Skyhold was preparing for war. Everyone did their part to help organize the assault against Corypheus's forces in the Arbor Wilds – the smithy was hot with use, the servants ran back and forth with messages, the cooks cut down their stock to help add to the supplies, the stable hands readied the mounts, the tavern served up free drinks to the soldiers who suffered drill after drill under Cullen's watch. Even some of the visiting nobility added to the effort, writing letters to allies for supplies and fighting men.

The library was no less busy – every tome on the ancient elves was pulled, poured over, analyzed for any suggestion of a secret it might hold that would give the Inquisitor a key to what type of ruin Corypheus was searching for. Solas and Sinead worked together, aided by Marcel and Sister Guerrin at turns, marking and translating any passage considered possibly useful.

Sinead was glad of the work, though it meant late nights and early mornings – anything that kept her from thinking of her personal life was a welcome distraction. She plumbed the depths of lore, making lopsided, left-handed notes of any line from prose or poem or prayer that caught her eye. But the deeper she got, the stranger the words seemed to her. There were contradictions that could only lead to odd interpretations, and most frustratingly hints of something lost that was once known so well that a passing mention was deemed enough for a reader to understand the reference.

She was in Solas's office late the night before the army was to march, a pile of books around her at the small table she set up for herself, when she finally lost patience, pushing a book away from her with a growl of disgust.

Solas looked up from his own work. "No luck, Lady Archivist?"

"Plenty of luck. Plenty to find," she replied, working her fingers deep into her braid. "But I can't make sense of it. This poem has hints of Mythal being something of vengeance or justice. Nothing out of the ordinary. But then it mentions Fen'Harel, the Dread Wolf himself, as if he's an ally. The trickster, the betrayer of the entire elven pantheon, is made into a dear friend of the representative of lawful good. It reads like nonsense. And then here, and here and here –" she tapped three open books, " – we have mention of orbs similar in description to Corypheus's. Good. And Mythal is paired with these mentions. Wonderful! Something about power, something about strength unknowable – all understandable. But then, boom, godlike power none should touch, given to only the worthy, and something in here about laying with the sleeping ones – it makes the orbs seem fantastically rare, and usually locked up with their owners during uthenera. If that's the case, how in the darkness of the Void did Corypheus get his hands on one?

"And he's not the only one with amazing access to ancient elven artifacts." She picked up a book with the Chantry sunburst on its cover. "I pulled texts about Shartan, Andraste's elven general, because the description of the orbs sounded so very familiar to something I've read about him before. Lo and behold, there are tantalizing clues of him also having such an orb, which means a former Tevinter slave, separated from his Elvhenan ancestors by centuries, somehow managed to find a rare, powerful piece of lost magical technology. The implications of such a thing are huge – how did he find it, where did he find it, and did someone help him find it? But that's as far as I get – clues, suggestions, hints, intimations, implications, but nothing solid."

Solas smiled. "It's the life of the academic to never have solid solutions. All one has is questions and more questions."

"I understand that, yes." She set down the book, narrowing her eyes at her research. "But what I'm saying is that there's something here that I feel academics have been missing. Reading between the lines, there's a whole thread of thought and interpretation that has been omitted from investigation or outright ignored. Which, again, makes no sense." She drew a line with her finger from book to book to book. "This is a trail of breadcrumbs, Master Solas. Somewhere at the end of the trail are answers."

Solas chuckled. "Your tenacity impresses me. I'm sure you'll find your answers in time. But now it's late, and you've done all you can to aid us before the battle. Perhaps you should sleep?"

As if prompted, she yawned. "How can I sleep? Tomorrow the Inquisitor marches with most of Skyhold. I have to do all I can –"

"And so you have. Your research these last few weeks has been essential. But dawn is near, and it is time to set down your books." He folded his hands. "Go to sleep, my lady."

She snorted. "You're the one who should sleep. You've only a few hours before your journey, if that candle clock is correct."

"I would, but I have a few more passages on eluvians I'd like to study first."

"Ah, eluvians. I suppose because any time you read about the Temple of Mythal, they come up," she said with a grin. "Well of Sorrows and the place between. Delightfully cryptic."

"Indeed." He seemed to deliberate with himself before speaking again. "Did you know that the Lady Morrigan brought an eluvian to the premises?"

Sinead's mouth dropped. "There's an eluvian here at Skyhold?" she squeaked. "When – how – "

"It was delivered while you were in Val Royeaux, and is now in a room near the Chantry chapel. Its existence has been kept secret for fear of misuse, though Morrigan claims to be the only one who knows its key." He cleared his throat. "I apologize for not telling you sooner. Of all the people in Skyhold, I think you may appreciate it as much as Morrigan does."

