Favored like a wolf it was,

In size like a Woodsman's Death.

Within its eyes burned eldritch fire,

The Fade in every breath.

- From The Hunt of the Fell Wolf

The Crossroads, Bloomingtide 9:44 Dragon

This wasn't working.

His grip was alternately too weak to grip his staff at all, and too white-knuckled and stiff to wield it well. His movements were clumsy, his spells lacking in their usual finesse. And he had more than once needed to be rescued when a sudden flare of the Anchor left him curled up on the ground.

He would be embarrassed if he weren't so terrified. And furious.

"Perhaps we should take a short break." Dorian could no longer keep the worry from his face every time he looked at Idhren. None of them could. "Let you catch your breath."

Idhren felt like he might never catch his breath again, even if he laid down right here in the middle of… wherever they were. They had been through so many eluvians he was no longer certain they were even in Thedas anymore and just hoped someone had been coherent enough to remember the path home. He certainly wasn't.

He was hot and cold and breathless and shaking and he could feel the Anchor burning up his arm, a little higher each time in flared, and each flare coming sooner than the last.

"No," Idhren said as firmly as he could manage, which wasn't very. There wasn't time. He had to stop the Qunari. He had to find answers. He had to find Solas and strangle him with his bare hands. "We keep going."

"Come now, you can barely keep upright," Dorian protested. "What good does it do anyone to run yourself ragged like this?"

"It's better than lying down and waiting for this thing to kill me," Idhren snapped.

Dorian took a step back, expression stricken. Idhren knew, somewhere in the back of his mind, that he should feel guilty, should apologize, but he didn't have the energy. And he didn't have the time. Somehow he felt like they were close, right on the Viddasala's heels, and she perhaps on the heels of their mutual antagonist. He was not going to give up now. Not while there was still some fight left in him.

Without giving anyone else a chance to argue, Idhren pressed onward. Leaning on his staff as a cane, he staggered the last few steps toward the next eluvian in their path.

As soon as the monstrous saarebas lay dead on the ground Idhren lunged for the eluvian. His staff fell forgotten from numb fingers, more a hindrance than a tool now to his failing hands. He could feel nothing now save the places where the Anchor burned into him, tendrils of pain crawling up his arm like pulses of lightning. He dared not look to see what remained of his flesh, but the green fire had become an ever-present glow in his peripheral.

The eluvian's magic washed cool over him, a momentary balm to his feverish skin that was gone before he had even a moment to savor it.

Looking up as he emerged from the mirror, Idhren nearly staggered right back through it in alarm before his mind realized that the massive Qunari warrior snarling down at him was not real, but stone. A statue. Strange choice for a statue, but certainly effective, and so realistic it looked as though it might come to life.

Idhren edged around the statue and turned his gaze forward. More of those statues littered the pathway before him. Qunari warriors frozen mid-strike. Too realistic, too pristine.

Something was wrong.

His fears were confirmed not a moment later. He caught sight of the Viddasala at the end of this morbid statue garden, her wrath for once not aimed at him, and realized what would happen a split second before she joined the rest of her soldiers. The careless display of such prodigious magical power sent a shiver down his spine despite the fever taken hold in his flesh.

"Solas." He spoke even though he was certain Solas was already aware of his arrival. Gone were the trappings of a wandering apostate, the rags that had been a poor disguise for the pride and arrogance that now practically emanated from him. Even had he not just witnessed Solas turn an entire troop of Qunari warriors to stone with barely a flinch, Idhren knew this was not the same person who had haunted Skyhold. There would be no more disguises. No more lies.

There were so many things he wanted to say, to demand, but the Anchor had other ideas. Before he could cobble together the thoughts in his head into some semblance of sense, the green fire flashed, burned up his arm, and despite his best efforts to the contrary, sent Idhren crumpling to his knees.

He wasn't aware of Solas approaching him until his fingers wrapped around Idhren's wrist. It was none to gentle, but compared to the agony of the Anchor it was hardly worth noting. Then, just as suddenly as it had began, the flare up ended.

"That should give us some more time," Solas commented as Idhren fought to regain his composure. "I suspect you have questions."

The petty, bitter part of Idhren wanted to hear nothing that Solas had to say, and never had. But even his muddled mind realized that Solas was more than he had originally let on. A quick glance at the statues that had once been Qunari was enough to tell him that. And, loath as he was to admit it, Solas was perhaps the only person capable of saving his life. "Oh, you have no idea."

