O Maker, hear my cry:

Guide me through the blackest nights.

Steel my heart against the temptations of the wicked.

Make me to rest in the warmest places.

- Canticle of Transfigurations 12:1

Hissing Wastes

3 Wintermarch, 9:43 Dragon

Dorian,

The Hissing Wastes are about as pleasant as their name makes them sound. Worse even than the Western Approach, if you can believe such a claim. We have been here only a matter of days, but already I feel parched down to the core. It's possible I've gone soft in the years since I came south. Or perhaps there is something different about the sun down here. I never burned so badly in Tevinter, no matter how hot it was. Yet now I feel as though all of my skin will peel off before we leave this place.

Given the situation, we've decided to travel solely at night, when the temperature is bearable and the sun not out to burn us all into raisins. I'm certain you'll appreciate my not being a charred husk the next time we meet.

Bella, I think, is the only one not bothered by the climate. And given that she is essentially a very small dragon her opinion is not statistically relevant.

As miserable as this place is, however, there is something rather beautiful about it at night. The air is cool and still, and the stars are the brightest I have ever seen. It's almost as though we are somehow closer to the sky here. Although I know that to be impossible. There is not much living here, as you would expect. However the animals seem to also go out only at night. It took us several days to realize what they already know. Maybe we're not as smart as we think.

It is currently just after dawn. We've completed our first full night of activity and I am positively exhausted, but I find myself unable to sleep. Although it's much cooler in the tents it's still quite hot with the sun up and nowhere near dark enough to sleep properly. So do forgive me if this letter turns to exhausted rambling. Or if I fall asleep in the middle of it.

I imagine you're settled in at Minrathous now. I expect all the details about your new accommodations, and how Tevinter has changed while we were away. Unfortunately, I don't imagine I'll be receiving any of your letters until I return to Skyhold. I don't imagine I'll be able to send this one on to you, either. Or any others I pen while out here. If this is merely the first letter in a large package now you know why. And I won't apologize. I haven't your conversation to entertain me and I fear I've grown overused to your presence.

But I do look forward to reading your letters upon my return, and I'll be terribly cross if you don't write regularly even if I'm not around to receive them. Your company is sorely missed, especially on the road. Blackwall is quite useless for conversation, as you know. Sera and Bull, fond as I am of them, are really only good for lewd jokes and ribald stories. Especially when you put the two of them together. There is no one around to appreciate my magical talent. Tonight I froze two rage demons at once – completely solid with one spell! You would have been very impressed.

I do hope you're having a better time up north than I'm having here. Although it may just be a different sort of misery. At least you have lavish appointments, fine food, and attractive men to wait on you hand and foot, yes? At least that's what I'm dreaming of until I get out of this desert.

I'll leave this now, while I can still write coherently.

Know that I am well, despite the complaining, and I hope that you are also.

Faithfully,
Idhren

Hissing Wastes

8 Wintermarch, 9:43 Dragon

This place is crawling with Venatori. It's as though they all fled here after we defeated Corypheus. Certainly no one will be looking for them out here. It's rather a fluke that I found them, as I was really only out here to close rifts.

I say I found them, but truthfully Harding deserves the credit. As with everything. You know how it goes: we show up expecting an easy job and she informs us that everything is ten times more fucked up than anyone anticipated. I should really be expecting that by now, but a man can hope. Someday we'll go on a pleasant trip. I wonder if you're having a similar experience in Tevinter? Although I find it hard to imagine how the Imperium could have gotten any worse than it already was short of Corypheus rising from the dead and becoming Archon.

At any rate, I'd expected the Venatori out here to mostly be in hiding. Licking their wounds and lying low, perhaps still expecting their false god to rise again? They're not just hiding out, however. They're up to something. What they hope to find out in this wasteland I have no idea. There is nothing out here but wyverns and sand and a handful of old dwarven ruins. (Dwarven ruins on the surface! But I'll save the boring historical details for another letter.)

