A Light Shining in Darkness

by EnricoDandolo

Led out of the Fade by Andraste herself, Bethany Hawke knows she has been chosen to fix the world. But as an army of the faithful rises around her, the Inquisition's enemies arm themselves to test her principles. And in this age of digital information, full-scale thaumic war becomes likelier than ever before ...

8. And lo, the Angel of the Lord

Oh boy, this took a while ... about the latter half of this was written as part of my NaNoWriMo project; check out my other fic - To Weather the Storm - for the other stuff I've done this month so far!

---

In its death throes, winter had brought all its legions to bear on Haven. Her breath crystallised in front of her face, and fine dusty snow gathered on the shoulders of her coat. She couldn't have cared less. "How many?" she asked Cullen next to her, her voice strained as though each word cost her great effort.

"Eighteen wounded, some badly. Three dead." Cullen glanced at her, reached out a hand, then dropped it. "You don't have to be here, Hawke."

"Yes, I do." She raised a hand to cover her mouth. "Maker, I still can't believe it. I feel like I'm in a bad dream and I'm gonna wake up any minute now."

A corpse lay at their feet, sprawled out on its side. Frozen blood stained the light snow around it. It was the body of a young woman barely out of her teens, dressed in a light grey coat and black leather knee boots. Dark skin, a sidecut dyed purple. Her face was buried in the snow, but Bethany had no illusions about who this was.

"Ella," she murmured, swallowing hard.

"Haven't even turned her around yet. Could be someone else."

Weakly, she indicated the base of the girl's neck. "See that?"

"A tattoo … stars. A constellation?"

"Bellitanus, the Maiden. Ella told me she got it in Jader, when she had to flee the hunters. A keepsake from a mundane girl she fell in love with there, who helped her hide from the templars."

"Mmh. This girl have a name? Do we have some way to contact her?"

"I never thought to ask."

They looked down at the corpse. Ella, Ella – Bethany tried to think of her face, but all it brought to mind were pained smiles and stoic endurance. Her apprentice, her friend, who had never quite fit in. Bethany hadn't known Ella had been among those mages who volunteered to accompany them back to Haven to seal the Breach. What was it she had told her, months ago in Redcliffe? To come to the Inquisition for help, if the going got tough?

"I'm sorry," Cullen murmured. "I know you were close."

"Mmh. You ever talk to her?"

"Don't think so. Maybe. In passing."

"She was always afraid of templars. She never trusted you. Gave me hell for joining the MCIS."

"We weren't all that trustworthy."

Bethany wasn't sure what to say to that. Ella didn't have any answers, either. "The murder," she said, instead, straightening herself. "Do we know who did it? What happened?"

"I'm having people working on it. No couple witnesses have come forward so far, but from the looks of it a fight broke out outside the Singing Maiden last night, around 2am. Some mage spilled a templar's drink or something, or someone bumped into someone. Pretty soon, knives came out. Ella tried to separate them."

"And got stabbed for her trouble. Why didn't anyone get help? She bled to death, for goodness' sake."

"People were afraid. Blood has a way of cooling the most irate mind. I'm sorry, Hawke. We're doing what we can to bring the culprits to justice."

She nodded. "A mundane and a mage or templar to a team. One to put them at ease, the other to watch the first."

"Already doing that."

"What about … what about the other victims?"

Cullen sighed, pocketed his hands in his heavy black greatcoat. "A templar, and one of our mundane people. Both of them died following heavy burns sustained during a fracas in Camp Beatrix. We've taken four suspects into custody. In the meantime, I've ordered my people to enforce a curfew. I'd like to separate mages and templars, for the time being. At least until we can figure out what to do with them."

Slowly, Bethany shook her head. Ella still lay in the snow, lifeless and still. Around her, Leliana's people were packing up their little crime scene markers and evidence bags. Someone approached with a body bag; Bethany turned away. "Walk with me," she told Cullen.

They walked down the village's High Street in silence. Every now and then, it seemed as though the light snowfall would subside, only to come back seconds later. A few of the remaining shops – the ones that had not been closed, abandoned, or requisitioned after the Inquisition had transformed Haven into its headquarters – began to open, but many more remained dark. "I'll climb up to the Temple today," Bethany mentioned offhandedly, peeking inside a darkened bakery. "With the help of the mages and templars, I might just manage to close the Breach. We'll see about after." She paused, tapped her foot. Fresh snow crunched beneath her boots. "We'll need to do something about Haven once the Breach is gone. Find a new base of operations, with better infrastructure. Somewhere in Orlais, maybe." She glanced at Cullen, who showed no sign of reacting. "Cullen?"

Wordlessly, he stripped off his gloves, reached inside his coat, and produced a thrice-folded sheet of paper. He handed it to her. "I'll be tendering my resignation later today, when we meet in council. I'll do my best to find someone to replace me, then I'll step aside."

She stared at it. "You don't have to do this."

"Maybe not. I expect the others will make it clear that I'm free to stay on. The question is whether I agree with them, and I don't." He sighed. "Therinfal was an unmitigated disaster. Most of the templars on our side died on the spot. Almost half of our support team were casualties. I myself only escaped thanks to some sort of demon. I'm responsible for that. I misinterpreted the intelligence, made the wrong choice, and got our people killed. I was a templar, Hawke – still am, in a lot of ways. They taught us to stand by our mistakes and know when to step aside. There's no way around it."

"Trying to get both mages and templars on our side was my idea, Cullen, you know that. If anything, I should be the one to resign from the council. The Maker knows I'm not cut out for it, anyway. Those deaths – Ella's death – are on my head." She gave a sombre little smile. "But I'm the bloody Herald of Andraste, so you're taking the bullet instead."

"Don't say it like that." They walked on. "We made this decision together. And Leliana supported us, too. The difference is in how we handled things. You didn't lose anyone, and you brought dozens of mages into the fold, maybe hundreds. And, yes, we need you on board, or this Inquisition is nothing more than a farce."

There it was, the crux of it. No matter what Cullen might say, he was taking the fall so she could stay on as the Inquisition's trump card. Stiffly, she straightens herself. "We can talk about that later. Just keep the letter for now, alright? Think it over. A change in leadership is the last thing your people need right now. I should get ready. I imagine my escort is already waiting for me to take on the Breach at the Temple FOB."

"Right. You sure you don't want to take more people? We have no idea what you'll face once …"

"I'll be up there with two dozen mages and templars, plus the regular garrison at the Breach. I'd be appalled if we had even more troops to spare right now, let alone if I needed them."

---

For all the build-up of the past months, the Breach really didn't put up much of a fight. Even the cheers and good humour that had accompanied her on the way back down the mountain seemed stilted, born from a sense of quiet satisfaction rather than triumphant joy. Bethany did not partake in them, regardless. The next few days would show whether closing the Breach had put an end to the fissures that had been appearing in the Veil all over Thedas since its appearance. Still – and this, perhaps, was the true victory – it was good to see the valley and the village of Haven as they were meant to be seen: under a clear blue sky, through the faint shimmer of breath crystallising in the mountain air, and under a sun that didn't tint everything a sickly shade of green. Something, at least, that hadn't crumbled to ashes at her touch.

The Inquisition's council awaited her at the entrance to the village, all done up in their uniforms. There were handshakes and smiles all around, one of Josephine's people took some photos – Bethany wasn't sure whether for the history books, some future press release, or just a personal collection. She didn't have much time to ponder that, for almost immediately she was ushered into the back room of the chantry.

"Before we do anything else," Cassandra began, "Can we be absolutely certain that the Breach won't reopen?"

"Not categorically." Josephine had largely been responsible for coordinating the research they had commissioned – with the other members of the council still insisting on keeping the press at arm's length and most of the major issues with their hosting governments hammered out, she must have been bored out of her mind. "Under normal circumstances, the Veil at ground zero should heal itself over time. That is not to say it can't be torn again, while it is still weakened. I strongly recommend that we continue to maintain a security cordon around ground zero and avoid any and all use of magic and, above all, bloodshed, within a one kilometre radius of ground zero."

Cassandra gave a curt nod. "Noted." She looked at Bethany, then the others. "I know there's still a lot of work to be done until our task is completed. But the Maker led us to a great victory today. Even if for the time being no one outside this village knows what happened, everyone within hundreds of kilometres now knows that the Inquisition is here to serve, and that we get the job done. I think we've earned a bit of pride today."

Someone chuckled. Bethany didn't. Ella was still dead because of her, and they were still no closer to finding out who was behind the Conclave attack. The latter bit, she pointed out to the others.

"True enough," Cullen agreed with a frown. "But with the Breach gone, we can shift resources. Maybe even relocate, we've long outgrown Haven."

Enthusiastically, Josephine nodded. "Oh, definitely. In fact, I've already been reaching out feelers in Val Royeaux, the Sansretour bank is open to selling their skyscraper on the Rue de Montsalvat …"

"One thing at a time. For now, let's focus on what Hawke and Dr Pavus mentioned at their debriefing: the assassinations of Empress Celene and Calpernia Liberata."

"Hawke said that, uh, future Leliana called her Protoarchon Calpernia," Cullen pointed out. "The election isn't for several weeks. So we've got a window in which we can expect the assassination attempt to happen."

"If it will happen," Leliana cautioned. "Calpernia is behind in all the recent polling, and I've seen an internal report from the MEAS that her opponents are planning to make sure the final count reflects that. We cannot assume that our source was trustworthy, or that her testimony is relevant to our timeline."

Cassandra gave her a sideways glance. "That source is you. Of course it's trustworthy."

"I resent that accusation. I mistrust me, and so should you. Regardless, I agree with Cullen that this is something worth looking into. I'm more concerned about the other assassination – the Empress's."

