Falherna caught the scout's gaze out of the corner of her eye while passing him by quickly. She directed her steps towards the area of Crossroads filled with bed-rolls scattered on the ground. The scent of blood and sweat strong in her nostrils. She scanned her surroundings until her eyes rested on a wounded man. A fine spray of blood had splattered on his cheekbones, drying droplets matted his hair on one side.

Falherna walked closer to him, ignoring the chaos around her. Shemlens were running, shouting for more covers and herbs. Healers had already taken care of the people with the most critical wounds, but this man was lying alone under a carelessly thrown blanket. His expression full of pain. She threw her staff to the ground and sank to her knees next to him.

"I've got you," she assured him as she brushed aside the strands of his tousled hair, rapidly checking the man's pulse and vital signs.

"I cannot lose so much blood..." he spoke with a hoarse voice, "I cannot...".

"Shhh," Falherna grabbed his hands pulling them aside to uncover his stomach and legs. There was a deep wound running from the groin down the length of the thigh. The blood was gushing in a steady flow although it wasn't spurting. The femoral artery was cut, which meant that she had a good chance to stop the bleeding.

What she couldn't stop was the oozing of intestinal fluids from the man's stomach, where the ripping tushes had laid open skin, muscles, and organs alike. This sort of an abdominal wound was disastrous, even with magic spells readily at hand. The contents of the ruptured gut, spilling out into the body cavity made the infection a deadly certainty.

She looked quietly at the man's face. His eyes were closed and his breathing uneven.

"Look at me," Falherna demanded and patted man's cheek. He turned his head in her direction, struggling to open his eyes. His gaze searched hers for a moment and when he saw her his expression changed into pure panic.

"What is happening?" he asked trying to get up. Her hands landed on his shoulders to keep him lying down.

"Stay down. What's your name?" she spoke to him gently.

"James... Let me go! What's happening?" he asked once again making another attempt to get up. She held the man down without any effort, sending a small amount of a calming spell into his body while observing his face, and waiting until his breathing slowed down.

"Can somebody explain to me what is going on here?!" Cassandra's voice cut through the air, "Why is nobody, besides Herald, helping this man?" Falherna met the gaze of the white-haired healer who seemed to be shrinking under the Seeker's tone.

"He is a Templar, my lady," he answered, "He was transported here by," the man cleared his throat "by mistake."It was a chaos, so many were dead and wounded. We had no time to check," he looked down.

"You think I blame you because you brought the Templar here?" Cassandra snapped and stepped closer. The silent tension filled the air and Falherna averted her gaze to focus on a more pressing matter. The argument was not her interest, the Seeker was resourceful enough to handle it by herself. She vaguely registered woman's sharp voice and rising anger as she focused her attention on the man in front of her.

In the meantime, Solas quietly kneeled beside the Templar and looked at Falherna, as he also noticed the hideous gash. His lips moved, mouthing soundlessly the words "Can he live?". She shook her head silently. He paused for a moment, then nodded.

When the argument between Cassandra and the healer intensified the wounded man moved his head. His eyes opened wide and he reached to his stomach. His gaze seemed blank as if his spirit was absent in the current moment, as if he was somewhere else, somewhere where the pain was gone and the death seemed kinder than life.

"It will be better soon," she said, and her voice was steady, as it always was, as it had been trained to be, "The pain will be gone soon."

"I can't feel my leg anymore... nor my hands... Is something wrong?" he frowned, his hands were blindly flailing before his face. Falherna grasped them firmly between her own and leaned in closer to look into his eyes.

"Look at me, James." she repeated her earlier demand and he obeyed.

"You are going to die, that is what is happening".

James' gaze suddenly became sharper and more present, he locked his eyes on her and slightly cocked his head.

"What?" his gaze darted to Solas and back to her "No.", he sputtered "No, no. Wait. Hold on." the templar made another attempt to get up, but Falherna held him down firmly.

"Shhh... James" she spoke to him calmly. Her fingers touched his cheek and wiped away the tear that ran down from the corner of his eye.

"Shhh... Keep looking at me" she asked stroking his face as she leaned closer to him. His eyes had a gray color like the sky just before the storm. He coughed, winced in pain and their eyes met.

