely, but soon continue without me. She is still one of us, and should be treated as such. She, on the other hand, barely acknowledges my presence. Perhaps she feels if she ignores me, I will leave her alone. A strategy I myself have employed often enough.

"Not hungry?" I ask, sitting beside her.

"Not particularly, no." She finally looks up. "T'is no need to worry after me, Warden."

"I know you are perfectly capable of looking after yourself," I reply. "But a cup can only be filled so much before everything spills from it."

Her gaze softens, and she places the book beside her. "T'would seem even I cannot argue with such wisdom. Perhaps I have studied too long. Still, this grimoire has been…very revealing." She stretches out, like a cat that has spent the evening sharpening its claws. "Do you care to hear a story, Warden?"

I blink, caught off guard.

"If you are willing to share?"

She smiles, and takes a breath.

"On a night much like this, many moons ago, I found myself burdened with curiosity. For the first time, I crept away from the safety of my mother's hut, and chanced upon a traveller's caravan. There I laid eyes on a beautiful hand mirror, and my desire consumed me." Her gaze turns wistful. "I stole it and brought it home, thinking it the most magnificent treasure in all the world."

I raise a brow, wondering where this is leading.

"Flemeth, of course, was furious," she continues, "and so she took the mirror and broke it before my very eyes." Something in her face changes, but it does not last. "I was upset, yet now I realise the importance of the lesson I learnt that day." She brings the book back to her lap. "Feelings are fickle things, Warden. They can be twisted to sever family ties and bring the fall of empires, despite being inherently weak." She takes a breath, almost as if trying to convince herself. "What matters is survival, and whatever means are necessary to sustain it. Would you agree?"

I pause, considering my response.

"Perhaps," I murmur. "Survival is important. It drives us, makes us realise our potential in an unforgiving world." The image of my burning home flashes past, and I sigh. "However, I believe it shouldn't rule us." My eyes drift to the red-haired bard, who laughs, oblivious. "Obsession can foul any ideal, especially if it is one's only source of value."

She looks at me, not affronted, but thoughtful. I have provoked debate.

"You make an interesting point." She takes up her book again. "Forgive me. I was going to ask a favour, but now you have made me reconsider. I will have to think over my options." Opening the pages, she waves her hand dismissively. "Now do not fret over the appetite of an intrigued mage. I will eat when I am hungry."

I nod, and stand up.

"Very well, Morrigan."

It was snowing lightly by the time Yara and Bethany made port in the grand city of Val Royeaux. Yara watched the flakes dance through the air, grateful for her fur-lined overcoat and gloves. The dominating White Spire loomed on the horizon, although its light had dimmed considerably, and she could just see the façade of the Grand Cathedral, dusted in white.

Still, it was not the sight that left butterflies in her stomach. Beyond those white-stoned walls she would finally confront the raven-haired apostate, and restore what had been taken from her. Another dream had come and gone, but she hadn't let it burden her. If all went as planned, it would hopefully be her last.

"Are you sure about this?" Bethany asked, drawing her scarf closer. "This is the seat of the Divine herself! Nothing goes by without her knowledge, and if we're caught…"

"We won't get caught," Yara insisted. They'd argued the entire voyage, and although Bethany had reluctantly come around, she was still wary. It was going to be dangerous getting close to someone with direct ties with the Empress, and under the nose of the Left Hand, too. Any mistake would mean arrest, and the Left Hand would pull every string to gain their custody. Yet for Yara, the risk of capture was nothing compared to the promise of a cure. And after four years of lying low, she was confident they could elude the Left Hand, even upon her very doorstep.

Bethany paid the captain, and they disembarked. Yara sighed. There was no place for second thoughts; that had been the last of their funds. She looked around, blinking snowflakes from her eyelashes. The harbour was only half-full of ships, yet still filled with people. Frosted crates, boxes and barrels lined their way, and Yara's boots crunched across the snow. They made straight for the Sun Gate, its statues covered in icicles. If not for their need to be cautious, it might've been enchanting.

Despite the cold, the main square remained packed. The winter market was in full swing, and people excitedly browsed the items on offer. The scent of roasted chestnuts made Yara's mouth water, but she pushed aside her hunger pangs, pressing close to Bethany. She looked around, chewing her lip. Her vision had shown the Empress expressing interest in a special relic, which left two possibilities. Either it would be headed to the University, or it was going to be put up for sale.

As Yara debated which way to turn, a group of chevaliers suddenly marched through. The crowd fell back, clearing a path and allowing a carriage to pass. Bethany pulled Yara aside, and they crouched in the shelter of an empty stall. The chevaliers continued, before they and the carriage stopped at the edge of the square. A guard opened the carriage door, and Yara's mouth went dry.

