Thanks for reading, all! I'm hoping this will go a little faster now that we're into the meat of the combat. Special thanks to WellspringCD for her thoughtful beta.

Zevran, peering out from the tent where he stood vigilant over the two wounded men, could see what Jennie had already noted—that Flemeth the dragon was winning as the fighters tired. He despaired, knowing that there was little he could do one way or the other. Perhaps if the mage, either of the mages, were there, they could add their skills to the fight. They weren't really needed for healing—magic had already done as much as it could for Wulfric. His body had to heal the damaged ribs the rest of the way. And Varric's injuries were beyond the aid of magic. Zev had realized the extent with a sinking heart after he had dragged Varric into the tent and had a chance to look at what the acid had done to the dwarf's face. The hands would heal; Zev had found a salve that would counteract the acid burns and help restore movement and utility to the dwarf's hands and fingers. But his face—those all-seeing eyes appeared to be permanently blinded, if Zev was any judge of such things. He dreaded having to break that news to the valiant, brash dwarf who had somehow become so important to Zev over the course of their travels.

"Flash." The dwarf's voice was a harsh croak.

"You spoke?"

"Don't sugar-coat it."

"What is it they say, a teaspoonful of sugar helps the medicine go down?" Where he had dredged that one up from, Zev wasn't certain, but it sounded good.

Wulfric, restlessly peering below the edge of the tent, snorted at that. "That's not how you used to help the medicine go down in my day."

Zev shrugged. "Things change."

"Apparently." Wulfric winced at something he saw. "That's it. I'm not sitting here any longer letting other people fight my battles. I killed that dragon once; I can do it again." He cast a sidelong glance Zev's way. "And if you remind me that I was younger then, I'll—"

"No need. You will do yourself more harm than good sitting here and watching, I know. If I believed in the Maker, I would ask him to watch over you."

Wulfric huffed a humorless laugh. "Ditto." He didn't bother with armor; still clad in his loincloth, he caught up a strange oblong of carved wood, about four feet long, and a bundle of spears. Seeing those in the corner, Zev had wondered about them, but there hadn't seemed to be a good time to ask. Now at least he would get to see the strange equipment in action.

Once Wulfric had gone, there was silence in the tent, until Varric spoke again, the effort clearly painful for him. "You can go, too. Nothing to do here but babysit a blind dwarf."

"If I thought I could be of assistance, I would do so, my friend. But there is little I can do against a dragon that is not already being done. Best to keep myself—and you—in reserve. We will sell our lives dearly should it come to that, eh?"

Varric's hands moved, clutching a phantom Bianca. "Is it that bad?"

Zev's silence appeared to answer the question; he could not seem to find the right words.

The dwarf had no trouble doing so, however. "Damn that Blondie. He's not out there, is he?"

"No. Perhaps he has found Oghren and is helping with the boy?"

"Maybe," Varric muttered, but sounded unconvinced.

"If I knew how to call them, I would find one of those swift steeds and ride for the Driazi camp. Hawke's sister could be of great use to us, as I imagine the Driazi themselves would," Zev said, almost to himself, as he watched the battle. Everyone outside the tent appeared to be moving underwater—the weariness in them was almost palpable.

"I know the call."

"What?" Zev turned from the open flap to find Varric looking at him with a hint of his old cockiness.

"I learned it from the Driazi, that and … Huh." The dwarf was frowning, his damaged flesh puckering in a way that looked quite painful to Zev. "Flash, how are you with languages?"

Zev was affronted that Varric even needed to ask. "Please."

"Do you think you could mimic the Driazi's calls? I … I can't, at least, not at the moment." Varric winced with the effort of speaking.

"Your voice should recover eventually."

"A ringing endorsement. Good to know." They were silent for a moment, then Varric coughed. "No time to lose, Flash. You remember that big son-of-a who runs around in this forest?"

"The one with the small arms and the enormous teeth? Yes, he is rather memorable."

"I know how to call him."

"You—" Zev blinked. "You do? Is that wise?"

