"What are you thinking about?"

Seth's voice cuts through the silence, sounding oddly flat in the confines of the tent. The soft glow of hundreds of campfires seeps through the canvas, throwing moving shapes along the walls as men and animals stir outside. Dorian must have dozed off, because it takes him a moment to place his surroundings. The Western Approach, his muzzy brain supplies. The attack on Adamant Fortress begins tomorrow. But something isn't quite right. Should he be here, in the Inquisitor's tent? They're careful about such things. Keeping up appearances and all that. But they must have decided to make an exception for tonight, because here he is, curled up with his amatus in the heart of the Inquisition camp.

"Dorian, are you awake?"

I'm not entirely sure.

Aloud, he says, "Hard to sleep with all that activity outside. As to what I'm thinking…" He starts to give an earnest answer, but loses his nerve at the last moment. "I'm deciding on my outfit for tomorrow. What does one wear to a siege? So many things to consider. Lighting. All the different angles people will be seeing you from. And then of course there's breathability. Hard to look dashing when you're dripping in sweat."

"Good to know your priorities are in place. Though I might suspect you of being something less than sincere with that answer."

"Oh? Whyever should you doubt me?"

"Because you're holding me so tight I can hardly breathe."

He is, isn't he? Dorian loosens his grip.

"I didn't say you should stop," the elf says quietly.

Dorian squeezes again, and the feel of that warm body in his arms soothes an ache he didn't even know he had. "If you must know," he murmurs, "I'm thinking that I adore you to tiny little pieces. And that if anything happens to you tomorrow, I don't know what I'll do."

Seth sighs. "Well, then. At least we're on the same page."

"We always are."

There's a stretch of silence, broken only by a smatter of tense laughter from somewhere nearby. The men are nervous about the attack, as well they should be. "I need you to promise me something," Seth says at length. "Whatever happens tomorrow, the mission comes first. I can't have you doing something foolish to protect me."

"I, do something foolish? Perish the thought."

"I mean it, Dorian. If I fall, I need to know that you'll carry on. Do what needs to be done."

Dorian's arms jerk involuntarily around the lean frame folded against him. The elf feels so fragile all of a sudden, so fine-boned he could break. "You're not going to fall."

"But if I do…"

"I'll carry on," he says, and it's barely a whisper. "You have my word."

Another stretch of silence. Seth rolls over, meeting Dorian's gaze. "I want you to know that these past few months have been…" He pauses, as if searching for the right words. "I've never felt this way before. I know I've said that already, but I mean it in a way I'm not sure you entirely understand."

"Of course I understand, you silly man. Do you think you're the only one who's ever locked his heart away?"

"That's just it. I didn't. My heart has always been open to love. It just… never found it until now. So if tomorrow is… If it's my time, I just want you to know that you gave that to me, and I'm so grateful." He brushes his lips across Dorian's. Then he rolls over and nestles back into the curve of Dorian's body, wrapping his arms over top of his lover's and squeezing tight.

Dorian doesn't know what to say. He presses soft kisses to the nape of Seth's neck, drinking in the elf's scent and trying very hard not to lose his composure entirely.

It can't be his time, he thinks. Or mine. It would be too cruel. The Maker wouldn't create two souls so perfectly matched only to rip them apart. This is a test, he thinks. So we won't ever take each other for granted. So we'll understand what we have and fight for it always.

"I love you," he whispers, and Seth's arms tighten in response. "I love you." He says it over and over. "I love you, I love you…"

Dorian woke with the elf's scent in his nose and an aching absence where a warm body had been only moments before. The only thing worse than having a dream like that the night before a battle was knowing that it hadn't actually happened that way.

The conversation had taken place, or something like it. But it hadn't been in Seth's tent, twined comfortingly around each other. And Dorian hadn't whispered his love over and over; hadn't said it even once. He'd wanted to, but it felt too raw, too frightening. So he'd done what he always did, relying on poignant looks and stolen kisses to do the work for him. Later, in those horrible moments when he was sure Seth wasn't following them into the Fade, he'd regretted it bitterly. I've lost him, he remembered thinking. I've lost him, and I didn't say the words. Not enough, not when it counted.

