31

Horny

"Don't tell me that's a––"

"––dragon," Kieran finished for her. Hawke cursed harshly. The dragon tossed its head while throwing a deer in the air. It breathed fire for a few seconds, roasting the poor creature, then gulped it down without chewing. Swiping its tail, it immobilized several other deer in the herd. The dragon then repeated the process with each, leaving the "herd" with only two deer––a buck and a doe. The travelers only slightly wondered if the dragon had left the two to replenish its food supply in time.

The dragon itself was streaked with orange and dark purple stripes from its head to its immensely thick tail. Black, enormous, qunari-like horns extended from the sides of its head. Its snout was rather compressed compared to some other dragons, but the teeth compensated for the size, as each of the razor-sharp serrated teeth appeared to be over a foot long. Whisker-like protrusions extended from the dragon's snout and drooped almost to the joints of its front legs. Scales stronger than ironbark armor covered nearly every inch of its body. Its wings were unlike most dragons'. They bent like bat wings, acting as another set of limbs and were much larger than most dragon wings. Its eyes were stunning. They appeared to glow with fire, even from the distance at which the travelers were situated––nearly a hundred yards away. The eyes had to be enormous to see the irises from that distance.

Kieran was in awe. Briala's fingers twitched while fingering the hilt of her sword. Hawke wanted to rush forward and attack it while they were under the cover of stealth. She grinned madly at the sight of it while watching the creature through the small patch of brush in which they were hiding.

"Well, a high dragon. The only way this could get worse is if it is an archdemon. So, what do we do?" Hawke asked them.

"Well," Briala spoke slowly, "we are almost to Weisshaupt. That dragon looks to be the last obstacle. If you look there," she pointed at spires in the distance, "there's Weisshaupt. We could go around, but there are no more brush patches like this for leagues. We would have to backtrack about a half-day's walk and circle around the dragon, unless we want to fight it." Her hand dropped to her side. "We could fight it."

"You mean kill it." Kieran corrected her. His expression almost seemed to indicate he was disappointed in her.

"Yes," she replied quietly. "However," she spoke louder, "I don't think we could anyway. I mean, look at that." She pointed at the simultaneous monstrosity and beauty. It burned the ground beneath it in a circle then lay down to rest. The creature could crispify them within seconds. Its muscles rippled beneath its scales magnificently.

Hawke shivered after involuntarily imagining immolation. "Do we have time to backtrack?"

"No, but we don't have enough lives to attack the dragon either," Briala sighed.

Hawke sighed too. "If only Anders could be here. Maybe he could summon an army of cats. Do you think nine lives would be enough to kill a high dragon?"

Kieran suddenly huffed, took off the sheath containing his sword, shoved it in Briala's hands, and strode into the clearing. Briala moved to chase after him, but Hawke grabbed her and mouthed "no." The dragon lifted its head gingerly at first, then sprang up and crouched in a defensive position as Kieran approached. A monstrous roar escaped its scaly lips which nearly blew Kieran backwards on his bottom. However, Kieran continued to approach holding his hands up as a sign of peace. A rumble echoed in the beast's throat, and it stepped back. A nearly identical rumble ensued from Kieran's throat. Then came a strange sort of singing. It was a combination of dragon and human vocals. The dragon song was strangely beautiful, yet haunting. He came up to the dragon while still singing and lifted his hand. The dragon lowered its snout to his comparatively infinitesimal hand and made a sound that resembled a purr. Its whiskers brushed the dirt.

"Maker's breath," Hawke whispered. "If the dragon bursts into song I'm going to vomit."

Briala watched her brother with awe. He made a motion for them to follow him. Obeying him, they cautiously made their way across the space, thinking at any point the dragon would notice them and roast them as it had the deer. Briala occasionally looked back to watch her brother stroke the dragon's snout and wondered how he would escape.

32

Tame

They made it across nearly a half-hour later with Kieran still petting the beast. When he saw they were at a safe distance away, he switched to a different song, one that sounded bittersweet, like a goodbye forever. It stuck Briala with how similar a mood it encouraged in her as with farewell tidings of the Dalish. He tentatively released his hand and walked away, never turning away from the dragon.

"Where did you learn that? The dragon-taming expo?" Hawke asked sarcastically when Kieran reached them.

"From whom is what you should be asking. I learned dragon taming from my mother. She can . . . transform into a dragon. She learned some of their language from her mother, too––a forgotten art."

"That is amazing," Hawke breathed. "First, I meet Flemeth, the Witch of the Wilds, and learn she can turn into a dragon. Then, I meet you and learn you can talk to dragons. Can someone teach me? Please?"

"That's why you didn't want us to attack the dragon, isn't it?" Briala asked Kieran, thereby continuing the habit of ignoring Hawke's remarks.

He answered, "Yes, and I thought you cared more about the natural creatures of Thedas, with you being an elf. I was surprised and a bit disappointed when you spoke of attacking it."

"Right, but Dalish don't typically interact with dragons. I have only been taught to avoid them."

"I suppose I understand. Come, let us continue."

"Hello?" Hawke voiced from behind them. "Lessons can commence anytime now. I'm waiting. Kieran?"

33

Peak

"Weisshaupt Fortress," Hawke announced.

"Shh." Briala stepped before them. "Follow me," she whispered.

Hawke huffed. "Well, where else would we go? The other direction?"

Briala gingerly stepped over the threshold into the fortress. There were no guards presently, as hardly anyone besides Grey Wardens made the journey to the fortress. It was cold, like at Skyhold, especially since it was nighttime and at a high elevation. Many of the stones were covered with snow. Large gatehouses stood on either side of the portcullis and waved decrypt flags bearing griffin heraldry of the Grey Warden order. Towers broke through the battlements periodically and bore similar flags. The stones of the fortress were ancient but intact. The intruders assumed magic to be the cause of the preservation. Before the travelers loomed the keep.

"I'll search the fortress for Morrigan and my mother. You two set up camp in the courtyard." Briala started off toward the keep.

"Excuse me?" Hawke grabbed her shoulder and spun her around. "No one is going in there alone."

"And I won't have only one of us in the courtyard completely exposed," Briala shot back. I'm the only one here who expertly knows how to sneak around. It has to be me."

Kieran stepped forward. "Why does it have to be you? All of us have someone here we're looking for. I'm sure Hawke could hold her own if some Grey Wardens decided to ambush us." He watched her avoid his gaze and close her eyes as if she was suppressing something. "This is about that elf, isn't it? In Orlais at the estate. You don't want the same to happen to one of us."

"Enough." She pulled out of Hawke's grip and stamped away. "If I'm not back by sunrise, I'm dead. Don't come looking for me." They were left behind her to do as she commanded.