Either way, it has at least made this excursion a little more exciting. Bella ate one of them today when a small patrol was unlucky enough to cross paths with us. So she's in a lovely mood, as you would expect. And The Bull is asking for a dracolisk of his own, now. Krem would likely kill me if I indulged, but if you happen to learn of anyone up there who breeds them on the larger side do let me know. I'd like to see the look on his face.

Unfortunately, I expect this surprise will make the expedition more difficult overall. I may be out here longer than we'd originally anticipated, and the mere thought fills me with dread. Already our stocks of sun cream are limited. I find myself wishing I had invited Vivienne, unlikely as it is that she would agree, and missing the touch of your hands more than I already did.

I may not survive.

Idhren

Idhren saw the green glow of the rift before his hand began to ache. That was unusual, but there was absolutely nothing else to see out here. From the top of a dune Idhren could see for miles, and the rifts glowed bright like a beacon against the dark desert skyline. They followed the glow for an hour on horseback – or dracolisk in Idhren's case – before the Anchor began to react. At first it was barely noticeable. An itch on his palm that got slowly more and more irritating until the magic spluttered and spit once, then it started to hurt. The closer he came to the rift the worse it got.

The Anchor became more active, flaring and spitting like a flame embedded in his flesh, and the pain seeped further up his arm. At some point the horses refused to go forward. They sensed the danger ahead, or smelled the change in the air. Idhren didn't understand how animals thought, but in this case they were smarter than most people. Even Bella was growing restless, so they dismounted at left their mounts tied in a patch of scrub trees.

Over the next dune they finally came within sight of the rift itself. By now Idhren could not feel his fingertips.

That was worse than usual. It would make it difficult to hold his staff during the fight. But Idhren kept the observation to himself.

The Inquisitor and his companions had so much experience closing rifts in the Veil that they had it down to an art.

Before them the rift hung in the sky like a stray piece of stained glass. The rifts out here at the end of the world were larger than the ones he had closed during the war. Idhren wasn't certain whether that was a result of them going untended for so long or if they had always been that way. It did not matter much, save that with larger rifts generally came larger demons. About this one there circled already two terrors and a despair demon.

"Well," Idhren shifted his staff in his hands and tried to ignore how weak the grip on his left felt, "Let's do this, then."

His companions, his friends, needed no further instruction. Bull and Blackwall rushed in, a battle cry on each of their lips as Idhren dropped a barrier down over them. An arrow whizzed past Idhren's head and sank into the closest of the terrors, which screamed out in rage and pain. He watched Cole appear out of nowhere at the demon's back and sink his knives into its flesh. After that, everything became a blur of action and pain.

Idhren was getting used to being the only mage on the field, being the sole person responsible for holding the barriers around Blackwall, Bull, Cole, Sera and himself. It took more focus, did not allow him to lose himself quite so much in the thrill of a fight. But it was a good distraction from the pain in his hand; and from the fact he could not hold his staff properly.

The battle raged long and exhausting as the rift spit out more demons before they could finish the first batch. But at long last the field stood clear, the last of the creatures faded back into dust as it died. Idhren rushed forward, sliding down the side of a dune in order to get close enough to the rift, arm already outstretched just waiting for the Anchor to react. React it did, exploding to life and sending stabbing, tearing pain straight up Idhren's arm. The pain left Idhren breathless, barely able to stay upright, and for a moment so intense he couldn't even think.

This was not normal.

As ever, the Anchor functioned without Idhren's direct input, and at the moment that was a relief. When the rift closed with that familiar echoing crack he nearly fell to his knees, but managed to catch himself by sinking his staff into the sand and using it to hold him upright. Still he slumped against it, left arm hung limp at his side and burning as though it had just been on fire.

Definitely not normal.

The Anchor had never hurt this much during the war. At least not after closing the Breach that first time.

"Oi, you alright down there?" Sera's voice rang across the desert, shouts unnecessarily loud as they carried through the still air. She came skidding down the side of a dune from where she'd been perched during the fight.