And so Solas told him.

Somehow, Idhren would have expected this to be a lot more difficult. The Maker knew the pair of them had never seen eye to eye in any sense. Then again, Solas had always enjoyed listening to the sound of his own voice.

Idhren pushed himself back to his feet and listened with as much focus as his flagging body could command. Still, at times he felt he must be hallucinating. The things that Solas claimed were things that Idhren certainly would not have believed had he not already seen so much that once had been legend. But he had stood before two false gods before now, what was one more?

And then something amid the endless explanations and rationalizations struck a cord.

"Corypheus should have died unlocking my orb."

It took a moment, through the pain and fatigue, for Solas' words to register in Idhren's mind, for him to understand the meaning behind them. "You…" Idhren breathed, horror and denial and fury racing through him in quick succession. "It was your fault. You…" Memories flashed through his mind – the explosion at the Conclave, the ruins of the temple, the bodies.

Tainan.

Idhren saw red. "You killed Tainan!" He lunged forward, a scream on his lips that turned from anger to agony in a split second as the Anchor flared again, sending Idhren stumbling face first to the ground. When the spasm passed there were tears on his cheeks that weren't entirely from the pain. "Bastard!"

"I understand your anger." But Solas had no idea what Idhren had lost in that explosion, and why should he? Idhren had no desire for his hollow sympathy anyway. Not then, and certainly not now. "In your place I would share it."

Idhren clenched his teeth so hard his jaw ached, but it was nothing compared to the fire burning its way up his arm. And all the while Solas continued talking, all but emotionless in the face of Idhren's agony and rage, and that only made him more furious.

So calm and collected as he spoke casually of genocide.

"And what of the Anchor?" Idhren managed to grit out when it seemed Solas had reached the end of his monologue. There was no hiding now the fact it was killing him. Idhren half expected Solas would let it. What easier way to take out your greatest adversary than simply let them die?

Solas turned and cast his gaze down on Idhren, knelt like a supplicant before this would-be god. "Ultimately, none but I could have borne the mark and lived," he mused. "Your death would cause more senseless chaos, more bloodshed. It is unnecessary. Though I doubt you'll thank me."

"I'll kill you," Idhren growled, jaw clenched and breathing ragged, half-delirious from the pain. "If I ever see you again I swear I'll kill you."

"Then for both our sakes," Solas said as he took hold of Idhren's wrist, unfazed as the green fire encompased his own hand, "I pray that day does not come."

It felt as though Solas was ripping his heart out through his palm.

A pain he hadn't known since Haven, since the last time someone had attempted to remove the Anchor from his flesh. Try as he might to grit his teeth and bear it, to not show any more weakness in the face of a man who had never been a friend and now looked to be an enemy, he could not contain the scream that ripped from his throat.

Green filled his vision even with his eyes closed.

And then it was over. The horrible tearing stopped, but his arm still screamed in lingering pain. Breathing ragged, Idhren forced his eyes open. The green glow was gone from his periphery, but he dared not look down at the arm that now hung limp at his side, afraid of what he might see. Instead, he turned his gaze up. He might have expected a last few haughty words from Solas if he'd been in the right mind to expect anything. All he got was the Dread Wolf's back.

He tried to follow, tried to strike out, tried to do anything to stop Solas from just walking away, but it was too late. He was too weak. Even trying to crawl made his head swim. Darkness spotted his vision, and then overtook him completely.

"Amatus! Amatus, wake up!"

"Fucking fuck shit fuck. That's bad. That's so fucking bad."

"We need to get him back to the palace."

"Can't you magic him better?"

"I'm not… I can't…"

"We only need to stop the bleeding. Can you do that?"

"I… Yes. Maybe. I can try. But I don't know how long..."

"Now's really not the time to go humble on us."

"I'm not a healer!"

"Just gotta keep him alive 'til we find one."

Idhren awoke feeling warm and comfortable, but also sore all over. The softest bed in the world - and this probably was it - would not be enough to ease the bones deep ache in nearly every inch of his body. He was also parched as though he'd just spent weeks in the Western Approach without water.

With a groan he pried his eyes open and blinked in the dim light. He recognized the gilt furnishings of the Winter Palace, gold glinting in the thin strip of light that fell between drawn curtains.