"If you're the daughter of the Hero of Ferelden, probably the most famous Grey Warden," Hawke called after her only loud enough for Briala to hear, "then why are we sneaking around the Grey Warden stronghold?"

"I wish I knew," Kieran muttered.

34

Reflection

The corridors were filled with dust, tables, and the occasional scenic painting. Every so often, a loud snore would emit from behind a thick wooden door, but she pressed on, undaunted.

She hesitated before breaking the lock with one of her daggers. Inside was an eluvian. Currently the surface simply resembled that of an old mirror; although, it did not reflect the room of Weisshaupt. Instead, it displayed the image of trees and grass and rocks, not unlike the Temple of Mythal. When she stepped in the room, the image of the forest transformed into a glowing blue rippling surface. A bald yet young-looking elf stepped out dragging two women behind him. One was Morrigan. The other was Alyne. Both were still but for their chests rising and falling every few heartbeats. He gently lowered them to the floor and looked up at Briala with a knowing smile. "Aneth ara. I thought you would never come, da'len."

Briala snapped, "You may not call me that, Fen'Harel."

His gaze softened. His sorrowful expression contrasted with that of his sharp angular features: his long, elven ears and his pointed jaw. They combined into what was the best example of what elves once looked like. Ironically, it was he who made the elves fall from the status of being Thedas's greatest above-ground race to wandering, sickly clans desperately clutching onto the few remnants of their past that remained. "Ir abelas. It is because of my mistakes that our people have deteriorated so. I deserved that."

She spoke sarcastically, "What mistakes are those? The mistake in which you kidnapped my mother or betrayed the gods?"

"You should understand I did not kidnap your mother. In fact, she came to me. Nor did I betray your," he grimaced, "'gods.'"

Briala stepped back in shock. "What?"

"Your 'gods' were not, in fact, gods. They were slave-owning mages, but we lack the time for me to explain this question that would change your view of reality. So, I shall resort to your question of import. Yes, your mother was searching for a cure to the Calling when she heard of my plans. At first, she tried to stop me, but I persuaded her that I had a cure for the Calling, or I would have one if she helped me. You see, your mother has known where the cure was all along but refused to tell me its location, strange enough. She would rather die than not accompany me to its whereabouts to supervise me. I discovered she had been in hiding for so long in order to protect the cure from those who would abuse its power. She tried to kill me to ensure I would not get it." He sadly looked down at Alyne's motionless body. "I had to get the information out of her. Time is running short. Lanahris Lavellan is knocking on my door."

Briala whipped around to snatch a glance at the doorway behind her, but there was no one there. She turned back to find Solas with a poignant smile touching his lips at her childishness.

"What did you do to my mother?" Briala nearly shouted. She restrained herself; she couldn't have her friends hearing her and rushing to help her only to get themselves hurt, nor could she wake up every Grey Warden in the hall outside.

"Nothing she won't recover from." He looked up at Briala again. "Your mother did want to come back to you, but she couldn't leave me, or reveal the position of the orb."

"What orb?"

"There were two orbs," he explained, "imbued with the power of the Fade, a link, a key––whatever you wish to call it. The first, the Inquisitor encountered, and she used its ability to open and close Fade rifts. That was the power called the Anchor. There was another orb that I searched for after the first was destroyed. The second your mother found during her wanderings about Thedas. She cut a piece off using an ironbark dagger, and gloves, mind you, or she would have also been infused with the Mark of the Rift, for she had heard of circumstances in which magical artifacts were mishandled, sometimes blowing apart the first to touch it in ages in treated improperly. She took it to an enchanter and crafter––I believe she told me his name was Sandal during the interrogations––who crafted a necklace from the piece of my ironbark orb. The necklace was engraved with her name and made to slowly imprint the magic from it into her. This would ensure her ability to keep the power safe; in order for one to use the complete power of the orb, he, or she, would have to search all of Thedas for the orb, her, and . . . her daughter. She wore it for a long time, then handed it down to you. I see you have given it away." He looked down at her bare neck and frowned, then regained his composure. "However, I believe between the orb, you, and your mother, most of its magic is, or I should say, was inside of the two of you. Now that I have extracted it from her, all I have to do is extract it from you, then I will have the amount of Fade magic I need to tear open the Veil."

She shook her head in confusion. "Why would you, Fen'Harel, want to destroy the Veil, the only thing keeping the gods you sealed away from coming back?"

"They are not gods. And it was a mistake to create the Veil. Creating the Veil cut off the ancient Elvhen peoples from the Fade from which they received their immortality and slowly reduced them to what they are today. Our cities, built with magic and stone, were rent between the two worlds I had suddenly created. Tearing down the Veil will restore our people. Don't you want that?"

Briala's mouth stopped on the first letter of "no." She thought of all the people she had known, who had died in some way simply because they were elves. She thought of the evil in the world, and how it all traced back to the other races, especially the humans. How was Solas, or as she knew him, Fen'Harel, evil? She had been taught that way: Fen'Harel ma ghilana––the Dread Wolf guides you, Fen'Harel ma halam––the Dread Wolf ends you, and many more curses. But why? Fen'Harel shut the gods away. What had the gods done to make him want to do this?

Her fingers reached up to instinctively fiddle with the necklace that was no longer there. She looked down on her neck where the pendant normally rested and saw that her skin was perfect there. In that spot there were no blemishes, no bumps, no stray hairs. She thought back to how she always was able to hang off the cliffside of the crevasse when she was near death. That had been in the Fade. A part of the Fade no one ever saw because usually people die and are finished with life, but the necklace, over time, had saturated her with enough Fade magic to let her choose between life and death, similar to the immortal elves, her ancestors, who were once connected to the Fade constantly before the Veil was created and they were drained of their immortality. That was why she could not seem to die, why her mother had not given into the Calling yet, and why it was possible for Briala to be born a half-elf. The ancient elven connection between her and the Fade had bestowed upon her near-immortality, strengthened genetics, inhuman reflexes, a touch of magic, the pale blond hair of the Elvhen, and possibly more. Her mother had not worn the necklace for as long as Briala, so she was not as powerful.

Briala thought back once again to Fen'Harel's question regarding the restoration of the Elvhen people. The Inquisitor had made it quite clear that tearing the Veil could destroy the world as it was known, but was that bad? All someone in Thedas would have to do is step outside in some city and see the contrast between the rich and the poor and notice how little most of the rich cared for the fate of the less fortunate. She focused on the words "most of." There were good people: the Inquisitor, Varric, Cullen, Kieran, Alyne, Hawke. But was the entire world worth saving for just those people compared to all the suffering?