Idhren took a moment to look around and take stock of everyone. At a quick glance it did not appear anyone was injured beyond a few superficial cuts and bruises. "Fine," he relayed to Sera, though by then she'd arrived to see for herself. "Was it just me," he asked, pulling himself fully upright again, "Or was that one bigger than usual?"

"It's not just you," Blackwall confirmed. Approaching from across the sand, he wiped ichor from his sword before sheathing it again. "Last one did, too."

Maybe that was why closing it had hurt so much more than usual. Using the Anchor had never been comfortable, but this numbing pain still radiating up his arm was beyond what he'd come to associate with it. "Maybe because they've been left for so long," Idhren mused thoughtfully. It had been well over a year since the Breach first opened, tearing open all of these smaller rifts along with it.

Behind him Sera scoffed in disgust, "All the more reason to finally fix all of it," she muttered unhappily.

"Absolutely," Idhren agreed. The feeling was slowly coming back to his hand and he flexed his fingers experimentally. "Everyone good to continue on? We've got a few more hours before dawn and I think Harding mentioned some Venatori not far from here."

Hissing Wastes

18 Wintermarch, 9:43 Dragon

I should have looked closer at the Nightingale's information about the Venatori agents in this region. Assuming it would even be accurate with the chaos they must be in now that Corypheus is gone.

You won't believe who we crossed paths with today.

Adrian Gallus

Do you even remember him?

I didn't kill him. Bull got there before me. Before I even knew it was him.

Beautiful burn scar on his arm and neck.

I never did thank you for that. I should. Thank you. Even though it didn't make them stop, you did help. It helped to know that someone cared.

I don't know what I should feel now. I should be happy, shouldn't I? They're dead now. Both of them. Who knows how many others they hurt like me. Now they can't hurt anyone.

I should be happy but I'm not

It's just like before. It doesn't help. It doesn't change what happened. What's the point?

I wish you were here

I miss you I need you

I love you

Idhren fell asleep that night – or rather that morning - aided by a bottle of alcohol he'd found amidst the wreckage of the Venatori camp and a vial of lyrium he really should not have wasted given how far they were from standard supply lines. Despite that, his sleep was restless, plagued by dreams and demons here at the end of the world where the Veil was thin. He woke before sundown the next day, as the air began to cool with the arrival of the evening winds. The tent was muggy and humid, air stale and oppressive, making his clothing stick to his skin. All attempts at washing were useless enough in this environment that he had given up days ago.

He slept with no blankets, they were too suffocating, trusting the tent and the bedroll on the ground to protect him from the elements and the bugs. He rose slowly from his bedroll as the first beginnings of a breeze crept through the flaps of the tent to circulate the air and cool his skin.

Dressed in nothing but his underclothes, hair unkempt and sticking to the sweat on his brow, Idhren sat up and surveyed the mess he had left the night before. An empty bottle, crinkled parchment and ragged quill. The ink had been left uncapped and he moved first to remedy that, hoping it hadn't dried out too much to be salvaged. Then he picked up the letter he'd penned before letting the alcohol and lyrium take him out of this world.

His handwriting was atrocious. Shaky lines, uneven and slanted. There were blots of ink where his pen had faltered. Smudges where his tears had fallen.

And the words.

Rambling. Emotional. The deepest scars of his soul laid bare on paper.

Reading those words again, awake and sober and with the hours of sleep, however restless, to separate himself from the anger and pain, Idhren felt sick to his stomach with shame and disgust. Never again would he allow himself to be that person, so easily laid low by a decade old memory.

He ripped the parchment to shreds, set the pieces aflame in his palm and watched them burn down to nothing but ash that he let fall to the hard packed desert floor. Then he wiped his palms off on his sweat stained undershirt and began to get dressed.

13 Guardian, 9:43 Dragon

Dorian,

We have arrived back from the Hissing Wastes unscathed and triumphant.

And if I never set foot in another desert for as long as I live it will be too soon.