"True. Celene's death would put Gaspard in charge by default, and he's anything but a stabilising influence."

"Gaspard is someone we can talk to," Cullen objected. "More importantly, someone who could support us. Unlike his cousin, he doesn't feel bound by the National Assembly. And he'd need allies to hold on to the throne, a couple of quick and shiny policy successes – we could provide him with both in return for his aid."

"I don't think our mission of restoring order would be served all that well by aiding and abetting a usurpation and military coup d'état," Josephine dryly pointed out. "Besides, according to Hawke, this line of events will lead to thaumic war. I daresay we should have an eye towards avoiding that outcome." She tapped her tablet against the table to underscore her next point. "Regardless, this debate is academic until we have some concrete evidence. I can't exactly ring up the Empress and tell her to watch her back against an unknown assassin on an unspecified date, because time travellers told us so."

"No, but we'd all love to watch you try."

Cassandra ignored the jibe. "Then you should work with Leliana on this. We need more information."

"Agreed. I will make some overtures towards Celene's government, hopefully without making Gaspard's people doubt the sincerity of our commitment to neutrality. I'll also look into that tower on Rue de Montsalvat. No offense, but I'm sick and tired of everyone having to walk through my office to get here."

"Well, no kill like overkill …"

Leliana smirked. "Be that as it may," she smoothly said, "While we're looking into Celene, we can still do something about Calpernia. We need to deal with the Imperium anyhow, get them on board with wiping out those Venatori cultists."

"By your tone, I imagine you've already got something lined up."

"The Minrathous International Security Conference begins in three weeks. For those of you not in the know, that's an annual meeting of top-level politicos, intelligence people and security theorists from around Thedas. I've called up some old contacts in Orlesian intelligence to get us an invitation."

Cullen raised an eyebrow. "Not bad. And Calpernia will be there?"

"Right. She's scheduled to speak, in fact – she's trying to boost her foreign policy credentials before the election. More importantly, Archon Radonis will be there, too."

"Great. When are you going?"

Leliana grimaced. "That's the thing. You see, there's a no-fly list …"

"What on earth did you do to get on a no-fly list?"

"Questions like that, Cassandra, are why you're the Right and I'm the Left Hand. Suffice it to say I'd be arrested the instant our plane landed in Minrathous. No, I was thinking Josie should go. Take Hawke, introduce her to some of the foreign heads of state."

"Sounds good to me." Cassandra looked in her direction. "You've been quiet so far, Herald. What do you think?"

Bethany blushed a little, she had not been entirely attentive. "Uh, sure. I can tag along. I'll … try not to step on anyone's feet."

"No worries, you'll do fine." Josephine cleared her throat. "I've got a couple of reports I'd like you all to read for our next meeting – we're still having some difficulty getting tax exemptions on our Orlesian operations, so I'd like you to bear that in mind for your planning. But apart from that, I think we've all earned ourselves the afternoon off."

Cassandra stepped forward. "There is one more thing." A pregnant cause as her eyes scanned the room. "The murders last night. We need to make sure there's no repeat of that tonight."

Bethany glanced at Cullen. He was studiously avoiding the Seeker's gaze, but she supposed he didn't have the look of someone about to tender his resignation about them. "I have people working on it. I've put Knight Lieutenant Trevelyan in charge of the investigation into the murders, leading a team of ex-MCIS agents and military police. As for … as for tonight, I have ordered additional personnel from our other bases to maintain discipline here in Haven and at Bexley AB."

"No offense, Cullen, but that doesn't sound like much," Josephine pointed out. "I mean, surely there were officers present last night, and that didn't help. Wouldn't it be wiser to separate mages and templars, at least for the time being?"

The commander shook his head. "I would advise against that. Separating them won't do us any good in the long term. If we're going to be leading the way on reconciliation, we need to do so by building esprit de corps."

"In other words, there's no way to guarantee there won't be more attacks."

"Without locking people up in their camps? No. One can never be one hundred per cent certain, but we're doing everything in our power …"

Leliana interrupted. Sharply. "Clearly, that's not enough – as last night showed. If you can't keep your people in line, I will."

One might have heard – analogies escaped her as the room went silent, agape with horror. "You can't be serious," Josephine exclaimed once she had gathered herself. "No. No, that's not how we do things."

"Perhaps we should start doing them that way, then. It certainly can't get any worse than …" An explosion shook the walls of the chantry. Small chunks of plaster rained from the ceiling onto the map table. Once the ringing in their ears had subsided, Leliana added: "Forget I said anything."

Then, they were out of the door.

The smoke and screams quickly led them to the explosion's epicentre, but Bethany could tell what had happened long before they reached it. The air was crackling with magic, not the Breach's – the dark, oppressive power one could sense wherever blood had been shed.

In the town's centre, just outside the police station where Leliana's people were based, the smoking husk of a small saloon car awaited them. Windows in the surrounding buildings had been blown out by the blast. Three, no, four people lay on the ground, some writhing in pain, some not moving at all. Once again, blood tainted the snow. A small crowd was gathering, disorderly and panicky, making it difficult for the Inquisition soldiers approaching from the police station to get through.

"Make a hole!" Cullen shouted as they approached. "Clear a path, get those wounded to safety!" Josephine's aide, the huge ox- Qunari mage Bethany had met the day of the Conclave attack forced her way to them. The crowd parted before her like the waves of the Minanter before Darinius the Dreamer. "Sitrep!" Cullen barked at her and she immediately straightened. "There was a small explosion, ser," she calmly reported. "I have called for reinforcements to secure the scene with all celerity."

"Did you see anyone? Anything suspicious?"

"Dammit, get a medic over here! You there, give me that sash! Herald, come here, this woman could do with a healing spell!"

"No, commander. The car has been parked here most of the morning."

Sharply, Cullen nodded. "Grab some soldiers and clear the area of gawkers. There could be another bomb."

Finally, Bethany managed to shake herself from her stupor and she hastened to the side of the woman Cassandra had indicated. A civilian, judging by what remained of her clothes, her features almost unrecognisable beneath burnt flesh and soot. She was still breathing, at least – and sobbing in pain. Almost at once, she could tell that her healing spells would do no good. Even a master healer like Anders would have been hard-pressed to heal the intense burns that seemed to cover half her body, or remove the shrapnel of glass and red-hot metal that had propelled itself deep into her flesh. The best she could do, she reasoned, was to remove some of the larger pieces of shrapnel and close the wounds they had dealt to slow the woman's bleeding, and even that cost her the greater part of her mana. A professional would have to do the rest.

By the time she was done and turned to the next victim, reinforcements had arrived. The crowd was pushed back a few metres and the area between the police station and the shop opposite it cleared. A medic pushed her aside. She cast a look around; behind her, two soldiers closed a body bag around the woman with the burns. First Ella, now this. Whoever was behind this, whatever for they had murdered those people, she could not shake the feeling that this was another consequence of the mistake she'd made.

She re-joined the others, who were whispering among themselves. "… need to get a bomb disposal team on-site. Sniffer dogs. We've no idea how many more devices there are around town …"

"That might prove difficult. The nearest bomb disposal unit is probably based in Highever these days, we'd have to go through the Fereldan government and have them flown in. Maybe there's a mabari who could sniff out explosives somewhere in town but …"

"Maybes won't cut it. I'll order a curfew."

"We can't do that, Leli, you know we can't. We're still in Ferelden and we can't simply impose martial law on …"

"She's got a point. We already administrate quite a large part of the Redcliffe Hinterlands, taking charge here would be nothing new. You were right, Josephine. I'll call up reinforcements from Bexley and order mages and templars confined to separate camps for the time being."

"And what if there's another bomb?" Bethany asked. "If everyone's gathered in one place …"

"We can control access to the camps. For now – we need to figure out who's behind this, and fast."

Shifting, Bethany looked around. The soldiers had already begun clearing the scene, with three body bags neatly lined up by the entrance to the police station. No one had investigated the scene as even Kirkwall's ramshackle guard had done in such cases. It would be difficult to draw any information from the scene of the attack. A thought sprung to mind. "I suppose we should be glad there weren't more casualties. If the bomb had gone off outside one of the camps, or outside one of our headquarters, we'd be looking at scores of casualties now."

Leliana frowned. "That is a good point. Why didn't they target one of those places? This was not a spontaneous attack, that much is clear. Maybe something went wrong."

"We won't know until we can look over the security footage from the police station. In the meantime, I suggest you guys get back to work. We can talk about … that other matter … later." Cullen glanced at her. "Want to have another quick look over the crime scene, Hawke? For old times' sake."

She gave a mirthless smirk. "Can't hurt. Much." At the very least, she'd be able to tell if magic had been used – she doubted her misbegotten healing spells had left much of a footprint.

Leliana seemed poised to say something else, but Cassandra gave them a severe nod, took the bard's arm and half-guided, half-dragged her away, followed by Josephine. She's not going to let this drop, Bethany realised, glancing at Cullen. He'd voted with her on the mage-templar issue, ill-advised as that had turned out to be, and her gut told her there was potential there. Leliana, clearly, had decided that the Inquisition's current path wasn't going to cut it, and would work to implement her own vision for it. No matter her own reservations about dictating Inquisition policy – as a mage, as a political naïf, as a fucked-up mess of a human being – she could not stand idly by while Leliana reshaped the Inquisition to her liking. Not if she could prevent it.

If Cullen remained on the council, him and herself would form an opposition to Leliana's policies, and they'd only need to convince either Josephine or Cassandra to support them. Suppose she presented her own resignation? That would rest on the assumption that the council couldn't do without the supposed Herald of Andraste, or rather her glowy hand, but it could just as easily backfire.