"No, I understand. Mission secrecy and all that," she muttered. "Oh, but to have known earlier. She's surely asleep, and there will be no time once dawn breaks – Maker, I'm going to have to wait for weeks for a peek."

"If we survive our encounter with Corypheus, of course."

"Don't say things like that," she snapped. "The battle will be won."

"Are you so sure of our success?"

"Absolutely," she said fervently. "The Inquisitor has done incredible things. I don't doubt that she will lead us to victory."

He nodded slowly. "Your hope bolsters me, my lady." He waved a hand to the door. "Now, go to sleep so that you can see off your friends in the morning. And worry not for the books – if you would please leave them in my office while I'm gone, I would appreciate it. I don't want to lose my notes."

"Understood." She sighed and stretched, feigning another yawn. "I will be up before you go, Master Solas. Then I will wish you luck. But right now, I'm telling you not to die."

"I'll do my best." He smiled. "Good night, Sinead."

She left Solas's office and meandered through the darkened great hall. The fact that there was an eluvian at Skyhold turned over and over in her mind. An eluvian was an incredible device, like something from a tall tale, a mirror that was actually a door to unknown locales. To be so close to something of legend for so long without knowledge made her heart hurt, even more so knowing that she had not the time to interrogate Morrigan about the mirror.

Then again, Morrigan was not a woman one interrogated. Sinead often saw the witch in the gardens with her son, but never made the time to approach her though she knew many things about magic that had been long lost by the Circle. It was the look in Morrigan's eyes whenever she glanced at Sinead – something critical and cold that hit her like a splash of water. She never spoke to the woman, but she was sure Morrigan did not like her.

Probably thinks I'm a Circle loyalist, she thought.

But to not ask about the eluvian would be madness. She would brave dire looks for the chance to examine such an important ancient elven artifact. Sinead walked through the garden, looking up at the stars and chewing on the words she would say to convince Morrigan she had to see the mirror.

You see, my lady, as a specialist – no. One must approach this academically, my lady. A full study of this mirror – nonono, still not right.

She stopped at the foot of the stairs to her chambers, looking down the short, torch lit walkway to the room where the eluvian was stored. She ached to be so close to such wonder.

Sinead made a decision.

She stole over to the room, glancing over her shoulder and around the empty garden, and touched the door. Immediately she brought her hand back, hissing and shaking it. A strong enchantment barred the door, something she had never encountered before. It was a spell woven over itself so many times that one could barely feel the space on the other side. She pulled at her mana, testing the weave for weaknesses, but the spell was solid.

I should go to bed, she thought, releasing her mana. But the thought of the eluvian being just on the other side of the door was too tantalizing to let go. She glanced around the garden, stuck her thumb in her mouth and bit down hard on the tip until she tasted blood. She sucked on her thumb a bit, rolled the power around her mana and felt the spell again.

Now the weave felt pliable, like loose linen. She pressed the spell gently, and found the threads in its construction. She began unraveling it bit by bit, pulling more and more power from her blood to hasten the spell's deconstruction. Finally, with a pop and the smell of ozone, the spell cracked and faded away. She pushed on the door, and it slowly swung open.

The room was dark save for a thin ray of moonlight cutting across the floor. She waved her hand, creating dozens of lanterns to light the room, and then gasped. The eluvian was a dull gray, tall, and plainly adorned, but even from across the room she could feel its power. She stepped toward it cautiously, releasing the power of the blood lest she accidentally wake it. Her hand raised as she walked, trembling, her awe growing with each step.

"That's close enough. I'll thank you to not dirty my eluvian with your bloody fingers."

Sinead spun around. Morrigan stood in the doorway, a smile on her face, but her eyes were cold.

"Hello, Lady Morrigan." She stepped back from the mirror, her stomach sinking. "I apologize for – that is, I heard of your eluvian, and I just – "

"You just. You just intruded into my space and touched my things?" The door slammed shut behind Morrigan. She walked slowly into the room, staff held at her side. "I admit I am impressed that you broke the protective spell, though of course you used blood magic. The stink of it is hovering about you. But even with blood that took skill."

Embarrassment rolled over Sinead. She steeled herself, bowing her head. "Lady Morrigan, please let me apologize. I admit I acted without thought. I just now learned from Master Solas about the existence of the eluvian, and I let my excitement get the better of me."