Yes. It was.

Her human half resisted the temptation, pushed away the idea of living as a mighty elf in Thedas, in living in a new world void of diversity.

"No."

"No? You don't want to live forever with your people, with your mother, in peace?"

"The ends don't justify your means." Briala clenched her fists. She was preparing herself for a battle.

"Ir abelas. I wished I would be able to persuade you to surrender yourself to me because without your consent, this will be painful. I have lost everything for this. I will not let you end centuries' worth of sacrifice for your unwillingness to see change."

"You know," she said softly, though harshly, forcing herself to ignore the tears she thought she saw gathering in his eyes, "I've come to learn 'I'm sorry' is used as an excuse!" She lunged on the last word and whipped out her sword. Fen'Harel held out his hand calmly. The tip of her sword slammed against his hand, and, instead of piercing it, bounced off in a green wave of energy and clattered feet away from her leaving Briala unbalanced. Green light then flowed from his fingertips and enveloped the walls, doors, paintings, and all. Briala thought it might be a sound barrier. As Thedas was currently searching for Solas, he did not want the Grey Wardens awaking and adding to Briala's cause.

Fen'Harel pulled a staff tipped with a wolf's skull and fired a blast of lightning at Briala. Her reflexes helped her to dodge in time, but she remained unbalanced. Solas then shot a blast of fire at her. She screamed when she noticed her clothes on fire. Dropping to the cold floor, she rolled in hopes of extinguishing the flames. Her screams continued to echo though the halls as more were produced from the inextinguishable fire. Solas bent beside her with a mournful gaze on his face.

"I told you, I wished I did not have to do this, but you must understand I have been waiting thousands of years. Likewise, I have seen thousands of deaths. One half-elf will not stand in my way." He reached his hand to her neck and lifted her with one hand, which was surprising for his muscular size. As soon as he did, a feeling that could only be compared to a frozen sword stabbed her. She felt all the warmth drain from her skin, her body, even her soul. She screamed again, louder this time, as all that made her special was drained through her skin into this man's fingertips.

35

Distance

"Do you see that?" Kieran turned toward the keep. A fresh fire they had built blazed behind him.

"What?" Hawke reclined on her blanket.

"Look at the keep." Kieran's voice rose anxiously.

"Are you sure?" Hawke sat up and followed his gaze. A green, shimmering film had surrounded the surface of the stonework; however, a set of doors, opened by Briala when she had entered, was unbarred.

Hawke grabbed her sword. They wordlessly ran toward the fortress, weapons in hand.

After making their way through the hallways, they saw the door to the room containing the eluvian open, and Briala inside. Her fingers rested on a dagger on her hip while an elf drained green energy from her neck. Kieran and Hawke ran toward her down the long hallway. Briala unsheathed the dagger.

36

Detriment

Briala's fingers reached the dagger on her hip and unsheathed it. She turned her head when she saw her friends approaching her. She lifted the dagger. Her expression was somber, knowing if she attacked him, he would not fall in time. It would have to be her. Then, he would not get her power. He could not destroy the world. She would be a hero like Hawke, like the Inquisitor. Like her mother.

Kieran's eyes widened in horrid comprehension. His mouth seemed to move slowly as it formed the word "no." Hawke, thinking Briala was going to stab Solas, mouthed "yes." Briala blearily turned her gaze to Fen'Harel. His expression was still woeful. She smiled sadly and then turned triumphant.

Fen'Harel, distracted by the interlopers, did not notice her raise the dagger. "I am not letting you destroy this world. Not on my watch." She plunged the dagger into her heart. The shout escaped Kieran's, Hawke's, and Solas's lips simultaneously. The pain came next. Her heart beat more slowly every time the convulsions pushed along the blade piercing it. It was a painful reminder of the arrow she had once found in her chest. Solas softly set her on the ground and backed away to let her friends be with her in her last moments. He knew he did not need to rush. Not yet.

Kieran reached her side first. Everything seemed so slow to Briala. To Kieran and Hawke, it was moving too quickly. Kieran spoke, but she couldn't hear him. She simply smiled and nodded her head wearily, hoping to get the message to him that it was all right. This was what she had to do. This was her destiny. After so many escapades with death, this was it. No one would abuse her power. Ever.

A trickle of blood ran down her chin from her mouth that opened and closed as she tried to get out her last words to no avail. Hawke circled around to her other side and took her hand––a fact Briala was vaguely aware of. Briala's hands involuntarily clutched and released both Hawke's hand and the air. Kieran laid her head in his lap and rocked her gently. His hands tenderly stroked her pale hair. Was he sobbing? Maybe. She couldn't tell. Her eyes closed. A shuddering breath rocked her chest. Her heart hobbled along for another few beats before stopping entirely.

And here she was again. The crevasse. This time she didn't see her mother walking along. She only saw people dropping off hundreds of feet away from her. And Fen'Harel. There he was with his wolfskin draped over his metal armor. He watched her from the other side. This time there was no expression on his face. Briala squinted above her at the bright green sky. It rippled beautifully. She wondered what it was like in the crevasse. Well, she didn't have to wonder anymore. This was why she had decided to plunge the dagger into her heart. She didn't have a choice.

She let go.

She tumbled down. Her heart, strangely intact, thudded nervously. Would it hurt when she landed? Surely it wouldn't hurt more than dying from a blade in her heart.

Thud.

The ground was unexpectedly soft. Sitting up, she studied her surroundings. Only, there were no surroundings. Only a bright, white light. She noted the crevasse hadn't looked this bright from above. Slowly, very slowly, thin, black shapes emerged from the light. They stepped forward, as if greeting her to their alien world. Which, she realized, they were. The shapes became thicker. They became people with features. Elves. They were from her clan. Some of them. Merrinne stood over her beside her brother with the hand-shaped scar on his face. Briala swallowed with difficulty. Tears welled in her eyes while she leaped up to embrace as many people at once as possible.

"Ir abelas! Ir abelas!" she cried. She didn't how many times she exclaimed, "I'm sorry!" She felt she needed to. This was her chance. But, she supposed, if she would be here for the rest of eternity, then she would have many more chances. They smiled at her.

"All is forgiven," her Keeper spoke calmly. "We are here," he gestured, "in the Fade, in peace. We have no desires except to remain here."

"And Merrinne, I––"

"It is quite all right." Merrinne wrapped an arm around her brother's neck which was perfectly unharmed. Briala's hand lifted to her chest wound. The wound was no longer. A feeling of calm settled over Briala more with every passing second. She never wanted to leave.

37

Patience

"No!" Kieran sobbed. He shook with fury and despair over her bloody chest. "No!" he screamed. Alyne stirred first, shortly followed by Morrigan. Alyne tucked her stray white hairs behind her immensely pointed ears.