"You coming or not?" Cullen called after her.

Pulling herself together, she turned to smile at him. "Sorry. Lemme have a look around." Bethany warily eyed the car. It was still smoking, now with a sickening stench of burning rubber. Whatever flames there were, they must be hidden on the inside of the carcass. The explosion had made short work of it. Careful not to get too close to the hot metal, she walked around it, tied to unweave the Veil and looked for traces of magic.

The theory behind the young science of veluscopy was simple: magic, when one got right down to it, was nothing more than manipulating the Veil to draw energy from the Fade and in a very limited sense override the laws of Reality. Most mages never thought of it that way, of course, and would be greatly disturbed by the suggestion that every spell they cast weakened the barrier between Fade and Reality. In truth, it wasn't quite so simple: the Veil had a remarkable capability of restoring itself, smoothing out wrinkles, so to speak, and was far stronger than the name led one to believe. Even so, spells left their traces, and from the particulars of the disturbance – the way the fibres of the weave had been moved aside or torn – a skilled veluscoper could tell a great deal.

In practise, it wasn't quite so simple. Most spells were highly technical, optimised for maximum effect for minimum mana. Often, that meant thinking outside the box. Sure, you could lift an object telepathically – but often it was just so much more efficient to simply lower its density below that of air, or locally override the gravitational constant of the planet, or any one of another half dozen methods. In other words, veluscopy could tell you where mana had been drawn and how it had been applied, but not always what, exactly, the spell had actually done with it.

As it turned out, however, Bethany couldn't find the slightest trace of directed magic in the immediate vicinity. A pervasive fog of crackling energy seemed to lie over the crime scene, obscuring the mesh of the Veil. How odd: only three people had died here, a few more had been wounded. Yet the disturbance she felt was stronger than that, almost closer to how the Temple of Sacred Ashes had felt after the attack than to a 'normal' murder scene. It was also more diffuse, not nearly as localised as she would have expected but spread in the Veil like a blanket of new snow.

She walked around the car to look for clues. Something crunched beneath her boots – for a moment she thought it the snow, but it had melted and turned to slush around the car. She looked down. The ground ahead of her was littered by tiny shards of glass; what little of the car's side windows had escaped the blast. She leant over to pick up one of the larger ones, perhaps the size of her thumb, careful not to cut itself. Rather than being perfectly clear, or even covered in soot, it had a faint pinkish tint. Blood? What with all the mysterious interference, she couldn't make out any residual power, except – her fingers prickled, burned, on the glass. This tiny little shard was coated in magic. Bethany dropped it like a hot coal, took a few steps back. "Cullen!" she called out. "Can you feel this?"

The ex-templar came up to her side, reached for the shard without touching it, and sprung back as if a viper had bit him. "I can, blight it. Step back, Hawke."

"It's too late for that. It's red lyrium dust, Cullen. The bomb was dirty. This must be spread all over town by now." Her eyes widened. What about the medics, the soldiers that had cleared the bodies from the area, all the gawkers? Even small quantities of unrefined lyrium dust could be harmful to humans, even lethal. And who could say what the red stuff would do?

"We should get inside. Quarantine the town." Already, he grabbed her by the arm and quickly led her inside the adjoining police station. A couple of Leliana's agents were guarding the door, clearly made nervous by the bombing, but waved them through as they entered. The metal detector beeped violently as they passed through, but was ignored. "You there, lieutenant! Seal the doors and windows. Nothing comes in or out without my express permission. Hawke, take off your boots; they're contaminated." As she complied, he turned back to the lieutenant he'd addressed, who was now watching them from wide, fearful eyes. "We have a thaumo-chemical hazard situation. Give out a general alert to all forces in Haven, have them seal off the town and get us a clean-up crew. Is there somewhere we can contact the others in the chantry?"

When the lieutenant finally managed to reply, there was a stutter in her voice. "There's a – there's a briefing room with a secure, secure line upstairs. It's – it's the second door on the right off the stairs."

"Thank you. Have our boots decontaminated, but be careful not to get any of the stuff on your skin."

"Y-yes, ser."

They made their way upstairs, leaving behind some very confused Inquisition agents. "How serious is this?" Bethany asked as they stepped into a large briefing room; an oval redwood table lined by leather-backed chairs with a screen and a whiteboard on the wall. "Have you ever experienced something like this before?"

"Just once, sort of. During the … clean-up of the Gallows in Kirkwall, after Meredith's death. Once the fires died down a bit, we – that is, the relief troops from the other Accord states – sent in specialists in hazmat gear to rinse whatever remained with sulfuric acid, and then disposed of that in the usual manner. Thing is, we've no idea if that did it. A normal lyrium spill, yeah, that would have been enough. But the Gallows still aren't habitable. They did experiments with plants, and within days they all …"

Cullen broke off when a high scratching noise from the town-wide PA system shook the windows of the briefing room. "Safeguard, safeguard, safeguard. This is a general alert to all forces presently at Hector Quest. There has been a confirmed PINNACLE BROKEN ARROW outside Ravenloft. I repeat, we have a confirmed PINNACLE BROKEN ARROW. All personnel are advised to take appropriate precautions. Section leaders are to move to emergency command channels. Civilians are ordered to stay indoors and seal all doors and windows. Repeat, safeguard, safeguard, safeguard …"

They tore themselves off the broadcast. "You see a phone anywhere?"

"A landline? There, by the fern."

"Thanks." He stripped off his gloves and punched a couple of numbers into the phone – one of Leliana's earliest acts as 'head of IT' had been to create secure communication networks between the Inquisition's main buildings. They had all been encouraged to use those specially-protected landlines, rather than the commercial mobiles they had all been issued with. Bethany wasn't quite certain whether that meant the mobiles were more or less secure than Leliana's phones.

"Josephine, this is Cullen. I'm at – yeah, she's with me. Are you at the chantry?" He listened for an instant, then covered the mouthpiece with his hand and hissed "she's with Leliana" to her.

"What about Cassandra?" she hissed back with a frown. The three women had headed off towards the same direction, after all.

"Listen, Josephine, do you know where – are you sure? Beatrice Camp, alright. She's probably stranded somewhere halfway in between; I'll try her phone. For now, just remain calm and – alright, give me Leliana." There was a pause. Bethany huddled closer to Cullen to make out some of the conversation. Annoyed, the ex-templar looked for the speaker button and found it.

"… imperative that we detain the bomber or bombers immediately and find out who's behind this. Unrefined lyrium is hard to come by these days, they must have significant backers. Quarantining the town, was that your idea? I get what you're trying to do, but it's not making things any easier. Right now, we need to fly in RFA specialists to help with the decon; until then, we're pretty much stuck. Lyrium doesn't dissipate and remains lethally toxic for years without protective gear. The radiation might be an issue in the long term, although I'd have to take readings to see if it's more dangerous than the Breach was. Get in touch with Dr de la Ferre. Perhaps the elf, Solas, or the Tevinter might have some insight, as well. I'll try to find Warden Blackwall; his power armour should protect him from the lyrium. Other than that, we're under siege, and I suggest people get comfortable in whatever buildings they're bunkered down until Ferelden can send decon teams."

"Hang on, hang on," Cullen interrupted, finally getting a word in. "How do you even know all this?"

Bethany couldn't tell over the somewhat crackling connection if the noise Leliana made in reply was a sneer or a chuckle. "I'll remind you that I am, a) a decorated Blight veteran and b) a graduate of the Imperial College of Bards. You ever heard of the Grinder Program?"

"No?"

"Exactly. I've got more survival experience under my belt than you and all your people put together, pretty boy, and don't you forget it." Her tone shifted to a more conciliatory note. "More presently, you need to put your forces on high alert. Find some of my people and have them run SIGINT checks of our perimeter. I fully expect a follow-up attack at this point."

"There's nothing we can do about that. I'd need to get my people out onto the streets, expose them to the lyrium. There's a westerly breeze; most of the town and the camps will be covered in the red stuff by now."

"Chance it, if you have to. They're expendable. Nightingale out." Before Cullen had a chance to reply and make his indignation at that suggestion heard, Leliana hung up and the dial tone echoed through the small briefing room.

"Typical," Cullen murmured after a moment and hung up. "I hate that she's right, though."

"Our people are not expendable," Bethany protested, and was surprised at how hollow those words sounded. Ella was dead, as were at least five others, and no one seemed to care. Just as no one had seemed to care when they had murdered Lance Serjeant Avery.

The ex-templar looked up at her, seeming somewhat bemused, as if she'd only just entered the room. "No, of course not. But she's right about a follow-up attack. A car bomb to get people off the streets, isolate us and sow confusion, then the main strike. It makes perfect sense, and I did exactly what they wanted, damn it."

"We don't even know who 'they' are, or if they even exist," she objected. "This might just be one of those looney Breach cultists. They must be mad that we killed their god this morning."

"With red lyrium at their disposal? I doubt it. They're annoying, but mostly harmless. Could be renegade templars or mages. Could be Tevinter or the Qunari. Maybe we pissed off the Carta, who knows. I suppose it's too early to make accusations."

"Let's get to work then. You phone Blackwall and tell him to get his arse in steel and I'll see if I can convince Leliana's goons to work their black magic."

"Poor choice of word, right there. I'm on it."

Bethany left him alone to make his calls. The main office lay just off the conference room. There was no guard at the door, but when she entered she was stopped by a middle-aged elf in a dark suit. "Excuse me, ma'am, does Lady Nightingale know you're in here?"

She gave him an offish glance. "I don't know if you've noticed, but we've got an emergency going on."

