TRIGGER WARNING! Interpersonal violence, character death, war crime, and referenced self-harm.

On the Storm Coast met two Inquisition squads. Tharin, Dorian, the Iron Bull, and his Chargers had rushed across Orlais to join Cassandra and her retinue of Sera, Cole, and Solas.

When the Inquisitor saw the Seeker, she was in mourning. For Daniel, her apprentice whose life had been cruelly taken by those in Corypheus's thrall, and for the Seekers of Truth, the order she belonged to that was no more.

With an ashen face, she reported her findings. She followed up on her investigation into the disappearance of the Seekers, tracking them to the Therinfal Redoubt – a missed opportunity for a good pun about the Herald of Andraste's downfall, thought Tharin –, where they amassed with rogue templars, and then to Caer Oswin. There, she discovered that Lord Seeker Lucius Corin had sold the Seekers to Corypheus to be tortured and to be experimented on. One solace, if such a thing could be said, was that the Seekers were proven to be immune to red lyrium and could not be leashed.

After conveying her news, Cassandra sat silently next to Tharin. They were on a bluff overlooking the turbulent ocean. It was a balmy, sunny day, so contrary to the usual state of the Storm Coast and the pervasive mood of doom and gloom Cassandra seemed to emanate. Only the wail of waves breaking against the cliff and the fierce wind that occasionally blew seaward seemed to connote the Seeker's mood.

The hush lasted for so long, yet Tharin had no good response to Cassandra's report. At least, nothing verbal came to him. As he mulled over everything, he began to pick at the guiltless, nameless weed by his crossed legs. The tender leaves came off from the stem so easily.

Cassandra eventually sighed and began again, "There is another matter…"

The Inquisitor whipped his head toward the Seeker, glad to be finished with the silence. "What is it?"

Cassandra's eyes were downcast. "I read the Seekers' tome that Lucius had… It appears we've always known how to reverse the Rite of Tranquility. From the beginning."

Tharin pursed his lips before commenting, "Well, I want to say I am surprised, but I am not."

To Tharin's somewhat glib remark, Cassandra chuckled. Her gaze seemed to graze the horizon far away. She intoned, "We created the Rite of Tranquility. I told you of my vigil – the months I spent emptying myself of all emotion? I was made Tranquil and did not even know. Then the vigil summoned a Spirit of Faith to touch my mind. That broke Tranquility – and gave me my abilities.

"The Seekers did not share that secret. Not with me, not with the Chantry.

"I believe we became enamored with power. But I also believe the Seekers can be reformed into an organization that has no secrets, a group of people truly dedicated to carrying out the Maker's will."

This was an unanticipated turn. The Inquisitor stared at the Seeker. "You mean to rebuild the Order?"

With an expectant expression, Cassandra turned. "Yes. With your blessing, I hope?"

And Tharin had to turn away. He need not contemplate long. He shook his head. "I can't, Cassandra. No matter how you slice it, the Seekers along with the templars represent the old order. One that saw mages only as potential abominations."

The Seeker soughed. "That is an unfairly harsh judgment of what the Seekers have done. If anything, they were the ones reining in the templars."

The Inquisitor considered this a pathetic excuse of a defense. He drawled, "Well, if they are the ones supposed to be in control, they didn't do a very good job of wielding that power, did they? Thanks to them, we are still cleaning up after the Mage-Templar War."

Tharin could tell from the shade of Cassandra's cheeks that he was nearing the point of no return. She argued, "The conflict between the mages and the templars was a complicated situation that could have ended earlier had the Seekers not been sold out! They were betrayed by their leader! Why can't you see that?"

And yet, Tharin had no plan to abate his antagonism. He breezed past the point of no return. "Still, it does not change the fact that the Seekers held onto secrets as Thedas descended into chaos. So, why have the Seekers and their Rite of Tranquility at all? Why not abolish the Order and get on with more important things? Like mage autonomy and reformation of the Chantry?"

Unsurprisingly, Cassandra's reaction was severe. She raged, "That is not fair. Yes, the Seekers have lost their way, but that does not mean the Order must be destroyed."