"Keep looking at me. It is alright" Falherna's throat tightened with emotions, but she swallowed it knowing she had to stay strong for both of them.

"It will slide over you, James," she spoke as gently, but firmly as she could, keeping her hand on his neck "You will start to feel nice and warm. Let it into you, where your spirit is trapped. Let it pour the light inside of you," she caressed his forehead "Let your thoughts go to all good things and places."

He held her gaze as he started to understand what was happening. His expression changed, face relaxed.

"Whom do you love?" Falherna asked. James looked at the sky above them and the silence fell between them. There was only silence. Only two breaths - his and hers.

"Whom do you love, James? Surely you must love someone," she whispered searching for his gaze. His face turned towards her before his eyes did. As if the clouds or the sky itself had somehow drawn in his gaze. There was a long pause, long enough to make Falherna wonder if she was going to get an answer or not.

"Myra..." he whispered with effort and deep tenderness in his voice. She reached forward and deliberately untied the cloth she had placed around his thigh earlier. She could staunch the bleeding, and allow the man to linger in increasing agony as the belly gash festered until the infection would spread far enough to kill him. A better death, perhaps, was what Falherna was giving him, to die cleanly under the bright sky with a mind filled with thoughts about someone close to him.

"Then let her take you, James," she spoke stroking his cheek again, locking her eyes on his. He gulped a few times and his gaze drifted over to a place behind her back. Unseeing, absent. A smile appeared on his mouth and a whisper "Myra".

His back arched suddenly and his heels dug deeply into the ground, his body in violent protest at what his mind had begun already to accept. He gasped heavily for air.

The Crossroads suddenly became very quiet. No birds sang, and the healers, scouts, refugees were silent as the trees and air themselves. Falherna and, to her surprise, Solas leaned close together over James' struggling body, sharing the messy, heartrending, and necessary task of helping a man to die. Even Cassandra silently joined them, discreetly wiping the tears from her cheeks, murmuring a prey under her breath. As James' spirit left his body Falherna covered him with a blanket and drew herself slowly to her feet.

She turned toward the basin with fresh water, dipped her hands in it, her gaze following the lines of blood swimming under the surface. She dried her hands with a clean piece of cloth, when she heard steps behind her.

"You have seen men die before," Seeker said flatly "by violence," It sounded almost like an accusation, not a question.

"Many of them", Falherna answered, just as flatly. She turned around and looked at Cassandra's face. The woman stared at her with a deep frown and a kind of hesitant awe that spoke louder than any words and made Falherna's skin crawl.

Cassandra looked wary as if she was speaking against her better judgment. "This templar was dying. That belly wound was terrible, it would have caused him much pain but you made it easier for him. Almost calm and bearable," her voice shook slightly.

"I did," she answered quickly and added after a moment of silence "Now, I will find Mother Giselle, Seeker." she bowed her head turning to walk away, to avoid the growing light in Cassandra's gaze, but the woman grabbed her wrist forcing her to halt.

"Herald... I..."

Falherna's jaws clenched as she realized the direction of Cassandra's thoughts. The Herald of Andraste carrying the soul of Templar to the other side, to the side of death. Performing it with peace and focus, liberating a man from his corporeal life, sending him straight into the arms of their Maker.

"Cassandra, there is no need to," she patted the woman's hand freeing her wrist, "every being deserves compassion and kindness regardless of their race and rank." Sending a small smile towards the woman she pointed to the healers. "Help them, please. They need our resources and the herbs growing nearby. You can send Varric to the hill to gather it," she asked and looked at Solas.

His hands were flowing over a man's leg as healing magic drifted from his fingers. He kept his gaze focused on the man's wound and didn't look up. He seemed disheveled; the sleeves of his tunic rolled up like hers, James' blood smeared across his cheek.

"Solas will be needed here. He is a great healer," Falherna looked at Cassandra again, after a moment's pause, "I will talk to Mother Giselle and to Corporal Vale, do you agree?"

Something in Seekers expression shifted, her eyes softening as they took in Falherna's gaze.

"You are probably right, Herald."

She nodded, picked up her staff and turned away before Cassandra could add anything else.


