"You've picked a fine time to develop a rebellious streak," Dorian growled, shooting an irritated glance at the shaggy black beast at his side. Maggie trotted along happily, as though they were out for a stroll around the villa instead of crawling through the darkspawn-infested bowels of the earth. "What am I going to tell your master, hmm? He's going to kill us both, you know."

"He'll understand," Ellana said. "I have a feeling he knew she might do this. That's probably why he left her in the Emerald Graves instead of just setting her loose outside the ruins like we did."

"Either way," Cassandra said, "since she is here now, let us put her to good use. She can scout ahead and warn us of any danger."

"She can do better than that." Kneeling, Dorian looked the wolf in the eye. "Maggie. Venas alin. Venas tarlin."

The wolf bounded away, a black shadow hurtling into black shadow until she was nothing more than a soft staccato of claws on stone.

"Yes." Ellana swallowed hard and nodded. "She'll find him. She'll show us the way."

"You asked her to track the Inquisitor?" Cullen cast a sceptical look at their surroundings. "Will she be able to pick up his scent down here? The whole place reeks of darkspawn."

"I suppose it depends on how old the scent is. In the meantime, I've asked her to track strangers as well. Chances are, everyone we're looking for is in one place." Assuming they're still alive. He didn't say that last part aloud. No one needed to hear it, least of all him.

"We should search for this Three Roads camp," Cassandra said. "The men who left that note were in a hurry to report back to the Redeemer, but they also instructed their brethren to meet them at the Three Roads camp. That could mean Malkar is there."

"And it might give us a chance to free the slaves," Ellana added. "Assuming that's what's in the shipment."

"Hmm." Dorian narrowed his eyes, tapping his chin in thought. "That could be an opportunity. If we make it look as though the slaves escaped on their own, the Promisers will be distracted rounding them up."

Ellana frowned. "And what if they succeed? You would use those poor people as a decoy?"

Dorian met her gaze evenly. "If the Promisers succeed in whatever it is they're plotting, we'll have bigger problems than a cage full of slaves. Everyone will suffer, those poor people included."

"He's right," Cullen said. "We should help them if we can, but our priority has to be Malkar."

Cassandra nodded. "Agreed. He must be stopped at all costs."

Ellana didn't look convinced. Her glance cut between them, dark brows knitted, mouth pressed into a thin line. Dorian knew that look well. How many times had they had a version of this conversation with Seth? It had taken the Inquisitor a long time – and a great deal of heartache – to reach a place where he made hard decisions without hesitation. They never stopped hurting him, but such were the burdens of command, and he learned to shoulder them, however reluctantly.

"In the meantime," Cullen said, "we should find a place to camp for the night. It's been a very long day, and"—he winced, rolling his shoulder—"I confess that little tussle took the wind out of me. I could use the rest."

Dorian arched an eyebrow. "Rest? You? Why, Commander, don't tell me you're getting old."

Cullen chuckled. "Older, yes, and wiser too. The Inquisitor used to get after me for pushing myself too hard, and I've come to realize he was right. This is a marathon, not a sprint."

"Hopefully not too much of a marathon." Dorian sighed. "I'm exhausted already."

They found a quiet little nook off the main road and unloaded their packs. Dorian's bedroll was covered in dust from when he'd dropped it to fight the bear, and he made more noise than was probably wise giving it a good beating. But with Maggie scouting ahead, he was less concerned about someone falling upon them without warning. Once they were set up, he whistled softly, and a few moments later the wolf appeared out of the shadows. You couldn't ask for a better sentry than a keen-eared canine, and Dorian was forced to admit that having her here was extremely useful. That didn't mean he was happy about it. He couldn't help imagining the sorts of awful things that could befall her in this place, and the thought made him physically ill.

"She'll be all right," Ellana said, guessing his thoughts. She'd set up her bedroll next to his, and she sat cross-legged with the contents of her quiver spread out before her, selecting the best shafts for quick access.