"Did you." Morrigan stopped near the eluvian, frowning as she swept her eyes over Sinead. "I'll have to have a chat with the elven mage – he seems to have little care for the Inquisition's secrets."

"Again, I apologize." Sinead felt power emanating from Morrigan, strong and full of life. She backed toward the door. "I will leave you to prepare for your journey."

"Oh, don't leave so soon, Lady Archivist." A wave of power washed over Sinead, locking her in her spot. "Actually, I've been meaning to speak to you for some time, but never had the chance. Tis a serendipitous occasion that I find you alone."

Sinead pulled at her blood again, filling with power before pushing at Morrigan's spell. But even as she broke through, another spell wrapped around her, and yet another as she broke through again.

"Enough of that," Morrigan said, irritated.

There was one last wave of power and Sinead felt her will melt away. It was reminiscent of when Rein tried to control her thoughts. But instead of her mind being controlled, she simply lost the desire to fight against Morrigan.

"What did you do?" her voice was casual, unworried, though her mind raced in terror.

"Worry not, I shan't have you under my will for long." Morrigan circled her. "That is, unless I feel you pose a threat."

"Why do you think I'm a threat?"

"I told you, you stink of blood magic. I've never been against blood magic, but I consider it a sloppy practice for undisciplined mages, and it has a habit of attracting demons. I have no great love for the Chantry, but I understand their superstitious fears." She took Sinead's chin in her hand. "Yet here you are, your connection to the Fade thin, your aura like a red haze, and they speak not but praise for you, little malificar. Now, how can that be? Who do you have under your sway?"

"No one," Sinead said calmly. "I don't use my skills for such things. I practice without malice."

Morrigan laughed. "What a foolish phrase. No malice does not mean no harm. There are plenty of monsters in the world who do abominable things with no malice. How do you use your power with no malice?"

"I heal. I fight if attacked."

"You break into secret rooms." She clucked her tongue and circled again around Sinead. "You aren't telling the full truth. I see the death in your aura. You've taken someone's blood, taken their life to feed your own power. Tell me."

The blackness filled Sinead, panic blocking her words as Morrigan's spell fought for her to speak. She shook as the panic rose.

"Ah, now you fight back. Very good, Lady Archivist." More power surrounded Sinead, dizzying her. "Tell me, who did you kill to feed your little habit? What are you hiding from the Inquisition, girl?"

Her mouth opened and closed with soundless words. Black spots filled her vision as her heart raced. Her breathing grew short and shallow.

"I am very impressed." Morrigan patted her cheek. "But please don't make me break your mind for answers. T'would take time to explain, I think."

Suddenly someone pounded on the door. "Morrigan, you must stop!"

"What now?" Morrigan grumbled, opening the door with a wave of her hand.

Cole stood at the entrance, breathing heavily. He was clothed in his armor, save for his helm – his floppy brimmed hat hid his face. He ran to Sinead, checking her eyes and feeling her cheeks.

"Ah, here comes your little spirit you have under your thrall," Morrigan said with amusement.

"I am no one's thrall," Cole said, giving her a dark look.

"There are more ways to be bound than by blood, young man." She pointed at the door. "Now if you would please leave, the lady and I were having a discussion."

"She can't answer your questions." Cole sounded frustrated, as if he felt Morrigan should know this. "The blackness keeps the words from her tongue."

"The blackness?" Morrigan crossed her arms. "What nonsense."

"It's true – a bleak, burrowing blackness that edges the thoughts, waiting to swallow her. Names and memories make it manifest. The name you want is one of them." He was pleading. "I know you want to protect, to seek out any who would harm, but she's not one of them. She means her words – with no malice."

Morrigan looked from Sinead to Cole. "She did kill another by taking power from their blood."

"Rein. He tried to take her mind. She took his life and used the power to kill the Templars who would kill the children."

Morrigan's eyes widened. "Is that so? So the story of the little mage and the children is true?"

"She did not fight an abomination or give a speech to Cullen like in the story."

"Has she killed others?"

"Yes. Demons. Darkspawn."

"Humans?"

"No."

"And did she take power from another besides this Rein?"

"No. She uses her own life, her own blood. Please, Morrigan. She's another spark of light."

Morrigan pondered a moment, tapping her chin with her finger. "Very well," she said finally, waving a hand.

Sinead dropped to the floor as the spell let go, gasping for breath as she fought back the panic.

"She was trying to help," Cole soothed, taking her hand. "She doesn't trust mages who hide their power. They remind her of her mother."