Solas observed her from afar for a while trying to decide how to approach her, wondering why he felt the need to do so. He felt conflicted. She was his weapon, a tool to retrieve his orb. The anchor was going to kill her and he knew it from the very beginning. It was not destined for mortals. That is why he kept the Mark from killing her too soon. Still, he could not guess how much time they have left and he could only hope it will be enough to set things right. He needed her to achieve his goal, to move forward to put his plan into motion.

Yet, he had no idea on how to form any connection with the red-haired woman. Any attempt to make a conversion with her was hard, he could not read someone who seemed so empty, deprived of all emotion. But he needed more frequent access to his anchor, to have some control over his own power, and thus more control over the effect it had on the Herald.

At the same time, he did not want to be around her. He felt uneasy when in her company - frustrated and curious, less concentrated on his plan, and more on the current events. He couldn't allow himself such luxury. He had his duties. The Inquisition, the Herald, and her inner circle were just pawns. He only has to make sure that the Herald will last until the Breach is closed.

He was not here to make friends, only to right his mistakes. He frowned at the memory of Herald's voice singing; her back straight; her composure evident while she meditated in the camp last night.

How could he find out why her voice was familiar? How could he come to some explanations about the origin of her name? How could he gather information from her about her rare magic abilities?

He shook his head, slowly pushing those thoughts aside. It was not important. What mattered was the fact that he needed to start a conversation with her somehow and attempt to create some level of trust between them.

His gaze drifted to her once again; though she did not make any move while observing the Crossroads. The only thing changing in the scenery were her impractically long hair and a black cloak fluttering in the wind. There was something off about her that he could not put his finger on. He cleared his throat to announce his presence and approached her.

"Seeing someone die is a heavy burden, Herald," Solas started standing next to Falherna. The statement stood unanswered for a moment and he snuck a glance at the woman, slightly annoyed at the lack of reaction.

"Indeed," she replied not taking her eyes off of children running through the Crossroads. She spoke to him with guarded countenance and in a measured voice.

They stayed in silence for some time and Solas could not bring himself to tell her how admirable was what she had done for the dying templar, so he followed her gaze and focused on the view. The day was peaceful and warm despite the clouded sky.

"Can I help you with something, Solas?" he heard a toneless whisper. He met her bright-eyed gaze and almost opened his mouth to speak when suddenly cool fingers reached to his cheek and wiped away the smudge of blood. The gesture was so natural and so quick that he could only blink. His cheek tingled a bit where her fingers brushed it.

The Mark awakened abruptly; magic swirled and sank into his skin. His jaw clenched, his eyes wide open. The white light, warm and bright like the rays of sun swirled under his eyelids. Time slowed down and he watched as the Herald recoiled her hand, frowning a little as she looked at her palm. He felt strands of something completely foreign. It came from the Herald, not from him and he recognized what it was. Emotions poured through him, one by one. First, the sadness; sadness so deep that it clenched his heart and shoved the air from his lungs. Then, a bitter taste of melancholy appeared making him weak, motionless. And at the end, in seconds that seemed to be minutes, it changed into compassion and something else, hard to define, like a persistent yearning, but for what or whom he could not tell.

He saw Falherna's spirit, pure and strong, embracing him, surrounding him, washing through his mind. He saw her blue eyes flashing, a string of her body under the weight of the power it held. He realized she was not the shadow deprived of feelings he had taken her for. She wasn't lost, nor blind, nor a child. She had the force and focus, and this strange light which filled her. A force he found alarming in one so young.

Was it the effect of the Anchor? Was she just a twist of nature or perhaps a rare creature?

The sensations vanished as quickly as they appeared. It must have taken only a blink of an eye because the Herald looked at him as if nothing happened.

"What you did..." he swallowed the lump in his throat "for James was admirable, Herald," he stated as calmly as he could considering the circumstances. He clasped his hands behind his back to stop them from trembling and forced himself to look at her. He blinked a few times because his vision was dimmed as if he was looking directly at the sun for too long.

She shrugged, "Thank you. It was merely a simple kindness and a manifestation of humanity."

"I believe it was something more, Herald," he stated since he felt the urge to convince her she should give herself more credit. It was millennia since he saw such peace while facing someone's death.