Perhaps unscathed was not accurate. Despite our best efforts at being active only at night to avoid the scorching heat, and what would seem an excessive amount of medicinal lotions, I did not escape without burning. I'm actually glad you're not here to see it because even mostly healed now it's frightfully unattractive.

I have sitting beside me at this very moment the letters you sent while I was away and I'm eager to read them, but I had to ensure this package was sent off first. I've included the letters I was unable to send until now and some of my notes on what we found that I thought you might find interesting or useful.

I'll write a better letter once I've read yours and slept in an actual bed.

I hope you are well,
Idhren

Idhren penned the letter before even bathing or stripping off anything but the most cumbersome pieces of his armor, then folded it up in a thin parcel along with everything else he'd written for Dorian while away and handed that off to a courier. He'd wondered, briefly, if sending Dorian every pointless word he'd written over the past month or more would be too much; would make him come across as too lovesick and lonely.

Except that he was lovesick and lonely, and though work for the Inquisition had separated them before, Idhren had grown used to telling Dorian anything and everything that had happened on missions they did not share. This was merely an extension of that practice.

After handing off the packet Idhren shut the door of his quarters firmly and retreated to the alcove that served as his private bathing chamber. The large metal tub was filled and warmed with a pair of simple spells, and after discarding the last pieces of is clothes Idhren slid into the gently steaming water with a sigh.

The water washed away a week's worth of sweat and grime from the road and the heat eased so many sore muscles. He sank down into the water, submerging his entire body for a brief moment before emerging again with a soft hiss of pain. The sunburns had been worst on his face and neck, and the skin there was still slightly pink even though he had been away from the desert now for more than a week. So the water stung when he submerged himself too long, too warm against already abused skin. Idhren had never been one to spend an excessive amount of time bathing, however.

Bathed and dressed in clean clothes, and with a proper hot meal on its way up from the kitchens, Idhren finally took up Dorian's letters and collapsed onto the bed to read.

Minrathous

21 Haring, 9:42 Dragon

Idhren,

Imagine my surprise to arrive at my temporary residence here in Minrathous to find a letter from you already waiting for me. You certainly don't waste any time, do you? How the messenger managed to beat me here traveling overland will remain a mystery for the ages, I believe.

My journey here was miserable in its entirety, although not as horrid as it could have been, I suppose. We had fair weather for this time of year for the majority of the voyage, with only a handful of small squalls once we entered the Nocen. Considering the time of year, it's probably the best I could have hoped for, but you know how I feel about traveling by sea.

I shan't tell you whether your folk remedy worked or not because you will be insufferable either way.

As you know, I'll be relying temporarily upon Maevaris' generous hospitality, until suitable lodgings can be found for me in the city proper. She has been magnanimous as ever following the arrival of one weary and still somewhat seasick pariah on her doorstep. But I shall have to endeavor to stay on her good side for years to come to ensure the story of my sorry state does not ever become public knowledge. I have seen reputations destroyed by less.

As I've only just arrived I haven't had time to take in the sights of the city yet. My first course of business was of course a bath and a rather lengthy nap, and to read your letter.

I know nothing of the Hissing Wastes, though the name does nothing to endear me, and I find it hard to imagine any desert worse than the Approach. I hope you've remembered to prepare for the sun, I remember how easily you burn and I won't be there to fix you up every night.

I might suggest using this as an opportunity to work on your healing skills. But I won't, because if you honestly haven't figured it out by now I think it's hopeless. Not that I'll hold it against you, but hopefully you've brought Vivienne along in my stead? If not, well, I doubt the sunburn will kill you, just try not to do anything too reckless. Like fighting a dragon for no good reason. I know Bull and Sera will try to talk you into it, but don't listen to them. They're both mad.

Just take care of yourself out there. I will be terribly cross if anything happens to you.

You've requested that I continue writing even while you are incommunicado, so I shall when I have the time. This way you'll at least be able to imagine my velvety voice while we're parted and perhaps that will keep you from pining away. Don't pretend you're not. I know exactly what a sentimental sap you are.