"Does it not? If the Order that purports to help the world in fact adds to its problems, is it not our obligation to bring about its demise?"

"Would you say the same thing about the Inquisition?"

The Inquisitor stretched his mouth in displeasure and nodded. "Yes, Cassandra. Yes, I would. If the Inquisition stopped helping people."

"You are blatantly ignoring the intricacies of everything at play here. Besides, if you are so against what you call the old order, why are you relying on lyrium yourself?" Cassandra's strident tone refused to subside. "Lyrium is hurting you. We all know it. But it is hurting others too. I remember what you did to Mistress Poulin."

Tharin scoffed as he readied with a counter. He decided to be cruel. "My, my, have you been apprenticing with Leliana and Josephine? I hardly noticed your changing the subject." As he turned to Cassandra, he saw her face contort in pain and fury in equal measure.

The Inquisitor could be relentless if he wanted. "For your information, lyrium helps me. Because as much as I am loath to admit, I am a templar. If my being the Inquisitor is the Maker's design, then my taking lyrium in order to execute Inquisition duties is the Maker's will.

"Do not be sacrilegious!" thundered Cassandra with her brow creased, her anger glowing white-hot from all the righteousness she must have felt.

And Tharin sniggered. "Except you cannot tell me what to do! One good thing about being the Inquisitor is that I am technically your superior. As an advisor to the Inquisition, you do not have the authority to order me around."

Cassandra fumed silently. The air around the two coalesced into fierce gale that blew ever seaward. With her short, carelessly tousled hair blowing about, Cassandra blinked deliberately and took a deep breath, obvious in her intent to lessen the tension. Her voice nevertheless sounded threatening. "But I am your friend. And everyone, including Cullen, agrees that you must desist." She leaned in and asked in a much gentler tone, "Forget about the Seekers and the templars and the mages. Forget all that. Are you not afraid you are hurting yourself?"

Tharin smirked.

"Has it never occurred to you that that is precisely my intent?"

As Tharin had envisioned, the words crafted so meticulously and lobbed so cavalierly crashed on Cassandra like a landslide, and she looked struck. For the longest while, she merely stared at Tharin. She put her left hand to the ground to support her as she stood upright. She towered over the young man, obscuring the sun. With unshakeable conviction steeling her tone, she declared, "Cullen and I, we shan't allow you to do this to yourself."

Tharin refused to acknowledge her proclamation. Instead, he let forth a pained laughter, as though to mock Cassandra's sincerity.

Yet, Cassandra persisted, "If you won't listen to me, you will listen to Cullen. And he will stop you."

It was then when Tharin finally looked up and scorned, "Oh, Seeker. If only you knew how wrong you are."

The letter from Qunandar was a proposition for a joint operation. A Qunari way of testing the waters before jumping into a full-blown military alliance with the Inquisition. The Venatori have established a base on the Storm Coast, smuggling red lyrium out of the region. And according to the Iron Bull, the Qunari liked red lyrium even less than the Venatori. They hoped to uproot the illicit trade with the Inquisition's assistance.

The Inquisition arrived on the Storm Coast much earlier than both the Venatori smugglers and a Qunari dreadnought, which meant two days of hunting down Red Templars and closing rifts along the coastline followed by a day of rest. Tharin availed himself to the tasks most assiduously. In one instance, the warrior charged ahead at a band of three Red Templars and a red lyrium behemoth to take all of them on by himself. Before the companions hustled to his side, he had already taken down two Red Templars.

By the afternoon of the third day there, the Storm Coast was beginning to feel like its namesake. Even during the day, the sky was dark and the rain poured. In fact, it was reminiscent of the Fallow Mire except for the clear lack of the undead. The awful weather mixed with the distasteful memory to make Tharin glum.

