Solas strongly disapproves.

-Dragon Age Inquisition, Solas catchphrase.

'Maker's breath!'

'One could say that, yes,' Solas muttered. 'I'd say – ass.'

The damage to the square was already extensive – the White Spire was still standing, but a significant portion of the wide marble balcony where the Grand Clerics should have been standing was gone, and blood was dripping over its torn edge. The Divine herself still stood, but a tail swipe from one of the dragons had sealed the staircase; men and women in Seeker battle irons were labouring to open it, yet it looked as though it would take a while to clear.

Six dragons were indeed circling above, taking out vast portions of the walls with their wings and talons.

'I don't think I can do all six,' Cassandra said, in awe.

'Once I reach Frenic, you won't have to,' Solas responded, clutching his borrowed staff. 'You'll need to take two, at least, though. And that you can do; these are just older hatchlings…Can you see which one of your Grand Clerics is not bleeding to death, out there?'

She scanned the balcony, and one colour – or rather, its absence struck her immediately; the Orlesian royal amethyst.

'Orlais,' she said. 'But it could simply be that she is trapped under some rubble somewhere…'

'Alright. Try to land the dragons on the battlements, before Alte and his men secure the square. Good hunting, Cassandra.'

'Same to you,' she said, and jumped over the bannister, only to land securely on the back of one of the dragons.

Solas was right, they were mere dragonlings, probably of such an age that they had taken flight but a week or so prior; their back scales were still soft, and she secured herself on its back by driving the dagger into its flesh, and pulling herself forward. The creature startled and broke its flight pattern, but it did not inconvenience in the least; the dagger stab must have felt like a mosquito sting, and Cassandra's weight on his back was almost too small to notice. She took great care in not driving her sword too far in, too; young they may have been, but she did not fancy her chances if the dragon took too great a notice of the nuisance on its back and went into a barrel roll.

Cassandra knew exactly where to strike – on the side of the neck, a mere six feet away, but she let none of the adrenaline or her rage blind her as she crawled forth, foot by foot. The dragon was dead, though he did not know it, but from this one, she'd have to move on to the next, and for that, she'd have to be close enough to jump off at the opportune moment. Either another dragonling, or the battlements would do. What she could not afford was to go down with the creature, or let herself be caught in its death thrashes.

Yet, by the Maker, she needed to hurry; the other five were taking increasingly strong swipes at the White Spire, and the structure would not last long. She saw another pair of wings flutter underneath, and knew her chance was now. Finally in reach, she stabbed her sword into her dragon's neck to the hilt, allowing herself to slide off, but never letting go of the blade; she only pushed herself off at the opportune moment – her dragon wailed, crimson pouring from its throat, and crashed against the battlements.

Cassandra herself landed on the second dragon's neck, and there was no time for subterfuges now, the second creature immediately sensed her, and started shaking vigorously, while flying straight up. There was but a moment to think but she used it well. She stabbed the creature in one eye, causing it to shriek in mad pain and descend, in the one direction whether it could still see, veering dangerously towards left, and the marble colonnades of the balcony where the Grand Clerics had stood. She did not stab it in the neck this time – not yet; instead she crawled on its right wing, securely pushing both sword and dagger though the thick membrane, and using her weight to rip the wing apart, as well as slow her own descent. With only one wing, and one good eye, the dragon crashed onto the balcony, breaking its only healthy wing in the process.

Cassandra jumped off it, a safe six feet from the ground, then cautiously rolled away; it was bleeding to death, she was sure of it, yet one swipe of its uncontrolled talons would mean death.

It was only then that she saw a familiar figure, clad in perfect, dark purple, slinking in the shadows. She could well see the Grand Cleric of Orlais, and for a moment, she thought to shout out and warn the cleric not to get too close to the dying dragon, but…

The woman was ambling away, towards…

Frenic?

Cassandra could see him now, too, Avexis standing, yet swaying as if in a dream just a few paces behind him. The Mage's hideous face was further distorted by rage; his dragonlings were still circling the divine, but they were too young to breathe fire, and the White Spire held.