"You're a big honking king of the forest and you're called by people you trust to feed you—who do you go after, the tiny insignificant little beings that are only a mouthful or two, or the big dragon who's a threat to your way of life?"

"That is an excellent point. Teach me."

It was not an easy process. Varric's vocal damage, temporary as it was, caused his pronunciations to be slightly off to Zev's ears; the tension of the situation was heightened by the cries of the people fighting the dragon; and both of them were all too keenly aware of the passage of time, and frustrated by it.

Zev had a natural ear for languages, but the Driazi language had a different set of base sounds than any he had learned before. He was surprised and impressed that Varric had picked it up so quickly. He came close several times, and Varric frowned, trying to decide exactly how close they needed to get.

His burned fingers were on Zev's face, tracing the shape of his mouth, since he couldn't see it for himself. "Round the mouth a little more, Flash."

Obediently, Zev did so, trying the call again in a soft tone that wouldn't carry outside the tent. They couldn't risk calling the wrong animal, or calling the animal they wanted in the wrong way.

"Closer. More like this." Varric demonstrated again, and Zev tried to mimic his sound exactly.

"Yes. Yes, I think that's it! Try one more time."

Zev did so.

"You've got it, Flash."

His fingers were still lingering on Zev's mouth, and without thinking Zev turned his head and kissed the fingertips.

Varric pulled his hand away as if the kiss had been as toxic as Flemeth's acid. "Don't patronize me, Zevran."

It was the first time Varric had used his real name, and Zev froze.

There was a dullness to the dwarf's usually lively voice as he said, "It's been fun, but it's not even close to believable any longer."

"Why? Because you can no longer see? The worth of a man is not judged by the workings of his eyes."

"I'm a burden. Nothing more."

"The Crows would not have seen you so. They had many different duties they gave to those who had been crippled in some way." Others might have shrunk from the hard word, but Zev didn't. "Do you know that the other senses sharpen to compensate for the loss of one?"

Shaking his head, Varric said, "Time's wasting, Flash."

"Varric." Zev put his hands on the dwarf's shoulders, looking into the damaged face. "I am coming back. This conversation is not finished."

The dwarf huffed a humorless laugh. "I'll believe that when I see it."

"You will have to believe it." Zev lifted Varric's hands, kissing the back of each one. "Because it will happen."

"Get along with you before you forget how to make the call." The defeated tone was out of Varric's voice, though, and Zev would take what he would get. He gave a last squeeze to Varric's hand and ducked out of the tent.

Zev could see the fighters out of the corner of his eye as he dashed from the tent toward the trees. Fenris was bloodied, favoring one arm, which weakened his attacks significantly. Fergus was dripping with sweat and breathing hard enough to be audible to Zev, but he continued to batter at the dragon as though he was still fresh. The smaller bird of prey that was Morrigan was bleeding freely from a gash in the chest, but attacked ferociously as if she didn't even feel the wound. Jennie, from a vantage point in the trees, was firing arrows steadily—Zev wondered where she had found so many. And Wulfric had stationed himself in a relatively secure location between two trees. As Zev watched, he fitted a spear to a hole in the piece of wood he carried and then used the wood piece as a lever to fling the spear toward the dragon. It stuck in the hide just below the eye, causing the dragon to bellow with rage. Wulfric roared back at it in challenge before hurling another spear.

In his haste, Zev could see no sign of Isabela, and he hoped the pirate was still in play in the combat. The world would lose too much if her light were snuffed out now, he reflected. He felt something as akin to affection as he typically allowed himself for her—they were such similar people, after all, and both … No, even in the privacy of his thoughts, he could not be flippant right now. They were too close to an end for that. It was time for focus.

He swarmed a tree, seeing several snakes slithering away as fast as they could go, and he had to thank Jitzal for his assistance in that area. It would not have done for their mission to be doomed by a poorly timed snake bite.

At the top of the tree, clinging to the branches, he took a deep breath, last-minute doubts assailing him. Could he make the call correctly? Would it draw the creature? Would the creature kill them all? Letting out the breath in a whoosh, he took another and then let the call fly from his lips, lofting along the treetops deep into the forest.