"Where is my daughter?" Her voice suggested she was still becoming conscious. Then she spoke more clearly. "Where is my daughter? Where is Briala?" She simply looked to her side while commencing her visual search to see Briala. Her expression instantly matched that of a wounded soldier. She crawled forward on her hands and knees to her daughter's side. Her mouth couldn't seem to form words. Instead, she cried out with the most mournful sound that had ever reached the ears of those in the room. The cry sent ripples through the green sheen covering the walls, the first sound to make an effect on the magical sound barrier. This fully awoke Morrigan who then pushed herself to stand. Her expression turned solemn when she saw what had happened. She remained in the background, silent as Hawke and Fen'Harel.

Hawke rested a hand on Kieran's shoulder. "We can't bring back the dead."

"I can." Morrigan's and Hawke's gazes turned to Fen'Harel who now stood next to the eluvian. "In a way." He stepped forward. "Will you object?"

"No." Hawke answered without hesitation.

"Wait," Morrigan said while glancing down at Briala's dead body, "'Tis a fundamental rule that magic cannot bring back the dead."

"My ancient Fade magic works differently than that of the latter generations," Fen'Harel spoke plainly. "Her body retains a slight connection to the Fade that is keeping her anchored to this world, but it is dissipating rapidly. If it disappears completely, none here will be joyous."

Morrigan spoke hesitantly. "Shall there any negative consequences?"

"I will tell you that you don't care about the consequences."

Morrigan considered this for a moment as she watched Kieran mourn his sister. She looked back up to the bald elf and replied, "It . . . seems you are correct."

"Then I will begin." Fen'Harel stepped forward and leaned over Briala's lifeless body with Kieran still over her. Fen'Harel closed his eyes, muttered a few Elvish words––"Halam'shivanas" and "Banal nadas." His hands shook unnaturally fast over her. The wound above her heart sealed itself with his words. "Ar lasa mala revas," he spoke loudly. He then shouted, "Andaran atish'an!" Green light burst from his fingertips and enveloped Briala's body. The light then assimilated into her skin for several seconds. "Now," Solas panted, "we must wait."

38

Sins

Briala felt nothing but peace. There was no pain here, no desire, no sin, and no death. She could be here forever and be happy. That is why she did not notice the green light shoot down from the matching sky like a lightning bolt. It struck her with the same feeling Fen'Harel had instilled within her when he was stripping away her connection to the Fade. She was cold and felt pain, desire for it to end, the memory of sin crashing down on her, and memories of death. She could not breathe and could only watch in horror as she was lifted toward the green sky through the beam of light while her companions remaining on the ground smiled up at her as if nothing was wrong. The sky pulsed angrily around her and resisted while she was forcefully dragged through as if it was deep water. Her hair floated around her head majestically before landing exactly how it had been when she had died in her true body. Her breath returned to her in a sharp intake and felt infinitely painful. All she wished was to return to the Fade. To peace. To her true family.

She wept with the pain, how each breath reminded her of the horrors here. "Send me back," she whimpered. "Send me back." Kieran gave a shout for joy, ignoring her pleas, and kissed her forehead. Alyne took Briala's hand and looked up to Fen'Harel.

"Unfortunately," Solas said softly, "I must continue. Yea, bringing her back was worth the power it cost, but her power must make up for that loss and more."

Kieran continued brushing her hair gently with his fingers. "I won't let you take her power," Alyne proclaimed, standing up.

"Ah, but this was one of the conditions. Either she dies, and no one is happy, or you let me take her power, and she will still live." His fingers clenched his staff. Alyne did not speak while pondering the predicament. "I dislike being this harsh, but I have been waiting too long for one person to stop me."

Morrigan pulled Alyne aside, luring her with the prospect of conversation, and cast a sleeping spell on Alyne before she could react. Alyne's head drooped suddenly.

Briala shouted, "Mother!"

Hawke restrained Kieran and pulled him away from Briala. "What are you doing?" Kieran exclaimed. He struggled to rush back toward his sister, but Hawke was too strong for him. "Let me go!"

"We cannot hope to defeat him," Morrigan tried to explain, but her words came out in a whisper. "Not now."

Hawke and Morrigan watched without a word as Fen'Harel lowered his fingers to the base of Briala's neck. Briala did not have the strength to move away, but she could still scream. "No! Don't let him do this! Please! Kieran! Hawke!" The moment his fingers touched her skin she cried in agony. Kieran continued to pull away while Briala continued to scream.

Kieran repeatedly shouted, "No!"

"Make him stop!" Briala shrieked. "Send me back! Let me go back to the Fade!"

No one noticed the tears streaming down Morrigan's face in the chaos. Their joint cries created minor undulations in the magic green barrier, never to be heard by anyone outside that room. No one else knew the sacrifices those there were prepared to make that day, and almost no one would understand the effects.

39

Undone

"It is done." Solas stepped away from the still body. Briala had blacked out from the pain. Her hair was now dark auburn at the roots as her mother's had once been. Morrigan finally released Kieran, and he rushed to his unconscious sister's side. "Thank you," Fen'Harel turned to Morrigan. She remained silent and unmoving.

Briala finally stirred. Her eyes blinked several times before resting upon Fen'Harel. "Fen'Harel ma halam." Her eyes narrowed threateningly.

"An appropriate threat." Fen'Harel smiled sorrowfully and stepped through the eluvian without a farewell. The shimmering green coating slid away from the walls and vanished into the air. Alyne silently awoke.

"Why didn't you let me die?" Briala whimpered. "Why didn't you just let me die? I did it so no one would take advantage of this power again." Briala restrained her shouting so as not to awake the slumbering Grey Wardens.

Briala looked at Morrigan just as the woman wiped the tear streaks from her cheeks. Neither spoke. Briala shivered.

"What did you do?" Alyne sat up. "What did you let him do?" she grated. Her menacing gaze focused on Morrigan.

No one spoke. Until Briala did.

"It's colder here than in the Fade," she commented with her teeth chattering. Kieran removed his cloak and settled it over her. Her lips were purple, and her skin was nearly as pale as the snow outside.

"We'll bring you out to the fire." Kieran carried her outside with Hawke and Morrigan. Alyne, as angry as she was, could do nothing about the situation and decided to follow them. He settled Briala down by the still-blazing fire in the courtyard. Alyne remained near her daughter and made several attempts to begin a conversation, but Briala did not return the favor.

Hawke remained in her own corner of the camp while Kieran settled down in a separate nook, and Briala lay by the warmth of the flames.

40

Hunt

"Wake up!"