'Enough,' the blood mage barked. 'Bring in the High Dragon!'

Avexis swayed on her feet even further, looking as though she might have fallen off her feet at any minute…and she did, her blank purple eyes wide and rimmed with tears. She did not fall to the cold stone though, she fell into Solas' arms.

Too late, she thought.

'Too late,' Frenic said, with a hideous smile. 'It's here…'

The roar was deafening, as were the screeches of the remaining dragonlings. The three century old gate of the Chantry's hold exploded into fire and brimstone, and from the smoke emerged a high dragon the likes of which not even Cassandra had seen before – it was a male, well over eighty feet long, and with a wingspan of sixty. It circled, breathing fire at the sky, then positioned itself in alignment, enormous wing span steady and ruby red eyes set on the Divine.

'Break it!' Cassandra shouted. 'Break the spell…'

But Solas could not, or would not hear her; he'd placed one knee on the ground, and his hand over Avexis' forehead, murmuring in Maker knew what language…

'She can't hear you,' Frenic mockingly said. 'She's mine.'

Cassandra didn't have a single heartbeat to waste; she jumped over the battlements almost in blind, landing behind the skull of one of the dragonlings. She stabbed her sword to the right of its skull, and her dagger to the left; the dragon screeched and bucked, but there was no throwing off her would be rider, nor escaping her commands.

On top of the Spire, alone and undefended, with no path down, Divine Beatrix opened her arms to embrace martyrdom; the high dragon opened its maws and pointed its talons forward.

Then, at amazing speed, Cassandra crashed her unwilling, thrashing mount into the high dragon's side, throwing it off course at the very last second. Surprised, the dragon sent a jet of flame towards the sky, and rolled away, its talons ripping at the belly of its unexpected attacker – both flow to the left, at amazing speed, and Cassandra landed safely by the Divine's side.

'Are you alright, your worship?' she asked.

'Cassandra,' the Divine whispered. 'I thought…They told me…'

'All lies, your worship,' Cassandra replied, leaning on one knee.

Great rocks rumbled to the side, and one by one, armed and armoured Seekers pushed the boulders blocking the upper portion of the staircase aside.

'Your Worship!' the first one to emerge from the rubble shouted. 'The stairs are clear! We must take you to safety…The dragon merely crashed, it is not dead…'

'Go with them, your worship,' Cassandra breathed, darting to her feet. 'My work here is not done.'

'Maker's blessings, my child,' Beatrix whispered.

Cassandra did not know how her feet had carried her so fast – down the winding staircase of the White Spire, through the chanting crowds and back onto the battlements. She ran past all of them, past all the destruction, past the still breathing high dragon. A thought crossed her mind, like lightning: the creature did not seem injured, it simply seemed…asleep?

She did not dwell on it; Frenic was still alive, his ally within the clerics still at large…

She stopped short.

The high dragon, Cassandra understood, was asleep because Avexis herself was asleep. Whatever magic Solas had employed on her, it had taken a few minutes to work, but it had worked. He was flanked by Alte and the young, face marked elf, and it looked as though no frantic shouting or coaxing from Frenic could bring the child back.

Cassandra joined them, and brought her sword to the ready.

'You think you will bring me to surrender so easily?' Frenic cackled. 'I've no idea what tricks you employed, elf, but once the girl wakes up, she will be mine again.'

'I very much doubt that,' Solas responded. 'She is my realm now, and there she will stay, until none of you can ever harm her or use her again.'

'I still have allies!'

'The Knight Commander is dead,' Cassandra said, drily. 'There is no one coming to your aid.'

'I…need…no…aid!' The blood shouted, spinning his staff and calling to the blood of all the fallen; Maker, there was a plenty…

Cassandra took an unwilling step back, as did the young mage apprentice. In turn, Solas and Alte merely exchanged a glance.

'Pride, you think?' Alte asked.

'I would not bet against you.'