He didn't remember coming back here.

The last thing he remembered was…

Green light.

Searing pain.

Solas' back.

Then nothing.

His left arm still ached, but the burning pain of the Anchor that had become so familiar over the past day was gone.

Come to think of it, he couldn't feel his left hand at all.

Struggling on his elbows, Idhren pulled himself further up the mattress until he could halfway sit up leaning against the pillows. The ache in his left arm flared as he moved it, abused muscles protesting their use and sending little sparks of sharper pain spiderwebbing from shoulder to fingertips.

He couldn't have said what he expected to find when he pulled back the sheets to assess the damage. A limb wrapped in bandages, perhaps, slathered in enough poultice to go completely numb from the elbow down.

There was nothing from the elbow down.

Thick bandages swaddled his arm from the shoulder down, but just below his elbow they simply ended.

His mind, still muddled and sluggish, at first couldn't understand what he was seeing.

His hand was gone.

His breath caught in his throat, choking him until he had to remind himself to breathe. Even then it felt difficult to get enough air into his chest. To be certain his eyes were not deceiving him Idhren felt at the space where his left hand should have been, but his right touched only the sheets below.

How could there be nothing there when it still hurt?

What had Solas done to him?

His mind was such a flurry of weary confusion and panic he could barely think. He could hardly breathe. He didn't hear the door open, or the rush of footsteps across the room.

"Idhren!"

The sound of his own name, called with alarm and worry and desperation, somehow pushed through the whirlwind around him and he tore himself away from the empty space on his left just as the mattress dipped beside him. It was Dorian. The man looked haggard, with dark circles under his eyes further emphasized by the smudged remains of old kohl. Like he'd just woken up and hadn't fixed himself yet.

"I'm gone for just a moment and of course that's when you decide to wake up," Dorian breathed. His eyes darted up and down Idhren's trembling form and for a moment his hands hovered, as though uncertain, before coming to rest on Idhren's cheeks. They were warm. "You're going to give me grey hair at this rate, you scared me half to death."

Dorian's presence, the familiar hands cupping his face, it gave him something to focus on, to pull himself out of the shock that had settled over him. There were a thousand questions swirling in his head when he could finally think again. How did they get back to the palace? How long had he been asleep? Had anyone told the Council what they knew? What happened to the Anchor? What happened to his arm? All he managed to get out of his mouth was a shaking, croaked, "What…?" and a ragged cough.

Not a moment later a cup of water was in front of him, and he realized it wasn't just Dorian in the room with him. Somehow he had failed to notice The Iron Bull. His right hand still shook as he reached up to take the cup from Bull, and he nearly spilled on himself before managing to get it to his lips.

When he finished drinking he looked past Dorian, past Bull, to see that the bedroom door was standing open, pouring in a line of sunlight from the hallway outside. He recognized Cullen's silhouette standing like a guard dog just outside, and other figures beyond that he could not make out. "How long?" he rasped out. The water had helped, but his voice felt more than unused, it felt raw and strained.

"You've been out for the better part of a day," Dorian answered.

So long. "What happened?"

"That's what I'd like to know," Dorian quipped, but his voice was strained. He couldn't quite keep the tremble out of it. "That last eluvian went dark as soon as you passed through, and by the time we managed to follow you were already…" he stopped, swallowed thickly, "you were…"

"You were already out," Bull finished for him. "Your arm'd stopped glowing, but it was… Real bad. Healers couldn't save it."

Even exhausted, confused, panicked as he was, Idhren could tell that Bull was choosing his words carefully. Maybe that's why he was here, instead of just Dorian. Instead of anyone else. Unable to help himself, he looked back down at where his left hand should be. He remembered the pain of the Anchor, the increasing burn and fevered delirium leading up to that encounter. And he wondered if he could trust his memory of what had happened. If he hadn't seen half of what he'd seen with the Inquisition he might have dismissed it as delusion, but he had walked physical in the Fade, he had crossed through time, he had the memories of ancient Elvhenan lurking in the back of his mind.

"He took it back," he was hardly even conscious of the words passing his lips. "The Anchor." The pain, the searing working its way up his arm over hours, days. Maybe, with the magic removed, there wasn't much of an arm left to save.