"It's absurd, isn't it?" Dorian tugged on Maggie's ears affectionately. "So many people I care about down here, in mortal danger, and here I am fretting about a wolf."

"I understand. She's a piece of him. The only piece you have right now."

"Not quite." He met those familiar eyes. "You remind me so much of him, Ellana," he said softly.

"I know." She dropped her gaze. "It's the same for me, in a way. Your being here is a constant reminder that he isn't. It's… hard."

A gloomy silence settled over them. Dorian sent Maggie off to stand guard. Then he rooted around his pack for something to eat, coming up with a strip of dried meat that would have to serve as supper. "So," he said with forced levity. "How long, do we think, until we start eating nug?"

"That will be far less amusing in a few days' time," Cassandra said. "When we are actually eating nug."

"A pity that bear was blighted." Ellana glanced back the way they'd come. "It could have fed us for days." When Dorian pulled a face, she gave him a surprised look. "What, have you never eaten bear?"

"Certainly not. What a thoroughly disgusting notion."

"This from a man who considers mould a delicacy."

"Mould?" Cullen echoed quizzically.

"She means cheese. Really, it's best not to engage with the savages on this sort of thing."

Cullen snorted. "You think Fereldans are savages."

"True enough."

Ellana shook her head, a wry smile threatening one corner of her mouth. "Is he always this ridiculous?"

"Yes," Cassandra said, curling up under her blankets. "And your brother never hesitated to tell him so."

"Nonsense." Dorian followed her lead, burrowing into his own bedroll and quietly congratulating himself for having lightened the mood. "Seth would never say such a thing. He was enamored of me in all ways, at all times."

"I am not talking to you anymore, Dorian. I'm sleeping. See?"

"We should all do the same," Cullen said, smoothing out his own bedroll. "Tomorrow is going to be another long day."

"Dorian." Seth sighs. "You're being ridiculous."

"I'm not." Dorian covers his nose with his sleeve, scowling at the sweaty Qunari walking a few dozen paces ahead. "It's a matter of hygiene, and therefore of health, not to mention morale."

The elf cuts him a sidelong glance. "Whose morale?"

"Mine, obviously. You can't expect me to perform at my best under these conditions. It's simply intolerable."

"I'm not ordering Bull to bathe. It's beyond my remit."

"You ordered Sera to stop nicking things."

"That's completely…" Seth growls and rubs his eyes. "Enough, already. Just pick up the pace, will you? We've fallen behind."

"Downwind, you mean," Dorian mutters, but he does as he's told, quickening his step to catch up to the others, who are almost at the crossroads.

"Rider coming this way," Bull calls, loosening the maul at his back. "Looks like he's in a hurry."

They step off the road, leaving plenty of space for the rider to pass, but the man does a double-take at Seth's silver hair and reins in hard, his horse skidding to a halt and gouging deep troughs in the dirt. "Inquisitor!" he says breathlessly. "You are the Inquisitor, aren't you?"

"I am." Seth's expression is perfectly serene, but his lithe frame is tensed and ready.

"Oh, thank the Maker!" The man nearly sobs in relief. "Please, Your Worship, I beg you. Our village, it's under attack. Bandits. They've been swooping down from the hills night after night, raiding our homes, taking everything they can carry. First it was the coin. Then the chickens and goats. Now they're saying if we don't give them our grain, they'll burn the village to the ground. We need those stores to survive the winter. Please, Inquisitor, help us!"

"Your village is that way?" Solas gestures with his staff.

"Aye. Not twenty miles."

Solas puts his back to the man and meets the Inquisitor's eye. "Twenty miles in the opposite direction from our destination," he says softly. "A day's walk each way."

"For you, maybe," the Qunari says. "The boss and I could do it in half that. Probably take these bandits on our own, too."

"We're not splitting up." Seth takes a few steps away from the rider so they can confer in private; Dorian can see the gears turning in his head as he considers his alternatives.

