And here is chapter nine! Thanks for all the feedback guys, I appreciate it!

My beta, enc0432, claims this was her favorite chapter but you guys be the judge.

Disclaimer: all characters, placed, etc. etc. etc. property of Bioware etc. etc. etc.

Chapter IX

Blackwall's gelding came to a gentle stop in the slow moving stream and bent its head to drink. He dismounted; his boots were heavy and thick enough to protect him from the water. Genevieve had sent him after fresh spindleweed and he had found some. He wasn't sure how much she wanted so he sifted through the mud and pebbles and hoisted the plant up by the roots. Quickly, he mounted up again and rode back to the others.

The Inquisitor was sitting on a dry patch of grass using a rock and the flat of her knife to mash fresh elfroot into a paste. She had told them she was fine, but the tumble she had taken down the hill had left her cheek bruised and swollen.

"Spindleweed, my lady," Blackwall said. He dismounted and handed the plant, roots and all, to her.

"Perfect," she smiled and winced.

"You should have told us earlier," Cassandra grumbled for the third time since they had stopped.

Genevieve ignored her and took the spindleweed from Blackwall. She took a small piece of root and mashed it up with the elfroot and then scooped the poultice from the rock and smeared it on a big leaf of weed. Gently, she pressed it onto the bruise and, holding it in place with her hand, got up.

"Alright then," she cleaned her dagger on the hem of her shirt and put it back on her belt. "Let's get moving,"

"Are you going to ride like that?" Blackwall asked. She had one hand still on her cheek, keeping the poultice in place.

"Oh, will everyone leave me alone. You all get some of the worst injuries I've ever seen and brush it off like it's nothing, but the moment I get a little scraped up you watch me like a newborn with a bellyache."

Blackwall sighed and helped her up onto her dracolisk. There wouldn't be any arguing with her. Still, Cassandra tried.

"Your health is more important than ours, Inquisitor; you're the only one who can close the rifts."

This time Genevieve sighed, Blackwall knew she was about to whip out her Inquisitorial voice; "There are sick people counting on us, Cassandra. We will not fail them because I fell. And I will not hear any more about it." She cleared her throat. "Remember, taller than regular elfroot, shorter than royal, and with purple veins."

They picked along the rocks making their way toward the Rebel Queen's Ravine. They stopped twice, once for Genevieve to refresh her poultice and then again when Cassandra thought she had spotted the rare herb they needed.

"Cass, that's nightshade," Genevieve told the seeker with a light chuckle. So they continued along and into the ravine. At one time there had been an Inquisition Camp there, but the men had been moved to protect the road to Redcliffe. The remnants of the camp remained however, a patch of dead grass where the fire pit had been, a wind torn flag of the Inquisition, and a scrap of canvas that might have been a tent at one time.

According to Genevieve's book the rocky soil here was perfect for purple veined elfroot. It proved true, because she suddenly dismounted, discarded her poultice and started digging in the ashes of the pit. "Maker be praised," she muttered. "It's a seedling, but that means there must be more. Tie the beasts up; we'll walk along the canyon." She left the seedling alone; she never picked immature plants if she could help it.

They followed the ravine out into the valley, Genevieve leading them at a quick and eager pace. The faster they found the elfroot the faster they could get home. She was not showing it now, Blackwall noticed, but as they day had dragged on, the slope of her shoulders had stated falling slack, and she had not sung a note either. The last time he had seen that look had been after Haven, as they trekked across the icy Frostbacks, desperate for shelter.

From his betrayal, the sickness, to her lyrium problem, Corypheus, and Red Templars Blackwall wasn't sure how she managed it all. He wanted to be there for her, as he had before, but even last night when she had let him bury his face in her neck and had held him, it had not felt the same. The chasm between them was widening as stress bore down on her shoulders. And now she was no longer comfortable turning to him.

He couldn't stop the wave of guilt that overtook him. He bent over under the pretense of looking for elfroot, but it was truly to hide the rush of shame. She had told him she wanted to work this out, to make it work, but what if she changed her mind? Would he be able to live with himself then? Would he be able to follow the woman he loved to the void and back knowing that he had ruined the best damn thing he had ever had?

