Thank you all for reading! Special thanks to suilven for her fantastic betaing skills!

Thule regretted having let his anger at Morrigan push him into taking the route underground. At the very least, that decision should have been made with more thought and less impulsiveness. But having made the call, he felt it incumbent on him to get through the remaining troops that awaited them efficiently. Fortunately, he had a good team at his back, and they were getting better with every fight. Their frustration at missing the chance to take out Corypheus and end this thing here and now was spurring them on.

At last, they walked into a large, silent chamber that still retained most of its original grandeur.

"Look at it," Merrill whispered. Her head turned, her body following it, until she looked something like a dog chasing its tail.

Solas caught her arm, smiling at her, clearly enjoying her wonder.

"This is … not what I expected," Morrigan said softly. "What was this chamber used for?"

As they moved further in, Thule felt a prickling on the back of his neck. He had felt it before, many times. Someone was watching him. He held up his hand to halt the others.

Then Varric, who was looking at something behind Thule, said, "Oh, shit," and Thule turned to see a whole line of elven archers, arrows nocked and pointed at them.

Morrigan said, "Inquisitor," and he turned around again, looking up to the top of a set of marble stairs where a single hooded elf awaited them.

He said something in elvish, then switched to common. An impressive feat, since he appeared to predate common by several ages. "You are unlike the other invaders. You stumble down our paths at the side of two of our own."

Merrill looked pleased at the kinship; Solas bored. He glanced to the side to avoid looking at the hooded elf.

The elf glanced at the Anchor, which sizzled and spat in the center of Thule's palm. "You bear the mark of magic which is … familiar." He frowned. "How has this come to pass? What is your connection to those who first disturbed our slumber?"

Thule was concerned that Morrigan might try to place herself in the middle of the conversation, but she was silent—for a wonder. "They are our enemies," he said, loudly and clearly. "We seek to prevent them from going any further. To kill them. If you have already done so, we will leave."

"How long have you slumbered?" Merrill asked eagerly, the question bursting out of her as though she couldn't keep it back any longer. "Who are you? Please, you must tell me."

The elf looked at her, his set features softening. "I am called Abelas."

"My name is Merrill."

"Merrill." Abelas nodded. "We are Sentinels, tasked with standing against those who trespass on sacred ground."

"What did I tell you?" Morrigan hissed at Thule in annoyance and triumph. He waved a hand impatiently to silence her.

Abelas continued as though he hadn't heard her. "We wake only to fight, to preserve this place. Our numbers diminish with each invasion."

"Oh. How sad." Merrill's eyes brimmed with tears.

"Perhaps." Abelas was looking at Thule, however. "I know what you seek. Like all who have come before, you wish to drink from the vir'abelasan."

"'The Place of the Well of Sorrows'," Morrigan whispered. Her eyes glittered greedily, and Thule recognized with a sinking heart that this was what she had truly come for.

"It is not for you," Abelas told her sharply. "It is not for any of you!"

Thule considered having Solas speak to him, but in the elf's strange mood, that was unlikely to do any good at the moment. He thought about Merrill, but she was so starstruck by Abelas, she could easily just hand him the rest of them from the kindness of her heart.

"Wait, wait, wait," Alistair said, waving his hands. "Let me get this straight—you're elves from ancient times? From before the Imperium destroyed Arlathan?"

Abelas looked at Alistair as though he was some species of small bug. "The shemlen did not destroy Arlathan. We elvhen warred upon ourselves. By the time the doors of the sanctuary closed, our time was over."

"What?" Merrill's hands flew to cover her mouth, wide open in shock. She turned to Solas for confirmation, and he nodded, briefly, and turned away from her, his face to the wall.

"That's—that's not possible. Is it?" Lilias asked.

"It matters not," Abelas told her. "We endure. The vir'abelasan must be preserved."

"What does it do?" Varric, the storyteller, had his eyes fastened on the ancient elf, studying every detail.

"It is a path, walked by those who toiled in Mythal's favor."

"Priests?" Alistair asked.

Thule stepped forward, ignoring the faint sounds behind him as of a line of bowstrings being drawn back, ready to fire. "Corypheus wants your Well," he said urgently, desperate to convince the elves. "I don't want it. Let me take care of his troops, and then we'll leave. My word on it."

Abelas looked at him, his clear amber eyes boring into Thule's face. At last he shook his head, and Thule's heart sank. "I do not believe you. And our duty is clear. The vir'abelasan shall not be usurped … even if I must destroy it."

"What! No?" Morrigan cried. "You must not!"

