It took near a week to have the item in question made. The closest smithy was two days' hard ride south, in a place called Crestwood.

When it came, it came in the hands of an unlikely courier.

"Heard you needed this." Deep, gravelly. The sound of something smacking into a palm just outside the tent.

Solas opened his eyes, then shut them again, disoriented. His waking mind insisted he still dreamt. Inner senses reeled as they always did upon leaving the Fade. Where is the magic that should hang heavy like ripe fruit on the air? Where once integral and intrinsic, it now hovered near and far at the same time, detached. How came he to this desolate, riven place? The wrongness of it chilled him every time.

Then he'd remember, and the guilt threatened to eat his heart whole.

Most mornings it took a while to convince himself that while a nightmare the world had become, it couldn't be banished by sheer will. He had to live this nightmare.

For now.

Shaking his head, he sat up in his cot. His pendant swung against his bare chest. He reached for his tunic.

Sera whooped. "Alright! No more sodden smalls for this girl. I'm off."

Hooves stomped the ground, spraying mud against the wall of the tent. A horse neighed, in impatience. For the journey or for the rider, who could say.

"Be careful. Stay with the Inquisition scouts on the way back to Haven," called the Herald after her.

"As if you really care. I'll be thinkin' of you dupes when I'm all toasty toes and beer-y. " Her voice got fainter. Solas pushed the tent flap open to catch a last glimpse of flying blond hair above a cloud of dust.

"There she goes," said Blackwall, standing near the Herald, hand waving to fend off the dust.

"I can't say I'm unhappy to see her go," Solas said. "Her manner has been … poor, of late."

"Just of late, eh?" The Warden chuckled.

"Aw, Sera's alright," chimed in the Iron Bull, stepping free of his own tent. "I'm the Iron Bull. Or just Bull. Good to meet you."

"Blackwall, at your service." The two men shook hands over the requisition table. The Warden turned to the Herald. "Collecting more strays, I see."

"They keep following her home," said Solas, stepping forth to stand with them. "Soon there won't be room enough at the end of her bed for all of us."

The Warden and Qunari laughed. Bull's grin turned to their Herald, who'd rolled her eyes. He said, "So what now, boss?"

"Now, we, or rather I, will infiltrate the Blades of Hessarian's base and … see about their leader," her voice, cold as winter, rolled over Solas's prickled skin. "Blood for blood. Lin'sul'lin. The oldest contract."

"Then what'll we do?" asked Blackwall.

"Someone has to bang them on the head as they chase me out."

And so it came to be.

Not that anything is ever that simple. Another full day's surveillance of the actual stronghold, all of them tracking, timing and counting. Then, at the best window of opportunity, Solas watched, trepidation freezing his guts, as the Herald strolled, brazen as you please, right through the heart of the enemy camp.

Wan sunlight glinted off that token round her neck as she parted crowds of bandits, heading straight for their chief. From his hiding place in a tree close to the wall, Solas pushed worry aside and readied himself.

Her hand edged toward her knife, slow and casual. Within arm's length of the man, she struck-

Only to be knocked sideways by a flying, furry body. Yet another dog appeared, growling and circling the pair wrestling on the ground. With a loud yelp, the first fell to one side, blood pouring from its slit throat. The Herald rolled up onto her toes, squatting, bleeding but furious.

The bandit leader spun, eyes squinted in rage. He took in the elf crouching in the middle of his camp and shouted, "You would challenge the Blades of Hessarian?"

"You killed soldiers of the Inquisition." She grit her jaw and pulled out her other knife. A savage light came into her eyes. "That can not stand."

The leader gestured his men back. "You want justice? Come claim it!"

The dog leapt in, all snarling, snapping teeth. With a spin, she planted a foot in the side of its head. It went sprawling, dazed.

With an overhead chop of his axe, the leader waded in. The Herald dodged to one side, spinning neatly behind him, knives already dipping and slicing. The human yelled in pain, turning to face the elf attacking him. The Herald slid low under the axe as it tried to cleave her across the chest. One knife flipped in her palm and she thrust it hilt-deep into the man's calf.

He screamed and fell back, clutching at his leg and the handle of the buried dagger. The dog, recovered, flew through the air, seizing the Herald's empty hand in its maw. Then it started pulling, jerking her around the arena. Solas saw the woman's face pale under her grimace, but her other hand came swinging around, pommel leading. It smashed into the canine's jaw. Once, twice. On the third, the dog let go, jaw hanging off at an unnatural angle.