A disgusting flurry of blood hid Frenic from view for a few seconds, just enough time for Solas to put Avexis down, to one side, and out of the path of any incoming spells. And the spell did come, a ball of fire that engulfed stone and iron on its path, turning into twisting lava. It did not serve – like milk split on a stone, it broke upon the three mages' barrier's, and solidifying into a jagged crest at their feet, like a wave suddenly frozen.

When the blood cleared, Frenic stood whole, his artificial, golden eye shining dully.

'Frenic…' a desperate whisper came from the side. 'Frenic…'

Celeste, the Grand Cleric of Orlais, was limping towards them, her hand extended to the blood mage.

'Grand Cleric,' Cassandra whispered; the other woman paid her no heed.

'We must flee, we must find refuge…' she chocked out. 'All is lost here…'

'Orlais, in the end…'

Frenic extended his arm to her, and the cleric gripped it in desperate hope. It was but a trap; once he had purchase on her hand, the blood mage simply pulled her close, and pushed his staff through her belly, shaking her off it immediately, as if she'd sullied it. The woman fell at his feet, twitching.

'They thought to play me, this one and her lap dog,' Frenic chuckled. 'Whereas I was playing all of their ambitions…'

He twirled his bloodied staff between his fingers.

'It's not too late for you,' he said, his good eye darting from Solas to Alte. 'All that I want is a new world, freed of the tyranny of the Chantry – you think I wasn't like you, once?' he asked, viciously glancing at the red-haired mage. 'A prisoner under their heel? Bait for their swords, my heart and spirit heaving under their Chant? Join me…It's not too late. We have the girl, we have the dragon, but we could have countless dragons. We can erase them all, and in the ashes of their false belief, build a new kingdom, by mages ruled…'

I should be afraid, now, Cassandra thought. Why am I not?

'A world in which mages enslave other mages?' Alte politely inquired. 'No, thank you.'

'Dog, how well they have trained you! But, you, elf,' Frenic spat, 'you…Caster without focus, master of dreams, you…You think I did not feel you in Avexis' thoughts, past eve? You are…'

'Nothing like you,' Solas said. 'In fact, the comparison insults.'

'Then I will destroy you too, along with the Chantry!' Frenic cried, turning the bloody staff on himself, and pushing it clear though his own stomach.

'Definitely Pride,' Alte said; grey, scaly plates had begun erupting from Frenic's shoulders. 'You owe me dinner.'

'I didn't bet,' Solar reminded, as the creature before them grew to almost thirty feet in height. 'Fire, ice, immune to lightning.'

'Got it!' the young apprentice said, firing a first salvo of fire projectiles; Alte followed suit, while Cassandra rolled under their spells and hacked at the thing's ankles. 'Twas as if her sword had struck stone – she ducked under the mighty blade bone on the demon's elbow. An ice spell slowed it just enough for her to roll out of the way, but she was back on the attack a second later, running up the bannister, and leaping at the demon's head.

It swatted her aside as if she'd been an insect, had it not been for Solas' shimmering, blue web, she'd have fallen over the bannister, hundreds of feet to the square below.

'How do we defeat that thing?' Alte shouted, from the opposite side of the battlements. Lightning whipped at the ground, raising more dust and rubble into the air.

'We don't,' Solas shouted back. 'Certainly not in four! Just run away from the lightning whips…Cassandra,' he whispered, shaking her. 'Cassandra, not a good time to pass out!'

'Is there ever a good time to pass out?' she whimpered, feeling across her ribcage.

'I could think of some, but this is not one of them. Reach Alte and his apprentice, then run.'

'What?'

'I am going to awaken Avexis. I don't want you to see that.'

The demon whipped its lightning threads from left to right, up and down, and roared at the sky.

'It's one of my…' the elf began.

'…it's one of your people's things, I get it,' she growled. 'If you think, after this, there will be anyone in the land who will want to arrest you…Crap!'

The middle of the battlements, the one above the staircase, collapsed as if it had been made of matchsticks.

'Well, there goes half my plan,' Solas muttered. 'Alte! Get off the walls, now!'

