Having the staff helped. To walk, and to fight — and they had to fight, for every foot, every rise. Over the mountain, the Breach shifted and danced, and rained down those terrible, glowing arcs that cut through the sky and seeded the valley with demons.

The Seeker kept Selena behind her as they picked their way over banks along the frozen river. She did not say anything about the bodies they found, half-buried in the snow or sprawled along the ice. Most wore armor and weapons, but some simply had Chantry robes, their skin pale and blue, and their eyes empty.

She didn't say anything, but she would stop and search the bodies for anything useful. Healing potions, for the most part. "Here." The Seeker handed her a bottle, then jammed several others into her pockets. "Elfroot, for the most part. It may help," she said, nodding to Selena's hand.

"Thank you," Selena said, and the Seeker snapped, "Do not thank me. You are my prisoner, I am your guard — I am doing what I can to keep you alive because I need you. This is not a kindness — I am not doing this to be kind, nor for thanks."

There was a moment of brittle silence. Then the Seeker said, levelly, "Drink."

Selena drank. The potion was icy from lying in the snow, but had the sweet, soothing vegetable taste of elfroot. Her stomach, empty — grown used to being empty — wrenched as the first slow slither of elfroot settled inside it. For one blissful moment it dulled the fangs of pain, enough that she could feel her fingers, move them.

"Better?" the Seeker asked.

"Yes," Selena said, and stopped the thank you in time.

"Good." The Seeker stood.

They moved on.

"Are these all your soldiers?" Selena asked. They had stopped by another body.

"No." The Seeker's movements were brisk and efficient. Belt, pockets, pat-down.

"Where are they? The rest of your soldiers?" The side of her face was growing stiff and sticky as the blood dried; it pulled at her skin oddly as she spoke. But the pain on her forehead, where she'd struck it from the bridge, had settled and was slowly numbing in the frigid air.

"At the forward camp, or fighting. We are on our own. For now. Come — "

This time it was Selena who caught the Seeker's arm, pulled her back, cut off her angry exclamation. "There! From the Breach!" She pointed, following the green bolt that shot out of the Breach, dropping through the air with — Selena could swear it was with purpose. She pulled the Seeker, harder, unthinking, pain cutting through her as they fell, rolling down the ice. The green arc cut into the river just where they had been standing, bubbling black.

The Seeker was up again immediately, launching herself to her feet, her hand flexing on her sword. She rushed forward, bellowing at the shade as it clawed its way free. It twisted to follow her, lashing out.

Selena fought her way to her feet and reached out through the staff to the ice. Felt it build inside her. Felt the river under her, frozen solid, all the way down to the riverbed, and, lashing out, forced it apart — just underneath the shade. It tumbled awkwardly as the ice fractured, cracked open, and the Seeker's blade was there, red-black with demon blood, cutting cleanly through its neck.

The Seeker wiped her sword before sheathing it and crossed to Selena. "We are not far now."

Selena swallowed. "I know."

The Seeker lifted her brows. "You do?"

"I can — feel it." In her hand — Maker, her entire arm now — thrumming, like a single note hanging in the air. Selena nodded to a hill, rising up over the river. There was a stone staircase cut into the side. "It's there."

"Yes," the Seeker said.

"We should hurry."

"Yes."

They heard it as they climbed the long staircase up the hill. The clash of metal. The unnatural shriek of demons, reverberating in the air. "Who's fighting?" Selena gasped.

"The last of our soldiers here and — volunteers. You will see soon. Their orders were to contain the rift until we arrived. We must help them."

Selena pushed, harder, up the last few steps, where a short path led to broken ruins. Where men were fighting — screams — blood — demons — the rift. It hung like a shard in the sky, power gleaming along its shifting, fractured edges. Selena heard it humming, felt it thrum once, like a note from a plucked string, as it…recognized her. It vibrated along her arm, and her hand ached, wanted reach out towards it. She felt it, and it felt wrong, wrong, wrong, the pain, the hum of it, forcing its way under her skin, pulling at her muscles. The Seeker jerked her forwards, but Selena was already pushing herself forward, leaning heavily on the staff, the Seeker just abreast of her, cutting down any demon that came too close.

"Solas!" The Seeker's voice rang out over the fighting. "We're here!"

A shade flowed towards them, talons slashing — then jerked back even as the Seeker brought her sword down, an arrow bolted into its forehead. Just above the din, there was a jovial: "Duck, sweetheart!"

