Brother and sister returned to the underground lake looking ragged – and too grim by half. Something had obviously happened. Something that frightened them both. And unless Dorian was much mistaken, most of that fear was for each other. Seth's gaze was haunted, and Ellana kept cutting her brother worried looks out of the corner of her eye.

"Your armour," Cassandra said, gazing at Seth's shredded vambraces in disbelief. "Those are dragon scale, are they not?"

"They were." Seth glanced down at them with a sigh. "Now they're just tassels."

"Fetching," Dorian said. "Best not let anyone on the surface see that. They'll think it's a fashion statement, and the next thing you know, everyone in Orlais will be wearing fringes."

Cassandra scowled. "This is serious, Dorian."

"Oh, I know. Have you ever seen a man in fringed breeches? Extremely distressing."

He was doing himself no favours with the Divine, of course. But this banter wasn't for her, or even for himself. This was for Seth. The Inquisitor had spent years listening to this sort of breezy nonsense from his lover. It was familiar. Normal. Seth desperately needed a bit of normal right now. Something that tied him to a time when he'd been happy.

A time when we were both happy. Dorian could hardly remember what that felt like. Which was probably for the best. Harder to crave something when the taste of it is all but forgotten.

"The question I am asking," Cassandra said with mounting impatience, "is how dragon scale could end up in such a state."

"Bats." Seth ran a hand through his hair with such bleak weariness that Dorian ached to hold him. "Corrupted with red lyrium."

"They were covered in crystal," Ellana said. "Razor-sharp. Like a thousand throwing knives whipping past us all at once."

"Red lyrium bats." Cullen sighed. "Why not?"

"Malkar's experiments, no doubt." Rainier shook his head darkly. "He'll want to see how every animal in creation reacts to that poison."

"So he will claim," Cassandra said. "But I know Aerion Malkar, and what he thirsts for is not knowledge, but power. These little experiments allow him to play Maker, and he enjoys it. Which means there could be more corrupted creatures down here, in who knows what monstrous form."

A grim silence settled over the group. Then Sera said, "Talking of weird little beasties, did you find Varric?"

Seth nodded, his eyes meeting Dorian's. "You were right. The Promisers have made their way to the Bastion of the Pure."

"It's just as you described it," Ellana added, giving Dorian a little smile. "It really is beautiful."

"Isn't it? In a we're-all-going-to-die sort of way. So what does this mean for your plan, Inquisitor?"

"Well, the good news is, I'm no longer taking on the most dangerous part."

Dorian gave a hollow laugh. "Shall I guess what the bad news is?"

"Our part is going to be a little trickier than before," Ellana said, her smile stretching thin. "We're not going to be able to circle behind the camp. They've got the miners tucked up right against the cavern wall, with archers posted on the ledge behind them. It's a semicircle with only one way in."

"I'm no rogue, but it seems to me sneaking in the front door is tad tricky."

"Exactly," Seth said. "Which is why you'll be dropping in from above."

"Dropping in? What, like a spider? Like a giant, Dorian-shaped arachnid with magical powers and a brilliant sense of fashion?" He scowled. "You are aware that mages can't fly, Inquisitor?"

"To be fair," Ellana said, "it's not really dropping in so much as climbing down."

"Much better. Like a highly-trained squad of stealth mountain goats." Dorian growled and rubbed his eyes. He could picture it so clearly, and the mere thought was enough to turn his knees to jelly. "Just how do you expect us to climb down a hundred feet of sheer rock face – which rock, I feel compelled to add, is slicker than an eel's arsehole – and drop into a heavily-guarded camp unseen?"

"Do eels have arses?" Sera asked no one in particular.

"It's not as bad as it sounds," Ellana said. "For the most part."

Well, that was certainly comforting.

"We've made some modifications to the diversion as well," Seth said. "It's going to be tough to pull off, but the result will be worth it."

"And your part?" Cullen asked. "Any changes there?"

Seth shook his head. "Malkar hasn't moved the red lyrium yet. My guess is he'll wait until he's found the Wellspring. I'll listen for the signal on your end, and then I'll bury his entire store in rubble."

"The signal?" Cullen cocked his head, frowning.

"One of the modifications. I'll explain everything once we've had a chance to clean up and get something to eat."

Cullen didn't look convinced. "But you're not going to be anywhere near us. How will you hear it?"

Seth's mouth curved in something just short of a smile. "Trust me, Cullen, this signal will be heard halfway to Highever."

Dorian sat with his back to the cavern wall, absently grinding the end of his staff into the dirt. The others were gathered around the fire roasting mushrooms, but he had no appetite, and apparently neither did Ellana, because she slumped down beside him with a sigh.