Quickly, Blackwall straightened and took a deep breath. He'd fallen behind the others. He found them standing in a line, staring up at an almost perfect spiral of a hill. At first he was confused, then he saw the slight movement of one of the big rocks at top.

"Oh," he muttered to himself. Because it wasn't a rock, it was a dragon, sleeping soundly, and basking in the waning sunlight. They had stumbled upon a dragon's nest. He looked around them and finally noticed the burnt corpses of trees, a bronto corpse fouling a nearby pool of water, and some bone rotting in the sun and felt like a total fool for having missed them.

He turned around thinking they were going to get out of there, but no one moved. Genevieve was holding out a delicate finger, pointing at the side of the hill. All along the rocky outcropping the herb they had been seeking peppered the hillside.

Genevieve looked at her companions. Blackwall thought Cassandra's jaw might hit the ground. "Have you taken leave of your senses?" she demanded in a hoarse whisper.

"It's sleeping; I'll be in and out in, real quick." The Inquisitor promised.

Blackwall could not believe what he was hearing, and even though Cassandra had been ignoring his existence for the past week, they exchanged as glance and he said; "Are you daft? Did that fall scramble your brains?" and he knew he had said the wrong thing as soon as it fell out of his mouth.

"Excuse me?" Genevieve muttered in a mortified whisper.

Blackwall sighed, "That's not what I meant—"

"Oh, right. Then what did you mean, Serah?" She spoke "serah" as a Free Marcher would when speaking to someone of lower stature.

Weakly, Blackwall tried to defend himself; "I just meant that you want to go—"

"Your right, I do," she growled low. "Because there are people who count on me, we can't all run away,"

From the corner of his eye, Blackwall saw Bull shuffle uncomfortably and Cassandra smirk, pleased. Blackwall felt his heart rate increase. So there it was; a justifiable rage spilled over by stress. Cruel words, but accurate ones. Blackwall swallowed hard and grit his teeth. He would not risk provoking her further, maybe when all this was finished he could apologize, but for now they had pressing matters.

"Then I will go," did not wait for an answer as he turned towards the sleeping dragon. Keeping low to the ground, he slowly crept to the base of the hill. Around him the stench of burning wood and smoldering flesh filled his nostrils. A druffalo's corpse thick with flies was lying in the sun, rotting.

He took a glance behind him and saw Iron Bull following after him, slow as a lumbering ox, but quiet. Cassandra and Genevieve had taken cover behind a rock and were watching them. He could still see the sharp anger in her eyes.

Now under the shadow of the hill, Blackwall could not see the dragon but he could hear its monstrous breath. The dragon let out a great breathy snore—he and Bull froze, thinking it was about to wake, but it settled. Now or never, Blackwall told himself. He screwed up his courage and climbed the slope.

Bull followed his lead, they would work their way down collecting everything they could. Especially seeds. Genevieve could plant the seeds and Maker willing, they would never have to repeat this folly ever again.

Carefully, Blackwall peered over the side of the hill to catch a glance of the sleeping dragon. Bull joined him, a look of wild excitement in his eyes. Blackwall took out a handkerchief and shook the seeds from a plant onto the cloth; he tied the cloth up by the corners and shoved it into his pocket. Then he and Bull started methodically pulling up plants.

Bull handed Blackwall a bundle of herbs and he shoved them into his belt. They weren't sure what parts of the plant that the mages would want so they pulled up as many as they could with the roots still attached and the flowers undamaged.

Then, the unthinkable; The Iron Bull, sneezed.

Blackwall turned fast and shot the qunari a hard look. They were deathly still, listening for the dragon, trying to gauge if the beast had woken. Blackwall looked below and saw Cassandra and Genevieve, pale. He knew right then what had startled them; he took hold of the ledge and pulled himself up. And there she was, eyes the color of amber, scales like beaten bronze. Beautiful, majestic, and he assumed—hungry.

"Maker's balls," he cursed and dropped as the dragon let out a roar so loud it made his ear drums pop. "Get down!" he yelled at Bull. The qunari didn't have to be told twice, he slid down the hill on his ass, laughing as he went and shouting in Qunlat.