Kieran awoke from a shaking on his shoulder. "What is it?" He turned over groggily.

"She's gone. Briala's gone." Morrigan's voice came from over his shoulder.

Kieran sat up and beheld Briala's previous spot near the smoldering logs. All that remained was a depression in the snow left by her presence. He then looked to where she had formerly stationed her packs of supplies and found that those too were missing. Kieran twined his fingers together and rested his hands distressingly over his head. Alyne and Hawke were still resting.

He asked, "Where could she have gone?"

"Follow me," his mother replied simply. She trudged through the semi-thin layer of snow toward the keep. Kieran drew his sword and followed without question. They trailed the same path as they had the day before to the room containing the eluvian. The eluvian, Kieran could see when they rounded a bend, was no longer shimmering. In fact, the glass was shattered. Shards of the magic mirror were scattered around the stone floor. It now appeared to be an ordinary broken mirror. Kieran knelt on the ground and let his hands hover over the shards wishing he could somehow repair them to find her.

"I went looking for her earlier," Morrigan explained. "I found the mirror like this. She must have gone in and not wanted us to follow."

"But why?"

"'Tis simple. She was finally at peace, and our selfishness caused her to be forced to come back to everything she hated and get her powers taken away to end the world. I would be angry too."

"I suppose so." Kieran stood up. "And I suppose we should search for her."

"Yes, I believe we shall."

Interlude

Some time later . . .

"My sources have located Solas," Leliana's voice echoed behind the war room door.

"What?" Cullen's voice reverberated through the stone room. "Why haven't we left yet?"

"The Inquisitor's condition," Josephine's voice came softly. The advisor's high heeled shoes could be heard through the thick oaken door, however. "Who knows what she would do if she found Solas now."

There was silence for a moment, but only a moment. "Josie is correct," Leliana affirmed. "Ever since the Inquisitor was turned Tranquil, she has been acting completely out of character. She might find it best to join Solas's cause."

"Or she could kill him," Josephine piped up.

Cullen slammed his hands on the table. "We should be finding a cure to her Tranquility. We know there is a cure after what happened in Adamant a few years ago."

"We understand you are . . . concerned about the Inquisitor's condition," gentle footsteps moved to him, "but we cannot jeopardize that which we have spent years building."

"She is a prisoner of her own mind! Answer me! Why have we not yet cured her?"

Josephine again spoke quietly. "We are unsure of how to cure her without putting her in danger of possession . . . and it seems she does not wish to be cured."

Another moment of silence.

"'Does not wish to be cured'? What do you mean?"

"The pain of Solas's betrayal and abrupt departure disappeared when she became Tranquil."

Cullen's boot scraped against the stone as he whipped around toward Leliana. "She became Tranquil because one of your agents killed her in the Fade while she was trying to rescue Cole."

"Have you not heard her lack of stirring and shouting in her sleep? Have you not noticed her lack of tears and frowns and long days spent locked in her room?"

Cullen held his tongue for a moment. Only a moment. "Where is Solas?"

Leliana responded seconds later. "An elven temple in Orlais. It can be reached through the eluvian here at Skyhold and is the 37th marked eluvian in the Crossroads."

Inquisitor Lanahris Lavellan did not have the need to listen to more of the conversation. She backed away from the door, unaffected, and walked away without a sound. She followed the familiar stone walls of Skyhold receiving mixed looks from Inquisition forces harboring feelings of pride, fear, and sympathy, the last of which had only begun once she was Tranquil. She felt nothing after seeing their expressions, for she no longer experienced emotions. It was a blessing, she thought. Years of depression from Solas's secret of being the elven trickster god Fen'Harel and his refusal to let her join his cause could now be reflected upon without feeling as if her heart was being ripped out. She could lead the Inquisition logically and without the incredible realization that the entire world depended on her crushing her morals each time it came to a soul-wrenching decision. The Tranquil were generally more willing to bend to demands if the conclusion was logical, but she had her advisors to protect her from such a path.

Overall, she was better being Tranquil, she thought.

She reached the eluvian several minutes later. The magical mirror stood much taller than Lanahris and glowed with energies only elves could see the beauties of. Its iridescence shimmered through dust drifting toward the floor continuously. She straightened a belt of potions and poisons and removed a dagger from her boot, habits she had practiced since she became Tranquil, and stepped inside the mirror.

. . .

Lanahris stepped calmly out of the eluvian. Her target stood in the center of the decaying elven temple with his hands over his head. A green spark occasionally flickered inside an undulating green aura that surrounded him. He paced and muttered wildly, seemingly causing the intervals between the green sparks' appearances to shorten. Lanahris did not waste precious time watching his frivolous activity. Unable to channel the power of the Fade due to her Tranquility, she pulled a glass bottle of poison from her belt and threw it at Solas. The poison landed within feet of him. His head raised in surprise, his hands dropping from his head.

"Vhenan?"

She heard him, but she had not listened.

Green gas swirled from the broken shards of the bottle and gathered in a large cloud around its remains. Solas's eyes widened, and then narrowed in sudden weariness. He swayed from side to side. He finally lurched forward and landed on his stomach. He rose shakily to his hands and knees and watched her stand alone, afar. His mouth opened and closed as if he was trying to speak, but no sound emitted that could have verified this. In his exhaustion he fell on his side, remaining somewhat upright only by his right hand supporting his weight. The cloud of poison gas began to dissipate. He coughed so roughly he nearly fell over again. Lanahris stepped forward and leaned down before him with her dagger in hand.

"I am no assassin, but I believe I know how to use this," she spoke monotonously. Her face betrayed no emotion, for there was none to show.

His expression contrasted beyond belief in comparison to Lanahris, for it showed that his heart has been rent suddenly into shreds. "You-you're Tranquil." She would have been shocked to see him show so much emotion had she been capable of showing any herself.

"Yes. It appears that alarms you. Do not worry. I will end your dread shortly."

"Ma vhenan," the Dread Wolf whispered tearfully, "what have they done to you?"

"My Tranquility is the best course of action for leading the Inquisition. Your death is the only logical solution to ending your threat."

He forced himself to sit up before taking her remaining hand in his. She did not object. "I will help you."

"No." She pulled her hand away, gripping her dagger tightly, and plunged it into his ribs. Her face did not move. "This is the logical course of action."

Solas's mouth opened in shock. Then he smiled bittersweetly. "Logical, but not reasonable. I won't leave you like this. I can't." A green flash momentarily blinded them. Lanahris felt Fade magic course through her arm, prickling, yet soothing. Warm and cold. The spirit he summoned from the Fade caressed her mind, repairing the connection to the Fade that when broken had resulted in her Tranquility. Warmth flowed through her body and mind before leaving somewhere no one would know. She suddenly felt, truly felt, Solas's hand clutching hers. She felt the weight of duty settle back upon her shoulders. She felt her heart splinter and shatter at seeing what she had done to her lover. She was unable to speak, only open and close her mouth in horrid realization, for the next several seconds.