"It's mad," Dorian muttered. "But I suppose it's the only way."

Ellana didn't answer. She was too busy watching her brother, wearing that worried expression again. "He's not himself," she said in a low voice.

"No." Dorian went on scraping the dirt with his staff. "But how could he be? He's spent the past month living like a wild animal."

"It's more than that. He feels responsible for what happened to those people. For Varric and Sera and Rainier, too."

"The price of being the saviour. It's nothing new to him, alas."

"Was he like this during the Inquisition?"

Dorian glanced up, his gaze following Seth as he went to the edge of the lake to wash the soot off his face. "No," he said softly. "He had his moments, but… not like this."

Ellana was quiet a moment, absorbing that. "He'll bounce back. He always does."

Something about the way she said it caught Dorian's attention. "What do you mean? Have you seen him like this before?"

"Not exactly, but… Something similar." She drew her knees to her chest and hugged them, as though the memory made her uncomfortable. "That scar on his left shoulder — did he ever tell you how he got it?"

Dorian shook his head. "He has quite a few now. I suppose I stopped asking. There's a story behind it, I take it?"

"When Seth was eleven or twelve, he had an… incident… with some humans in the woods."

Dorian swallowed hard. Already, he didn't like where this was going.

"He used to go for these long walks on his own, and one day, he came across a pair of humans fishing in the river. They'd been so quiet he didn't realize they were there until it was too late. He started to run away, but they called to him, and they seemed friendly enough. They weren't having any luck, and they asked him if he could show them how the Dalish fish." She shook her head. "He should have left them alone, but he was fascinated with humans back then. And Clan Lavellan – we'd generally had friendly dealings with the humans in the area, so he hadn't learned to be as distrustful as some Dalish."

"He helped them."

She nodded. "He showed them how to fish. And they were sweet to him. Gave him honey biscuits. Called him Little Halla. Because of his hair, I suppose." She shrugged. "And maybe it would have been fine, but then they started drinking. And drinking. And then a third human turned up, even drunker than the first two, and he was in a foul temper because he hadn't had a successful hunt. So Seth offered to show him how the Dalish hunt."

Dorian sighed. He could picture it so clearly. Sweet, innocent Seth, thinking he was being helpful. The hunter, his fragile male pride already wounded, having an eleven year-old boy offer to show him how it was done.

"The hunter, he said he knew what he was doing just fine, thanks, and he would prove it." A tremor in her voice now, whether rage or grief, Dorian couldn't tell. "He said, I'll give you a head start, and then we'll see how well I hunt. He put an arrow to his bow. And the next thing Seth knew, they all had their bows pointed at him. Run, Little Halla, they told him. So he ran, and they chased him, and they tried to shoot my brother in the back." She paused, drew a long, shaking breath. "They hunted him for almost two hours. Laughing. Mocking. Calling out to him. Where are you, Little Halla? They almost got him, too. They nicked his shoulder, but he…" She trailed off. "Dorian…"

"Yes?"

"Your fingers are on fire."

Dorian glanced down. His fingers were on fire.

He flicked his wrist, dismissing the spell. It had been a very long time since that happened. He almost never lost control of his magic, and when he did, it was in the heat of passion. The heat of rage hadn't called flame to his fingertips since… Well, since he was eleven or twelve, coincidentally enough. "Pay it no mind," he growled. "This story makes me want to burn something down, that's all."

"I'm sorry. It's an awful story. I didn't even hear the full version until years later. At the time, all I really knew was that something upsetting had happened to my brother, and that terrified me, because of course my brother didn't get upset. He was always so…"

"Serene," Dorian murmured.

"Yes, exactly. But for weeks after that, he was anything but. He barely spoke a word. Had terrible nightmares. Saw those hunters in every shadow, as if he was convinced they were still out there somewhere. But things went back to normal eventually. He started taking his walks again, and even collecting human junk the way he used to. He recovered. That's the point of my story, Dorian." She squeezed his arm. "He bounced back. He always does."

He bounced back. That was putting it mildly. He didn't just recover, he forgave. Enough to let the humans make him their holy Herald. Enough to save their empires and their cities. Enough, even, to give one of them his heart, unreservedly and without fear.

Dorian's own heart was in his throat. Every time I think I couldn't love this man any more…

"Dorian, are you...?"

"Fine, thank you." His voice was rough. "I'm just thinking about recovering, that's all. Sometimes, it's not possible." He would never recover from this love. If he hadn't known it ten minutes ago, he knew it now, without a flicker of doubt.

Not that it changed anything. Though on the bright side, they were probably all going to die, so it didn't much matter anyway.