Abelas barked some words at his archers and the arrows took flight even as he disappeared. Next to Thule, where Morrigan had stood, a raven hovered in the air, taking swift wing after Abelas.

Merrill would have placed herself between the archers and the rest of the group, had Solas not dragged her back to comparative safety behind a pillar. "No! Please! We mean you no harm!" she cried. "Stop this!"

As Merrill wept, Lilias tried to pull herself together. This was too much like the attack of Merrill's clan, when they had been forced to defend themselves and ended in having to destroy the entire clan. She couldn't blame her friend for not being able to face the situation and pit herself against these remnants of everything her history stood for.

The elves, however, had no such scruples, and were not going to be stopped until all of them were dead. There was no more arguing with them—their faces were blank and without thought, focused entirely on killing those who threatened the Temple. Had the Inquisitor taken the pilgrim's path, would they be here now? Lilias wasn't certain. It was entirely possible the elves would have attacked anyway. But they would never know—and Merrill was going to blame him.

Lilias threw herself into the fray, stabbing and slashing not with conviction, but out of self-defense. There was little skill in this and more simple determination.

Eventually they prevailed, with a smattering of injuries, all tolerable—at least enough to keep going.

Solas looked around him at the carnage and shook his head. "This was unnecessary. A pointless waste of life."

"I didn't make them attack, Solas," the Inquisitor said defensively. "They're the ones clinging to their duty in the face of my word that we didn't want their Well."

"You think they have not heard falsehood and deception before? What was to force you to keep your word once they let you pass? Their job is to treat all as intruders … all except those who come as supplicants."

"Don't do that! If we had used the rituals, maybe they would have let us through, or maybe they would have decided dwarves and humans have no place here. We can't know."

"We can't know. Not now," Solas agreed acidly.

They left the large chamber and moved deeper and deeper into the Temple. Ahead of them, Lilias heard a voice speaking in a language that sounded like Fenris. Tevene. The same voice spoke again: "I will swim if I must! The Well demands a vessel."

She felt relief sweep through her. They would be in time, then. They would stop Corypheus, and no more elves needed to die at their hands. She had killed enough elves for a lifetime, she felt.

But Corypheus's people were slicing through the elves themselves. Would there be any left when they were done? This had to stop.

The Inquisitor seemed to agree. He and Cassandra were hurrying on ahead, but stopped when Corypheus's mage general turned toward them, telling them both to stand down.

Slowly, Lilias began edging along the wall, using every trick she knew to remain obscured.

"Leave now, or not at all," Corypheus's general said to the Inquisitor.

She didn't know him very well, Lilias thought. She judged the distance. Too far to throw a knife, not and have it land properly. She kept going, inching across the space.

The Inquisitor was keeping Corypheus's general talking, trying to keep her from going up the crumbling stairs toward where the water of the Well gleamed greenly in the still light of the room. One of Corypheus's men was in the way. Lilias slid her dagger into the space between his helmet and the top of his armor and caught him as he sagged silently into her arms, dragging him back carefully to the brush. Fortunately, all of Corypheus's people were fascinated by the exchange between their general and the Inquisitor, not paying attention to one another.

Lilias was able to skirt the next two men without drawing attention to herself. She could see that Varric and Merrill had noticed what she was doing. Varric was fussing over Bianca, ostensibly, but he could have a shot off in seconds. And Merrill's hand was on her staff, just waiting to take her revenge on those who had despoiled this last relic of her people.

At last, Lilias was just a few steps away from Corypheus's general. She caught Varric's eye, knowing he was ready, and then Merrill's, and together they leaped into action. The general dropped to Lilias's daggers, the two men on either side of her to Merrill's magic and Bianca's crossbow bolt.

The Inquisitor and Cassandra and Alistair made quick work of the others. Solas stood aside, a look that almost spoke of defeat on his face. Naturally, he would feel as badly about the despoiling of this sacred place as Merrill. Apparently he didn't have her anger to channel to relieve his feelings.

There was one elf left protecting the Temple. Abelas looked wildly down at them all from the top of the stairs—and then from nowhere the raven swooped into sight.

"Morrigan!" the Inquisitor called, and he followed her. Longer-legged, both Cassandra and Lilias caught up to him and passed him, and then Merrill went flying past them both up the stairs on swift feet.

The witch turned into herself as she landed between Abelas and the Well, and stood facing him down defiantly. "The elf seeks to destroy the Well of Sorrows."

"It's his, Morrigan. Let him if he wants."

Solas made a sound as if someone had struck him, and Merrill cried, "No!"

Abelas sighed, his shoulders slumping in defeat. "So, the sanctum is despoiled at last."