"Quickly! Before more come through!" A hand closed over Selena's wrist — her left wrist — and she couldn't, couldn't, scream because the pain was beyond thought, beyond sound — and a tall, thin elf thrust her hand towards the rift.

It poured out of her — her hand — the mark — out of her and into the rift. Power — raw green brilliant crackling power — don't — it rocketed through her like quicksilver — her arm — her head — until she could feel it in every fiber, don't scream don't scream don't — Maker — don't — but she could feel it building, inside of her, in the rift, screaming, the rift was screaming, the power pouring out of her until she was going to shatter until —

There was a tug, like the anchor at the end of a rope. A rope. She felt it sink into her chest and instinctively pulled.

The rift shattered. The power around it snapping — closed, she thought — and the green glow of it drifting into cloudy grey skies.

There was a moment of echoing silence, then the Seeker let out a short, sharp breath. "It worked." Her harsh features lit with triumph. "It worked."

"So it appears." The elf let go of Selena's wrist and regarded her with a pleasant, if neutral expression. "How are you feeling?"

"I…" She stopped, considering. The shockwaves of the rift…no, not breaking. She had felt the release, the pain of it, but it hadn't been a simple matter of destroying the rift. It was more like when Ewan had dislocated his shoulder, and the healer they'd found had needed her help to set it back into place. That moment when the bone had found its way back into the joint. The aftershocks still rippled through her, but they were fading, and with it the growing ache in her hand, her arm. The absence felt strange. Her head felt clearer, it was easier to focus, and that felt strange, too. "Better. Thank you. What did you do?"

"I did nothing. The credit is yours."

"You mean this." The mark on her hand was quieter now, its glow muted for the moment, and calm.

"I do. Whatever magic opened the Breach also placed that mark upon your hand. I theorized the mark might be able to close the rifts that have opened in the Breach's wake." He smiled. "It seems I was correct."

The Seeker crossed to them. "Meaning it could also close the Breach itself."

"Possibly. It seems you hold the key to our salvation," he remarked to Selena.

The Seeker sighed. "Thank the Maker."

There was a laugh behind them, at once good-humored and bitter. A dwarf, clean-shaven, coat and shirt thrown open in defiance of the cold, was crouched over a couple of the fallen soldiers. "Good to know! Here I thought we'd be ass-deep in demons forever." He pushed himself up, clapping the last traces of demon ichor off his coat, and turned to Selena. She felt herself weighed and measured in one swift, penetrating glance. Then, to her utter surprise, he crossed over and held out a hand. "I suppose if we're going to have to play nice, we might as well be introduced. Varric Tethras: rogue, storyteller, and — occasionally — unwelcome tagalong." This last was directed, with a wink, towards the Seeker. "And you're the lady with the glowing hand."

"I am." Breeding had Selena reaching out, shaking his hand, the single gesture nearly as unnerving as closing the rift after the glares of Haven. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Master Tethras."

He grinned. "Everyone I kill demons with calls me Varric."

"Varric." Selena managed a smile. "You're…with the Chantry?"

"Was that a serious question?" the elf asked, humor flickering across his face.

"Technically I'm a prisoner, just like you. Well, not just like you," Varric added wryly. "I doubt anyone other than the Seeker here and maybe a couple of my friends in the Merchant's Guild want to see me dead."

"You are not a prisoner, Varric," the Seeker said. "I brought you here as a guest of the Most Holy — "

"That's how you treat your guests?"

" — so that she might hear your story. Clearly that is no longer necessary."

"Meaning what? I'm free to go? Just run off into the valley full of demons?" Varric shook his head. "Thanks, but I think I'll take my chances with you fellows."

"Absolutely not," the Seeker returned. "Your help is — "

"Needed desperately."

" — appreciated, Varric, but not necessary."

Varric crossed his arms over his chest, smirking. "Have you been in the valley lately, Seeker? Your soldiers aren't in control anymore. You need every warm body you can get. Fortunately, I just happened to be dragged here against my will, and don't have anything much to do."

"If there are to be introductions," the elf cut in smoothly, before the Seeker could retaliate, "then please allow me to go next. My name is Solas."

Varric laughed. "Smooth, Chuckles."

Solas simply smiled. "I'd like to think so." He regarded Selena expectantly.

"Selena," she said quickly.

Solas inclined his head. "Selena. I am pleased to see you still live. I was not entirely certain you would survive whatever it was that happened to you at the Temple."

Varric snorted. "He means, 'I kept that mark from killing you while you slept. Be impressed.'"