'Are you losing your…' the other mage shouted in return.

'No, but you won't like dragon fire from close range, just go!'

He did not wait for a response – still hidden by the dust and rubble, Solas jumped to the sleeping child's side, and gently lifted her head.

'Ara ma'athlan venas,' he whispered, his hand on the young girl's forehead. 'Necum melava somniar; ara deslen melar…'

'What are you saying to her…' Cassandra whispered, drawing close.

The little girl's eyelids fluttered.

'Necum meleva somniar – aragas mir rhenan. Ara ma'athlan venas.' Solas said, softly. Avexis's eyes flew open, and she smiled.

She was not in a trance, Cassandra immediately noted; her eyes were alive and shining, and whatever Solas had said to her, it did not seem even remotely related to the spells the Circle had used to remove her from Frenic's control. They'd merely induced a different type of control than the blood mage had. Solas, on the other hand…

The child was free, her wide eyes were clear, and she stood without staggering.

'We need the dragon, da'len,' Solas said, standing up in his turn.

Avexis simply nodded.

'For the demon,' she said.

'For the demon, yes,' the elf nodded. 'This will not be easy. It has to be your will alone, not mine.'

The last words seemed superfluous; the dragon rose and roared, spreading its wings – it breathed out, and Cassandra could only hope that Alte and his apprentice had heeded Solas' warning and gotten off the wall, for this explosion was the largest she'd seen the dragon produce thus far. The demon swatted at itself, seeking to quench the flames, but it had little time to do it. The dragon swooped down, grabbing the demon's shoulders in its talons, yet leaving its stomach exposed to the Pride demon's vicious elbow blade.

'Back off!' Cassandra screamed, a second too late. The demon's blade drew blood, and Avexis bent over, as if she had been struck. 'Help her,' the Seeker screamed at Solas. 'She can't…'

'I cannot help her, unless I take over her will.'

'Well, take over her will, Maker's Breath, she's just a little girl…'

'What part of me not being Frenic did you miss?' Solas snarled.

Avexis straightened as if she had been a long bent twig. The demon had caught hold of her dragon, and was pushing its jaws apart, seeking to break them. Fire nonetheless grew between them, not spraying forth but coiling into a massive sphere, which just kept growing, as the demon pushed the dragon's maw open, further and further…

'Now,' Avexis said.

The world turned into fire and brimstone.

It was not dead, the bloody thing was not dead, Cassandra thought, narrowing her eyes against the black smoke. The demon had fallen off the wall, and she'd allowed herself to hope that the last of the dragon's fire had consumed it – or a few moments, it had even appeared this, yet, its body a gigantic torch, the demon had rolled and grasped the wall with its claws. Dragging itself up, a body length, and then another. Avexis and her dragon were unconscious; Cassandra hoped that the girl was not dead, but the flying lizard certainly was, or would be of no further use. Its lower jaw hung slack, its tongue lolled grotesquely out, small, sulphurous flames igniting here and there…

The demon was climbing.

'The righteous go forth into the darkness, fearless,' Cassandra cried, 'for the Maker shall guide their hands!'

'Oh no, you're just going to jump off the wall,' Solas sighed. 'Can we at least talk about this…'

She jumped, sword held in both hands, and pointed at the demon's forehead.

'And now I suppose I have to jump off the wall,' the elf groaned, leaping after her.

Her descent slowed, though she did not quite understand why; her aim was true, however, for her blade found true aim in the demon's skull, and it fell to the ground wailing. Cassandra rolled aside, but not even the tips of her hair were burnt. She caught a glimpse of a green flare, hastening the process, yet she was too shaken to care. The mighty demon dissolved into specks of ash, and rose towards the sky, until of it nothing remained; naught but a stone, a phylactery…a dull, golden eye rolling amid the cobbles of the square, caking itself in blood.

Good riddance, Frenic.

Alte and his apprentice hurried down another set of stairs and reached them, dragging Avexis along, and sweeping her up in either of their arms when the rubble threatened to injure her small, bare feet. They nonetheless put up their own barriers, mere shimmers against the solid one that Solas had already raised.