"Who?" Bull asked. Idhren couldn't tell if he was being interrogated or comforted. Maybe a bit of both. Maybe that's why Bull was here.

"The Dread Wolf. Solas." He tore his gaze away from his empty left side again and met Dorian's eyes - tired and concerned - then Bull's - carefully stoic.

"What?" Dorian breathed, sitting up a little straighter. "Is that who he's pretending to be now?"

"I don't think he's pretending," Idhren replied. "I think he used to be pretending."

"Always knew there was something off about that guy," Bull muttered.

There was so much to tell them that Idhren didn't even know where to start. And he was exhausted despite having slept for hours already. And aching. Already he could feel himself wearing out. What was the most important? The most urgent? "He claimed to have spies in the Inquisition," he said to Bull.

"Ah, fuck," Bull muttered again. "Guess that explains what the Viddasala was on about. I'll talk to Leliana, we'll sniff 'em out."

"What does he need spies for, though?" Dorian asked. "Is he planning something?"

"He wants to tear down the Veil."

Utter silence followed that hushed revelation. He could practically see the wheels turning in their heads. "Fen'harel put up the Veil," Dorian began thoughtfully, his eyes focused on some unclear point in the distance. "That's what the spirits in the library said. If he really is who he claims to be, why does he want to tear it down again?"

"You saw that place," Bull said, "Maybe he's hoping it'll put it back together?"

Idhren shook his head. "It'll destroy everything. Just like the Breach. He wants to restore Elvhenan, and he'll burn everything to the ground to see it done."

After that Bull left to share what Idhren had learned with the others. The tiny handful of people that Idhren knew he could still trust. Everyone else in the Inquisition had suddenly become suspect.

Food showed up, along with a healer to poke and prod at what remained on his left arm while he looked pointedly the other way. He lay back in bed while Dorian worried and fussed and tried not to think about his left arm. If he did he might fall back into that spiral of shock again. But it hurt, and it itched.

He tried, instead, to think about what to do next. But he had no agents he could trust. Not anymore. Hundreds of people, soldiers, scouts, servants, their own spies could be working against them now. How long would it take Bull and Leliana to vet them all?

Maybe, he began to think, the Ferelden and Orlesian ambassadors were right. The Inquisition had grown too large for its own good. They could no longer keep track of their own people. And with the threat of Corypheus and the Venatori gone so was the feverish devotion that had held so many in their fold.

Suddenly Idhren knew what he had to do. He sat up, pushing back the blankets and swinging his legs off the bed. "Where are my clothes?" he asked Dorian.

"Packed away for now," the man replied. "You should still be resting."

Idhren shook his head. He needed to do this now before he gave himself too much time to second guess. Bracing himself against the headboard he pushed himself to his feet, testing his trembling legs. They held his weight, at least for now. "I need to speak to the council."

"No, you need to rest," Dorian argued. "Josephine has things well in hand."

"I need to speak to them," Idhren said again, with as much strength as he could currently muster.

"Bull already brought everything you told us to Leliana and I'm certain she's delivered the highlights to our lady ambassador. If there's something you forgot I'll get someone to deliver that as well."

"No," Idhren insisted. "I need to say this in person."

"You can barely stand," Dorian protested. And as if to prove his point he took Idhren by the shoulders and pushed him back down onto the bed. It was gentle, more of a firm suggestion than a push, really, but still Idhren lacked the strength to fight him. So instead he just scowled. "Whatever it is can wait."

"It can't," Idhren said. But he was quickly losing the strength to argue. Truth be told he did want nothing more than to go back to bed and sleep for another entire day. "Please," he beseeched instead. "It's important."

Dorian pursed his lips and stared down at Idhren. He looked like he wanted to protest further. But he also looked nearly as exhausted as Idhren felt. This particular battle of wills would not last long. And sure enough a moment later Dorian scoffed out a sigh, shoulders slumping as he raked a hand over his face. "Very well, do what you like. But if you collapse in front of half the nobility in Orlais I will not be sympathetic."

The book hit the marbled floor with a loud, resounding thud.

"Effective immediately, the Inquisition is disbanded."

There were gasps of shock and confusion from the gathered gentry, but the Inquisitor ignored them as he turned on his heel and strode back out of the chamber.

The door closed with a heavy finality behind him, muffling the mounting chaos within. Only then did he allow the facade to crumble and weariness overtake him.