"If one must die, it would be preferable to provide some level of comfort..." her voice firm and calm. She hesitated for a moment sending him a brief look, "Is there something more comforting, in the moment of death, than the truth, the warmth of someone's hand..." she averted her gaze and focused on the horizon, "and mind filled with memories of loved ones?" the question hung in the air between them and he allowed it to stay unanswered while she continued. "No one should die alone or in fear."

Solas looked at her while she brushed a strand of hair from her cheek.

He was stunned as it was the longest statement she had ever shared with him. The significance and maturity of her words, so close to his own beliefs, struck him and before he could stop himself his mouth opened letting out the words better left unspoken.

"Sometimes dying alone is inevitable," he thought about the vow he took, about the solitary path of the Dinan'shiral.

Falherna tilted her head as her eyes scanned his face. "Banal nadas," she stated quietly.

He averted his gaze as he felt a slight sting in his heart. He did not want or need her sympathy. He deserved to die alone.

What could she know about dying alone? What could she know about the vow and a duty millennia old? She could not understand and surely she could not know what was inevitable or not.

Silence fell between them once more. The black tail of her cloak fluttered on the wind, a soft breeze brought a rich, sweet smell with delicate wood notes to his nostrils. He breathed it in finding something exotic and subtle in it. He looked at the half-elf noticing how her eyes scanned the Crossroads, pausing for a second on refugees and healers.

She spoke suddenly without looking at him, "The Mark reacts strangely in contact with you. I wonder if you have any theory on this matter?" her tone seemed light but after he took a closer look he could swear her frown deepened a bit.

"While you slept, Herald, the mark did not manifest any strange responses," he started slowly. His mind raced creating answers for the possible questions. He had to lie effectively enough to convince her that his words were true. He had a theory he could not share regardless the risk.

"I did not come up with any theories. At this point it would be blind guessing," he explained shifting his weight from foot to foot and searching her face. His eyes roamed her profile.

How carefully she keeps her gaze away, he thought.

"I wonder if it is responding to you because of your unusual connection to the Fade," she puzzled.

"Possibly," he agreed, "I would like to investigate it if you will allow me," he added formally while a plan started to form in his head. The Herald was intelligent enough to verify the Mark's reactions to other mages. However, the testing would fail because none of the mages had the connection to the Fade, even by half, as strong as his. Thus, he could act to maintain her belief in her own theory, which wasn't completely wrong, he had to admit. What troubled him was the fact that the mark was exposing the Herald's emotional state to him and it would be a violation of her privacy to study it without warning her about its side effects. He frowned, wondering where, when and how he would reveal it.

"Herald!" a voice startled him. He raised his head and saw the Seeker walking towards them, "We can proceed to Redcliffe Farms to locate Master Dennet," the woman explained standing in front of the Herald.

"Alright, Cassandra," Lavellan nodded and turned to Solas. "I will speak with you later, Solas." Again her eyes locked on his and he felt the urge to avert his gaze.

Although, he was not going to obey it. For most of the people, he was unreadable. She was studying him for too long and too closely. He needed to work on his posturing.

He bowed his head slightly, "As you wish, Herald".

Stay modest, simple and humble, he thought.


It was almost nightfall by the time they left Master Dennet's cottage. The old man and his wife had treated them to dinner and a fresh beverage. They welcomed it with relief after a long march through the Hinterlands. For a whole day, they were traveling from one place to another and back to the Crossroads to provide more food, water, herbs, and warm clothes for the refugees.

Falherna hid her face under the hood, hands in pockets of her cloak. She was going to move closer to the caves where the wolves' den might have been located. She was determined to get there as soon as possible.

"We can camp here, Brighteyes. This place is good as any other," Varric shouted to her. She turned around to look at him, surprised she left them behind. She halted and thought about the whole situation. It was unreasonable to camp near the den; the fire, the smell of food and people could draw wolves closer, causing them to attack. Also, staying near the farms would give them a chance to protect people if the wolves would decide to show up here.

"Alright," she agreed finally directing her steps back to the camp.