It was presumably late. With darkness enveloping the land even during the day, it was hard to tell when the sun set. After settling down for the coming night, the Inquisition lit a huge campfire at the center of the camp. It was a bold move that could have alerted Red Templar stragglers and other enemies of the Inquisition's location. But they were in the territory patrolled by the Blades of Hessarian, a religious militia that viewed Tharin as its rightful leader. The Inquisition could let down its guard for a night.

Tharin was cold. He had experienced coldness before. In fact, being cold seemed to be part of his job description – in the Hinterlands, in the Fallow Mire, in Emprise, even in Skyhold, coldness followed everywhere. But no, he could never get used to it. Especially when it was the kind that bore into his bones, chilling his body to its core.

As Tharin sat on a log of driftwood by the campfire with a hefty fleece blanket wrapped around him, the Iron Bull approached. He was his usual self, his torso bared except for the single-sided leather pauldron strapped to it. He seemed impervious to the cold as he held a steaming mug of fish and seaweed chowder, his third helping.

The Bull crouched down and asked in that impossibly deep voice, "Hey, boss. Mind if we chat?"

Tharin shivered and through the chattering teeth managed to piece together a coherent sentence, "Sure. As long as you sit next to me and keep me warm."

The Bull guffawed, spilling some of the chowder. He was unperturbed by the hot liquid on his hand as he merely wiped it on his colorful and baggy pantaloons. The Qunari straightened his back and looked around for a while until he found another thick blanket in a nearby tent, toward which he sauntered. He promptly grabbed and draped it around Tharin. The hulking man then sat close to the Inquisitor's quivering body, their sides touching, before inquiring, "Warm enough?"

With the Bull's body heat and the extra blanket combining to form a much-needed relief to the unrelenting cold, Tharin nodded. "Much obliged."

The Iron Bull ate quickly. He rendered the spoon redundant as he held it on his left hand and gulped down the chowder. Tharin watched in awe as the man finished the whole mug in two mouthfuls. Afterwards, the Bull wiped his mouth and dropped the spoon in the mug with a loud metallic clink before setting it down on the ground next to the log.

The Bull wrapped his right arm around Tharin and brought them even closer. Tharin sighed, feeling more like himself. He felt his own body reverberate as the Iron Bull began to speak, "I've never been good at asking delicate personal stuff, so I'll just jump in. I saw how you were with the Red Templars yesterday. There's something going on with you, isn't there?"

Tharin looked up at the other man and chortled. "It shocks me that you are asking me such an inquiry. You're the spy after all. I imagine you've managed to gather quite a lot of intelligence about me already." He was not sure what the Bull wanted to talk about.

After taking a beat, the Iron Bull said, "You understand you can't take on the enemies all by yourself."

The silence that followed was thankfully not awkward, mostly due to the ambient noise of people chatting amongst themselves. The Chargers, Cassandra, Sera, Dorian, even Cole and Solas, they all conversed animatedly while Tharin considered. He stared at the jovial faces before adding, "I just don't want anyone to get hurt."

The Iron Bull sighed as he slowly rubbed Tharin's back. "Even if you don't believe in the Qun, you have to admit that it gets some things right. Everyone has a role in the delicate equilibrium of the world, and what you are doing right now is upsetting that equilibrium."

"How so?"

"Because you're the one with the glowing hand. And people look to you for guidance. You know you're not replaceable. You simply can't endanger yourself by insisting on battling all the enemies. Whereas your companions are replaceable." The Bull's voice was strangely warm for someone who spoke of people as though they were resources to be spent. "You've got to let your companions fulfill their duties. That is the only way you will achieve victory."

Tharin furrowed his brow as he kept his gaze on his companions, his friends. "Even if I must risk the Chargers' lives?"

The Iron Bull pondered as he stared at the campfire. He spoke in a low voice, "The Inquisition has kept its end of the bargain. The Chargers are paid, fed, and clothed. And they fight and win. So long as the Qunari alliance happens and you fulfill your objective of defeating Corypheus, the risk is acceptable to us."

It was hard to fault the Iron Bull for his logic. But Tharin had been letting his past drive his actions. The loss of Kyre, the loss of the other Cullen in Redcliffe, every single time the Inquisition lost a soldier or an agent. He remembered them all, and he simply could not allow his enemies to take away any more of his people.

