I can tell it's October. The seasonal mood fuckery has begun, and editing has suddenly become a Herculean trial. I am persevering, though I'm a bit slow at the moment.

Logistics

Hawen was surprisingly gracious when we returned Valorin and Lindiranae's talisman. The boy, to my satisfaction, was quick to confess the state in which the Inquisition scouts had found him, and spoke well of his treatment among us. Hawen accepted the talisman and sent him to shovel dung from the halla corral as punishment. Then he regarded me thoughtfully.

"I was hasty in my judgment before," he said at last. "Ir abelas, da'len. I fear the road you walk, and I sense that the Dread Wolf nips ever at your heels. I fear most of all for you and for what will become of you when the shemlenaan tire of playing at remorse at the feet of one of our people. But in the meantime, you are positioned to do good for our people as no one has been in…many generations. And it is clear to me that you are conscious of it, and using the unexpected influence to the best of your abilities. You should not have to walk this road alone, but that is ever the tragedy of the dinan'shiral."

I shivered to hear him name my path the dinan'shiral, but feared he was more correct than not. I thought with hope of one day being able to step down as Inquisitor - but it was much more likely that I would either die in battle or find myself torn down by politics and those most devoted to keeping the power imbalance in this world intact. Hawen was too proud, stubborn, and insular for anyone's good, but that didn't mean he was wrong about this.

"You aren't telling me anything I haven't thought myself, Amelan," I told him. "But I was trained to be Second." I spread my hands. "Every Keeper knows she may be called upon to give her life for the clan."

"I will pray for you," he replied, "but more practically - one of my clan wishes to join the Inquisition, and I thought he might be of use to you when you are considering the Dalish perspective on the choices before you."

"It would please me to have one of my kin within the Inquisition," I told Hawen.

"Loranil!" he called, and introduced me to the young man who responded. Loranil was about my age, or a little older, perhaps, and Hawen let me know that he was among their best hunters, in spite of his youth. Since we had an extra horse now, I invited Loranil to come to the northern camp with us, and he accepted with evident pleasure.

Our next stop was the monument Cassandra and Harding had organized for Wisdom, though it was much too large for them to have completed it alone in only two days. They had built a mound as long as I was tall and about half my height at its tallest point, and embedded river stones in it. Around the base they had planted gaildahlas and gridhaur iselavlea (not yet in flower, but I recognized the leaves). Further up, they had managed to find and plant a few specimens of avisefelan, which would no doubt spread in the coming years. At the very top of the mound was a larger standing stone, which had been burned with the Elvish characters for wisdom. It still tasted of Dorian's magic, and so I knew he had done it. "I didn't know you read Elvish," I said to him, surprised, once I had dismounted and walked close enough to make out the large print.

"Oh no, I don't," he assured me quickly. "I happen to have a book about ancient Elvhen distinctions between spirits, as opposed to our obviously much more refined Tevinter distinctions." His voice held a note of self-mockery. "The author was gracious enough to put down many of the names in the original Elvish in his appendix."

"But not in the text itself," I chuckled.

"Inana, the very suggestion is an affront to the pride of my homeland," he told me dryly. "It would be tantamount to an admission that we stole our classifications wholesale from the ancient elves, and then tinkered a bit around the edges so we could call them our own."

Solas and I both snorted, and I heard Loranil give a surprised bark of laughter.

"Well, at least it's spelled correctly," I said.

"We planted royal elfroot seeds on the same level as the prophet's laurel," Harding told me. "And Eugenie had a few seeds for crystal grace, too, so I planted one at the top. It means we had to dig up soil from around Var Bellanaris and the woods in that area - this soil is too sandy, not enough decayed leaf detritus mixed in - but I think it will all grow okay this near the river, especially since the stream is right there, too. Both plants like some humidity in the air. And we added a lot of rocks to the mound to make sure it drains well - both plants will get root-rot if the soil hangs on to water for too long."

I smiled in her direction. "You know a lot about soil," I observed.