"I hate to say it," Dorian murmurs, "but Solas may be right. That rift is spitting out more demons with every hour that passes. The longer it takes us to get there, the harder it will be to clean up the mess. And who knows how many lives might be lost in the meantime."

"Nobody knows," Seth replies in an undertone. "Whereas we know for certain that lives will be lost in that village if we don't help."

"We cannot prevent every act of lawlessness in Ferelden," Solas points out. "It is unfortunate, but our priority must be stopping Corypheus and restoring the Veil."

"I don't need to be reminded of our priorities," Seth says coolly. "I carry a rather constant reminder right here." He raises his left hand; even at this distance from the rift, the anchor glows a soft, sickly green.

Solas inclines his head in acknowledgement. "Indeed you do, Inquisitor, and it is a terrible burden to bear. I would not wish it on anyone. But like it or not, it is your responsibility, whereas these bandits are not. Let the villagers seek aid from their arl. Redcliffe is not so very far."

Seth glances away, his mouth pressed into a thin line. He shakes his head, and Dorian is sure he's about to turn the man away. Instead, keeping his voice low, he says, "Our priority is indeed Corypheus. But Corypheus is not at the end of that road, and even if he were, we can't defeat him alone. We need allies and recruits, and for that, we need influence. If we turn our backs on this village, everyone will hear of it. What will they say about the Inquisition then? What good are we if we don't help ordinary people? If we are indifferent to them, they will be indifferent to us. And then, when it's our turn to call for aid, who will answer?"

There's a stretch of silence. Solas leans on his staff, brows drawn together in thought, his sharp eyes fixed on the Inquisitor. "Perhaps you're right," he says at length. "There is wisdom in looking to the reputation of the Inquisition."

Why, thank you, Solas, Dorian thinks sourly. So glad you approve. Positively makes his day, I'm sure.

Seth, for his part, just nods and walks back to the rider. "We'll return with you to your village. But I must ask something in return. We are pressed for time, and our horses were killed in a skirmish with demons. Loan us some of yours, and if you accompany us, you can lead them home once we've reached our destination."

"Of course! Oh, thank you, Your Worship, thank you!"

"So," Dorian murmurs a few minutes later, when the others are out of earshot. "What you told Solas back there. Do you really believe that, or were you just rationalizing to appease him?"

"As Varric would say, a little of Column A, a little of Column B."

"Why do you bother? You could have just told him to go stuff himself. You are the Inquisitor, after all."

Seth snorts softly. "Always the diplomat," he says with a wry smile. He glances ahead to make sure no one is looking, then tugs Dorian close and brushes his lips with a quick kiss. "Now hurry up. It's time to go."

"Hurry up, Dorian," Cassandra said, already rolling up her bedroll. "We must get started."

"The darkspawn don't care how pretty you are," Cullen added.

Dorian ignored them both. As long as they still had access to water, he was going to wash and shave and do his best not to look like a bloody barbarian, and they would just have to deal with it. He rinsed his razor, patted his face dry, and emptied the portable basin he'd brought along. It was a clever thing, that basin, acquired during his Inquisition days. Fashioned from the bladder of a druffalo, it weighed almost nothing and could be rolled up and stashed away in a small pouch. Wonderfully resourceful, those Dalish. None more so than the man he'd almost married, as last night's dream had reminded him.

He'd been musing over it since he opened his eyes. Yesterday, he'd thought only of the times Seth had made the hard choice. But the dream had reminded him that just as often, the elf had found another way, a compromise the rest of them didn't see, or thought too difficult to pull off. Would he have agreed with Dorian about using the slaves as a decoy? Or would he have found a better way? A question worth considering, at any rate.

"Are you all right?" Ellana asked.

Dorian glanced up, but the question wasn't directed at him. Cullen was grimacing as he worked his shoulder, his movements obviously stiff. "It's nothing," he said. "Just a little banged up from yesterday."