Tharin remained doggedly silent. He wanted to neither affirm the Iron Bull's words nor contradict them. He just wanted this warmth to last.

The Iron Bull patted Tharin's shoulder before halting the caress. He asked casually, "What about Cullen? What does he say?"

When Tharin finally broke his silence, he played dumb. "What does it matter what he thinks?"

The Bull quirked one of his eyebrows as he upturned his lips in a knowing grin.

After looking to the Iron Bull, Tharin knew it was pointless to obfuscate. So, he murmured instead, "The Commander is not aware of the issue, if you can call it that."

"I bet once he finds out, he wouldn't be pleased," uttered the Bull in a frustratingly self-assured tone. "Again, you're the leader. We can't even close one rift without you. If you were gone, this whole venture would be lost. You shouldn't forget that."

Tharin did not respond. He was just glad that the Bull did not invoke his dual titles. Tharin extended his left hand out of the blankets and stared at the verdigris glow of the Anchor thrumming in the cold air. He shoved it back inside, leaned his head against the Bull's chest, and made his whole body go limp. The Bull scoffed but nevertheless kept his posture upright and his core solid, supporting the young man.

"Have I done you wrong, Inquisitor?"

Dorian, with his wet hood continuously dripping water onto his face at the rhythm of his mount's gait, looked positively miserable as the Inquisition marched in the rain. His kohl was smudging around his eyes, making him look even sadder.

Tharin had a hard time stifling the laughter that bubbled up to the back of his mouth. He cleared his throat and said, "Why, Dorian? Have you done something wrong that I should know about?"

"No, but I assume I have done you wrong somehow for you to drag me to these Maker-forsaken places."

The Inquisitor countered, "Val Royeaux was nice though, right?"

"Indeed. That was the only contact with any trace of civilization in a long while. But now, you have brought me here. Where it is always gray or dark. And rains. Constantly. Inquisitor, my face is quite literally melting." Dorian spat the last few words through gritted teeth.

Tharin spoke lightly, "Well, you are an invaluable member of the Inner Circle, and I would not dream of fighting a single battle without you by my side."

Disdain now dripped from Dorian's tone. "Flattery shall not mollify me. I am still very cross with you."

There was nothing else Tharin could do other than to flash an apologetic smile as he rode ahead.

The Inquisition met up with Gatt, the Qunari liaison, on a crag overlooking a small bay that was used as a transportation hub for the Venatori.

An irritated Dorian was argumentative with Gatt, which was not the least of the Inquisition's problems. The Qunari wanted two promontories jutting out into the ocean in addition to the crag secured before the dreadnought came in to take out the smuggler ships. Eliminating all risks of a counterattack from the land, Gatt said. But there was something disquieting about splitting up the Inquisition into two separate teams. Tharin could not be in two places at once to protect his friends.

"This is the only way, Inquisitor," maintained Gatt, to which the Iron Bull nodded.

And so, off they went in two teams. Working separately in tandem. The Iron Bull, Cole, and Solas stayed with Tharin while Cassandra, Sera, and Dorian were dispatched to the other promontory with the Chargers.

Initially, the operation went swimmingly. The two teams managed to rout the Venatori agents handily and capture the promontories. Signal fires went off, the dreadnought came in, and smuggler ship was blown to smithereens. Easy.

But just as he was about to relax and savor the total victory, Tharin saw numerous Venatori reinforcements ascending the other promontory. They were mages but must have numbered at thirty at the least.

With his heart rumbling in his ribcage, Tharin turned to the Iron Bull and bellowed, "The Chargers can't stand against that kind of force!"

The Iron Bull murmured, "No, they can't."

Yet, Gatt was adamant. "Your men need to hold the position, Hissrad."

"They do that, they're dead." Although his body was tense now, there was no change in the Bull's tone.

Exasperated by both Gatt and the Iron Bull, whose faces remained calm and unemotional, Tharin cried, "It's not just the Chargers! I sent my companions there!"