"Vhenan!" She released the dagger and tried to ignore his blood coating her hand. She moved to let his head settle on her lap. His skin paled rapidly. "No. No. No. Please, don't leave me."

"Just . . . stay. And . . . speak to me . . . please," he uttered, smiling up at her weakly.

She attempted to return the smile but only succeeded in releasing a sob. Knowing that dying alone was his worst fear, Lanahris pressed herself against him, so that in his final moments he would never doubt his companionship. "Ir abelas . . . ma, vhenan," came his words in Elven. His eyes never left hers. "Banal . . . nadas. Dareth . . . shiral. Mala . . . suledin . . . nadas. Ar . . . lath . . . ma, . . . vhenan. Var . . . lath . . . vir . . . suledin," he croaked, taking her slender hand. She remembered herself speaking the last sentence years ago. It had been shortly before he left her for the second to last time. Before, it was she who had been dying. He had explained his plans to her and eased her suffering. She had then lost her left arm to the Anchor from the elbow down and vowed to herself that she would find her beloved. She had found him, in an elven temple where he would die by her own hand; such were the ways fate twisted duty and love to be enemies.

During those years spent in frantic searching and vain imaginings, Lanahris had wished more than anything else to feel his tender caress again before she would give up the ghost to the Fade for eternity. Her search to redeem him had only resulted in his doom. He had not even tried to defend himself for fear of hurting her.

His soft hand stroked her remaining arm tenderly, still steady despite his wounds and heavy breathing. Lanahris knew he already had the power needed the tear down the Veil. He had had it for quite a long time. And somehow, some part of her, knew that he had hesitated because he did not want to risk destroying the world with her in it. The plans he had planted seeds for centuries ago he had snuffed out when so close to fruition, all for her, his vhenan, his heart.

"Ma nuvenin," she responded unsteadily, her emotions that had been gathering behind the dam that was her Tranquility gushing out at once. "I've been practicing the words to say to you for years, ever since you left me dying in that elven temple. I was so . . . angry. These were going to be angry words. Now I can't think of anything that would be worthy of this moment." She bit her lip to try to hold back sobs. In vain. "You are the only man I have ever loved. You are the only man I ever will love." She took a shuddering breath in an attempt to control her sobs. "When news came to me of your location, I left Skyhold through the eluvian. The entire time I searched for you I was worried I wouldn't be able to tell you I was sorry for searching for you using soldiers. I involved all of Thedas to solve my own problem. I endangered the lives of you and those working with you. What pains me the most is that all that time, I spent convincing myself your plan was wrong. Oh, how wrong I was. I understand you. This world does not deserve saving. You are the only man who has made this world worth living in. And now, above all else, I wish I could have joined you that day when I had the chance. I would rather have died then than to have spent all this time doing what I did. You are unafraid to question the world. You see everything in gray, rather than the black and white stereotypical heroes see. Solas, ma vhenan, you are a hero for these reasons, and I will spend every last moment of my life making sure the world remembers you that way. Ar lath ma, vhenan. Var lath vir suledin."

The elves both lay and sat on the ground of the forgotten elven temple. Moss and ivy covered the stones. Dusk's last rays of shimmering sunlight shown through the decayed roof in glorious ladders. The light glinted off the metallic pieces of the elf's armor and off his bare head. A wolfskin draped over one shoulder and integrated into the armor was soaked in blood. Faint whispers from across the Veil ceased. Lanahris's tears cascaded onto his wolfskin cloak and were quickly absorbed by the patches not already soaked in blood. The statue of a wolf, still somehow perfectly intact after thousands of years, indifferently observed them from afar in the temple. Lanahris, her words now said to the empty air and one who could no longer listen, sobbed over the still form of what elves had once believed was a god. He was no god. He was just one who had done what was necessary to save his people, but had failed, providing him an acceptable death. His namesake Solas, meaning "pride" in Elven, had become void. He was free to wander his favorite realm, the Fade, for eternity and would be joined, one day, by his vhenan.

Halam'shivanas.

The sweet sacrifice of duty.

. . .

A knock reverberated throughout the war room when it was issued at the door. "What now?" Cullen grumbled as he stomped over to answer it. He opened the immense door with minimal effort, something most in Skyhold would be unable to say about themselves. "Report."

The messenger studied the inside of the war room curiously before answering. "The Inquisitor just entered the eluvian, Commander."

"What?" Cullen exclaimed in surprise and outrage.

"She must have been listening at the door," Leliana commented to herself with disdain. Josephine, standing next to Leliana, gasped, covering her mouth with her hands.

"What are your orders, ser?"

Cullen hesitated. "Gather the troops. This may be a battle equivalent to that of Corypheus."

"She has gone after Solas," Josephine whispered in shock. "But is she siding with him?"

Cullen whipped around. "Whatever her reasons, she is dangerous, whether to our soldiers or herself. We must cure her Tranquility now."

"I will send my agents to find someone capable of curing her," Leliana declared. She swept away without another word, as did Cullen, leaving Josephine to fret over how she could help. Her diplomatic skills would not help on the field of battle, if the situation came to that, but she could send for aid. She too could search for someone who would cure the Inquisitor. She hurriedly ran to her desk in the next room over and began crafting letters to call in favors for the matter.

Cullen headed in the direction of the eluvian. The commander shouted as he hustled, "Prepare for battle! Follow me!" Off-duty soldiers hastily gathered their weapons and passed the order to others before following him. Commander Cullen soon led a small army into the eluvian room. They filed into the magic mirror steadily. The non-elf soldiers had difficulty trudging through the world created only for elves. The magic warded against the races for whom it was not intended. Even the sky was duller compared to what elves saw––a pink and green aura of a sky with scattered flowering trees lining the rocky path, while non-elves saw only a gray sky and barren trees. Despite the wards, Cullen was the first human to reach the 37th eluvian. Cullen held up his closed fist as a sign for them to wait for his command to continue. He stepped through first, the Crossroads dissolving behind him and becoming a forested courtyard in an elven temple. His hand clenched at his sword hilt, prepared at any moment to battle his way out. He relaxed, however, when he saw the scene unfolding in the center of the courtyard. His sword dropped back in its sheath with a clang. He cautiously started forward, seeing Solas was there. The distance between him and the pair was too great to make out who was injured and what their current situation was. When he was close enough, he saw Lanahris huddling over Solas, her back racking with sobs. A dark stain crept along Solas's wolfskin pinned to his armor on his chest. The male elf did not stir. Lanahris did not seem to notice Cullen's presence. The commander was then close enough to touch her shoulder. He reached his hand out to comfort her but then pulled away. The understanding had at last come to his mind that she was no longer Tranquil. How this could have occurred he could only guess, but he knew that newly-cured Tranquil tend to be too overwhelmed with emotions as it is, not to mention Lanahris's conditions. She truly had had the weight of the world lifted off her shoulders, then dumped back on. She had forgotten the sting of betrayal from Solas leaving her, only to have that love and simultaneous ire flow back again and then die in her arms. Cullen wanted to hold her, to tell her he would never leave her. He would not be like Solas in that respect. He would protect her till the end of her days if that was what she desired. But he could not bring himself to touch the sobbing woman who had just watched her world be rent apart.

