Author's note: We finally made it to Adamant! I thought we'd never get here (or more like I would never figure out how to write up to this point). Between work and unexpected life stuff, creativity has been hard to come by lately...

The ramparts were crawling with enemies, and Hawke was beginning to wish she had traded places with Stroud. As much as she enjoyed a good fight, this was quickly turning into a bloodbath, and she didn't know any of the Inquisition soldiers well enough to complement their moves. At least with Varric and Anders she would have been able to slip back into old habits and let some of the fighting take care of itself. And it would have been nice to have Anders around to throw a few healing spells her way as well.

Taking advantage of a lull in the battle to pull her last healing potion out of her pocket, she downed it in one swallow, feeling it taking effect only a moment before she heard the cries of more demons approaching. Diving back into the fray, she lost herself in the endless motions of fighting, the mindless repetition and instinctive reactions that kept her from falling on an enemy blade or ending up in the belly of a fiery rage demon. The battle felt endless, more waves of enemies appearing as soon as the last one fell, and she imagined it would be the exhaustion that did her in at this point.

Then she heard Varric's voice over the chaos, and the sound gave her a burst of energy. Throwing herself into her next several blows, she forced a Warden back over the edge of the ramparts and heard the impact far below. Her relief made her careless, however, and another Warden landed a nasty blow on her arm that left her reeling. Before he could finish her off, she roared in frustration and shoved him back, dispatching him with a feral cry although she nearly crumpled to the ground along with him when he fell. By the time Varric and Anders joined the scuffle, her arm was burning with white-hot fire and she was bleeding from so many places that she kept slipping in her own blood.

Looking around, she saw that they had brought along a number of other Inquisition agents, including some she'd never met. They were an impressive group all told, and they took care of the rest of the demons almost as soon as they arrived. Relieved to have a moment to catch her breath, she swayed on her feet and might have lost her balance if a hand on her back hadn't steadied her. She turned to see Anders standing beside her, avoiding her gaze as he guided her to sit on on a nearby crate. His expression was obscured by the blood smeared over his face, but his touch was light and gentle as he inspected her for injuries, energy flaring around his fingers when he found a cut or bruise. She watched him silently, feeling as if she had just stepped into a memory. How many times had they fought together like this over the years? How many times had he patched her up when it was over? She had lost count long ago.

Hissing when he saw the wound on her arm, his brows furrowed, fingers working at her gauntlet to pull it loose and get it out of the way. She slumped against the wall behind her when he managed to free her hand, the lack of pressure on the cut making it throb with pain. Healing magic enveloped her arm in brilliant blue light and she tried not to squirm, the sensation like itching in a hundred places that were all just out of reach.

"Wiggle your fingers," Anders said when he was done, watching with a frown as she followed the order. "That was a hasty job. Does it feel okay?"

"It works." She smirked wanly, and he looked at her with uncertainty in his eyes, obviously wary of her smile. "Thanks," she added more sincerely.

He bobbed his head in acknowledgement without meeting her eyes and then got up and went on to the next injured person. She watched him work, his fingers knitting skin back together with little shimmers of light, remembering how much she had once admired his skills. After what he had done, it had been easy to forget that his first instinct was always to help, but she was starting to realize that many of the things she had come to believe about him after Kirkwall were revisionist history. She'd rewritten some of the facts in order to feel better about her own mistakes, and that wasn't fair to anyone.

Gaze wandering over to the strange young man who had helped her understand this, she sighed. Cole paced back and forth among the soldiers, eyes darting around as if trying to take in everything at once. Anders had been reluctant to bring Cole with them into battle, but the spirit had been insistent that he come along, claiming that he was familiar with Adamant already—that he'd been there before. They'd all been a bit taken aback by that, but Cole had woven a strange tale that Hawke had only half followed about mages from the circle in Val Royeaux and a Tranquil who had been "undone," as he put it. There had been something about a stone golem and a lady templar as well, but she hadn't been able to piece much of that together.

Varric chuckled as Anders finished patching a nasty cut on his shoulder, and said, "You look like a barbarian with all that blood on your face, Blondie." Catching Anders by the chin, he pulled a surprisingly clean handkerchief out of a coat pocket and began gently wiping the blood away. Anders endured this with a grimace until Varric discovered the source of the blood: a cut at the edge of his hairline. "Heal that," Varric ordered as if he fully expected Anders to neglect his own injuries in favor of healing others.

"It's not that bad," Anders protested, trying to pull out of the dwarf's grip.

"It bleeds like crazy. When we catch up with the people in charge around here, you're going to need to be extremely persuasive, and it would be a lot easier to be convincing if you didn't look like a crazed Avvar at the time. Just heal it."

Sighing, Anders conceded his point and lifted a hand to his forehead.