Solas crushed the phylactery underfoot. Both Circle mages looked up at him, with a sense of urgency that Cassandra did not like.

Avexis herself looked down at the ground, then up at Solas.

'Ar lasa mal revasal,' Solas said. 'Now, you are free. Do you wish to stay, da'len?'

'Where would I go?' the girl asked.

'With me. Or alone, on your path. Anywhere but their prisons.'

Her answer was unambiguous – she wrapped her arms around Alte's waist, and hid her forehead in his robes. 'Stay,' Avexis whimpered, as Alte caressed her hair, and caught Solas' glance too. 'This is my only family. My only home.'

'Make me that offer,' the elvhen apprentice breathed – people were starting to press against the barrier. 'Make me that offer…'

'I'll make you a better one,' Solas said, approaching him and putting the stone into his hand.

'Fen'Harel enasal enaste,' the young one whispered; in turn, Solas leaned over and whispered something in his ear. He turned away, without a single glimpse goodbye in her direction; his barrier vanished, and so did he, gone, to Maker knew where…

The poeple of Val Royaux were chanting her name. Seekers and mages, even some templars, were raising their weapons, the air was vibrating with cries of joy – to the Maker's glory, to his Maiden Bride, to Cassandra herself.

Yet he was gone, as though he had never been, and she suddenly missed him.

'Fen'Harel enasal enaste,' Cassandra said.

The young face marked apprentice looked up from his book.

'May I help you?' he asked.

'What does it mean?'

'Nothing,' the elf shrugged. 'It's nonsense, and certainly nothing that the new Right Hand of the Divine should be preoccupied with. Have you no better things to do than to harass us, once more?'

'Harass?' Cassandra spat. 'I am asking a question.'

'Yes, you are. You have gained a title, a new armour, a new sword, a hefty book; in the meanwhile Grand Enchanter Edmonde and Alte are still in there with the Divine, begging that us mages might be pardoned. While the Chantry is preparing to burn Celeste, Grand Cleric of Orlais in full regalia, along with all the other clerics she murdered.'

'We cannot tell the truth of all this,' Cassandra whispered. 'The faithful…'

'We know you cannot, Seeker. The point of your order is to find the truth, then bury it where no one can find it. I would like to be left alone, please.'

'Look…' she pleaded, realising that she had never learned his name. 'I am just asking for the meaning of that phrase. Fen'Harel enasal enaste. It means something…'

'It is nonsense.' The elf returned. 'It is a twisted version of an elvhen prayer for the dead – Falun'Din, enasal enaste: the god of death embraces us all. That cannot be true of Fen'Harel, the only evil deity in the elvhen pantheon. If curiosity drags you forth, go and read a book. I am contemplating my own mortality, here. Take your own Divine-gifted tome and be on your way. She gave it to you so that if we mages survive this turn of the dice, we won't survive the next one.'

'That's not why she gave it to me, please…'

'The phrase is nonsense. Leave be, Cassandra Pentaghast, saviour of the realm and Right Hand of the Divine.'

She had no better luck with Grand Enchanter Edmonde, a few hours later, though the elderly man had not been as acid as the young apprentice. He'd invited her to his study, sat her down, and invited her to wait while he was looking for one of the very few books he possessed that might have had an explanation for the phrase.

'Did you truly only obtain a pardon?' Cassandra asked.

The old man chuckled, not looking away from his bookcase.

'The fact that Martel is gone does not mean there are no others like him, Seeker Penthaghast,' Edmonde replied. 'The lady who was closest poised to replace him – and truly had no links to the plot, a Commander by the name of Meredith, I think, was as adamant as he might have been that unauthorised forays outside the Circle should not be celebrated.'

'But you were heroes!'

'Kind of you to say so,' Edmonde said, this time laughing in earnest, 'but in saying this, you prove your age…Ah, here we are…'

He turned, and placed a foot-thick tome on the desk between them, coughing lightly as thin wisps of dust rose to the air.