"And I've got highly classified material on half of those screens. I can't let you in here without approval."

Bethany frowned. "I'm pretty sure I've got clearance. I mean, I've been here before without any problems. I'm the – I'm the blasted Herald of Andraste, damn it."

"Regardless, ma'am, without Lady …"

Another agent stepped up to them – a dwarf with a short, shaggy beard and a shaven head decorated with extensive tattoos. "If word got out that we don't serve at the pleasure of this young lady, half our staff would work out, Tariel. Get back to work."

The elf was caught somewhere in between a glower and a swallow. He settled on a "yes, ser." The dwarf reached out a fleshy hand for her to shake. "Cadash," he said, and it took her a moment to realise that was his name. "We met before. How can the IT department be of service?"

"Ah, right. I just got off the phone with Leliana. She wants you to watch our perimeter, keep an eye out for a follow-up attack."

He nodded. "On it. Come." Without a further word he led her through the main room – Bethany couldn't resist the temptation to sneak a few glances at the classified material Tariel had mentioned, though she couldn't interpret most of what she saw – and to a small room adjoining Leliana's. office. Like the conference room she'd just left, this one was also dominated by a long, oval table, but she suspected that the screens lined up at its head were more important. A tingle ran down her spine; Bethany felt reminded of pictures she had seen in the news or in movies, of the war room in Val Royeaux' imperial palace.

Cadash opened a laptop and a couple of clicks later the screens sprung to life, each showing a different picture. The dwarf pointed at the first. "Satellite imagery," he explained. "We've rented one unit from the Accord's Bellarmine network. Put it in geostationary orbit above Haven. Bloody expensive business. One image every minute, at 13cm resolution. Don't really have the analysts to do shit with them, so it's a bit of a waste."

"I see. What am I looking at here?" She could vaguely make out some dark shapes in a grey-ish field that might have been the town, but Bethany had no idea what she was looking for.

The dwarf grabbed a laser pointer and roughly circled the collection of dark shapes. "Here's Haven." Cadash pointed at a number of slightly brighter shapes surrounding the town. Snow-covered roofs, apparently. "Observation posts. Snowed in, obviously. Anything out there, these guys radio us first," he explained before trailing off to inspect the image in more detail. Clearly, it was as new to him as it was to her. Finally, he zoomed in on one corner of the image. There didn't seem to be anything extraordinary about it.

"There, see that?" Cadash circled a couple of dark spots, some barely larger than a pixel, with his laser pointer. They were arranged in a sort of wiggly line.

"Can you, like, enhance it?"

"Who do you think I am, Jeannette la Bonde?" He hummed lowly to himself. "Could be people."

"Or dust on the camera," she objected.

"We'll see. Lemme just bring up a more recent picture … here we go."

Even knowing what to look for, Bethany didn't see anything. "Can you zoom in again?"

"No need for that. Look, there they are."

She followed his pointer and stepped closer to the screen, much closer. Indeed, there were the dots again. "They've moved."

"Hmm." Without a reply, Cadash set down his pointer and reached for one of the corded phones set into the conference table. He started to punch in a number, then stopped. There was no dial tone. "Line's dead."

Muttering a curse beneath her breath, Bethany pulled out her mobile phone. Secure line or not, it'd have to work. Yet again she was disappointed when the phone failed to recognise a carrier. This was unusual – despite the mountainous location, the popular pilgrimage site of Haven tended to have excellent reception. "Do you think someone might be sabotaging us?" she finally asked Cadash.

"Not even a doubt. Radio won't be working, either. Still got the PA system left."

"That's not enough. We need to warn our perimeter watch posts, right? Make sure none of those people get anywhere close the town. Well, the watch posts are too far for the PA system; I need to go there myself. It's watch posts Reville, Serault and Thérése, correct?"

"Gonna be near one of those," the dwarf confirmed, raising an eyebrow. She gave him a quick nod, then turned on her heel, laying a hand on her staff. "Good luck!" Cadash called after her as she sped out of Leliana's kingdom without looking back.

Cullen came to meet her by the entrance. "Phone lines are dead. They're jamming us."

"I know," she said, breathlessly, slipping on her coat. "You were right, we've got incoming to the south-west. At least half a dozen people, maybe more. I'm going out there, try to find the others."

"The hell you are. How long were you out there, anyway, trying to heal the wounded – five minutes? Ten? There's gotta be at least a seventy rems in the air out there. More than enough to get radiation poisoning, or worse. You've already touched the lyrium, you shouldn't expose yourself even more. I'll go."

"Out of the question. The Inquisition can't afford to lose – to have both of us injured. Besides, we need you to work on organising a response. I'll try to make it to Watch Post Serault before the attackers reach them; I should be able to give a visual signal to Reville and Thérése from there." Turning towards the door, she buttoned up her cloak and raised its collar. Then, on a sudden intuition, she removed the red silk sash looped around her waist and draped it round her neck, so that it covered her mouth and nose. "I'm going."

Cullen grabbed her arm. "Hawke, you know I can't allow you to endanger yourself like that. If you try to leave …"

He trailed off, caught by her glare, and she shook her arm free. "Then what? You'll Smite me?"

His eyes went wide and he retreated. Her words had struck a blow, and she immediately regretted them. Awkwardly, she tried to say something, but her mouth opened and closed and no words came out. Then, she turned and walked out the door.

Icy sleet greeted her, whipping against her face. She pulled the sash over her face higher, tried to keep her head down, but still her eyes started tearing up almost instantly. The sludge beneath her feet had been transformed to mud and half-frozen puddles squishing under her boots. And all, she realised with trepidation, was tainted with miniscule particles of red lyrium, highly toxic even in the smallest quantities … she shuddered, looked around. The streets were deserted. Grateful for small mercies, Bethany stuffed her hands deep into the pockets of her coats and stomped off in what she was pretty sure was the right direction.

She made her way down High Street, past deserted storefronts and brightly-lit homes. Alone for the first time since she had been summoned to see – see Ella's corpse this morning, she tried to arrange her thoughts. That morning – she could barely recall that morning, even though it had just been a couple of hours ago. Indeed, she still wasn't entirely sure what had happened. When she had stood over Ella's cold and lifeless body … there had been nothing. She hadn't cried, as she had over father, over Carver, lately over mother. She hadn't even been angry, hadn't sworn revenge or vowed to find her killer. If she was honest with herself – and in the face of the bitterly cold sleet raining down on her, it was hard not to – she hadn't felt anything at all. Resignation, maybe, a distinct sense of unease. Grief? No.

And yet, Ella had been her friend, she knew that for a fact. They'd been together almost every day for years; they'd worked and eaten, argued and gossiped together. They had been friends. What kind of monster felt nothing at the death of a friend?

"Who goes there?"

Almost instinctively, her hand went for the staff at her side, only to realise that she had it clipped to her belt, underneath the coat. Then, she relaxed; the unnaturally broad, hulking shape that had appeared from the snow in front of her could only belong to one person in this town. "It's me, Warden Blackwall. What are you doing out here?"

"Keeping an eye on the perimeter." The warden's voice filtered through his helmet with a metallic twang to it. "My suit should protect me against the lyrium, but … you really shouldn't be out here."

She ignored the comment. He was right, of course; small though the bomb had been, there was a good chance the wind had spread red lyrium particles throughout the town. But she wasn't going to let that stop her. "I need to get to watch post Serault," she explained. "Leliana's people say it's where the attackers are headed."

"Then we need to get there first." He looked out over the valley. What with the snowstorm, Bethany could barely see past her outstretched hand, but she was fairly certain which direction they had to go in. "Follow me, Lady Herald. Try to walk in my footsteps; my suit should compress the snow."

In truth, what Blackwall's heavy steel boots seemed to do was rather closer to melting the snow than compressing it, so that by the time Bethany thought better of it, her shoes and socks were soaked in icy water. Soon, her feet starting burning like fire, before going numb entirely. Bethany grit her teeth and marched on.

She would, later on, not be able to tell whether they had walked for an hour, a day, or just ten minutes. The strongly falling snow seemed to kill all perception of time, turning the world into a monotonous world of white. She could see so little it came as a surprise to her when Blackwall finally halted in front of her and drew some sort of gun that would probably have qualified as a full-sized rifle in an unarmoured person's hand from a long holster at his hip. "Someone should have met us by now," he muttered through the speakers of his helmet.

"Maybe they didn't see us, considered that?" She had crossed her arms tightly across her chest to plunge her hands deep into her armpits for a bit of warmth. The gloves didn't help much, and Bethany was cursing herself for having left the warm, heavy army surplus boots the Inquisition had issued her for combat at the hostel. What with the road up to the Temple of Sacred Ashes having been cleared for cars weeks ago, she hadn't even considered the possibility of having to go hiking through the snow when getting dressed that morning.

"With communications down, they should be on full alert. Conditions like this, that means thermal goggles. My armour gets pretty damn hot, it should show up nicely against the snow. No, something's wrong."

Stiff-fingered, Bethany reached for her staff. Still underneath the coat, right. No way was she taking that off right now. "Let's have a look."