"Lana," he gathered the strength to utter.

She did not hear him.

His voice came out stronger. "Inquisitor."

Her pointed ears pricked up slightly, but she shook her head.

"Inquisitor . . ." He could think of to assuage her state of mind.

Cullen jumped at the touch of a hand on his own shoulder. He whipped around. "What?" he mouthed.

The soldier of his did not respond. She only watched dumbfoundedly as the Inquisitor mourned in sounds of fury and absolute heartbreak. Cullen pointed back at the eluvian, commanding the soldier to return to Skyhold and explaining wordlessly that he would be there shortly. She nodded and obeyed his orders. Only the sounds of wind and Lanahris's sobs could be heard in the temple in which silence had reigned for time untold.

Cullen finally decided it was time. He knelt beside the Inquisitor and whispered, "Lanahris. There is nothing you can do. We must go."

"No. No. I can't leave him. He healed me. I have to heal him."

"There is nothing more to heal," he replied consolingly. Though his demeaner was calm, he had never been so terrified in his life. The countless battles he had experienced did not compare to seeing the hero of Thedas, the Herald of Andraste, the strongest woman he had ever known, even including both the Hero of Ferelden and Hawke, at her weakest. It was worse than hearing a man cry. Much worse.

"He can't be dead," she explained disbelievingly. "Elvhen are immortal. He can't be dead."

"Let's go back to Skyhold."

"I won't leave him. I won't ever leave him. Not again. Not after I just found him!"

"People are depending on y––"

"Screw them! Screw Thedas! They killed him! They . . . I . . . killed him." She broke down again.

Cullen stole a glimpse of the eluvian for a moment. He worried the portal would close, and they would be stuck in the middle of nowhere forever. Even with his templar training he was not comfortable when it came to magic. "You cannot stay here," he tried to explain.

"Yes, I can."

"Inquisitor––"

"Do not call me that! I never wanted this! This world has taken too much from me already! Let it end here, lest I suffer more."

Cullen sighed, realizing there would be no persuading her to leave. He disliked what he would have to do, but it the Inquisitor's current condition, it was entirely plausible she would not move even if she began to starve. He wrapped his arms around her and began dragging her toward the eluvian. Lanahris struggled, calling for Solas, but Cullen forced himself on with tears gathering in his eyes. It was not for the pain of her clawing at his arms, nor her booted feet kicking at his shins. Rather, it was for the injustices the world would never see, and for the unrequired love he held. The portal of the eluvian slipped by him coldly. He felt as if he was Tranquil, dragging the resisting Inquisitor with him, the soldiers watching their hero at her weakest, the pain of the Crossroads for non-elves biting at his skin; he did not care at all. He traipsed, but at least he moved. His militia followed him sullenly, forgetting in their shock and Cullen's lack of commands to even march. Everything was a haze. The second eluvian washed icily over him like the first. He emerged in Skyhold, a group already crowding him.

All he cared for was Lanahris.

. . .

Josephina was nearly finished with her fifth letter when she heard shouts from the direction of the eluvian room. Struggling slightly with running in her high heels on uneven stone, she rushed to the source of the cries. A small throng had already gathered when she reached the source. Despite the height of her boots, she was unable to make out what was unfolding due to the high conical helmets of Inquisition soldiers in front of her. The crowd was parting, she realized, and she moved to make way for Cullen and Leliana. Her eyes widened when she saw the Inquisitor struggling against Cullen's grip with Leliana walking beside them, speaking softly to Lanahris. Lanahris seemed so puny in Cullen's muscular arms, not at all the most powerful woman in Thedas the title of Inquisitor had bestowed upon her. Though she kicked and clawed at Cullen's arms, she could not break free of his vice-like grip. He was stoic, whereas the Inquisitor had streaks of tears staining her cheeks, and her face was contorted by despair and fury. She screamed a long, mournful sound, one that made the hairs on Josephine's neck rise. Never before had she heard a sound so desperate, so full of pain. The Inquisition soldiers seemed to lack the experience too, for they jumped at the sound, some even opening their mouths in shock. Cullen bit his lip. Faint tear streaks glistened on his face. Leliana made no notion of even hearing Lanahris and continued to speak consolingly to her. "Let me go!" Lanahris cried out. "Please! I need to save him!"

"You can't save him," Josephine heard Leliana whisper as they walked by. "You can't save everyone."

Josephine's lips parted slightly in alarm before realizing she should follow them, her being an advisor to the Inquisitor and part of the war council. She trailed behind them, compelling herself to remain calm to hopefully help the Inquisitor do the same.

"I killed him!" Lanahris wailed while Cullen carried her to her chambers inside the fortress. She then quieted so suddenly it was eerie. Josephine picked at her nails, one of her bad habits, in order to combat the effect. It did not help.

Cullen set Lanahris down on her bed, though she fell more than she settled. Leliana stood behind him and Josephine behind her. Lanahris lay unsettlingly still on top of her bed sheets, her eyes trained lazily on the blank ceiling above her, as if she was watching something no one else could see. Josephine looked to Leliana and Cullen, waiting for something, anything, to break the heart-pounding silence that made her afraid to even swallow.

Finally, Cullen spoke. "What happened?" His voice came softer than Josephine had ever heard it.

Lanahris remained silent for several long moments. "Solas is dead." Her voice was so blunt Josephine was unsure if she had heard it correctly. Solas? Dead? After years of searching, this was how it ended? No big fight? No celebration? Just dead silence, like a forest with no life. Heart-pounding silence.

"Dead?" Leliana asked, as if mirroring her thoughts.

Lanahris said nothing.

"Would you be willing to explain?" Leliana's voice caressed each word, her Orlesian accent making it come out even gentler than Cullen's tone.