"Lady Morrigan, this way," the guard said, bowing. "My lord is pleased you could attend the auction at such short notice."

"We shall see if his endeavours are worth the time of my Empress," Morrigan answered curtly. She let herself be escorted inside, dusting snow off her cloak. The doors to the auction house closed, and the chevaliers took up posts outside.

"Yara?" Bethany poked her shoulder. "Was that her?"

Yara blinked.

"Yes," she said, finding her voice. "I didn't expect it to be that easy."

Bethany's lip curled.

"Hmph, some apostate she is," she muttered. "A private horse-drawn carriage with chevalier escort? I bet she can't even conjure a head-cold."

"I promise I'll find a nice noble family for you to marry into as well," Yara teased. Anything to distract her from her racing heartbeat. She turned to the auction house. "We have to get inside."

They left the stall, keeping a distance so they didn't appear too interested. The building was brightly painted, and supported by elegant white pillars. Its eastern side faced the port, while the north side overlooked a garden. A balcony ran around the whole house, glazed with ice, and a large bay window sat at the rear, unguarded.

"That's our way in," Yara murmured.

"And then what?" Bethany asked. "We ask her for a friendly discussion over tea?"

Yara rolled her eyes.

"Maker, you're sounding just like your sister," she said. "We need to find out about this artefact, then use it as leverage to convince Lady Morrigan to listen to us."

"And you say I sound like Amber," Bethany scoffed. "Then again, even her plans were never this far-fetched." She paused, studying the balcony, then the pillars that supported it. More crates stood beside the rear entrance, and she snapped her fingers. "Actually, maybe there's a better way…"

The auction hall was full. Nobles and wealthy merchants mumbled amongst each other, taking their seats before the bidding began. Yara had tucked herself near a side-door, wishing she could retreat under her hood and become invisible. Bethany had 'glamoured' her with magic, so she appeared as a young noblewoman, Orlesian facemask and all. The mage herself was sneaking around, trying to find the relic. Still, Yara didn't feel the part, and her heart pounded. Any keen observer would see through her disguise, and she swallowed, her eyes wandering to the chevaliers at the doors.

"Ladies and gentleman, welcome!" A stout merchant had taken to the podium. He wore expensive robes and white gloves. "And might I extend an especially warm welcome to our honoured guest, Lady Morrigan, who attends on behalf of our Majesty Empress Celene."

The gathering broke into applause. Morrigan acknowledged them with a firm nod.

"So, let me introduce the first item." The man gestured to the stage, where an elven servant brought forth a silver urn. "We shall start the bidding at fifty silvers."

The first item was quickly sold, as was the pocket watch, necklace, and jewellery box that followed. Yara glanced to Morrigan. She was indifferent, examining her fingers. Waiting for the main attraction, no doubt.

A light touch brushed Yara's arm, and she fought the urge to jump.

"Don't turn around." Bethany's voice. She was behind the side-door, and had opened it a crack to speak to Yara. "The relic's a dagger, and it's fake."

Yara swore. So much for her plan of leverage.

"This can still work," Bethany went on. "If Lady Morrigan makes an offer on it, outbid her."

"Pity I left those ten thousand sovereigns in my other dress," Yara muttered.

"That won't matter," Bethany answered. "There's something else going on here. Just trust me."

Yara sighed. She felt Bethany slip away, and cast her attention back to the auctioneer. When the last bid was settled, he clapped his hands.

"Now, I know many of you have been waiting for this," he announced, glancing to Morrigan. It hadn't gone unnoticed she had yet to make a bid. "So, please behold Gaston's most prized item of today's auction!"

The elf servant came forward, carrying a velvet cushion. Upon it sat an ornate knife with a jewelled hilt. The blade was made from a fine glass-like material, and it glowed the colour of lyrium.

"This is a rare item retrieved from the Dales," the auctioneer went on. "An authentic Arulin'Holm!"

The word meant nothing to Yara, but Morrigan's eyes sparked with interest.

"To those unfamiliar, this is a unique Dalish crafting tool that can bring flare to any design, even imbuing it with magic!" He raised his gavel. "I start the bidding…at five hundred sovereigns!"

The crowd gasped. Many folded their arms, out of pocket already.

"T'would seem we need some encouragement," Morrigan said—the first words she'd spoken since arriving. "Allow me to make the first bid, then."

Silence followed. Nobody would dare outbid her. Swallowing, Yara licked her parched lips, and took a breath.

"I bid six hundred."

All eyes snapped to her. Yara held herself rigid, afraid her heart would vault out of her chest. Was Bethany mad? This was the most sure way to keep everyone's attention; more eyewitness accounts than the Left Hand would know what to do with.

Morrigan, however, was more surprised than annoyed. She turned back to the auctioneer, not deterred.

