AN: Thank you, thank you, thank you! Thank you for your kind remarks, for your biting criticism, for your loving, for your hating. Thank you for the pms, for the reviews, for the favs and the follows. I treasure them all. This chapter is dedicated to the fantastic Spada, without whom there would be no chapter at all! Blessings upon you all!

Part I: The Witch

"After the torchlight red on sweaty faces
After the frosty silence in the gardens
After the agony in stony places
The shouting and the crying."

-T.S Eliot, The Wasteland.

She awoke to singing and feared the worst. She groped for the dagger she always slept with. When her hands found only soft bedroll and the singing didn't cease she tried to sit up.

Pain immediately sliced away that ambition. She thudded back to the bed, eyes flung open to see the roof of a makeshift tent. She took gasping breaths of frozen air, pressed her hand against her wound.

"I know it's terribly cheesy," a drawling voice whispered over the song. "But...there's something...hopeful about it."

"What happened?" she said through gritted teeth as the singing ceased. Cheers broke through the night and she relaxed a little. Her wild images of being surrounded by darkspawn were simply that, crazed dreams echoing into consciousness.

"Oh, a darkspawn magister by the name of Corypheus destroyed Haven and wants to take over the world," Dorian yawned. "He claims to have been one of the first to breech the Golden City, he told the Herald the seat of the Maker was empty; got everyone a bit riled up actually," he sighed."...Oh, and he probably killed the Divine and is in control of an archdemon."

Neria groaned, not entirely sure whether to believe the Tevinter and certain she didn't want to.

"Somehow we all appear to be alive," Dorian continued. "Well, except Rodrick..." he paused, she heard him shift, uncomfortable. "Solas had you stitched up in a jiffy...nasty wound that."

She grunted. "Where are we?"

"Nobody quite knows...probably a good thing, yes? If we don't know where we are neither does this Corypheus..."

"You weren't joking..." she whispered. "Alright..." she hissed. "You need to help me up."

"I am doing no such thing..."

"I need to speak to the Herald..."she hissed.

"You and everyone else in camp," Dorian cut across her. "Solas gave me strict instructions. You are staying right there until morning. Even if I have to tie you up myself."

"At least..." she sighed. "Help me sit."

He did, awkward and time consuming as that was. The usually aloof mage showed a compassion and patience that she did not expect as he helped her shuffle backwards and lean against the headboard. Even that effort left her gasping for air, weak as a newborn pup.

She pulled the fur blankets higher. Someone had removed her blood soaked robe and dressed her in an overlarge shirt and thick woollen breeches, slung low so not to press her wound. She could still smell the blood and sweat over the scent of the linen.

"Courtesy of the Commander," Dorian nodded at the shirt. "He carried you here, you know."

"He what?!" she said before spluttering into a coughing fit that strained at her stitches.

Dorian thumped her on the back. "Oh, yes...it was all dreadfully romantic..."

"You missed the part where he cleansed me and knocked me unconscious," she hissed and he raised a dark eyebrow, hand not leaving her back.

"Ah..." Dorian muttered. "May I ask why?"

"Does he need a reason?" she grunted, her anger doing nothing for the pain. She tried to let it go but failure had a way of grabbing hold of her and squeezing tight. And to think I almost kissed him!

He leaned in close."So I am to take at you do not return the Commander's...feelings?" he whispered conspiratorially.

"Unless said feelings are pain and rage ..." she muttered, grimacing. "Maker...how is this what we're talking about...?!"

"I see it now," Dorian kept his voice low, but no less dramatic. "A pair of star-crossed lovers, torn apart by war and duty..."

"I'm not listening to you," she hissed, a red flush creeping up her neck. " Shut up."

Dorian leaned in close enough that she could see the individual hairs of his moustache in the light of the braziers. His tongue darted over his lips but before he could open his mouth to speak, a voice cut across him.

"What are you two whispering about?"

Dorian swivelled to face the open entrance of the tent. Leliana stood watching them, hands behind her back, a look of pure innocence on her delicate features.

"Andraste's tits, woman," Dorian's hand left her back as though she'd burnt him. "After the night we've had better to not sneak up on a man, yes?"

"I was simply intrigued," the bard floated to the foot of Neria's sick bed, a dry smile on her generous lips. "I heard the word 'lovers'... a dangerous word, no?"

"I errr..." Dorian sprung to his feet. "Do you know what, I utterly forgot I have to..." he shuffled from the tent, gaze not leaving Leliana, like a mouse fleeing the presence of a temporarily clement cat. "Er...go..." he finished lamely and sped off into the night.

Leliana gave Neria that cold sister look she reserved especially for when the mage had done something particularly offensive. "Please tell me you're not involved with him..."

"You've the wrong end of a rather stupid and pointless stick," Neria sighed, settling back among the cushions. "He told me what happened...are you..."

"Alright?" Leliana finished, slumping into Dorian's hastily vacated seat. "How can anything ever be alright again? Corypheus...I heard him...The Maker's seat was...empty."

Neria took a deep breath, she was hardly one to give spiritual guidance, her own guttering faith long sacrificed to the perils of this world. That she recognised the strength in the Chant did not mean she held it true. That was not what her friend needed to hear however.

"Why would you believe him over the Chantry?" she said, eventually. "An ancient corrupted magister...he clearly intends to shake your faith."

"Then it has worked," she shook her head. "Blood is all He demands of late. Sacrifice, duty, death...how can this be the life He intends for his faithful? How can I keep my faith amongst so much chaos..?"

"Leli," she struggled to reach for her friends hand, ignoring the pain splitting up her side. "We burden ourselves with struggle so others may not have to. Call it divine providence, call it a curse if you must, but what's important is that we are here and that we will fight...whatever comes."

Leliana squeezed her hand, her eyes suddenly alive with a warmth that had been so absent since Neria returned. "So you'll stay?"

Neria smiled."I suppose I will."

AN PS: End of part one! Eeeeep! Have a fantastic weekend!