Blackwall saw the dragon's claws hook over the edge of the rock, desperate to escape; he jumped, jarring his foot on the ground. Genevieve came running, but he motioned his hand for her to stop. "Go back!" he cried. "Get to cover!" Bull helped him up the dragon's shadow passed above them as it took flight.

"Shit," Blackwall grumbled. Bull helped him limp to the cover of the rock.

"What happened?" Cassandra demanded.

"The great Iron Bull sneezed," Blackwall growled, his ankle tinged with pain. He feared he wouldn't be able to fight.

Genevieve shot Bull a confused look; "What kind of person is allergic to elfroot?" she exclaimed, her voice cracked.

Bull shook his head. "Oh come on, I can't know that," he stood up and watched the dragon flying, searching for them. "And that—isn't she magnificent? Don't you want to fight that?"

"No!" The three humans said in unison.

Cassandra peered over the rock and said; "We have to get out of here; perhaps we can make a run for the canyon?"

"I'm not sure Blackwall can run," Genevieve said as she leaned over Blackwall and started unlacing his right boot. "Keep an eye on that dragon," she told the others.

"Its fine, my lady, don't worry about it," he said and then winced as she pulled the boot off his foot.

"Shut up," she told him. She didn't have her saddle bags with her, so she tore cloth from her own tunic. "I don't think it's broken," she noted. "But it's swelling; sprained, maybe." She took a healing potion from her belt and shoved it into his hand. "Drink," she ordered and began using the cloth to bind his ankle.

Blackwall tipped the red potion back and drank all of it as he told. They made him feel jumpy sometimes, but right now all it did was make him feel sleepy. He wanted to be back in his hay loft away from all this madness.

"It's not perfect, but it'll have to do," Genevieve said. She slipped his boot back on and laced it. "What's the dra—"

"It's landing!" Cassandra and Bull ducked under the cover and a tongue of flame hit the other side of the rock. Heat waves fanned out around them and within seconds they were all drenched in sweat. They bunched together, trying to stay in cover as best they could.

Then the flame stopped and the dragon's snake-like neck came around the right side. And Genevieve shouted "Scramble!"

They ducked, jumped, and rolled away in several directions. Blackwall's gaze swept the battlefield in desperate search of the Inquisitor. He found her, helping Cassandra up. The dragon, realizing her quarry had gotten away, jumped up into the air and landed on another outcropping above them. She roared, filling the valley with the sound of wild fury.

Blackwall limped over to where Genevieve and Cassandra stood. "We have to get out of here," he shouted. The women nodded, and Cassandra threw Blackwall's arm over her shoulder to help him.

"Bull!" Genevieve called. "We're getting out of here!" Bull had his great ax out, and he looked slightly disappointed when she told them they were retreating.

The dragon took to the air, and came swooping down on them again, cutting off their escape. The beast took a great big breath and at the same moment Genevieve waved her hand and a barrier came over the four of them, protecting them from the flame. They went for the safety of their rock as the barrier disappeared.

"We're going to have to fight," Cassandra yelled over another monstrous roar.

Genevieve wiped sweat from her brow. "Anyone ideas how?" She asked the seeker, it was well known Cassandra had slain some dragons in her past.

"I was younger than you then! It was luck!" Cassandra growled and peered over the edge of the rock to check on the dragon.

"You must have some idea how—"

"A distraction," Blackwall moaned interrupting them. His ankle was sending pain shooting up to his spine. "If we can keep it busy long enough someone can get under it, I've heard the belly is soft."

There was a moment of silent thought, then; "Blackwall, since you can't run, do you think you can get under it?" Genevieve asked, but she didn't wait for an answer. "I can get its attention. Bull, Cassandra, keep attention off Blackwall." She jumped up and ran from cover, Cassandra and Bull followed a second after.

Blackwall used his sword to push himself onto his feet and watched in mute horror as Genevieve called a rock from the Fade and sent it flying at the dragon's head, slamming into its mouth, drawing blood. "Over here you overgrown salamander!" The dragon shook its head and turned towards Genevieve, baring teeth. It started for her and Blackwall took that as his cue.