"Better that than destruction!"

"Better destruction to keep it from your grasping fingers," Abelas spat back at the witch. "Better it be lost than bestowed upon the undeserving."

"Fool! You'd let your people's legacy rot in the shadows."

"It isn't yours to care about!" Merrill shouted.

Morrigan ignored her, glaring at Abelas.

The Inquisitor stepped between witch and elf. "There is no need of this. Corypheus's troops are gone; he can gain nothing from the Well now. We don't need it."

Morrigan looked down at him. "He will return the moment our backs are turned, Inquisitor." In a measured, rational voice, she added, "If the power of the Well can be turned against Corypheus, can you afford not to use it?"

Abelas shook his head. "You do not know what you ask." He turned to the Well, speaking almost to himself, and to the spirits of those who had gone before him. "As each servant of Mythal reached the end of their years, they would pass their knowledge on … through this."

Merrill drew near the side of the Well, looking down into the water in reverence.

Turning to the Inquisitor, Abelas whispered, "All that we are. All that we were. It would be lost forever."

"Come on, Morrigan. Let's go." Alistair reached for her arm, but she turned on him, her eyes sparking gold in the light.

"Touch me and I will end you, little king."

He withdrew her fingers as if he believed she meant it. Perhaps she did. Lilias looked at Abelas, her heart aching for him. "I'm so sorry."

He cared little for her sympathy, and why should he? She had come here unasked, with these others. Whether with good intentions or not, they were set to bring the worst to pass.

Solas approached him, and he looked up, the two of them staring into each other's eyes. Softly, Solas said, "There are other places, friend. Other duties. Your people yet linger."

For a moment, Lilias thought Abelas would waver, but he straightened, and shook his head. "There may be other duties, but this one is mine." He turned his head toward Morrigan. "Those who drank from the vir'abelasan paid a great price, bound to the service of Mythal for eternity." A great wave of magic emanated from his outstretched hands, sending them all sprawling. By the time they had regained their feet, the water of the Well was swirling in the pool, the air growing heavy around them as the water dispersed into it.

Morrigan was the first to regain her feet, and her wits, and Abelas paid the price for it, as she slipped a dagger between his ribs and ended his ages of service.

Merrill was only moments too late to stop her, and she dragged the witch away from the elf's body. "How could you?"

"He would have destroyed the Well!"

"So will you, but in a different way."

"I have no time for your puzzles."

"It is not a puzzle. You know what I mean, exactly what I mean, and I won't allow it."

Morrigan smiled. "Won't you?"

"There must have been some other way!" protested the Inquisitor.

Turning to him, Morrigan raised her eyebrows. "Corypheus forced the elf's hand. And ours. Blame him, if you must blame someone." She left him and went to the edge of the Well, staring into it as though she couldn't turn away. "I did not expect the Well to feel so … hungry." Without looking at him, she said to the Inquisitor, "I am willing to pay any price the Well demands. I am also the best suited to use its knowledge in your service."

"Best suited?" Alistair asked scornfully. "With Solas and Merrill here? I don't think so."

Morrigan ignored him. Solas said, shortly, "Leave me out of this. I cannot— No." Merrill said mournfully, "I would have the knowledge, and pay the price, but …" She spread her hands out in front of her and Lilias could see the pale marks where she had cut herself in blood magic to fix her eluvian. "My price always seems to fall to others to pay, and I will not be party to that again."

Lilias reached for her friend's hand, holding it tightly.

"Let's call a spade a spade, Morrigan," Thule said. "You don't want the Well for the Inquisition, or the greater good. You want it for yourself."

"Regardless of why I want it, the point is how I can use it."

"Think of the price, Morrigan." Merrill's voice was stronger now. "'Bound forever to the will of Mythal. Do you know what that means?" She held Morrigan's gaze trapped with her own.

"Bound to the will of a dead god? It seems an empty warning."

"Mythal is not dead—the Well is very much alive, and it holds her will. Their will. At their behest, for the rest of your life. Is that what you wish?"

Morrigan looked shaken by Merrill's words, but she nodded. "It is. And if you will grant it to me, then I will grant you what you wish."

"You mean—?"

"Yes. The eluvian."

Slowly, Merrill nodded at the Inquisitor, who looked as if he wanted to argue, but he didn't. He nodded, too. Solas moaned in pain; Alistair gave a muffled curse and turned away.

Triumphantly, Morrigan stepped into the Well, immersing herself completely. It thickened around her, like molten silver, pouring in upon itself over and over, shrinking in from the edges, until it had all folded itself inside her, and she lay motionless in the empty space where the Well had been.