She might or might not have actually shrugged, but I heard it in her voice: "I grew up helping out on farms, and both crystal grace and royal elfroot grow wild in the Hinterlands. I know what sorts of conditions they like."

"It will be beautiful," I told her. "And I'm sure Wisdom would have appreciated being remembered with healing herbs. The Dalish who roam here will no doubt tend your plantings both because of their beauty and because they'll be important sources of herbs if they're treated well."

"We will," Loranil agreed softly from somewhere behind me. "Feladarala doesn't usually grow on the plains - it will be precious to us. I don't think I know crystal grace?"

"Evune'felgarash," I translated for him, knowing this one from the time we had spent in the Hinterlands, where the flower was abundant.

"Oh - that's hard to find even in the Emerald Graves," he said. "I…don't know who Wisdom is, but we will tend her grave for you gladly."

Solas had been silent, other than his brief laugh in acknowledgment of Dorian's jest at the expense of his homeland, and I felt he was solemnly contemplating Wisdom's monument.

"It isn't a grave, really," I explained to Loranil since he seemed disinclined to do it himself. "Wisdom was a spirit - an ancient one. Some foolish mages bound and corrupted her, and though we freed her, she had already lost too much of herself, and she returned to the energies of the Fade."

He was quick to pick up on my sadness, and if he was surprised to learn I consorted with spirits, he didn't say so. "Sul'numan nar'laimasha, lethallan."

"Not mine," I told him quickly, nodding toward where Solas stood. "She was dear to Solas - one of his oldest friends. I met her only briefly."

"Solas, did we - is it appropriate?" Cassandra asked, speaking for the first time.

"Thoughtfulness born of good intentions is never inappropriate, Cassandra," he told her softly. "Wisdom would have been honored - as am I. The thought and care that went into making this place one of both beauty and use humble me. Ma serannas…emma falonen." He hesitated. "If you would permit me one small addition?"

Cassandra said, "Certainly," at the same time Harding said, "Yeah, of course."

Solas pulled something from one of his pouches - chalk, I realized, as he placed his knee near the top of the mound, leaned toward the stone Dorian had burned, and began sketching. The lines were too narrow and blurred for me to make out, but when he had finished he turned to Dorian. "Could you follow that outline with your fire?" he asked.

"Yes…" Dorian said slowly, drawing out the word. "I believe I have a focus small enough to capture the details." He pulled something out of his own pouch - likely a piece of crystal - and traded places with Solas to begin the work of burning on whatever Solas had sketched out for him. It took a little time, but as he came to the thicker branches I finally recognized it as a tree. I wondered if it was the one that had once grown in the hall Solas had shown me the night before, but he was too far away for me to whisper the question, and seemed intent on watching Dorian work.

I let it go. If I remembered, I could ask him later. If not, it seemed a safe assumption. I wished I could see it more clearly.

When Dorian had finished, the rest of us - by mutual but silent agreement - retreated to our mounts to give Solas a moment alone. I lingered a few breaths longer to see if he wanted me to stay, but he said nothing and so I touched his hand and then went with the others.

I felt him allow himself a brief moment of pain, but it was tempered now by the kindness of the gesture Cassandra and Harding had arranged, and that Dorian had helped with so willingly. When he returned, he felt somehow lighter than he had before. He stopped beside Sylalhan and briefly touched my hand in return, before continuing on to his own mount. "Thank you for indulging me," he told us, and I wasn't the only one who scoffed at his characterization of our time here. "And now I believe the northern camp awaits."

We rode slowly, conscious of both the natural and unnatural roughness of the terrain, unwilling to risk our mounts. It was still faster than walking, especially with as much gear as we were bringing with us. Around midday, my sparking hand led us on yet another detour to close a rift - a delay that both Dorian and Varric grumbled over, but not one that could reasonably be avoided. Harding, at least, was enthusiastic about fighting beside us again, which still made me chuckle, at least when I could spare the attention from moving people into and out of the way of demons. We went on immediately and ate a cold lunch still mounted, and made it to the camp just as the light was beginning to grow warmer in color with the oncoming evening.