"Seven hundred sovereigns," she said.

"Eight hundred," Yara countered.

The auctioneer scowled. His expression told Yara he wanted her to stop. Yara clenched her fist.

"I bid nine hundred sovereigns," Morrigan continued.

"One thousand!" Yara said, her voice loud and clear.

Gasps rang around the room. That was enough for Morrigan, who seemed to have caught on. She held a hand to her chin, an amused smile on her lips.

"Does…Does our Lady wish to bid further?" the auctioneer asked.

Morrigan shook her head. The blood drained from the auctioneer's face.

"A-Any further bids?" The crowd remained silent. With a shaking hand the auctioneer raised his gavel. "Going once…twice…" Defeated, he let the hammer fall. "Sold, to the young lady in the blue dress."

Yara caught her breath, not realising she'd been holding it. Sweat pooled in her palms, and she flexed her fingers that had suddenly turned numb. Maker, what had she done?

With the auction over, the gathering stood. The chevaliers opened the doors, and the nobles began to file out into the square. Morrigan remained seated, her gaze intent on Yara. Her eyes were pure amber, and a memory darted through Yara's mind. She blinked, forcing herself to focus. She couldn't afford to blackout here.

The auctioneer came to her, and offered his arm. His smile was forced.

"Would my lady kindly come with me to claim her item?" Yara did not miss the edge to his voice. She'd messed something up, big time. "And of course to arrange payment."

"It would be my pleasure," Yara said, glancing around. Where in the Maker's name had Bethany gone?

"If t'would not displease you, I would like to accompany her ladyship." Morrigan had stood up and walked over. Her expression was unreadable. "While I concede I lost to the better woman, I would be interested to take a closer look at the Arulin'Holm."

The auctioneer's eyes lit up.

"Why of course," he said, tightening his grip around Yara's arm. Yara frowned. It was going to leave bruises. "My lady would not protest, would she?"

"Of course not," Yara said, wishing she could draw her dagger and show the man what for. Alas, she had to get Morrigan alone.

The auctioneer took them out the chamber, through a short hallway, then into the stock room. The items of the day were displayed on the shelves, and at the back was the ornate knife. It rested on its velvet cushion, gleaming in the candlelight.

"My lady, Lady Morrigan, please take your time," the auctioneer said, backing towards the door. "I will return shortly."

The moment he closed the door, Morrigan snapped her fingers. Yara's glamour melted, and she blinked.

"You must be glad to end that charade," Morrigan said, raising a brow. "But you are certainly no mage. Who are you, and who told you to bid against me?"

"I…" Yara cleared her throat. She would not be intimidated. "The relic's a fake."

"Oh, I knew that the moment I walked through the doors," Morrigan said. "But if you knew that as well…"

Her eyes widened, and she stormed to the door. She wrangled the knob, but it was locked. Yara swore. So, it had been a trap all along.

"Stand back," Morrigan warned. Yara did so, and Morrigan brought fire to her fingertips. She launched the blaze at the door, but it bounced off. A magical seal flared, and she frowned. "My, t'would seem they are better prepared than I expected."

However, as she readied another spell, the seal suddenly vanished. Yara heard a groan from the other side of the door, and a heavy thump. The door opened, and Bethany appeared, two unconscious mages at her feet.

"They've locked us in, and more assassins are coming," she reported.

Morrigan sighed. "I suppose I should have suspected as much. T'would not be the first time attempts have been made on my life."

She turned to Yara again, more questions on her lips, but they were interrupted as an arrow hit the wall behind them. Yara drew her sword and dagger, hurrying into the hallway. The shadows moved, and as assassin leapt at her. She crossed her blades, deflecting the blow. The assassin twirled on the ball of his foot and thrust his knife at her. Yara twisted, the metal tearing her cloak, and slammed her knee into his belly. He groaned, and Yara drove the pommel of her sword into his face. He dropped to the floor, out cold.

More arrows came, and Yara dodged. She moved into the auction hall, an archer dancing on the rafters above. Morrigan was almost at the entrance, having mown her way through more assassins. Maker, she was going to get away!

The archer suddenly changed tact, taking aim at Morrigan. She had her back to him, too intent on the exit.

"Morrigan, look out!"

Yara sprinted, reaching her just as the arrow was loosed. It hit her in the shoulder, and she cried out. Morrigan turned, then blasted lightning to the ceiling. The rafter crumbled, and the archer fell, cracking his neck on one of the chairs. Bethany struck the last assassin down, and the world became still again. Yara dropped her sword, clutching her bleeding shoulder.

"Yara!" Bethany vaulted the chairs, kneeling by her side. Yara winced, as Bethany checked the wound. Slowly, she pulled out the arrowhead. Yara bit back her cry, trying to keep her arm still. The mage pressed her hand over the broken flesh, letting her healing spell flow into it. Morrigan watched, filled with curiosity.