I'll leave this for now. I'd say expect another letter soon, but you'll receive everything I write in the next month at the same time, won't you? Don't let me keep you, then, I'm certain my next letter will be far more exciting.

Dorian

The man was ridiculous and insufferable, even in writing. Still, Idhren could not stop himself from grinning as he read through the letter twice, comforted by that familiar handwriting. And he very nearly could hear Dorian's voice in his head.

Minrathous

5 Wintermarch, 9:43 Dragon

Idhren,

It's been quite a busy few weeks here in Minrathous. Between finding suitable living arrangements for myself within the city and being reintroduced to society this is the first moment I've had the time to sit down and write the letter I promised in my previous one.

I suppose that does not matter so much, however. I expect that by now you have arrived at your destination and are hard at work bringing peace and order to the land. Or whatever it is you're doing out there.

Minrathous is much as I remember it. I doubt the city has seen any significant changes any time in the past two ages, however, so that is no surprise. Nevertheless, it remains spectacular. The jewel of the Imperium. No, of all Thedas.

Listen to me wax poetic about architecture. I am horrified with myself, and clearly I have been away from civilization for far too long. I knew that Orlais was but a pale comparison to our homeland's grandeur, but it seems I was far more homesick than I realized at the time.

The lodgings I've found here are a suite of apartments roughly between the central markets and the Senate. It's not the sort of place I would have even contemplated living when last I was here, but it will do. Having spent most of the past year on the road I find my standards significantly lowered. Not that this place is rundown or anything of the sort, it's still quite luxurious. But it's no Winter Palace, either. And small. Though I don't plan on doing much more than sleep here, so it will serve.

Magnificent as the city is, however, I also find I can no longer overlook its faults. I used to think nothing of the slaves here. How did I manage to ignore them so completely when they are absolutely everywhere? Maevaris employs quite a number of slaves, human and elven, and though I know she sees them very well treated I find their presence now makes me uneasy. This is your influence. I would be cross, but you were right. All these years you have been right about my willful blindness. The south has no slavery, and while I still find alienages little better I can no longer believe the argument that the Imperium would collapse without slavery. Every other country is doing just fine.

But that is part of why I am here, is it not? To help put our homeland back on the right track, to stop us being the bogeymen that mothers use to frighten their children. I used to think our reputation in the south was exaggerated, laughable even. But if all they've seen are the cultists and slavers that invade their lands for selfish gain, then how could people think otherwise?

But you know all of this already, and I shouldn't bore you with such ramblings.

Insinuating myself back into the upper echelons of society has been rather tedious. I had a bit of a reputation for myself even before I went gallivanting off to join your heretic army, and while I still have my family name I have no true position of status beyond my association with you. You said something in your letter about my clinging to Mae's skirts, and I fear that turn of phrase has been far too accurate so far. I never expected this to be easy, or fast, but it is still frustrating.

It seems all I have done so far is attend parties and make small talk. Is this how you felt, working forever in Canidius' shadow? If so, I have newfound sympathy.

No one has any interest in talking of politics when they speak to me, they ask only of the Inquisition, and of you. Is it true the southern Chantry believes an elf savage to be Andraste's Herald? Is it true that I am sleeping with said elf savage?

I have done nothing but share tales of your exploits and defend your honor. You may thank me in whatever way you like. Preferably in person and enthusiastically. But as that is not currently an option, I'll settle for ribald love letters.

Yours,
Dorian

Two more letters followed and Idhren read each one with rapt attention, savoring every word. And then he read them again. Twice more, until he had their contents nearly memorized and his eyes began to droop from exhaustion. Only then did he set the letters aside and lie down to sleep.

But the empty spot on the other side of the bed did nothing except remind him of the body that should be there. Out in the field it had been easy to ignore Dorian's absence, because it had happened before. He could pretend that Dorian was merely back at Skyhold, picture him sitting in the library engrossed in a book or in the tavern drinking with their friends. Now, with only letters for company, his absence was much more glaring. And much more painful.

He had to remind himself that Dorian was doing good work.