Gatt warned, "If they don't hold that hill, the Venatori retake it and the dreadnought is dead! You'd be throwing away an alliance between the Inquisition and the Qunari!" When the Iron Bull stared down at the blowing horn strapped to his side, Gatt pointed to the man and spoke sharply, "You'd be declaring yourself Tal-Vashoth!"

An idea occurred to Tharin, and he did not have time to ponder whether it was good or not. Yes, he could salvage this situation if he went right away. "Come on, Bull! If we go now, we can save them!" He could save both the companions and the dreadnought.

Gatt's face became flushed as he shouted with abandon, "No! You need to stay! Defend this hill!"

Tharin disregarded Gatt as he frenetically motioned, "Cole, Solas, with me!"

After declaring his intention, Tharin did not look back to check if anyone else followed. He ran as fast as he could. He ran faster than he had ever ran in his life. He felt his lungs oversaturate with air and his throat dry out as he breathed rapidly.

He was nearly choking by the time he arrived at the crag, the midpoint between the two promontories. He found his mount and desperately untied its reins from a wooden post. He leapt onto it and rapped the horse's sides a little too hard, which prompted it to lurch forward.

The Inquisitor urged his steed to gallop faster. Faster, faster! The horse's ragged breaths and spittle dispersed in the cold air as did Tharin's. He was almost there. He could hear the battle cries and explosions.

When the mount reached the top of the promontory, it neighed and lifted its front legs over the two Venatori mages who had been blasting at the companions with a barrage of lightning. The horse landed on one of them and incapacitated him. The other Venatori obviously did not expect the Inquisitor and cowered for a moment but regained his composure soon enough and retreated a few steps. The Venatori then unleashed his blasts on Tharin, and he had to duck as he dismounted. He did not even have the time to pat the steed's side, expressing his gratitude for the calmness the veteran warhorse exhibited under fire.

The Venatori attacker was close enough that Tharin could assail him with ease. A pommel strike on his nose and a swing that burst the mage's jugular. He crumpled to the ground, only his arcane energy crackling around the lifeless body.

Covered with Venatori blood and feeling savage, Tharin extended his arms and taunted, "Come on! I'm the Inquisitor! It is me who's the subject of your master's obsession!"

A bloodied Cassandra was the first to notice Tharin in the battlefield. Her eyes glimmered as she parried an energy blast with her shield. "Thank the Maker!"

Dorian, with a large burn across his chest, bashed a Venatori on the head with his staff before yelling, "Ah, fashionably late to the party, I see."

Tharin looked around and there were bodies strewn on every part of the ground. It was hard to tell who was who. Surrounded by uncontrollable chaos and his heart thrumming so powerfully, the Inquisitor slashed at anyone in a black hood.

He thought repeatedly, I can save them all!

The tide of the battle turned to the Inquisition's favor with Tharin, the Iron Bull, Cole, and Solas joining the fray.

By the time the Venatori threat had been eliminated, the dreadnought had cleared the bay. Gatt was alone on the other promontory, pacing back and forth. He was presumably dissatisfied with how the Inquisitor behaved and the alliance was more than likely touch and go. But Tharin could not care less.

Krem had fallen.

His body was found under the mangled corpse of a nameless Venatori. The right half of him was severely burned, no doubt from the last attack of a fireball inflicted by the Venatori. Even in his last moment, he held on to his sword, which had penetrated the Venatori and came through clean to the other side. Even in his death knell, he took an enemy with him to the Fade.

As the Chargers and the companions surrounded him, Tharin got on his knees and held Krem's head. He sniffed and whispered, "I'm so sorry."

Without a word, the Iron Bull knelt and reached for Krem's left eye. As he closed the eyelid, Tharin saw the hand shake the slightest bit.

That little tremor awoke something indescribable, irrepressible in the Inquisitor. Perhaps it was the sense of justice. Or something much more terrifying. It whispered, You couldn't save them all, but you can avenge him.