"It's my fault," she gasped. "I was the one…who broke into the room…uninvited…like a thief."

"At least she has some sense," Morrigan muttered. "Now if you would kindly leave –"

"Wait." Sinead held up a shaky hand. "Two things: may I please study the eluvian? I promise it's only out of academic interest. And how can you see that I'm a blood mage? You're the second to say so, and I must know."

"You must be joking," Morrigan scoffed. "Do you honestly think I'd tell you a thing after you've proven yourself to be completely untrustworthy?"

"Of course not. But I thought I'd ask anyway." Sinead gave her a hopeful smile.

"Unbelievable." Morrigan shook her head and pointed at the door. "Out."

Sinead scrambled to her feet with Cole's help and walked quickly out of the room.

"Sorry again!" she called as the door slammed behind she and Cole. Then she groaned and hit her forehead with her knuckles. "I am such a fool. I had a chance to know the secrets of something incredible and it's slipped through my fingers."

"Why did you not wait to ask Morrigan to see the mirror?"

"I told you, because I'm a fool." She flopped onto one of the garden benches. "I don't know what I was thinking. I just wanted so much to see…it was odd, like a need that came over me." She played with a thread on her sling and cleared her throat. "You're certainly making a habit of coming to my rescue. Thank you."

He sat down beside her. "You don't need to be rescued. You just need to stop doing the things that lead to your being in trouble."

"Oh, yes, of course. Why didn't I think of that?"

They were both silent a moment, Sinead picking at threads, Cole kicking at the sod.

"You're all ready to go to war," Sinead said finally. "All suited up. I heard you're in the Inquisitor's party."

"Yes. She wants to know what I feel in the temple." He rubbed his arms. "I don't like the old temples. They feel like sadness and despair and loss and anger."

She looked at him. "Anger?"

"Anger at their loss. And anger at their gods."

"Hm." She looked down again. "This is supposed to be a very big battle. Bigger than any you've faced."

"Yes. And I know what you're going to say. All I can do is try not to die."

She thought for a moment, her chest tight. Her doubts and fears rose up, telling her to bid Cole goodnight and leave him be. But she could not leave him – he was there, in the flesh, hours before he was to set out and face death head on yet again. No matter whether her feelings were right or wrong, they were still strong, and real, and the thought of him dying was unbearable. In an unthinking instant, she reached up and pulled her pins from her hair. Her braid fell down her back, the end unraveling. She held the pins out to him.

He stared at them. "My hair's too short."

A smile flickered on her lips. She took the pins between her teeth, slipped to the ground and kneeled in front of him. Then she threaded each pin into his thick belt.

"You needn't worry about their being damaged," she said as she pulled herself back onto the bench. "They're ironbark. It would take quite a blow for them to splinter."

He brushed his fingers over the carved lilies. "Why?"

"Because you know how important they are to me. So you must bring them back safely, and the only way to do that is to survive."

He closed his eyes and leaned back, quiet for a time. Then he opened his eyes and looked at her through his bangs.

"He was a slave, the man who carved these pins. He was trained to make weapons of incredible strength for his masters, which they used against the humans invading their lands. He ran from them in the night on secret roads, hid away in the forests, and made coin by selling the weapons he made to any who would have them – human, elf, what did it matter if it meant he could eat?"

"One day there was a woman, also of the forest, also a runner from her human masters. She was strong, stubborn, round eared, with thick, black hair. She haggled for a bow, which he gave to her for less than it was worth he was so charmed. Then she taunted him for the price, which charmed him more. He grew to love her, and she him. These were the only things of beauty he ever made with his hands, rough and unskilled and of the wrong wood for trinkets. She loved them all the same."

He went quiet.

"What happened to them?" She asked hesitantly, captivated by the tale. "The man and the woman."

"He was found and executed as a traitor and runaway. She was left to raise their daughters alone in the forest. She gave the eldest an ironbark dagger and the youngest the hairpins, to remember. Now they've been passed down for so long that the memories are gone. Only the pins and the dagger remain."

Her heart sank. "You were right. They have no meaning without someone to remember why they're meaningful."

"You are here. You can remember." He placed the flat of his palm against his belt. "I will keep them safe for you." He studied her a moment, then took off his hat. "Will you take care of my hat while I'm away? The rats like to nibble the rim."

Her heart raced. She smiled. "Of course."

Shyly, he placed the hat on her head, lifting the brim so she could see. His scent drifted around her. She took his hand, blinking back tears.

"Stay safe Cole," she said thickly.

Then she stood and ran for the stairs, cursing her imprudence.