Skyhold

15 Guardian, 9:43 Dragon

Dorian,

I am sorry to hear that your efforts are not progressing as quickly as you would like. Do not lose hope, though. Politics are slow and abhorrent. You know how I feel about this so I won't bore you again. And Tevinter has always been resistant to any change that does not bring immediate personal benefits to the Magisterium. That does not mean you should stop trying.

The going was slow for us at first, you will remember. Although by the time you deigned to join our effort the worst roadblocks had been overcome.

I find that, when faced with political dissent, it helps a great deal to do something highly dramatic and heroic to show everyone you were in the right all along. Thwarting assassination attempts, defeating evil cults, and mending the very fabric of reality are all very good. Although I suspect the latter may be a bit beyond your capabilities at this time. Don't worry, I shan't hold it against you.

But think how you must be the topic of gossip throughout the entire country. The rebel pariah returned home at last! I should think you would be terribly pleased to be the first topic on everyone's tongue. As far as scandals go, I think ours is certainly one of the best. I may be biased, however, as I am personally involved. Have you truly faced so many questions about our relationship? I hope you have confirmed them all.

However frustrating your current situation may feel, it at least sounds more pleasant than what I suffered the past month. I may loath politicking with every fiber of my soul, but I would choose a salon with fine wine and good food over fighting for my life in the desert any day.

Please give my regards to Magister Tilani, and thank her for taking such good care of you in my stead. I hope she's continuing my efforts at keeping your ego in check. Someone must.

As for the ribald love letters that you requested. I might be persuaded to write such a thing, but I had better receive something equal in return. I have, after all, only the memory of you to keep me warm at night.

Yours,
Idhren

Minrathous

25 Guardian, 9:43 Dragon

Idhren,

What frustrates me the most, at this moment, is not so much that our progress is slow. I never expected change to happen overnight. Especially not change to the extent I am hoping to affect. Even the few magisters I have spoken to that are sympathetic to our cause find some of my proposals extreme. Perhaps they are, given the current state of the Imperium, but I believe they are necessary.

I told you before that many will talk to me only of the Inquisition and what happened down there in the south. There are so many rumors that are almost laughably false. Those are at least entertaining, but I have also heard so many try to discount what we did. What you did. The magisterium may have condemned the Venatori publicly, but that means nothing. Too many seats currently sit vacant or freshly filled. And that is only the ones rabid enough to venture into a war themselves. How many remain, I wonder? How many sent their slaves south to fight for Corypheus while sitting back in their mansions waiting to reap the rewards?

I fear I am growing paranoid.

But I have lost all social standing I once had. I have nothing left save my connection to your Inquisition – which is not always beneficial, unfortunately – and my family name. And to be perfectly honest, sometimes I feel as though I don't even have that.

I saw my father the other night. It was an event hosted by one of Mae's political allies. A part of me knew I would not be able to avoid him forever. He is a magister, after all, and one of the more open minded. Of course he is someone we might get on our side in a vote. Somehow I had hoped that particular task could be managed without me. A fool's hope, that one.

The meeting did not go as ill as it could have. It was not as horrid as our last meeting, at the very least. Perhaps being in public helped with that. We shared polite greetings and mindless small talk for, dare I say, a full five minutes. No mention of the Inquisition, or of you, or of what transpired between us. It was… Well, I can't say it was pleasant, but it was not nauseating, either. Somewhere in the middle there.

I only wish I knew whether it was merely an attempt at being polite in public, or some awkward attempt at reconciliation. I suppose only time will tell.

I did not intend for this letter to turn so dour, and I apologize. I'm certain you have enough concerns of your own without piling mine on top of them.

Your last excursion sounded absolutely horrid, but you may be comforted in the knowledge that it was at least more exciting than my current endeavors. No one has tried to kill me in months. It's terribly dull, and I'm mildly offended that no one thinks me of enough importance to attempt an assassination. Such an attempt would fail, obviously, but it's a matter of courtesy.

Yours,
Dorian

P.S. I am certain I can make the writing of dirty letters worth your time.