Watch post Serault was somewhat more fortified than the other watch posts ringing the village of Haven, on account of being a repurposed alpine hut. Here, far from the disruption of village traffic, a thick layer of snow had already settled on the roof of the low, wooden blockhouse, and the benches and tables that in the summer provided a welcome rest for mountaineers, hikers and pilgrims alike were barely distinguishable under their snow blanket. Bethany had been here, once, in the weeks leading up to the Conclave, with some acquaintances from Redcliffe eager to get away from the Temple and the omnipresent templars, functionaries and diplomats. There were some prominent new additions to the hut: a complicated-looking and nearly snow-free array of cameras, satellite dishes and other instruments on the roof, a small metal observation tower next to the hut, quite unlike the hunters' perches dotting the woods around here …

Not a soul was in sight. The hut's small, milky windows were dark. "I don't like this. Let's have a look inside." Blackwall went first. He had to fight the door a bit on account of the snow, but it was unlocked. With a quiet twang a torch mounted to the side of his helmet lit, bathing the interior of the hut in a pale white light …

"Demon!" He brought up his rifle and fired. Bethany could barely see past his hulking figure, let alone fight, so she stuck to the wall of the hut and tried to shield her eardrums from the roar of the Warden's gun. Rat-tat-tat-ta … He only stopped firing once his magazine was empty. Then, he said: "Come in here, Herald. You ought to see this."

Hesitantly, she followed him inside the hut. She almost slipped on empty shell casings, looked for a light switch and found one. When the bare lightbulb dangling from the ceiling flickered on, she saw her worst expectations confirmed. The demon had made short work of the garrison, and its remains mixed with those of the Inquisition agents on floorboards slick with blood. A sickening smell lay in the thick, warm air. So much for drying her feet.

"How'd the demon get here?" Bethany wondered. "There's no rift nearby, no disturbance in the Fade …" She glanced around, tried to focus. No sign of mages, no staves … with a quick gesture, she drew a simple forensic spell in the air. The Veil shifted slightly under her analysis, stretched, in a sense, to make it easier to read. Nope, noting. Apart from the disturbance caused by the bloodshed, there was no sign of any magic having been used at all. "They didn't summon it themselves."

"In other words, we're dealing with summoners here."

"Summoners who build car bombs? Yikes. As if the normal variety wasn't bad enough." She shivered a little. Closing the door would be an option, but that would also stop the air from circulating. "Do you see a radio anywhere? We need to at least warn the other watch posts."

"Over here." Blackwall moved over to a small green box with a whole bunch of buttons, dials and plugs on the front. Experimentally, he tried a couple of them. The result was the same all across the spectrum: silence. "Dead."

Bethany sighed, shifted her weight from one numb foot to the other. "Blast it … what else can we do? If they've got one demon, they might have more. Dozens, hundreds even. And they'll be moving on Haven."

"Which is still under quarantine," Blackwall concluded, "so they aren't ready to defend themselves. We need to get back there, mount a defence. Evacuate civilians, if possible. Any ideas?"

"One, maybe. Let me have a look outside … she paused, her hand on the door frame. "Uh, do you know Morse code? I was thinking I could use magic lights to signal something …"

"I can see what you mean, yeah. But …" They stepped outside. The path whence they had come to their left, Haven slightly farther along to the right. Behind a dense group of tall pines. The Warden sighed. "Well, looks like we'll need to go around, after all."

"Oh joy of joys." She paused. What about the other watch posts? There were no footprints, even covered ones, anywhere in the snow around them. Any army that did not consist entirely of demons would have broken through in multiple places. "Alright, let's move." For an instant, she entertained the idea of asking Blackwall to carry her down piggy-back, then she thought better of it.

The way back down to Haven, no doubt, was faster, but also far more treacherous. Every now and then, the massive weight of Blackwall in his armour cut loose rocks beneath the snow or caused small avalanches. Bethany found it hard to keep up with him at times, although she narrowly avoided a fall on several occasions. By the time they reached the outlying houses of the village, the snowstorm had abated slightly.

The streets were as deserted as they had been before. "The chantry," Bethany told her companion. "That's where Leliana and Josephine are. Cullen should be with them, too. If not, we can call him from there."

She was not mistaken. A small number of civilians and agents had found their way into the chantry – some, there since morning to give thanks for the closing of the Breach, others passerbys whom the curfew had stranded in the chantry. They were gathered in the main nave of the building. Inquisition agents and Mother Giselle's people were parcelling out coffee. In the faint light breaking through cracks in the snow blanket covering the building's glass ceiling, their faces looked pallid and otherworldly. Bethany pulled the mother aside. "Are the others here? The councillors, I mean."

"In the back room."

"Thank you, mother. Could I … if you could somehow find me fresh socks and a new pair of boots? Mine are soaked through. Uh, size seven."

"Of course, my child. I'll see what I can do. Give me the ones you're wearing, I'll put them out to dry." Quickly, Bethany sat on a nearby pew and stripped off first her boots, then her socks. She had some difficulty with that; wet, they had shrunken slightly and clung to her skin. Once she was finally free of them, she'd have liked nothing better than to put them up on a heater and massage them until she could feel her toes again, but there was no time for that. She tried out the polished wood floor, and found she left a faint trail of water on it. Oh, well. "Thank you."

Blackwall had stepped out of his suit of armour, which he had now parked by the chantry's entrance. She was mildly surprised to see him not wearing the blue flight suit-like garment he normally wore when armoured up, but rather a rolled-up red plaid shirt and jeans. She had to grin, the "grizzled lumberjack" look worked. "Something funny?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Oh, nothing. Let's see the others."

The 'war room' at the back of the chantry was packed to bursting. Besides Leliana, Josephine, and Cullen, Cassandra had found her way here, and so had Vivienne, Dorian and Solas, Varric and Sera, and a towering Qunari in an ill-fitting Llomerryn shirt she'd not met before. For an instant she wondered what he was doing here; then she recalled that Cullen had mentioned something about a deal they'd made with some sort of private military contractor, commanded by a Qunari. What was his name, Steel Ox or something? No, that sounded racist. Apart from them, however, there were all of the councillors' aides and a number of other officers, some of whom she had worked with in the past.

And finally, there was an unholy cacophony of people shouting over each other.

Lavellan peaked up when she entered and came to meet her. "Good to see you, boss. I was wondering if I'd see you again. Nice job with the Breach, by the by. Glad we're done with that."

She had to chuckle. "Good thing we've got a new crisis coming. I was almost getting bored."

"That's my girl. Come." Somehow, Lavellan cut her a path to the map table at the centre of the room, and without punching anyone, too.

All eyes turned to Bethany when she stepped up to it. "Well?" Cullen challenged. "What's going on up there?"

She took a deep breath. "Our people at watch post Serault were massacred by a demon. A shade. We're dealing with summoners, and they're probably on the way here."

Someone bolted out of the room to transmit that information, but for the most part the people in it returned to their previous chaos. "Quiet!" Cassandra shouted, trying to make herself heard. "Quiet, damn it!" If anyone even heard her, they made no sign of it. "Quiet!" the Seeker repeated over a dozen private arguments on how to proceed. "Quiet, for grace's sake …"

She got her wish when one of the offending officers froze – literally. A thin coating of frost had come over the man's body and yet held him entirely, finer and more precise than anything Bethany could ever have accomplished. She looked around for who might have cast the spell, and saw Madame Vivienne languidly flourishing her staff. The room had gone silent. "I simply cannot abide such inconsiderateness. Please, dear, do continue."

The Seeker gave Vivienne a wary glance as the frozen officer slowly began to thaw. Bethany doubted any real damage had been done, but he would probably be rather more quiet in the future. Then, with a grunt, Cassandra turned to Cullen. "Commander, what do you suggest? Can we hold them off?"

"That's not a question I can answer right now. We don't even know who we're dealing with, what sort of forces they have at their disposal, where they are right now … Leliana, why didn't we have more intel? Surely a demon army should be difficult to hide on satellite imagery."

"You'd be surprised. I've had an agent watching the images as they came in – at a three minute delay – and they didn't see anything. It's possible …"

Solas broke her off, a proud smile playing around his pencil-thin lips. "Even in corporeal form, spirits are never truly part of our reality. The eye and mind are difficult to fool without direct application of magic, but manipulating a camera that only perceives the world as a monochrome plane is simpler. A skilled mage could well have cloaked his spirits."

The look Leliana gave him could have slain a high dragon. "Yes," she drawled, "thank you for your wisdom. I was unaware you also had twenty years' worth of experience in intelligence. Please, do enlighten us again." Sarcasm done with, she returned her attention to Cullen. "Until we can get actual eyes on the enemy, we have to assume they're there. I recommend you have your people take up defensive positions around the town until we can call for backup."

"That's the plan. I've got people seeing to it right now …" He sighed, shook his head in frustration. "I guess we'll just have to wait and see which way they're coming from."

"All of them?" Bethany suggested. "I mean, summoning demons isn't easy, but once you've got the hang of it it's just a matter of time. They may well outnumber us significantly."

"True, but there can be no such thing as an army entirely of demons. You simply couldn't control them. You need mages spread throughout the army."

Josephine crossed her arms, confused. "But the only ones I can think of who'd have that sort of capability are the Imperium, and they wouldn't possibly dare openly invade Ferelden like this just to attack us. Certainly not right now, with their archontal election in just a few weeks."

"Well, what about the rebel mages? If those that turned marauders and the remaining discontents in Redcliffe joined forces …"

"I'm not seeing it. It'd be like herding drakes – there's at least five dozen different factions right now, and they usually hate each other more than they hate the templars. There's simply no way you could form an army out of those, unless you, say, also had a bunch of templars to keep order among them. But they'd never accept that."

Bethany couldn't help but concede the point. Even those mages she'd lived and worked with in Redcliffe had hardly ever agreed on anything. The closest thing they'd had to a leader had been Grand Enchanter Fiona, but she was safe at Bexley Airbase, and even she had faced considerable opposition from Anders' more … rabid followers. She'd long stopped raising her eyebrows at hearing or reading the usual vitriol they directed at the grand enchanter.