She gave it a heavy heel kick to the ribs, hard enough that Solas could hear bones crack. Blood flecked the foam at the mutt's mouth as it limped away to collapse in the dirt.

With a backflip to avoid the leader's sudden rush, the Herald squared off with him. She clutched her bloody right hand to her chest. They circled like wary wolves, faces drawn in hate.

The leader brandished her other weapon in his off-hand, having pulled it from his flesh. "I'm going to stick you with your own steel, woman." He made a lewd pumping motion with the dagger.

Her lips peeled back in a wicked leer. Two dimples appeared in her cheeks. "More like you just come to hand it back to me, eunuch."

With a roar, the man charged. His axe parted the air, repeatedly. The knife in his other hand stabbed toward her, but he lacked her smooth coordination with two weapon-fighting. She slid around each swing, nicking him here and there, bleeding him drop by drop.

Growing desperate, the man tried to close to grapple. The Herald spun into a low kick, taking his legs out from under him. He landed on his face with a surprisingly gentle 'oof.' The Herald stomped on his dominant hand. He shrieked and dropped his axe in the dirt. She kicked it away.

Then she dropped a knee into his back and wrenched her blade free of his left fist. She holstered it, then lifted his head up by the forehead. Her other blade came diving in to open his exposed jugular. His blood spilled out on the mud in crimson gouts. She said, in his ear, "Thanks for bringing me back my knife."

An uproar clamored around her and she stood, dagger pointing at all the bandits surrounding her. The point of it swept toward any who dared step toward forward. A dangerous smile filled her face with a malicious light.

Solas chewed his lip and whispered, "Now get out of there."

She feinted toward the crowd one more time, then dashed for the fence. With one big roar of outrage, they streaked after her, weapons ready to plunge into her flesh and spill her life.

Solas scrambled out to the end of the branch, hand stretching out over the wall. The Herald flew up the side of the stable and ran along its roof. Then she leapt-

Her eyes, merry with battle joy, found his just as his hand closed around her left wrist. They stole his breath, how fiercely they glowed. The mark flared, shooting tendrils of green fire up his sleeve.

Swinging her legs like an acrobat, her momentum carried her up and over the wall. Solas let go so she could land on the grassy field outside the compound. Then he flipped out of the tree himself and chased her to where Bull and Blackwall waited at the gate. Two corpses lay near, guards the two warriors must have already incapacitated.

With a wheezing chuckle, the Herald slid the last few feet and said to them, "Your turn."

The first of the bandits poured through the gate only to fall to Blackwall and Bull's timed, alternating strikes. Bull laughed and reprimanded the waves of enemies, "See? This is why you build two gates."

She dropped into a boneless crouch and leaned on the fence, head rolling back, cradling her injured extremity. "Fucking dogs."

"Are you alright?" said Solas, hunkering down next to her. He took her hand and winced, noting the many puncture wounds on the back and palm. Blood welled out of these holes and streaked down to her elbow, dropping in stringy lines to the ground.

"Nothing some elfroot won't fix." She pointed to their pile of belongings just out of arm's length.

"Even healing potions cannot do miracles." Solas reached out and yanked her pack close, pulling out a flask. He handed it to her. "Cassandra is right. You do take too many risks."

"Shall I stay in Haven in a glass box, only to be deployed 'in case of rifts or rioting?' Stored in the armory? Like a ballista?" She snorted, mostly closed eyes glittering at him between her full lashes. Then she said, soft as a breeze, "You would take away what small joys I have left, would you, Solas?"

He froze, then said, after a long pause, "No. I would not."

She patted his hands where they wound cotton over her wounds. "Good."

"Job's done, Herald," said Blackwall, walking out of the gate. His armor was red from the knee down. "Some stragglers didn't want to come out, so we had to go in there to get them."

With a grimace, she stood. "Let's get out of this place and back to Haven."

"When I first came this way, Scout Harding gave me reports of Grey Warden sightings in the area …." Blackwall's words trailed off in the face of a three-way scowl. He cleared his throat and said, sheepish, "I suppose it can wait. You've all been in the field for weeks. We'll probably come through the area again."

The Herald sighed. "We'll walk back to camp and get our mounts. Time to go home."


A/N: Sorry for the short chapter. There wasn't a natural break in the next bit for a loooong time. lol. Anyway, as always I appreciate the reviews, critiques and whatnot yous guys have been throwing my way. Now I must go to ao3 and upload there as well. Til next time!