"We just need to get him out of this place," Ellana said. "And then everything will be fine."

Did she really believe that? If so, Dorian certainly wasn't going to take that away from her.

Seth had finished washing up now, and he walked over to them. "Are you two conspiring?" he asked with an unconvincing attempt at levity.

"Actually," Ellana said, "I was just telling Dorian some stories from your childhood."

"Dear gods." Seth's glance shifted to Dorian. "I'm sorry."

Dorian tried to muster something flippant, but he couldn't. His heart was just too full. All he could do was meet Seth's gaze, and whatever the elf saw there, it moved him to silence. Ellana suddenly found a reason to be elsewhere, and then it was just the two of them.

"Are you all right?" Seth asked.

"Not even a little," Dorian managed. "But I fear that is a conversation for another time. Are you sure about this, Seth? Going off on your own?"

"I've been alone down here for a long time. I work better that way. And besides – Malkar won't be expecting it. He probably doesn't even know I'm here, and if he does, he'll assume I'm going after the prisoners, just like always. If anything, that means you're the one in danger."

"We're all in danger."

"True enough." Seth sighed. "I'm sorry for that. Truly."

"Seth…"

The elf waited, but Dorian couldn't find the words. There was just too much.

There was always too much.

"Let's get Varric and finish this," Seth said, and all Dorian could do was nod.

"How many?"

Aerion Malkar sighted down the length of the blade, examining it with a critical eye. The tranquil's last attempt had left much to be desired, but this was an altogether more credible effort. The lyrium sang softly as he rotated his wrist, swinging the crystalline blade in a glowing red arc.

Krellis still hadn't answered him. A bad sign.

"How many?" Malkar repeated mildly.

The Anointed shifted on his feet. "All of them, my lord Redeemer. The whole camp. Which means… Well, my lord, it means we have no elves at all."

Malkar sighed and swung the blade again. So much lighter than a conventional longsword. It would take some getting used to, but he'd always enjoyed a challenge. "It's him," he said. "Lavellan."

"Some of the men whisper his name," Krellis said, "but I think that's just campfire tales. Nobody has actually seen him."

"Of course they have, Krellis. They just haven't lived to tell the tale." He sheathed the blade and folded his hands behind his back, pacing as much as the narrow confines of the room allowed. He would have preferred more space in his personal study, but these ruins were cramped, and he needed to reserve the larger rooms for his experiments. "I wasn't certain before, but I'm certain now. It's Lavellan, and he has help. You know what that means."

"He'll be coming for the dwarf."

"Yes. And no." One had to hand it to the Inquisitor: he was singularly resourceful. Merely surviving on his own down here was impressive. His campaign of sabotage and murder had proven highly frustrating. But using the darkspawn as decoys to launch his raids? Ingenious. A pity such a rare creature had to be crushed. He would have made a fine addition to the New World, if his heart had not been corrupted by his heathen upbringing. "Lavellan is too clever to tip his hand for anything less than his true objective."

Krellis knit his brow. "Meaning what, my lord?"

"Someone is coming for the dwarf, certainly. That rabble our Carta friends spotted a few days ago, most likely. Divine Victoria and the magister and the rest. But Lavellan – he will be out to destroy us entirely. Which means he'll be coming for this." He picked up a red lyrium arrowhead and waggled it meaningfully. "He's still got those barrels of gaatlock he stole. Buried them somewhere, no doubt, like a clever little squirrel. He'll try to do to us what he did to Samson. Cut off our lyrium supply."

"That would leave us vulnerable, my lord."

"It would be catastrophic, in point of fact. Which is why we must ensure it does not happen." Malkar picked up another weapon, a red lyrium dagger with a saw-toothed blade. A graceful thing, and lovely. Lavellan would appreciate such a weapon, he felt sure. "We are too close to falter now, my brother. That means we must think like generals rather than soldiers. I can assure you Lavellan is doing the same. Lord Seeker Lucius underestimated his enemy, as did Corypheus. The Inquisitor will expect me to do the same – and that will be his downfall."

"Shall I reinforce our defences here, then?"

"As quickly as you can. The miners are easily replaced. The lyrium is precious. Divert some of your Anointed to this location at once. In the meantime, let us take a page from Lavellan's book and open up the menagerie. If my pets are as effective as I think, we won't even need those reinforcements."

Krellis glanced over his shoulder, in the direction of the menagerie. The Anointed animals made him nervous. They made all the men nervous – as well they might. They were unpredictable and untested, and their temperaments decidedly volatile. Malkar honestly had no idea what they were capable of in combat. What even a scratch from their Anointed claws might do to a slight creature like Setheneras Lavellan.

It would be a fascinating experiment.