Tharin gently laid Krem's head on the ground and stood up. He approached Cassandra and Dorian, who were interrogating the three surrendered Venatori mages.

As Tharin closed in on the two obviously worn-out companions, he could hear the conversation.

Cassandra had her left hand on the hip as she asked annoyedly, "…So you have no knowledge of other Venatori in the area?"

One of the Venatori answered, entirely meek in his manner, "No."

"How old are you anyway?" said Dorian with a concern in his mien.

"…Sixteen."

"You should be at the Circle, studying."

The young Venatori's voice shook terribly. "My father wanted this."

"Fathers," muttered Dorian.

At that moment, Tharin roughly shoved Cassandra aside. The adolescent Venatori looked up at him. His face was filled with fear and apprehension.

Tharin thought he felt cathartic as he proclaimed, "I judge and sentence you to death." He extended his greatsword at the Venatori's neck, letting the sharp edge touch the delicate skin.

The adolescent Venatori's expression twisted as he began to sob.

Cassandra forced Tharin's weapon away, moved to the front of the captives, and stretched her arms to shield them. "No, Inquisitor! They surrendered! You mustn't!"

Heedless of the Seeker's protest, the Inquisitor pushed her aside and swung the greatsword.

With a pitiful wail and a spurt of gore that further stained Tharin's armor, the adolescent Venatori plopped to the ground like a sack of flour. The body twitched erratically until it stilled.

The next Venatori held his hands up and screamed, his voice fraying at the edges, "Wait, please! Please!" Another swing, another gouge on the neck, another spurt of blood that spattered on the Inquisitor's cheeks. There was no emotion to it now. The third one would be so unbelievably easy to handle.

Cassandra sounded helpless as she ordered, "Stop killing them!"

The Inquisitor, the Justice incarnate, stepped toward the last captive. The only living Venatori mage quavered.

"Stop!"

In Tharin's peripheral vision, he saw Cassandra wrinkle her face in concentration as she held her hands out. Suddenly, Tharin felt hot. Beads of sweat seemed to gather on his forehead, which he wiped away.

As he lifted his blade to execute the final Venatori, the heat within him became overwhelming. His hands began to shake, so much so that he dropped his greatsword. It landed on the mud with subdued noise. With his eyes wide, he looked directly at Cassandra.

"What… are you doing?" growled Tharin.

"I… am… stopping you," answered the Seeker in a strangled tone. Her body was rigid, every muscle taut. Her hands trembled slightly as she exerted an enormous amount of energy into whatever she was doing.

And the conflagration within Tharin spread so wantonly.

"Cas–" Tharin could not even finish calling forth her name as everything within him seemed to explode in a fiery rage, as though he had swallowed the Sun. As though he were turning into the Sun. He tumbled to the ground and seized. Every cell burst ablaze, and he writhed in pain. He was the Herald of Andraste, and like his namesake, he was being burned alive.

"You're killing him!" yelled Dorian as he tried to break Cassandra's concentration by grabbing her left forearm. But Cassandra pushed the man away and did not relent.

Tharin's vision blurred. Was it tears or the heat? Were his eyes going up in flames? He could not tell. But whatever the case may be, he began to welcome the darkness that began to spread from the periphery. At least in the darkness, he felt so agreeably cool. No… that was not accurate. He just did not feel anything. And it was a blessing.

He closed his eyes and gave in to the darkness. He felt his body continue to burn, but the sensation became more and more distant.

Eventually, his body stopped burning. It must have turned into a pile of ashes.

Muffled voices of Dorian and Cassandra arguing were the last thing he heard.

It had only been a moment since he passed out. Or a forever disguised as a moment. Tharin could not tell exactly.

Tharin was sure he was dead when he heard a man speak in an impeccable Tevene burr. The Maker was a Tevinter man, who would have thought? His body felt curiously light, no more inferno overtaking his tissues.

Nevertheless, when Tharin opened his eyes, he was confronted not by the Fade but by a mustached man. "Inquisitor, can you hear me?" As he desperately called out, Tharin had to take a moment to remember where he was and who the man holding him was.