Harding's scouts set up camp for them as Solas cast a spell to make a fire, Cassandra took out the food from the bundle given them by Master Dennet. Falherna observed them for a while, tracing their movements. Her eyes rested on Solas' profile and she frowned thinking about the gesture she made earlier towards him. It seemed so natural but he did not appear pleased. Still, her fingers tingled at the recollection.

She shook her head and forced herself to move, to act. She felt numb; her mind was racing, heavy under the weight of images of Fen among other wolves which went mad or sick.

She pushed them aside focusing on helping the others with food and bedrolls.

Falherna licked her fingers swallowing the last piece of meat when Cassandra's voice cut the silence.

"I've wondered, Solas. How did you know to approach us? " The Seeker looked at the apostate, "The Breach opened, we were scrambling and barely had time to think... and there you were."

Falherna shot him a brief glance.

"I went to see the Breach for myself. I did not know you would be there," he answered simply with a calm, quiet voice. He took a sip of water keeping his eyes locked on Seeker's face. Falherna suspected he wanted to prove his truthfulness this way.

"You must not have been far away," the woman continued and there was a sincere interest in her tone.

"I was not," he smiled, "I'd come to hear of the Conclave but did not want to get close."

Cassandra's eyes narrowed as she analyzed his words. Falherna could understand her suspicions - first, Solas, humble apostate, an expert of the Fade, a man from nowhere offered his help; then a strange half-elven woman fell from the hole in the sky with a holy mark on her hand. Even for her, it was weird enough to make her wonder. Two people appeared exactly where and when they were needed.

"Hmm," the Seeker murmured, "lucky for us, then."

Falherna raised her head taking the sight of bright stars. It has been two hours since they made a camp and the sky was almost black, without a single cloud. It was beautiful and soothing.

"Solas, have you always lived alone? Out in the wilderness, as an apostate?" Cassandra continued questioning him and Fal smiled at the question. Shemlens were often shocked by the thought of living and traveling alone. Their nature was different; they craved for attention, company of others and many primal matters which, for elves, were not important.

"For the most part." An answer appeared almost immediately. Falherna looked at Solas amazed by the lightness of his tone, stillness of his body and his unblinking eyes.

"Would that not be incredibly trying?" Cassandra pressed and Falherna smiled again. Seeker's astonishment was amusing but also her attempt to understand was comforting.

When Solas spoke again, his voice was gentler "People can be trying, mankind most of all."

Cassandra let out a small chuckle "That..." she hesitated "is an excellent point."

"Since the Seeker suddenly started to be so talkative and flexible I will go to sleep." Varric laughed and drew himself to his feet, "Not that I mind it..." he grinned looking at Cassandra.

She wrinkled her nose sending him a reluctant glance "How kind of you, Varric."

"I am just saying that you've shown me a completely different side of you, Seeker" he chuckled raising his big hands in a gesture of defense, "Seeing you like this, now, is a bit overwhelming for my poor soul."

Falherna snorted at his words while the Seeker averted her gaze from the dwarf and let out a disgusted noise.

"Cassandra, please ignore his harshness," Lavellan stretched her legs, to put them closer to the fire and sent the woman a gentle smile, "Varric is always sarcastic and unpleasant towards women he finds attractive," after those words she sent a wink to the dwarf "Don't you, my friend?"

Seeker's cheeks took on a lovely rose color what Falherna found very charming.

"What? I do not..." Varric started, looking at her with a mix of surprise and dislike.

"Admit it," she murmured sending him another wink, "There is no reason to hide your true feelings, Varric."

"You're impossible, Brighteyes!" He frowned, shaking his head.

Falherna cocked her head looking at him innocently "How can I be impossible? I exist!" she answered with a pretended shock. Solas' quiet chuckle got her attention causing a slight skip of her heart but she controlled the urge to look at him.

Varric threw his hands up in the air, letting out a small growl "Like Daisy would say, Fal – may the Dread Wolf take you!" he turned around and left pulling up the tent flap.

"You wish me only good things, Varric. You're such a good friend," she smiled and added quietly closing her eyes "May the Dread Wolf take me."

By the sound of crackling fire, she could not hear the hitched breath of one of her companions.


Notes:

Banal nadas - Nothing is in inevitable

Fal's response "How can I be impossible? I exist!" came from my fave TV-series "TBBT" :D