He lumbered towards the beast, his foot dragging him down. It had been such a stupid decision, he should not have jumped. He hoped the numbing Genevieve's health potions usually provided would kick in soon. To make it easier, he dropped his shield, behind him; Iron Bull picked it up and flung it at the dragon, taking attention off Genevieve. In return, she flung a barrier over the qunari.

Blackwall tripped and then forced himself back onto his feet. He saw Cassandra banging her sword on her shield and Genevieve cast an ice spell, locking one of the dragon's legs in place, if only for a moment. The beast broke free and roared into the air. Blackwall dove under the monster and saw Genevieve raise her left hand, glowing green. She opened a rift above the dragon, slowing it.

With a great swing, Blackwall cut though the scale and tendons of the dragon's front, left leg and the beast toppled to its side, screeching. He shoved his blade it's the beast's belly and drew up gutting it in a gush of hot blood.

The dragon screamed and thrashed in the throes of death. Blackwall was knocked off his feet and now he wasn't sure if he was bleeding, or if the dragon was. He hit his head against the ground, felt the rumble of the dragon through the earth, and he felt sorry for the creature. It wasn't supposed to be like this, they just wanted an herb.

His vision dimmed. He tried to reach for his sword, but couldn't find it. He could hear Genevieve shouting, heard Cassandra respond. But he couldn't understand what they were saying. He saw Iron Bull wreathed in shadow, felt him drag him away from the dragon, and then nothing else.

XXXX

Blackwall felt the warmth of a fire on his side, and someone on his other side tending him with gentle hands. It was his little bird, he knew just by the touch. He knew he was not supposed to call her that, but he was too tired to care. For a moment he let himself drift off to the feeling of her hands tending his wounds. He wondered if she had meant to be so cruel to him earlier or if it had been a slip meant only to temporally make her feel better.

Everything was blurry when he opened his eyes, but he knew her by her shadow. He felt her slip her hand under his head and lift it; she put a cup to his lips and drank.

"What happened?" he breathed when she took the cup away.

"Dragon knocked you down, you hit your head." She told him. "Nothing serious, it got your ankle wrapped and elevated." She was about to put her hand on his forehead, but she hesitated and sighed. "Are you hungry?"

"Famished,"

"Bull, help me sit him up," Bull got up from his place by the fire and helped to lean Blackwall against a flat rock. Genevieve repositioned the saddle she was using to prop up his ankle and brought him another cup of warmed water and salt beef.

They had made camp in the dragon's former nest by the water. It was dark but he could still see the bulk of the dragon, corpse now left to grow cold. Above, the night was clear but the moon was a sliver in the sky. He would have enjoyed the stars more if he didn't feel so sluggish.

"We'll be able to head home tomorrow," Genevieve told them. "I've got as many plants as I can carry and I have seeds for planting." She sighed and pulled her knees up to her chest. "I just hope we're not too late,"

Cassandra leaned over and put her hand on Genevieve's shoulder. "The commander is strong," before they had left for the Hinterlands, she had fussed over Cullen until his fever was under control. He had regained consciousness and even tried to go back to work, but he was bedridden as were so many others.

Genevieve nodded and stood up. "I'm going to pick some spindleweed for a poultice. I'll stay close, just going down to the water." Blackwall watched her go, she might have returned with spindleweed a few moments later, but he was certain it was so she could drink a lyrium tonic. She put a poultice on her bruises and went to sleep before the others and without her usual tea.

Bull promised to wake Blackwall for a watch, but no one woke him. He slept until the sun was high up. In fact, they had all slept very late, the fight with the dragon had left them exhausted. They started packing a little before noon.

Before they took their leave, Blackwall hobbled over to the dragon's corpse and put his hand upon its giant head. Such a shame, he thought. He saw the beautiful scales and wondered it if would be desecration of the dead to take a few. But what's another sin tacked onto the list, he decided, and plucked a few golden scales and tucked them into his pocket. They would be a fine memento, a reminder of the fierce splendor they had found here.

With dragon scales in his pocket, he and the others made the long trek back to Skyhold.

I knew I wouldn't be able to write a Dragon Age fanfic without a dragon fight. I hope you guys enjoyed it as much as I enjoyed writing it!