Seth had been spared that day. Spared again in the Arbor Wilds, and at the ruins of the Temple of Sacred Ashes. He'd been spared in the Winter Palace, after they'd stepped through the eluvian and his left hand had vanished, leaving him on his knees in a pool of his own blood. Inquisitor Lavellan had used up more lives than a felicitous feline, and he was about to roll the dice yet again.

Well, Dorian was through rolling the dice, trusting Fate would grant him one more chance to say what he needed to say. So he washed up and forced down a few bites of food, and then he cornered his ex.

"I need to talk to you."

Seth shifted awkwardly. "I'm not sure this is the time."

"This might be the only time we have. Besides, I intend to be brief. Three words, in fact." He took the elf's face in his hands. "I love you, Seth."

The elf didn't move. His gaze was fixed on Dorian's, but for the life of him, Dorian couldn't tell what the other man was thinking. "That's four words," he said with a weak smile.

Dorian wasn't in the mood for deflections. "It might be awkward for you to hear, or painful. I'm afraid that's just too bad. I'm through pretending I can get past this. I can't and I won't." Seth started to reply, but Dorian held up a hand. "I'm not asking anything of you, least of all comforting platitudes. I know this doesn't change anything. I just refuse to let you walk away without telling you what's in my heart. I've done it too many times. If these are the last words I ever have the chance to say to you, I want them to be this: I love you, and I always will."

"I…" Seth faltered. His gaze fell, and he shook his head. "I have so many regrets," he said softly. "But you're right, this shouldn't be one of them." He lifted his eyes to Dorian again. "I love you, and I always will."

Dorian drew a shaky breath. "There, you see? That wasn't so hard, was it?" He pressed a rough kiss to Seth's forehead. "Now, let's get this thing done, shall we?" He turned away before the elf could answer, before the look in those blue-green eyes undid him completely.

They had things to do.

Vir Assan. Be swift and silent.

Seth moved through the tunnel at a run, his borrowed cloak flapping softly as he leapt over broken pillars and fallen rock, keeping an eye out for the telltale clusters of deep mushrooms that marked the site of one of his traps. He had a lot of ground to cover while the others got into position. The ruins where Malkar had made his den were more than two miles away, and there was no time to lose: already, the soft boom of distant explosions could be heard, sending the occasional shower of dust over him. Excavations had begun in the Bastion of the Pure. So he kept up the pace even as the ground began to slope uphill – gently at first, and then steeply. He'd grown thin, but his body was taut as a bowstring, his lungs well accustomed to exertion. He wouldn't tire, and neither would his hunting partner. Maggie streaked along behind him, yellow eyes flashing in the dark, every inch the predator now.

Vir Adahlen. Receive the gifts of the hunt with mindfulness.

Mindfulness had always come naturally to Seth, but it eluded him today. Hard to be mindful when you can't stop thinking about your ex.

I love you, and I always will.

Was that really the best he could do? With so much else that needed to be said? If these past weeks had taught him anything, it was that this wound wasn't going to heal on its own. He'd spent the last two years imagining that he was recovering, however slowly. But that was an illusion. He hadn't been recovering, he'd been hibernating, and seeing Dorian again was all it took to get the blood flowing once more. Seth remembered what it was to want… and also what it was to bleed.

Vir Bor'assan. As the sapling bends, so must you.

If he couldn't be mindful, he could at least be angry. Put all that pent-up emotion to good use. And few things were more cathartic than setting off a massive explosion.

He'd already led Cullen to the first stash of gaatlock he'd squirrelled away. The second was just ahead, and he slowed, prizing silence above all else now. The last thing he needed was to startle a nug and send it squealing up the tunnel, giving away his position.