'Everything in the world is dictated by precedent, Seeker.' He said, sitting down and bitterly smiling. 'What is important to the Templar Order is not what we did, but what we might do, in the future. Our actions had to be classed as rebellion, as a crime, lest we get ideas to repeat them when the situation does not adamantly call for them. Thus, you got a commendation for acting out of turn. We needed to be pardoned for the same.'

'And Divine Beatrix approved of it?' Cassandra muttered.

'Divine Beatrix had no choice. This is the law. What she did have a choice in was on whom would replace Martel, and it certainly not be this Commander Meredith. She will get a promotion, of course, she fought valiantly once the truth became evident, but she will not remain in Val Royaux. I think she will be the new Knight Commander of Kirkwall.'

'Pity the mages of Kirkwall,' she sighed.

'I know Grand Enchanter Orsino, he is a diplomatic man, and as law abiding as anyone might dare hope for,' Edmonde said, with a small shrug. 'If anyone can find some form of peace…But, what was the phrase that interested you so?'

'Fen'Harel enasal enaste,' Cassandra replied.

'Hm,' the Grand Enchanter said. 'Upon first hearing it…Yet, let us search a bit.'

It was not a bit. In fact, it took him the better part of two hours of searching though his tome, while he was hmm-ing and muttering to himself, and during which Cassandra had the poignant sensation that he'd forgotten she was even there, before he resolutely closed the tome, causing more dust to rise.

'I'm sorry,' he said, coughing and wheezing. 'It appears that the young apprentice was correct. The phrase is nonsense.'

'How so, I mean…'

'This is a prayer for protection.' Edmonde explained. 'But Fen'Harel is not a god any elf would seek protection from. In fact, he's the most likely they would seek protection against.'

'Your apprentice did mention he was considered an evil deity…'

'Not only that, Seeker, he is the ultimate evil deity,' the Grand Enchanter explained. 'The Dalish blame him for the banishment of their Creators, just as they blame us for infecting them with mortality. In fact, May the Dread Wolf take you! is quite the staple among Dalish insults. There is no way anyone would invoke his protection, or even so boldly utter his name. He's said to be the only elven deity that is still around, and he does not sound the type that one would be pleased to see.'

'I see,' Cassandra said. 'Thank you for your time…'

'You are most welcome. But, Seeker, if you will allow me a question of my own?'

'Of course, Grand Enchanter.'

'Your friend, from the cell…' he thoughtfully began. 'Alte is…shall we say, very stingy on the details of what his magic precisely was, and normally, Alte holds no secrets from me. That is, of course, how I can tell he is lying, he lacks practice. But, while Alte keeps mum, I've seen quite a few extraordinary things about this elf with my own eyes. The harrowing, of course…More importantly, though, Avexis.'

'Avexis?' Cassandra frowned. 'You think he is still controlling her?'

'No,' Edmonde said, shaking his head. 'Quite the opposite, for you see, the strangest of all strange things happened to her, after the gathering – she remembers nothing, and more importantly, she cannot even call a cat, anymore. Let alone a dragon. Whatever he did to her, on that wall, he's turned her into a very happy, perfectly normal ten year old; whatever unexplainable elements of her powers there might have been, they're completely gone.'

'Is that not…good?' the young woman asked, her eyes wide in surprise.

'It most certainly is, aside for the fact that she threw the tantrum of the ages when we had to make her a new phylactery. Not because she didn't understand why it was needed, but because she distinctly remembered we'd already made one, and she doesn't like needles. I know no ten year old who does.'

'It feels as though the entire part of her mind that could control beasts is now off-limits to her, and I know no magic that can do that – except if a very powerful Somniari simply cut her off from that portion of the Fade.'

Cassandra felt her blood run cold. 'There are no Elven Somniari,' she responded, in a small voice. 'There have not been Elven Somniari in hundreds of years.'

'Or none that we know of,' Edmonde shrugged. 'I know this is a hard ask, but can you recall anything, anything at all of what he said to her on that wall?'