"Who does that leave, though?" Josephine asked. "I can just about see the Qunari invading Ferelden if they thought it important enough, but they'd never summon demons to do their dirty work."

"Hmm. How are our relations with Par Vollen, come to think of it?"

"What relations? I made some initial overtures, and they were very polite before proceeding to ignore us completely. For all intents and purposes, we don't seem to matter to them. As for Tevinter, well, Archon Radonis has been busy campaigning for his chosen successor, Magister Aurarius. They've both taken the opportunity to mock us as 'hare-brained southerners running scared at a bit of fireworks' in their stump speeches, but what few relations we've had through diplomatic channels has been cordial. Pleasant, even."

Cassandra leant forwards, over the table. "We can worry about who's behind this later," she pointed out. "Assuming we survive this. Now, Cullen, I'm going to have to commandeer some of your people. And vehicles, too. I'm going to evacuate the civilians in the town and take them to Bexley."

"Bexley are overcrowded as it is. Any more people and we're going to run into serious issues up there."

"It's better than having them get in the way once the fighting starts. If we form a convoy, we shouldn't have any trouble breaking through on the B85, even if we face some opposition."

Cullen sighed. "Alright, fair point. Take what you need. Be quick about it, though. We don't know how much time we have." Then, he turned to Bethany. "You should go with her, Hawke. We can't afford to lose you." With his voice raised, he added: "The same goes for everyone else who isn't expendable. That includes you, Madame de la Ferre, and Josephine."

"Well, I'm not going anywhere," Vivienne responded instantly, without so much as batting an eye. "The demon who would kill me has yet to materialise."

"I'm staying as well," Bethany added, to Josephine's vigorous nods. "If the worst should come to pass, we can always evacuate later."

"Maker willing …" Cullen murmured, but Leliana and Cassandra both agreed with them, even as the latter already moved to leave the room. "Alright then. Get to work. Trevelyan, I want you to accompany the Seeker, help organise."

"Yes, ser."

"The rest of you, listen up. Our top priority is going to be to buy the civilians time to evacuate, and leave ourselves an escape route. That means we have to keep the way down to the B85 open." With a few taps on the map table's controls, Cullen drew up a map of Haven. "I want people here, here, and here. Bear in mind we still don't have radio contact. We'll set up our HQ here at the chantry and use the town's PA system to relay orders. Reports back to command – and anything we can't entrust to the PA system – will have to be handled by despatch runners. Is that clear? Good. Now, it's a good thing we got back in bed with the mages and templars when we did … never thought I'd say that, but still. They're going to be vital to fighting back, especially considering the enemy likely has mages of their own. Now, they're going to …"

Mid-sentence, Cullen was interrupted by the telltale sounds of far-off gunshots. "They're here," he abruptly finished. "Everyone to your posts. Whoever they may be, keep them away from the civilians!"

Rapidly, the crowd in the war room dissolved. Bethany, too, made her way outside, though not before being stopped by Mother Giselle with fresh pairs of socks and boots. They didn't fit all that well, but if it would mean her feet would be warm, she'd take them all the same, and happily too. Glancing out from the chantry, where the snow had not covered the sloping, tent-shaped glass roof, everything seemed in perfect order, but the sounds of gunfire continued unabated. This time, Bethany remembered to unbutton her coat and unclip her staff from her belt; she'd have to either hold it in hand or keep it in her coat pocket until she needed it.

Varric and the Qunari in the Llomerryn shirt met her by the exit. "Sunshine! Let me introduce you to my newest drinking buddy. Bull, meet Bethany Hawke, saviour of us all. Sunshine, this is The Iron Bull, from Matador International – the merc group."

"Of course, PMC would be the more modern term to use," the Qunari said. His voice was surprisingly pleasant, suave even; a far cry from the Qunari she'd met in Kirkwall whose only mode of communication appeared to have been grunts and monosyllabics. "But I've never been very concerned about words. It's great to finally meet my boss." He reached out a massive hand, and Bethany felt equal parts proud and guilty that she only hesitated slightly before shaking it.

"Likewise. I'm not your boss, though. Cullen is, right?"

The Qunari shrugged, causing an impressive series of geological shifts in the mountain range that was his chest. The buttons of his brightly flowered and utterly unseasonable shirt were straining under the gesture. "And you're his boss. Oh, don't gimme that look, it's true. Might not be on the business card, but they all answer to me."

She gave a faint smile. Sure, whatever he wanted to believe. "I'll take your word for it. Shall we?"

"Just waiting for you to ask."

It was easy enough to find some demons to kill, and soon the three of them were in position at a rudimentary defensive position some of Cullen's people had set up outside an apothecary's. To Bethany's relief, there were no mages with them, or indeed any other people – both because this meant she would not have to kill yet again, and because it meant the demons were uncoordinated. Something behind their lines was pushing them down the mountains towards the town of Haven, forcing them to fight, but whatever that was did not take any further care into how they fought. Or whom. For every attack against the Inquisition's forces, they seemed to be killing two of their own, leaving them to wipe up the remainder. Shades, wraiths, the occasional terror – nothing more powerful than that.

"Sunshine … anything about this feel off to you, too?"

She paused mid-spell and glanced over to the dwarf. "They're holding back. Anyone capable of summoning so many demons and building dirty car bombs can do way better than this."

"Agreed," the Iron Bull confirmed next to them, shouting over the gunfire as best he could. "If they'd really meant to surprise us, they'd have hit us with all they've got – these bastards are cannon fodder, nothing more!"

"Besides, it doesn't really mesh. First we've got a car bomb and jammed comms, and now a massed assault by a demon army like it's the Ancient Age again? I kinda feel like I'm back in that forgotten thaig we found again …" The dwarf dived out of cover to loose another bolt from Bianca. He really needn't have bothered; the demons were all but ignoring them. "Whoever's behind this is seriously schizophrenic."

"Powerful, though," she objected. "Getting the red lyrium for the bomb is one thing, but you need some serious magical chops to pull off this kind of thing."

"So, Sunshine, any theories? My money's on the Vints. No? What about you, Bull?"

Once again, the Qunari shrugged. Bethany had never been very fond of his people, but she had to admit there was something fascinating about that. Had he purposefully selected a shirt several sizes too small for him? "Fuck if I know," he said, a gleam in his eyes. "Really haven't the faintest idea. This is fun, isn't it? We'll get to meet a whole new bunch of people to kill."

"Very uplifting that …"

It was rather surreal: soon, there was demon residue and veline matter wherever one looked, and yet they were laughing and shooting banter back and forth more than actual bullets. Bethany had been in her fair share of fights, and she'd never felt so let down by one. "This can't be all," she muttered, not for the first time, when Cullen gave an all-clear over the town's PA system and ordered officers to report back to the chantry. "There's got to be more to this."

Her companions agreed. "If there's one thing running with your sister taught me, it's that there's no such thing as a lucky break. We get back out here, we'll be up to our neck in shit."

"Your neck or mine?" the Qunari asked.

"Mine, but I intend to sit on your shoulders."

They entered the chantry to find the Inquisition's officers gathered around Cullen, who was on the phone. Sera came up to her as she entered. "Leliana here got us a satellite uplink. They're on the phone with the army now or something." A grin came upon the elf's face. "I like her. Scary as fuck, but she knows her stuff."

That pretty much summed it up, Bethany had to admit, and stepped closer to Cullen to listen in. "… appears to be under control for now. We've beaten back the enemy forces along our perimeter – bit of a break … yes. Yes, prime minister, that is correct. We've launched a convoy to evacuate the civilians to Bexley AB. Of course we understand how much your government has already done for us, but … yes, thank you. And we'll need clean-up teams from your military before we can restore operations in Haven. Between the dirty bomb and the fighting … the Veil was already thin to begin with. … Why yes, of course we want to restore operations here. Bexley is already tasked to capacity. … Listen, prime minister, just because the Herald has closed the Breach, we're not yet in the clear. Whoever is mounting this attack on us … yes, of course, we're on Fereldan soil, but it's clear you weren't the target of this … prime minister? Prime Minister Guerrin?"

Cullen looked up at them. "He hung up on me. He actually hung up on me."

"I told you, you should've let me do the talking." Josephine tapped her tablet in contemplation. "It's understandable, I suppose. The Inquisition has all but taken over about a quarter of his country on every level of government. With the Breach closed, we may very well find our support running dry very quickly indeed."

"But the job is not yet done," Bethany objected, puzzled. "Surely they must see that. Even if there weren't still rifts all over the place, Thedas is still at war with itself. Ferelden is no exception."

"No doubt Eamon feels confident enough at this point that he can scale down his government's involvement. With the mages and templars more or less pacified, he'll want to turn his efforts towards clean-up and the restoration of peace and order in Ferelden."

"There's a fucking demon army in his country, for crying out loud!"

"Not anymore, there isn't. Best we can tell, there's nothing else in the vicinity. We're just mopping up survivors, then …" Once again, an explosion shook the chantry. By now, Cullen merely gave a resigned sigh. "Oh, never mind. Back to your posts, everyone."

Again, they hurried outside. This time, there were no gunshots. No sounds of fighting. There wasn't even a prickle in the Fade, not beyond what had plagued the town ever since the car bomb this morning. "What's going on?" she asked, more to herself than to her companions, as they sprinted down high street towards their previous position. It was deserted. Even the soldiers who'd held it before had disappeared without a trace.

"Don't ask me, Sunshine. There's not going to be another demon army, is there? Because the last one didn't work out so well … holy mother of Andraste, what the fuck?"