Except he hadn't seen any nugs, he realized belatedly. Not for an hour or more. No deepstalkers. Not even a spider.

Strange.

Seth crouched, examining the ground for spoor. Nugs had been through here recently, at least; piles of droppings glistened in the corners, and the creepy little handprints they left in the dust were fresh. There were other tracks here too, he realized, crisscrossing over top of those left by the nugs. One set he'd never seen before, but another…

It can't be. Down here?

Drawing a dagger, Seth continued along the tunnel. He hadn't gone far when he spied the first spray of blood arcing along the wall, as though something had been tossed about by a powerful set of jaws. Maggie sniffed at it – and then growled low in her throat, the fur bristling along her spine.

Deepstalkers? But no – Maggie wouldn't get her hackles up over something that small. One of the blighted animals he'd set free? Whatever it was, it was close: the blood spattering the wall was still wet.

"Venas," he whispered, and the wolf put her nose to the ground. Hopefully, they could find the creature and dispatch it before it got in their way.

He drew his other dagger and crept along the tunnel, one eye on the ground while he watched Maggie's progress ahead. He could see where the nugs had scattered as they tried to escape whatever was hunting them. More blood on the walls now, and on the floor, and another set of the tracks he'd noticed before. Seth shook his head, mystified. It made no sense, unless…

Maggie snarled up ahead, her fur bristling again. "Garas," Seth called softly, and the wolf circled back to him, fangs still bared. Seth crouched against the wall, daggers ready, watching the curve in the tunnel ahead while Maggie continued growling softly beside him.

A red glow seeped into the stone, and Seth's heart sank. Suddenly, he understood.

When it charged, it moved faster than it had any right to. So fast, indeed, that Seth wouldn't have recognized the creature hurtling toward them had he not already seen the tracks. It was too large by half and bristling in so much red lyrium that the tips of its spines brushed the walls of the tunnel, throwing off sparks where they met stone. The tusks jutting out from its lower jaw were the size of a man's forearm, and the serrated beak glistened with fresh blood. The quillback had eaten well, but apparently it wasn't satisfied yet. And it had its sights on Seth.

You didn't fight a quillback head-on. That beak would rip you to shreds as surely as shark's teeth. But there was no way Seth could get behind it in the narrow confines of the tunnel. So he did the only thing he could: he turned and ran.

They'd passed a larger chamber a few minutes ago; if he could reach it before the creature overtook them, they'd have a fighting chance.

He could hear the galloping gait closing the distance, but they had a fifty-foot head start, and there was a T in the tunnel just ahead that would break the creature's line of sight. Seth was almost upon it when the first lyrium spines sailed past him, one of them glancing off his pauldron.

What the…?

Instinctively, he glanced behind him, only to watch in horror as a fresh crop of lyrium shards pushed its way out of the quillback's hide, replacing those it had just flung at them. Only this crop was even denser than the one before, a bristling thicket of crystalline quills ranging in size from dagger to longsword. The creature crouched and bucked, and a fresh volley of shards whipped down the tunnel toward them. Seth dove, shouting for Maggie to lie down; the wolf flattened herself just in time to avoid being turned into a pincushion. The lyrium quills hit the wall of the T with the force of a ballista, but instead of shattering, they embedded themselves deep in the stone.

Not good. Not good at all.

Seth scrambled to his feet and kept running. The larger chamber was just ahead. He could make it…

Some part of his hunter's brain registered the blood spattered on the pillars where there'd been no blood only minutes before. But he was so focused on getting away from the quillback that he somehow failed to process the presence of an even bigger threat tearing into its lunch just a few feet away. It wasn't until Maggie skidded to a halt and erupted in vicious baying that Seth noticed the hulking predator crouched over a fresh bronto carcass in the corner. The cretahl lifted its head and squinted its tiny eyes in Maggie's direction.