"So, t'would appear I am in your debt," she said. "Yara, was it? You have my thanks." She made to walk away. Despite her pain, Yara pushed Bethany aside, grabbing the apostate's cloak.

"Please, I need to talk to you," she said.

Morrigan raised a brow. She let out a breath, before taking one of the empty seats.

"Let your friend tend to you, then I am all ears," she said. "I would suggest you make it quick, however."

Yara nodded. She took the chair opposite, letting Bethany finish. When the mage was done, she looked Morrigan in the eye.

"This will sound crazy, but please listen," she began. "I…I was a Grey Warden, and after a terrible accident I lost all my memories. I thought it was because of my wounds that I couldn't remember, but I've had the truth revealed." Her jaw hardened. "Ten years ago, you cast a spell that made me forget."

"Did I, now?" Morrigan said. "And do you have any proof of this?"

"I only have a fragment of a memory," Yara said. "You spoke to me, and said it was a kindness. You were expecting me to die. But I survived, and now I need you to undo it."

Morrigan's eyes widened. It was only for a second, though, and her mask soon slipped down again. For a moment she was silent. Eventually she bowed her head, and stood up.

"I am afraid I cannot help you." She made to walk away again, but Yara stood, blocking her path.

"What? Why!" She clenched her fist. "I know you remember! I'm not asking for…"

Morrigan turned, and Yara fell silent. The apostate's face was sombre.

"I am not denying it did not happen." Morrigan's voice was tinged with something that could have been sadness. "I can sense magic in your mind that should not be there. But even if t'is true, there is nothing more I can do for you. That fugue is a deep, ancient magic, and it has no counter-spell."

Her words were like daggers through Yara's chest. This couldn't be…she wasn't hearing this…

"You're…you're lying…" Yara's voice shook. "You have to be!"

Morrigan sighed.

"Nothing can awaken what lies beneath the darkness of a fugue," she said. "T'is a magic reserved for those who do not have long left in this world, as you have told me. It dulls not only the mind of the one under its thrall, but also those who knew them, to ease their pain as well." Her brow creased. "Even if you found someone who remembers you, as I should, they would not recollect you, either."

Yara froze. Her mind was screaming, and she felt numb. After all she'd sacrificed to get here, and now at the last hurdle only failure stared back.

"So what do I do?" Her voice was hoarse.

"That, I cannot answer," Morrigan admitted. "One would assume t'is some power out there that could help, but if there is one, I know not." She hesitated. "I am sorry."

She departed, leaving Yara and Bethany alone. The silence was deafening, and Yara began to tremble. Angry tears prickled, and she bit back a sob.

"Oh, Yara…" Bethany held her shoulder.

"I was so close." Yara let the tears fall, and she kicked the chair. It smashed into the wall, breaking into splinters. "I was so close, and now the Maker takes this from me as well!" She flung another chair aside, then punched the wall, cracking the plaster. She kicked it again, and again, torn between rage and grief. To make the world shatter as it had done for her.

"Yara." Bethany grabbed her, pulling her into her arms. Yara fought her hold, but eventually she broke down. She fell to her knees, and bawled into the mage's shoulder, not caring for her aching wound. The empty coldness in her chest was overwhelming. She'd given up everything. She'd abandoned the Wardens, she'd torn Bethany from her sister, she'd risked the wrath of the Left Hand…

And all for nothing.

Armoured steps rattled outside. Bethany swore.

"We have to get out of here." She helped Yara to stand, wiping her eyes. Yara sniffed, barely able to keep herself together. She took a shaking breath, trying to stem the tidal wave of feelings. Still they jittered through her, but she let her instincts take over. They had to leave, quickly.

They retreated back to the rear hall, as the front door was broken down. The chevaliers shouted at them, but Bethany pulled Yara's arm harder. Yara stumbled, the adrenaline wearing off and making her injured shoulder flare. Bethany's magic had healed the cut, but the pain would take longer to wear away. There was no way they could fight their way out of this.

Bethany dragged her up the stairs, into the first room. The windows were locked. The mage kicked them, shattering the panes. She pulled Yara through the broken glass, and hurried to the balcony. Yara swallowed. The drop to the ground was longer than she'd thought, and it was rock-hard with frosted snow.

"It's okay, I can cushion our fall," Bethany said. "Just…"

The mage abruptly cried out. She fell to one knee, a silver bolt sticking out of her thigh. Horrified, Yara glanced to the broken window. Several chevaliers burst through, their crossbows poised at them. They were surrounded. Yara raised her hands, and cold steel pressed against her back.

"Do not move." the lead chevalier said. "You are under arrest, by orders of the Left Hand of the Divine."