For an instant, a deep and massive shadow had come across them, blotting out the sun, and then a sudden gale of air so strong it nearly pushed them off their feet. Bethany looked up at the skies, but whatever it was, it had disappeared as suddenly as it had come. "Anyone else smell that?" the Iron Bull asked, even as Bethany was still watching the skies for whatever had flown across them. "Fire. Something's burning." He sniffed. "Fuck, what a stench. Like burning rubber."

"I'm suddenly glad I've got the sniffles …" Sera murmured. "Can't smell a thing. Oi, Hawke, what do you think that was?"

"I don't know," she admitted. "Some kind of plane, maybe?"

"We'd have heard that. Planes are loud. This was almost like a … oh, fucking hell."

The thing had reappeared after making a wide swerve over the mountains, and the closer it came, the more Bethany had to agree with Varric. That was no plane. Every now and then, it beat its pair of massive, jagged wings, approaching them at breakneck speed. And then it was upon them. Bethany got the briefest vision of a gigantic high dragon, covered head to tail in jagged, irregular black scales, its wings torn and punctured. A sickly red glow emanated from what appeared to be a gap between the scales on its chest and throat, and its eyes and maw likewise glowed red. Without even reaching out, Bethany could feel the overwhelming power coursing through this creature's veins, and could feel the corruption tearing at the fabric of the Veil.

With a small quake, shaking loose avalanches of snow, the dragon awkwardly perched down right above them, on the hostel's roof. The shingles beneath its paws cracked almost instantly under the weight, but it paid them no heed. Rather, it turned its massive neck down, towards them, towards Bethany. Half crawling, half descending, it lowered itself down from its perch until it was almost level with them. And approaching, in slow, measured steps that made the snow beneath its massive paws steam.

This was it, Bethany thought, unable to break eye contact with the beast as it peered at them now from its left, now from its right eye. Either looked menacing enough on its own. Soon, any moment now, it would open its jaws and either reach out to devour them whole – or perhaps in two bites for the Iron Bull – or simply dispose with them equally quickly using its magic breath.

"Quiet," Varric whispered to her side, but he may as well have spoken to a statue. "No sudden movements. I got this, we've fought dragons before. Just don't frighten it …"

"Love to hear that story," the Iron Bull replied just as quietly. All three of them seemed frozen under the high dragon's spell. "Guess it falls under 'incentive to survive this shit'."

"Less jokes, more saving all our lives, please," Sera hissed.

Bethany closed her eyes. With all her magic, there was no way she could withstand the wrath of a grown high dragon. She'd never believed the stories that her sister had killed one, fanciful as they were. She could feel the beast's scalding breath on her face; it stank of rotten flesh and char. Stay calm, Bethany, she told herself. You've lived this long by others' grace, the least you could do is go out with a bit of dignity …

The dragon withdrew.

Aghast, her eyes fluttered open, and she was thrown back into the snow when it flapped its wings and took off, roaring hoarsely. "What the …" Her eyes widened as she realised what was going to happen. "Move! Everyone get to cover!"

She bolted just in time to avoid the fireball that exploded mere centimetres from where she had stood just a second before. Stumbling blindly towards what she assumed was the apothecary's shop, she dodged another bout of flame – red as blood, an appallingly underoccupied part of her mind noted, red like lyrium – before stumbling over something soft she couldn't quite identify and falling flat on her face. She scrambled to her feet, tried to turn around –

She could not move a limb. Slowly, like a puppet on strings, she was pulled to her feet. Bethany could feel the magic burning on her skin – old, diffuse magic, more thought than science. It felt odd, bizarre, even – like a sort of tough gel enveloping her body and tightly keeping her limbs from moving. No sensible mage would use something like this when one could far more easily obstruct a handful of nerves.

A voice behind her – deep, cut and broken on shards of obsidian – spoke: "Enough." She knew that voice. The grasp on her body was released without further warning, and she fell to her knees. Her staff, where was it? Had she dropped … still on her knees, she whirled around, and looked in the face of a dead man. "Pretender. You toy with forces beyond your ken. No more …"

Bethany wanted nothing more than to seek Varric's eyes for reassurance and confirmation – confirmation that, yes, the creature before her was indeed who she thought it was. But she could not avert her eyes. It had the same twisted shape, that unholy mockery of all that was human, that here and there seemed to sketch out a person's face, a person's body, only to derail horrifically into the realm of the Blighted, the corrupted, the eldritch. Her eyes wide and her lips scarcely moving, she whispered: "Corypheus …"

The creature looked little different from when they had fought – when they had killed him at the abandoned Warden prison in the Vinmark Mountains. His tattered rags had been replaced by, if not actual clothing, then at least new rags, and he carried itself differently. He seemed … smaller. Where his eyes had once been milky, never quite looking at you, but always at some goal far in the distance or even outside this world, they were now small, furtive and suspicious. The jagged protrusions from his face were now gleaming like cut and polished obsidian, not covered in the dust of a millennium's sleep.

And he was upright, moving, speaking.

Finally, Bethany managed to tear off her eyes and glance over at Varric, held in a similar predicament and manifestly finding himself similarly surprised. "But … you're dead!" Bethany half-whispered, half-shrieked, a tremor in her voice. "We killed you. We … my sister bloody well killed you! How are you still alive?!"

She could not tell if the expression on Corypheus' face was a scornful snarl or not. "How little you know … ah, I remember you. The foolhardy little mageling who thought her pitiful magics could withstand Him who has defeated time and death – the Will that is Corypheus!"

He spread his bony arms. "No matter. You will kneel, one way or the other." He stepped towards her and, with scissor-like claws, rightly gripped her left arm by the wrist. He was tall, she noticed even as she cried out in pain. When he effortlessly dragged her up to his eye level, her feet were dangling in the air. Bethany tried to lash out as best she could, kick the cursed spawn – anything! – but her limbs would not react. Neither would her magic. She was all but paralysed; all she could do was watch from wide fearful eyes as Corypheus touched the tip of his left index finger's razor-sharp claw to her palm, where the Mark was located. "How quaint." With a languid drag of his fingernail he cut through her leather glove, then ripped it off to expose her bare palm. And suddenly, there was something in his hand that had not been before – a metal sphere about the size of a football, perfectly smooth except for two bands of ridges encircling it. It gave off a bronze sheen by the light of the dragon's fire – with a mere flick of his wrist, Corypheus cast a spell, and all of a sudden the sphere was enveloped in wafts of crimson magic, gathering for whatever he intended to do.

"I am here for the anchor. The process of removing it begin … now."

Her shoulder was burning under the weight of her body, but suddenly it seemed negligible next to the sharp jolt of pain which now shot through her arm as the Mark in Bethany's hand lit up like a torch. Unable to scream, she let out a whimper. Where was Varric, where had the others gone? She could not see nor hear them – she could feel magic rushing through her Mark, hot and untamed, dragging at her arm – escaping towards the bronze orb – her skin seemed to split open, though it did not, her bones fracture in three dozen different places, though it was fine, her brain burst in a cavalcade of disharmonic sounds and clashing colours … Bethany opened her mouth to scream, but nothing came out. Corypheus let go of her hand and she fell, hard, her legs collapsing under her until all she could do was cower in the snow weeping with pain.

"It is your own fault, 'Herald'. You interrupted a ritual years in the planning – and instead of dying, you stole its purpose. I do not know how you survived, but what marks you as touched – what you flail at rifts … I crafted to assault the Heavens." He beheld the sphere in his hand with scorn. "And you used the anchor to undo my work! The gall …"

Bethany shivered, convulsing in the snow, trying not to retch. "No …" she whispered, "that's a lie …" With considerable effort, she tried to push herself up to her feet, failed, and tried again. This time, she succeeded, stumbled backwards and reached for the apothecary's wall for support. Clenching her teeth to keep herself from screaming, Bethany glared up at Corypheus, and ground forth the words: "This mark, this … power … Andraste gave them to me. Chose me." Convulsing again as the relentless exodus of magic continued unabated – longer than she'd ever thought possible, though she could not for the life of her quantify the energy pulsing through her palm; was this going to kill her? Make her tranquil? No matter – Bethany shuddered, struggled for balance. "Now I know … why. You … you're nothing but evil itself. A-and … by Andraste's grace … I'll put you down. For good."

The expression on the monster's face might have been a smirk, or it might not. She could not tell, nor did she care. "Foolish child. Pray to your goddess if you must, pray all you like. Pray that I succeed, for I have seen the throne of the gods and it was … empty." Once again, Corypheus glanced at the sphere in his hand. "Cease your mewling, slave, the end is almost …" He halted. "This cannot …"

She did not grant him end that sentence. With what little mana yet remained in her drained body – her own magic, not the alien, no, divine power of the mark – she reached out her left hand, still bound to the orb by his abominable spell, formed her thoughts to a spear point, and commanded the very fabric of reality: push.

Bethany was thrown back, hit in the chest by all the force of a speeding truck, as around her walls crumbled, the Veil rippled with power, and the world exploded.

---

She awoke in darkness, covered by something heavy, and freezing cold. The Veil was fainter, looser than she'd ever seen, but still not quite torn. Voices whispered in her mind, singing sweet lullabies in long-forgotten tongues. Bethany could scarcely move her limbs, and left arm was numb with pain. With a grown, she struggled to free her other hand, put it against whatever was crushing her, and pushed it off her. Metal, by the feel of it, curved and polished smooth. She strained to sit up, almost immediately hit her head and summon a tiny light in her palm, scarcely larger than the flame of a match. The heavy object turned out to be a car door, and the darkness turned out to be owed to being buried underneath a toppled concrete wall. Miraculously, it had not crushed her.