Not an ordinary cretahl, of course. That would merely have been deadly. This was a corrupted cretahl, its horned crown fringed with lyrium shards so huge it was a wonder the thing could even lift its head. The hide was studded with red lyrium gemstones, providing an additional layer of armour, and the fanged maw protruded so far from its jaws that it seemed to have a life of its own, extending slowly like a snail emerging from its shell as the creature scented its surroundings.

Seth silenced Maggie with a gesture, and they both froze. The cretahl's nose twitched, but it was too nearsighted to spot them, and it must have decided they didn't smell like enough of a threat, because it went back to its meal, lowering its massive head into the open cavity between the bronto's ribs. Seth let out the breath he'd been holding.

There was no way he could fight this thing; not with the quillback bearing down on them. With only seconds to think, he motioned Maggie to his side and ducked behind a pillar.

Cretahls were hunters, but quillbacks were primarily scavengers. Seth could only pray that the rules of the wild applied even here. If he was wrong, it would be the end of him, and Maggie too.

The quillback barrelled into the room, scanning the shadows for its prey – only to be distracted by the smell of fresh blood. Its eyes fixed on the carcass, so much bigger and more enticing than the nugs it had been eating. The cretahl, meanwhile, raised its head again, smelling the blood on the quillback's beak. Two predators now, and one kill.

Predators never shared.

The quillback hissed and raised its spines, as though it might intimidate the cretahl off its kill. The larger beast rumbled a warning, and when the challenger failed to heed it, the cretahl lowered its massive head and charged. The contest was swift and brutal. The quillback loosed its spines, and though most of them glanced off the cretahl's fringe, a few found their way into its shoulders. That only enraged the cretahl more, and it barrelled into the quillback with the full force of its lyrium horns, throwing the scavenger into the air and flipping it onto its back.

Seth wasted no time, leaping out of the shadows and plunging both daggers into the quillback's exposed belly. The cretahl whirled on him, but Seth managed to dive clear of its horns, and by the time it recovered from its charge, the quillback had regained its feet. Blood poured from its belly, but it used a fresh volley of quills to protect itself while it plucked Seth's daggers from its flesh with its nimble beak. The cretahl flinched back from the hail of lyrium shards, and then it charged again, only to be met with a snoutful of spikes as the quillback used its barbed tail like a flail.

The standoff might have lasted for a while were it not for the gushing dagger wounds in the quillback's breast. But its movements were slowing fast, and the cretahl took advantage, waiting out a clumsy lash of the spiked tail before charging one last time, impaling its rival on its lyrium horns. The quillback screamed and thrashed, and then it was still.

But the cretahl had no time to celebrate its victory. Another challenger had presented herself, a furry black beast that stood snarling and snapping a few feet in front of it, fearless despite her vastly inferior size. The cretahl lowered its head for the charge – and that was its undoing. Because there was a fourth predator in the room, the deadliest of them all, waiting to take advantage of that tip of the head. Seth flung himself onto the cretahl's back and drove his daggers under the bony ridge of the creature's skull, burying them to the hilt. The cretahl lurched, staggered, and collapsed to the ground with an elf still clinging to its back.

Seth jumped down and sagged over himself, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps. Then Maggie growled again, and his head snapped up.

Slow applause sounded from the south entrance of the room. Aerion Malkar stood in the doorway, flanked by two archers with their bows trained on Seth.

"Well done, Inquisitor," the Redeemer said languidly. "Truly impressive. I only wish you'd drawn it out a bit longer. For the purposes of science, you understand. Still, I've learned a great deal. And you will help me learn even more."

"Maggie, dara! Venas Dorian!"

The wolf didn't hesitate, bounding away through the door opposite Malkar.

"Chase it down," the Redeemer snapped, "and kill it."

A trio of armed men lit across the room in pursuit. Seth briefly considered rushing them, but his daggers were still buried in the cretahl's skull, and the archers flanking Malkar hadn't moved. He was completely at their mercy.

The Redeemer knew it, and he smiled. "Catch your breath, my friend," he said pleasantly. "We have all the time in the world."