"You hit that wall pretty hard."

"I did," he chuckled. "It seems to have jammed my shoulder. I really am getting old."

"I have a poultice that might help," Ellana said, rummaging in her pack. "Where did I…? Ah. Here it is. If you take your tunic off, I can apply it for you."

Cullen froze like a rabbit. Strip to the waist in front of a female? Scandalous. "It's fine, thank you," he said, colouring slightly.

"It's not fine. That's your swordarm. It needs to be limber, and you can hardly put this on yourself. "

"I'll do it," Dorian purred with a wicked smile.

Cullen gave him a sour look.

"This is ridiculous," Cassandra said. "We are in the Deep Roads, Commander. There is no room for modesty."

Outnumbered, Cullen had no choice but to remove his shirt. Cassandra returned her attention to packing up, but there was no way Dorian was going to miss this. He propped himself against the wall and prepared to enjoy the show.

"That's an ugly bruise," Ellana reported, already massaging the poultice into Cullen's shoulder blade. Her tone was all business, but Dorian didn't miss the way her glance skimmed over that well-muscled back. Who could blame her?

Cullen, meanwhile, was covered in goosebumps as those lovely female fingers did their work. Oh, this was too delicious. Dorian only wished he had some grapes to pop into his mouth while he watched. "That tingles," Cullen said with a nervous laugh. "It almost feels warm, actually."

"Nice, isn't it? It'll loosen you up right away."

"It's working already," Cullen said, rolling his shoulder. "Amazing. Is it Dalish?"

"Of course. An ancient secret passed down from the days of Arlathan. I made it myself, with berries and tree bark."

"Really?"

She snorted. "I bought it in Kirkwall. I have no idea what's in it."

Cullen laughed. "I walked right into that, didn't I?" He turned and met her eye, and they smiled at each other for entirely too long before Ellana went about her business.

Well, that settled it. The good commander was definitely smitten. Poor lamb. He'd have no idea that Ellana was betrothed, of course. Welcome to my world, Cullen, Dorian thought wryly. It will be good to have someone to commiserate with. We can drink and pine over Lavellans while they do their duty, marry a stranger and make ridiculously beautiful babies with pointy ears and unimpeachable morals.

They finished packing up and headed out, Maggie scouting ahead while they followed the ancient road deeper underground. It wasn't long before they came upon another set of ruins, and Maggie soon returned to them with a soft whuff of warning. Someone was ahead.

"I'll take a look," Ellana whispered, slipping away before anyone could argue. She was gone only a few moments, and when she came back, she was white as a sheet. "There's a dungeon in there," she said, pointing at a door to the west. "I didn't get a good look, but the prisoners seem to be in pretty rough shape."

"Guards?" Cassandra asked.

Ellana shook her head. "But there are plenty of armed men about. You can hear their voices."

"One thing at a time," Cullen said. "Can we free the prisoners without being seen?"

"We can try," Ellana said, inclining her head for them to follow.

The smell inside the dungeon was almost enough to make Dorian retch, a pestilent eau de misère made up of blood and urine and feces and disease. As for the prisoners, pretty rough shape didn't quite cover it. They were unwashed, emaciated, and covered in bandages, most of them too listless even to register the presence of strangers. An elven woman with dull green eyes watched them cross the room, and Ellana held a finger to her lips. "We're here to help," she whispered, already kneeling in front of the lock.

The woman received this news impassively, as if hope was a thing too foreign to contemplate. "You should run," she said. "The things they'll do to you…"

"Hush," Ellana said. "We'll get you out."

"It doesn't matter. There are so many of them. So many…"

Cullen swore under his breath. "This is madness. How could the Inquisitor walk into this without a single warrior at his side?"

"He didn't." A prisoner with his back to the bars stirred. He turned around, his features hollowed but familiar, and Dorian sighed.

"Hello, Thom."