"Yes, Dorian…" The Inquisitor grunted inelegantly as he sat up. He realized how the absence of excruciating pain came to be. He patted the mage's arm. "…Thanks for healing me."

Cassandra was hovering nearby as Tharin looked up. He knitted his brow and questioned, "What did you do to me?"

The query seemed to float in the air as Sera laughed nervously and interjected, "That was some magey shite. I hate magey shite. I didn't know Seekers or whatever could do magey shite." She sounded perturbed, but no one made a move to soothe her. In fact, everyone ignored her commentary.

Cassandra's face distorted in a rueful smile. Or a scowl. It was hard to tell with his vision still blurred. "I did not tell you about the other discovery I made in Caer Oswin. The Seekers can boil lyrium in a person's blood." But of course, she was unrepentant. She said trenchantly, "You were out of control. I needed to stop you."

The Inquisitor sneered, the diminutive movement of which was still enough to elicit a sharp, jabbing pain in his ribs. He winced as he rasped, "You should've fucking finished the job when you had the chance."

"I never meant to kill you."

Once he regained the control of his faculties, Tharin was methodical. He turned his index finger toward Cassandra and declared, "I condemn you as a maleficent heretic for attacking the Maker's prophet. Bull, seize and tie her up. You and the Chargers are responsible for her until we arrive in Skyhold. Do not let her out of your sight, understood?"

The Iron Bull, a few steps away from the Inquisitor, Dorian, and Cassandra, hesitated but only momentarily. He intoned, "Yes, boss." The Bull produced his grappling chain and approached Cassandra, who kept her head high and held the hands out. Soon, those gauntleted hands were trussed and immobilized. Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast, one of the Inquisition's founders and its staunchest supporter, was officially under arrest.

As Cole watched the Bull lead Cassandra away and the Chargers carry Krem's limp body and drag away the living Venatori captive, he spoke a riddle in an unruffled voice, "The blue burns so prettily. But why does he love its hate? She doesn't understand." Yet Tharin was sure that the subsequent words were a sharp rebuke from the spirit. "Krem didn't want them killed. Cassandra didn't do anything wrong."

As he stood up with Dorian's assistance, Tharin snapped, "Cole, enough!"

At Lake Calenhad Docks was a small inn called the Spoiled Princess. It was frequented by busy nobodies who passed through the docks on their way from the Free Marches to Ferelden interior or the Frostbacks.

The wind howled as two travelers who hopped across the Waking Sea from Kirkwall entered and closed the door to the main entrance. They sauntered up to the inn's counter.

The rotund man began, haughty in gesture, "Guide us to your best room."

"Sorry, a new policy. Pay upfront or no room," said the innkeeper timidly.

Making a small noise of frustration, the leader dug into his pocket. He asked brusquely, "How much?"

"Forty silvers per night," said the innkeeper before adding hurriedly, "for each of you."

With a loud jangle, the man threw a gold coin onto the counter. "Here's a sovereign. This should cover our room and board."

In spite of the leader's supercilious demeanor, or perhaps because of it, the innkeeper was servile. With his shoulders rounded, he bowed repeatedly as he pocketed the coin. "Thank you, kind ser."

But the old man suddenly called out, "Hold on."

The voice was insistent enough to keep the attention of even the most distracted mind. The innkeeper stared as the old man reached to his side pocket and pulled a piece of parchment out. He extended the paper to the innkeeper and said in a guttural tone, "Please hand me this note in the morning."

He cautiously took the parchment and sibilated, "As you wish."

After guiding the two men to their room, the innkeeper returned to the counter and opened the parchment. It had just four words.

Remember the extermination order.

END NOTE

The fact that the Seekers can boil lyrium in a person's blood is my favorite Dragon Age trivia, and I have been saving it for this very moment.

Next up, the thing that pushes Tharin off the edge, coming on October 24.

If you like this, please give Where the Waves Crest (波の上り詰める所) a try, which is nearing its conclusion - only two chapters left!