"I — then I owe you my thanks," Selena said. She could already feel the ache coming back into her fingers.

Solas smiled, but said, "That is gracious of you, but your thanks may be unnecessary. You have not survived yet. I was able to check your mark before, with healing magics and minor wards — nothing too difficult — but I fear it is now past the point where those will help you. As the Breach grows, so does the mark, and if we cannot stop the one, the other will kill you. The Chantry will not need to worry about making an example of you."

"The Chantry will not make an example of anyone," the Seeker replied sharply. "If this woman was not culpable of what happened at the Conclave, then she has nothing to fear."

"I am sure she doesn't." Solas gave Selena a critical look, and arched an eyebrow at the Seeker. "If I may?" Without waiting for her reply, he took Selena's chin between his fingers and turned her head to peer at the wound on her forehead. "You should have let me see to this, Cassandra. I told you needle and thread was crude and inefficient; the merest little blow tears them open," he added, the venom in his words belied by the calm.

Selena took his wrist and pulled his hand away. Five months since the tower, and she still hadn't grown used to how people simply…touched outside the Circle. "It was an accident."

"I'm sure that it was."

"I fell off a bridge." When Varric laughed, she let herself smile. "And then there was a demon. Several, actually, and — it's been rather a long day."

"So it seems." Solas waved a thin hand at her forehead. "I will attend to that later, if we can manage to close the Breach without killing you in the process."

"You're all heart, Chuckles," Varric remarked.

"Your sarcasm does you credit, I am sure, Master Dwarf."

"My sarcasm?"

Solas merely smiled in return. It was the way he held himself, straight and tall, that had Selena regarding him closer.

She hadn't known many elves. She remembered there had been a few, servants, in her father's house, but in the Circle the Tranquil attended to everything. A few of the apprentices from Ostwick came from the alienages, but Solas didn't hold himself like one of them. That life, it seemed, beat a certain way of moving into the poor, wearied souls that lived there — a hunched-shouldered wariness that could flash into fight-or-flight stillness in an instant. Those apprentices tended to speak quietly and not look people in the eye, except for one very angry one, who had argued with the enchanters, and snapped at the Templars, and threw himself from the tower when the First Enchanter agreed he should be made Tranquil.

Dalish, Selena thought. Made herself think. No, he wasn't Dalish, or at least he didn't seem Dalish — not that she had ever met any of the clans, living away in the Circle. After the Circle, they had met hunters once or twice. Only fleetingly, and usually to warn them away from their lands, but one hunter had taken pity on them. He had come upon them in the woods, having heard Lilywell crying — in hunger, always, then, in hunger — and had given them part of his kill and showed them where to search for nuts. But Solas didn't seem like them either. It wasn't just that his face wasn't tattooed, and his clothes, well-worn and durable, were like any other traveler's.

Or that the weathered staff in his hand was no simple walking stick.

She looked back up at him. Solas was watching her…watch him, a faint smile in his eyes. Selena braced herself, and did not look away.

Tall, she thought. He was very tall. Or, at least, he seemed tall. She realized, watching him watch her watch him, that he wasn't much taller than she was. Rather something about him gave the impression of height. Of distance.

She said, "You seem to know a great deal about it all."

"Solas is an apostate," the Seeker informed her, "and well-versed in such matters."

"Technically all mages are now apostates," Solas replied. "My travels have allowed me to learn much of the Fade, however, far beyond the experiences of any Circle mage. I came to offer whatever help I can give with the Breach."

"That's — " Selena had to pause as the ache in her hand took on an edge and cut. " — that was commendable of you."

"Brave, do you mean?" He gave a smooth little shrug. "Perhaps. Or perhaps merely sensible, although sense appears to be in short supply at the moment. If the Breach is not closed, we are all doomed, regardless of origin."

Solas turned to the Seeker. "Cassandra. You should know: the magic involved here is unlike any I have seen. Your prisoner is a mage, but I find it difficult to imagine any mage having such power."

The Seeker's eyes regarded Selena for a moment. "Understood. We must get to the forward camp quickly. This way," she informed them, climbing effortlessly around a barricade. "The road ahead is blocked."

Solas followed, taking the pile of wreckage in a single lithe leap.

Selena found Varric looked up at her. He shrugged. "Well. Bianca's excited."

"Bianca?" she repeated, and he grinned and jerked a thumb at the crossbow holstered on his back. "You named your crossbow Bianca?"

"Just one of my charming little quirks," Varric said, climbing over the barricade. "C'mon. Don't want to keep the demons waiting."