Groaning, Bethany tried to feel her limbs – legs, arms, head; all still there and in working order. What had happened? She had tried to cast a spell, and then … she glanced at her left palm. The mark on it emitted a faint green glow, and – it seemed larger than it had been. Could that be right? No matter. With both hands, ignoring the pain, she tried to lift the concrete above her, but it would not budge. A small trickle of snow rained down on her head from a gap, where it almost immediately melted in her hair. Lovely.

She took a deep breath, gathered what magic she could. Luckily, it seemed that despite the pain in her mark, she had recovered her mana while she'd been unconscious. Somehow, she suspected the thinness of the Veil helped. How would she need to go about freeing herself? It was difficult to tell from underneath the collapsed wall, especially without being able to move very much. Suppose she just … cautiously, she reached out for the wall and slowly pushed it over. Almost immediately, she got a face full of powdery white snow, but to her great relief she could make out stars in the sky and the faint green glow that yet remained from the Breach. Issuing a silent prayer to the Maker in thanks, she wiped away the snow as best she could, set her feet against the wall, and complemented her magic with what strength her legs could muster. Finally, the slab of concrete flipped over on its edge and, in a resounding crash that raised enough snow to once again cover her face and set her eardrums ringing, fell to the ground.

For a minute or so, she lay there in complete stillness, in the snow, staring up at the night sky. How much time had passed? Last she remembered, it had been noon … she heard nothing but the wind, not even the crackling of a fire.

Finally, arduously, painfully, she pushed herself to her feet. On unsteady legs, she surveyed the devastation around her. The house she had woken up in had been swept away by the force of a massive explosion. How massive had it been? The house was located outside the town, overlooking Haven from the mountain slopes – not built here, but rather half-buried into the slope, as though it had been teleported here, if that were possible. Maker, how on earth had she survived this? By all rights, she should be dead right now, or at least far closer to the explosion's epicentre. The town itself had not been spared, either, but rather than causing concentric destruction as one might have expected it, the explosion had cast a truly bizarre pattern through Haven's buildings. Some houses had remained unscathed, while only rubble remained of those directly around them. Some had toppled towards the explosion's epicentre.

And all was illuminated by the sickly glow of a new rift.

Bethany could only stare in terror. Was this what she had wrought? How many had died today, by her hand; how many friends, how many innocents? Trembling, she raised her hand, looked at the mark imprinted on it. No, no her, at least not just. The orb Corypheus had used – whatever it was – had altered her spell, somehow, through the connection between it and the mark, had amplified it beyond all reason.

She wanted to run down the mountain, towards the town, to see what she had done and help whomsoever yet remained down there, but her legs would not move. Was that a scream, a cry for help, or was it just the wind? That, the shambling shape of a shade, or a wounded survivor looking for aid? Her legs would not move, try as she might. And, somehow, she knew there was nothing to go back for. There was a reason she had woken up where she had, so far away from the town, some sort of higher providence behind it …

She shivered, tried to summon a small flame to warm herself, and failed. Bethany took a deep breath, tried to focus. Maker, but the Veil was thin here … even without focusing, she could hear loud and clear the whispers from beyond. Some part of her wanted to reach out to them, but as always she forbade herself. This much was clear: she could not remain here.

Once again she looked out over the town. There was nothing to indicate survivors; hopefully, Cassandra had gotten out the civilians in time. What about the chantry? If anyone was still alive, that was where they'd be. She could not find it, try as she might, in the indiscriminate field of snowclad rubble. For all intents and purposes, the Inquisition was dead.

Slowly, Bethany turned around, away from Haven. She could not remain here … On unsteady, stiff legs, she started walking. The snow was deep, and her borrowed boots slipped around her ankles with every step, so that very soon her feet were not only soaked in molten snow, but also chafing. Still, she continued walking, found signs of a snow-covered hiking path lined with weathered wooden signs whose meaning she could not quite make out, but which she had to trust would take her somewhere – anywhere – away from Haven. Not once did she look back, not until she had reached the highest point of one of the narrow passes lining the valley between peaks. The town was almost out of sight, only defined by a faint green glow that mirrored the remains of the Breach. The Temple of Sacred Ashes, or rather what was left of it, stayed to her left; she was walking northwards. Was there a settlement northwards? She did not remember.

She didn't notice when, exactly, she had lost the hiking path, and only realised much later that she'd seemed to walk for hours without encountering another way sign. By then, she had lost sight of where she'd come from, and the strong mountain gale had all but smoothed out her footprints in the new snow. She looked around, tried to orient herself. Mountains to the left of her, mountains to the right of her, mountains front and back. This peak, hadn't she seen that before, straight ahead of her when she'd still been following the path? Or had it been this one, or that one …

Bethany looked up at the sky. Astrologers told them that the stars were the levers through which He who had made all of Creation guided and conducted all mortal endeavours, and that by observing them one could divine the future, much as they claimed the movement of the Black City around the Fade constituted a divine message. She'd always dismissed their claims as unscientific, quasi-heretical hogwash. Now, though, she would have given up her magic for a friendly star, or just for having paid more attention to their journals and symposia so that she might use the sky to, at least, divine where North might be.

She closed her eyes, felt the Veil. It was perfectly smooth and tightly-woven, a single virginal membrane that showed no signs of tampering. No one had cast magic here in decades, at least. Maybe never. Wherever she was, she might well be the first mage to set foot here in aeons. Aweing though that thought was, it didn't exactly help her.

Somehow, Bethany found herself on all fours, kneeling in the snow, sobbing as her body was shaken to the core by a sudden pulse through her left palm. This was – it was all too much, far too much. Ella was dead, because of her, and now so were Varric and Cullen and all the others, all because of her. Maker, what had she wrought? What had she touched that had not turned to ruin? Let her die here, let someone else take up the banner against Corypheus. She'd fought him once and failed, and in failing to kill him had unleashed ruin upon the world. All that remained was for her to step back, out of the way, and let someone more competent deal with this. Someone like Cassandra, for instance. Cassandra wouldn't have failed. Ella wouldn't have failed. Marian wouldn't have failed, not the second time. Marian never failed.

Under the stream of her sobs, her thoughts dissolved into a disjointed mess of fragmentary flagellations. All that remained was to die, for to live meant soiling the memory of all those she had failed. Bethany knew she had not the strength – not the guts – to do it herself. Thankfully, she needn't worry about that: nature itself would break her in half like a dry twig, sooner rather than later.

Later, she would not be able to explain whether she had drifted off into a light sleep or not, whether she had become delirious, or something else. All she would remember that the pain had left her. Her fingers, still numb, stopped hurting; the mark on her hand did not pulse again. Her feet might as well not have been there at all. All that remained was her heart, and her mind, both flashing red-hot inside her, filling her head and torso with a profound warmth.

And then, she saw herself, curled up in the snow like a sleeping infant in its crib, still as death but glowing. Her chest and her face were alight with holy fire, burning so bright and warm that she could scarcely see aught else. Soon, her vision was entirely filled by a blinding light, warm and golden – and then she was ascending, rising from the snow through a space that was wholly light, defined only by itself …

She heard a voice. A woman's voice, one she had never heard before, but which yet was as familiar to her as her own mother's, if not more so. A voice as smooth as spun silver and as sweet as golden honey, bedecked in royal purple robes and armour as white and blinding as snow. It echoed through her head, reflected back and forth until it reverberated in a thousand voices, a choir all of sweet lightness and awful majesty. Every word shook her bones and sent her head a-ringing; every syllable made the very earth tremble in holy agony.

Fear not, My Herald.

The words caressed her cheek like a lover's touch, and she could smell blood and fire and lavender in the words. Could see the words, and yet hear them sounding like a clarion call in every cell of her body. And just like that, all at once she saw, heard, tasted, smelt, and felt all over her skin the Voice that approached her, a tall flame that neither flickered nor faltered, but burned bright and straight. A nude woman, gold-in-gold, as even and as flawless as a statue, veiled in fire. Fear not …

With a golden hand that glowed white-hot, the Lady took Bethany's hand, yet she felt not the slightest discomfort but only blissful awe. She was raised to her feet, and the Lady kissed her cheeks, her lips, and her brow. Bethany had never tasted anything sweeter. Her body seemed to be burning up from inside, her blood was boiling over in near-orgasmic delight. Fear not, for I am watchful … The Lady looked her in the eyes and placed her palm upon Bethany's mark. This is My mark with which I have branded you, that all might know you belong to Me. This is My signet, that marks you as My Herald.

And then, just as she was about to drown in blissful nausea and let herself be consumed by flames, the Lady gently held her hand and raised it towards the horizon. The golden light was shrinking rapidly, compressing into a single point that shone all the brighter for it. Let this be My sign to you. The speck of light was so bright Bethany tried to avert her eyes, but the Lady bade her watch. So she watched, watched as the light ascended into the heavens before settling on its appointed place, shining bright gold against the darkness of the firmament.

One last time, the Lady cupped Bethany's cheeks, tenderly touched Her lips to hers. This time, Bethany could not withstand, could not keep herself from screaming out in holy exultation. In this instant, she wished nothing more than to kneel before the Lady, drink Her blood and burn herself on Her fire –

She fell, the Lady slipping away above her head. Bethany reached out her hand to grasp Her, but only touched frigid air, and then she was enveloped in ice and pain and darkness – she screamed in pain and devastation.

"She's here! We've found her!"

As she lost consciousness, the star still stood on the horizon.

---

The last scene is, to a large extent, based on hagiographic descriptions of visions of Christ in the western Christian tradition. There's all sorts of stuff about food and eating I could have brought in there, but it's all a bit weird and doesn't work quite as well in a society of universal plenty.

Please leave a review and maybe check out my other new fic, To Weather the Storm, which works to flesh out this AU's backstory a bit!