"My Tranquility made me believe . . ." Lanahris spoke with difficulty, "that killing Solas was the logical solution to his threat. I took a poison bottle from the store room and some daggers. I threw the poison at him. He fell. I stabbed him. Then, he cured my Tranquility. I realized too late what I had done. He died. Then you came. You know the rest." She was shock. Josephine realized Lanahris was shivering, though she doubted it was from cold. Long-time inhabitants of Skyhold had become acclimated to the temperatures of the Frostback Mountains long ago.

Josephine stepped forward, knowing that this was her time to talk. Decades of being trained when and when not to speak while preparing to be an ambassador were invaluable. "Get her a blanket." Cullen was the one to respond to her command, and as he filled the requisition, she sat down at the foot of the bed. "You were not yourself, Lana. Do not blame yourself." She moved to set her hand on the Inquisitor's remaining hand to comfort her, but she jumped back when she saw lightning beginning to crackle along her arm in warning. Lanahris's face remained unchanged. Evidently, Josephine's lessons had not covered how to console a friend who had just killed the love of her life. She stood, backing away and letting Cullen set the blanket over her. Leliana then stepped forward.

"You killed your lover. And you admired him. He betrayed you. He left you. He lied to you. What you are feeling now is no stranger to me. My mentor betrayed me. Marjolaine taught me how to be a bard, an assassin. I trusted her with my life. She lured me with kind words, but she truly had wicked eyes and a wicked heart. She betrayed my friends and me. I was tortured, while my friend Tug was murdered. She blamed me for a crime she committed, and I later killed her." She took a deep but calm breath. "You are not lost, Inquisitor. Not yet. You regret your decision, one that you did not truly make. The Hero of Ferelden reassured me in a similar way after I killed Marjolaine, and it helped for a time. When I became a hand of the Divine, I became the person I once dreaded to be. I no longer regret my decision to kill Marjolaine, but you regret what happened with Solas in the end. You may be wandering, but you are not lost."

Lanahris closed her eyes and spoke softly. "I saved everyone but my vhenan. I am a hero, but I cannot save those close to me. How, then, am I a hero? How can I possibly be worthy of the title 'Inquisitor'?"

"None are worthy," Leliana responded. "It is just that some are more worthy than others."

"But am I still worthy?"

"Solas would have died, whether it was at your hands or another's. The difference is the cost. It was either your heart or Thedas. You chose your heart. That is something few in Thedas would choose. That makes you more worthy of the title."

Lanahris jerked up into a sitting position. "But I killed him! How does killing someone I love make me worthy?"

"That is the paradox of it. You doing what needed to be done yet feeling regret . . . power sprinkled with remorse is what makes a great leader, a hero."

"She needs to go home." All but Lanahris turned to Cullen who had spoken. "She needs to go back to the Dalish, or wherever she wishes to retire. Thedas has asked enough of her."

"There can be no rest after such a journey. I cannot return to the secluded realm I once called home. It is gone."

"You can't lead the Inquisition after . . . that," Cullen protested.

"And I cannot return home. Not after learning the truth about the Dalish, about the Elvhen, that we wear slave markings to preserve what little history we have. The simple pleasures of this life are lost to me. I will stay here for as long as I am able."

"But––"

Josephine stepped in front of him, setting a hand on his chest in restraint while watching Lanahris. The Inquisitor's hair sat on her head in an utter mess, her sharp ears poking out defiantly below it. Her mascara-stained cheeks were otherwise pale, and her eyes seemed to have lost their light. Her missing arm's sleeve hung limply at her side, the pin having fallen out. Her clothes were wrinkled horrendously. Her blanket was wrapped around her as if she was a traumatized child. Her thin elven frame was in stark contrast to the enormous bed. Yet she looked strong, as if there was a magical heroic aura around her. Her face was set in grim resolve, her fist clenched. Josephine knew that if for some reason they were called out at this very moment to defeat a new fiend threatening Thedas, she would gear up and fight like any other day. The Inquisitor truly was the strongest person she knew. There would be no talking her down from remaining in the Inquisition, unless they could agree on a small break.

"Convalescence. You need it," Josephine spoke up. "A few months, maybe? Pick where you want to go, and I will make sure you are received with open arms."

Lanahris considered this for several long moments. "I agree, but I do not need any escorts or warm welcomes. Not where I am going. I will be back, but it will likely take longer than a few months, maybe even years. I trust that you three will run the Inquisition in my stead, making the right decisions, whatever those may be. Appoint a new Inquisitor, if you like. Just know that I will be on a mission, one that will have effects even I do not yet know."

Josephine was not sure if she should be concerned about the concealed objective of her quest; however, the Inquisitor was agreeing to rest, something that never happened, so Josephine accepted without hesitation. They would have needed a new Inquisitor soon anyway; the Inquisitor had been making fewer and fewer decisions each day, not to mention she never went out in the field anymore. Cullen and Leliana agreed soon after.

"I will leave soon," the Inquisitor stated. "Do not follow me."

The trio of the war council left the Inquisitor to her mourning. Josephine noticed Cullen hesitated at the doorway, looking back at the Inquisitor with concern, before following Josephine and closing the door. They tried to ignore the heart-wrenching sobs that then emitted from the room as they walked away. Their only solace was that the Inquisitor would soon have her much-deserved rest. However, something still gave Josephine a bad feeling about this course of action. As if confirming the ominous feeling, a raven cawed once in the rafters above before falling to the ground, dead in front of the trio. They stopped, and Leliana knelt down to inspect the bird. Its feathers were disheveled. Blood ran from its nostrils. Josephine wondered if it could have been infected with the blight sickness.

"This is not one of my ravens. Wait. There's a message." She undid the red ribbon tying the small letter to the raven's leg and unrolled the note. She read it out loud.

Briala,

This may be the last time I speak to you. The red lyrium is taking over my mind. I can't get myself to get rid of it. I am having horrid thoughts. Do not come to see me. If you do, however, do not trust me. Just remember me as I was. Know that you were, and still are, special to me. You do not know how much I wished this to be. Farewell, my Raven.

~T

"This raven was obviously inexperienced," Leliana commented.

"Briala? The letter mentioned Briala." Cullen peeked over Leliana's shoulder.

Josephine's memory suddenly clicked with the letter. "She was that half-elf, correct?"

"Yes," Cullen answered.

Leliana read over the letter again. "Who is T?"

Cullen pondered out loud. "And why did this T mention red lyrium?"

"I believe it is worth investigating, if we have the resources and time," Josephine voiced.

"Our focus must be on the Inquisitor," Leliana declared. She folded the note and placed it securely in a hidden pocket in her clothing.

If only that note had been discovered by Briala herself. . .