"That's better," Varric said after he had pushed Anders hand away to inspect the cut. Hawke couldn't help but smile. Varric could be such a mother hen at times.

"We need to keep moving," Cassandra said suddenly. "I hear more fighting ahead."

And then they were in the midst of battle again. The only difference this time was the acrid smell of ozone and the disorienting mass of green light roiling in the air ahead of them. When the fighting paused long enough for her to inspect it, she realized it was a tear in the veil, and she could see a horrid shape on the other side just waiting to come through. The Wardens were gathered in greater number around the rift, and there were signs of blood magic all around them.

"Stop them!" shouted an arrogant voice. "We must finish what we started." The Tevinter mage was standing on a platform above the rift, a battle-hardened woman standing beside him in Grey Warden armor, her arms raised to perform some sort of magic.

"Clarel!" Stroud shouted at the woman. "You complete that ritual, you're doing exactly what Erimond wants."

"What?" Erimond replied dismissively. "Fighting the Blight? Keeping the world safe from Darkspawn? Who wouldn't want that? And yes, the ritual requires blood sacrifice. Hate me for that, if you must. But do not hate the Wardens for doing their duty!"

Hawke felt a visceral reaction to that, anger spiking through her. "I have seen more than my share of blood magic," she retorted. "It is never worth the cost!"

But her words seemed to bounce off Clarel without making any impact. "We make the sacrifices no one else will," the Warden Commander said. "Our warriors died proudly for a world that will never thank them."

"You're right," Anders said dryly. "No one will thank you. Few people are grateful when a demon army comes to kill them."

"Our army is for the Archdemons!" Clarel snapped back. "For ending the Blight!"

He scoffed. "Your army is bound to the will of Corypheus, and you can't even see it."

At least that name gave Clarel pause. Blinking uncertainly, she repeated, "Corypheus? But he's dead."

For a moment Anders' words seemed to be getting through to Clarel, but then Erimond focused his attention on her and she seemed to crumple. Though Hawke couldn't see the blood magic, she knew what he was doing. "These people will say anything to shake your confidence, Clarel," he said soothingly, and she nodded like a puppet.

"Bring it through," she ordered emotionlessly, staring at the creature on the other side of the rift.

"Stop!" Stroud pleaded. "I trained half of you myself. Do not make me kill you to stop this madness!"

Again Clarel hesitated, but Erimond spoke up before she could be swayed. "Clarel, we have come so far! You are the only one who can do this."

"Can't you see you're being used?" Anders exclaimed, turning to look at the rest of the Wardens now. "Surely some of you have noticed what's happening."

"He may be right," one of the Wardens said faintly, voice gaining strength as he looked at his fellow Wardens. "The mages who've done the ritual are wrong. They were my friends, but now they're like puppets on a string."

Clarel's eyes unclouded for a moment and she glanced at Erimond. "Perhaps we could test the truth of these charges to avoid more bloodshed."

Rolling his eyes, Erimond countered. "Perhaps I should bring in a more reliable ally." He turned to face Anders. "My master thought you might come here, Inquisitor. He sent me this to welcome you!"

A dragon's cry shook the tower under their feet, and Hawke felt a thrill of fear race through her. A moment later everything erupted in chaos. Clarel finally gained enough presence of mind to attack the dragon and suddenly they were all fighting the massive beast, racing along the ramparts and dodging gouts of flame along the way. Their numbers dwindled as they ran, several people breaking off to guard their retreat and take on the hordes of demons at their heels. They were sorely outmatched by the time the reached the highest parapet, but they fought as best they could, keeping the dragon at bay rather than doing much to defeat it.

Unfortunately, the castle itself turned against them in the end, ancient stone crumbling under the dragon's weight, and soon they were tumbling in midair. Hawke felt time slowing down as she fell, the shock of realizing that of all the dangers she had faced over the years, this might be the last, the one that finally ended everything. She saw Varric falling beside her, clutching Bianca to his chest as he smirked up at the sky, smiling in the face of death as if he'd always expected the story to end this way. And just beside him was Anders, face set with determination as he stared at the chasm below, and she knew by the look in his eyes that he was still trying to save them all. She wanted to tell him that it was okay. He'd done enough. He could let go without regret.

And then she winced, a blinding light erupting from Anders' hand and enveloping them all in its brilliance. She felt a queasy shift in gravity as if she were underwater and swimming to the surface rather than falling to the ground. Disoriented, she flung her arms out to either side, scrabbling for purchase amongst falling objects and squeezing her eyes shut to block out the dizzying view and the burst of sickly green light.

Then her boots collided with something hard and she landed…somewhere.

Author's note: I do realize that's an awful place to leave you. Sorry! We'll have some Fade next time.

Also, I don't know if anyone read the tie-in novel where Cole first appeared, but I was attempting to reference that earlier in the chapter. The book was actually quite good, so if you like Cole, you might want to check it out.