There was no chance of entering the Citadelle du Corbeau that day, but there were reports for me to look over, including one to inform me that the passage to the fens where I might find Vivienne's white wyvern was blocked. I sighed in irritation as I looked it over, rubbing my forehead, feeling as though this entire journey was just a series of disasters. So far the only thing that hadn't gone wrong was helping Clan Avisenuralas.

There was also a scout report on the Citadelle, though not a very detailed one. The area between the bridge and the outer wall was crawling with undead - they hadn't been able to get close enough to see what was happening inside, though they reported strange lights and the scent of magic. After I had skimmed the report, I read it aloud for everyone's benefit.

The entire camp had gathered to await my orders. "All right," I said, quickly dividing up my remaining forces in my mind, "it appears we have another work detail." My soldiers and scouts were too disciplined to groan, but I heard more than one breathy sigh. "Harding, I'll want you to take half the scouts to start clearing the passage to the wetlands. If you feel like you have someone to oversee the work, you can come back once they're settled, but I want you there to help them get started. Ir abelas ." I had the feeling that she had been hoping to go to the Citadelle with us.

"Of course, Inquisitor," she said, admirably professional now that I was handing out official orders.

"Is Amberley here?" I remembered her from the Western Approach, and thought I had seen her name on the list of scouts assigned to come with me.

"I am, Your Worship," she said, stepping forward from the group of scouts. I could see the movement, even though I couldn't make out much about her figure.

"You'll take charge of camp until Harding returns. All the soldiers will come with me since I don't have Vivienne, but I'll be leaving my kinsman, Loranil of Clan Avisenuralas, to help you guard the camp. He's a skilled hunter, which should make him roughly the equivalent of another scout." I glanced in his direction to forestall any protest. "I don't know exactly what we'll be walking into, and I won't risk the Inquisition's liaison to your clan."

"Of course, lethallan. I'm not here to second-guess your orders," he replied, and I let out a relieved breath. It appeared Hawen had gifted me someone with at least some grasp of strategy.

"After the Citadelle - the next day, if we can manage it - my party will take on the ramparts not far from here, but I want to look over the wetlands before we approach Revas'an and Gaspard's commanders."

"Is that wise?" Dorian asked, and I could hear his raised eyebrows.

"I have no idea," I sighed, "but Vivienne left me a request, and I would rather take care of it before risking entanglement in more political halla shit. Besides, I have no idea what sort of messages they're sending from the ramparts we already cleared, and I would rather have time for word of our aid to Celene's forces to spread before I speak to Gaspard's commanders, who will very likely have a way to communicate with their chosen claimant."

"Well, that part, at least, is sensible," Dorian said with a quiet sniff, and I realized he didn't approve of Vivienne's request for some reason. Perhaps I ought to ask him what wyvern hearts were used for. I didn't know of any potions that included them.

"All right, everyone, I know none of this has been what we signed up for, but we are getting this region straightened out, and I couldn't do it without your help," I told them. " Ma serannas. Let's have dinner and get some sleep, and pray to whatever gods we follow that something goes smoothly from here on out."

There were a few chuckles, but on the whole they sounded as tired as I felt. I sighed and ran a hand through my hair, wondering if it was time to start praying to Fen'Harel yet.

Dinan'shiral: Lit. "death's journey," refers to a fate that must be walked alone and ends in despair or death

Gaildahlas: Embrium

Gridhaur iselavlea: California poppies, also known as cup-of-gold poppies. This translates literally as gold-pot fire-petal, the first part from "cup-of-gold" and the second because the word "poppy" may have originated from the Indo-European word for "fire." (Either that or "too swell," but I think "fire" is more poetic and Elvish is a poetic language.)

Avisefelan: Prophet's laurel

Evune'felgarash: Moon-blossom

Sul'numan nar'laimasha, lethallan: I weep for your loss, cousin

Ma serannas…emma falonen: Thank you...my friends