She shook her head, in dismay at herself. 'It was very long, Grand Enchanter, and I was not exactly paying attention…'

'Just…just write down whatever you do recall?' the mage insisted, pushing a parchment and an inkpot her way.

Cassandra did try, in earnest, but it proved a hard talk indeed; this too consumed the better part of an hour, and she knew perfectly well that once the Grand Enchanter would take a single glance at her efforts, he'd dismiss them out of hand. The man did not, though he frowned deeply, and leafed though his book once more. He rang a bell on the side of his desk, and Alte peeked in.

'Can you get me Inshatoriel, please?' Edmonde asked. 'I need a hand at Elvhen.'

'Sure,' Alte said, disappearing once more, and returning with his very sullen looking young apprentice.

'I have already told the Seeker her phase is nonsense,' he said, in place of a greeting.

'And it was,' Edmonde soothingly said. 'We need a hand with this, though.'

The Grand Enchanter handed him the parchment, and the young man grimaced as if he had been looking at a picture of something horribly indecent. Still, he took a seat at a side table, and grabbed a quill; working fast, he fist drew harsh, cutting lines between the meaningless rows of letters on Cassandra's parchment, then, with much more care, wrote his own, correct version underneath.

'There,' he said, extending the corrected paper to Edmonde. 'Ara ma'athlan venas,' he he said. 'Necum melava somniar; ara deslen melar. Necum melava somniar – aragas mir rhenan. Ara ma'athlan venas.'

'Did you just curse us?' Alte jested.

'Yes, you will all have donkey ears in the morning, for making me perform idiotic tasks,' the elf replied, cracking a smile. 'This is no magical incantation. It simply means: I will guide you home, you will travel in dreams no longer. You belong to this world, no longer to the world of dreams – listen to my voice, and I will guide you home.'

He looked about himself, then smirked at the expressions of incomprehension on the humans' faces.

'Any six year-old Elvhen could translate this for you,' Ishatoriel said. 'It's a bloody lullaby, or rather, the reverse of one. Dalish mothers throughout the land use these words to wake their children in the morning; my own mother did. It has no magic whatsoever.'

'And you are sure of this?' Alte frowned.

'Catch a six year-old Elvhen, and have it confirmed. Seriously.'

'Oh well,' Edmonde sighed. 'He was trying to wake her up, so… Oh well. Good afternoon and eve, all.'

Cassandra read the note once more, than smashed it on the table, in utter rage. Just who did he think he was, this Alte? A mind reader? Maker's breath!

She'd read his letter ten times now, and her rage was not abating. She could still recite it from memory by now.

'The first key shan't be missed; Martel is hardly in a condition to ask where it went. The second one will, so I will appreciate its prompt return. Do what you know is right by your friend, who does not belong in a Circle. Leave the keys here after your business is concluded, I shall turn into smoke, glide in underneath your door, and recuperate them.

Just jesting, leave your door unlocked, please,

Cheers, A.'

She nonetheless grabbed both keys, stuffed them into her pockets, and started down the stairs, at first stomping, but then, as she approached the phylactery room, slowing down to a crawl, despite the fact that she knew the phylactery room of the White Spire was unguarded.

There was no need for guards.

The chamber could only be opened by two keys, one of which was always in the possession of the Templar Knight Commander – and it looked like Alte was as at ease with scavenging as Solas was, not that it surprised her, in the least. The other belonged to the Grand Enchanter, and it was likely that the fox-faced mage did not want his superior to learn of its absence.

The thought of recuperating Solas' phylactery had been buzzing in Cassandra's head for the best part of the three days that had passed since the gathering, returning no matter how many times she swatted it away. There were logical reasons for it, of course – she'd seen, first hand, what the elf could do, and understood that once the dust cleared, whomever the new Knight Commander would be would insist that the elf be brought to a Circle. Technically, now, with a phylactery and a completed harrowing, Solas was a circle mage, and by all laws…

Yet, she was assured that no Templar in the land would be able to catch the man. Finding him would be easy enough, but catching him…an entirely different matter. Despite the Templar Order's treason, Cassandra could not find it in herself to send so many to their deaths. How it would end was that Solas would kill them all, and recuperate his phylactery on his own. Better to preempt that. Besides, whatever or whomever the man was, he was distinctly not dangerous. Rather keen on his artefacts, cheeky as hell, but not dangerous – and even if the elf had demonstrated mercy, and allowed himself to be taken, well…

It was said that caged song birds forgot how to sing, even if their cage was gilded…No, no, no!

Cassandra furiously gritted her teeth.

She was not about to break her own moral code just because this one mage truly did not belong in a cage; it was just that once within the cage, he would spread…sedition. Yes, sedition! among the other mages, and Maker knew there was already enough of that seething in the background. The last thing that the budding Templar against Mage fire that was already growing was more logs thrown onto the fire. The Circle of Montsimmard already had Alte to stir the pot of hot pepper stew, and given Alte's proximity to Edmonde, Edmonde himself must have been chafing, but too old and too wise to show it.

No, she was not doing this just because she liked the man a bit too much, by now. It was the logical thing to do.

She turned the first key in the lock, then the second, and pushed the door open, fully expecting that she would be struck by lightning. This was, after all, the holy grail of all phylactery rooms: only the Grand Enchanters' phylacteries were stored here, normally. Well, and those of well known criminals, or particularly dangerous individuals. Perhaps that had been why Alte had asked Cassandra to free Solas, and not anyone else; his phylactery was not in here, it would have been in Montsimmard.

Cassandra cautiously approached the neat row of delicate glass containers, only to find that there were far more than she thought. Some of them were dull, though, showing that the mages had long passed to the Maker. The others glowed from within, with such light that she did not even need to squint to read the labels – the Templars had not bothered with names: the crevices were simply labelled Orlais, Ferelden, Antiva, Kirkwall… She nearly jumped at the one who did have a name: Avexis, and the image of the girl hugging Alte tightly enough to cut his breath resurfaced in her mind with a vengeance. How odd, she thought, to have a barely there slip of a girl, who had not even the most minor intention of leaving the Circle still treated as a dangerous element.

Solas' one had no label; perhaps they'd thought even scribbling his name underneath it would be pointless, since he should have been dead within a few hours. It was, nonetheless mounted as all others, within a wooden circle that would allow a Templar to carry it on his girdle while riding.

Cassandra reached for it, finding her hand was trembling. She feared to drop the thing, in here, she feared not dropping it…

Stop this stupidity at once.

She grabbed without further thought, then spun on her heels, locked the door behind her, and hurried up the steps, barely resisting the urge of slamming her own door behind her. She placed the keys exactly as she found them, then resumed her pacing. She was on a week's leave, but she had not the most minor urge to take it, not with the realm and the Chantry still in turmoil. She could have smashed it right here and now, then just wipe the floor or spill some wine – Solas would have been free, only he wouldn't have known it, and all would be well.

Except he'd live his life looking over his shoulder.

Except I really want see him one last time, even if it is just to say goodbye, after all we've been through…

'Ugh!' she grunted.

Since there was nothing in her new quarters that might have allowed her to take out her rage on something, anything, she beheld Alte's note as if she'd meant to set it on fire; she did not. Instead, she sat down at the desk and scribbled –

'Done as you asked, needed no prompt, Maker strike you with the mumps!

Your keys are here. And bloody hell, burn this note, or at least don't bloody sign it!

C.'

'Great, now I've signed it too,' she muttered, turning the parchment upside down, to cover the keys.

With resolute steps, she walked out the door once more.

Daw, Cassie...And you dare blame Varric for Swords and Shields... Moderate smut follows, thus be warned. And, of course, now you know why I needed the phylactery. Cassie might be a very young woman, but Solas is still Solas. He'd need a pretty significant gesture on her part to...well.

One chapter left, and it is a bit of a sad one,

Cheers,

A.

(Should I even have signed this?)