Chapter Sixteen: On the Trail

"We've searched alongside the horse's tracks twice," Cullen was saying, "But we haven't found any sign of her. And with the daylight almost gone, I fear the search now will only be harder."

"That's why I asked Krem to bring Fear," Leliana said, her voice conveying more confidence than she felt.

"He won't be much help. He's still learning to track." Cullen seemed determined to remain pessimistic.

Leliana supposed she couldn't blame him. Though outwardly he appeared calm and professional, deep inside Cullen tended to take certain matters a bit too personally, whether or not he had any control over them. Especially where he felt he was directly responsible. And losing the Inquisitor while teaching her to ride certainly qualified as under his responsibility. Though she sensed there might be something more to what had happened this afternoon, she let the suspicion slide for the time being. It was far more important that they find Peredura, wherever she might be. "Fear knows Peredura. He may, I don't know, he may be able to sense her somehow, even if she's gotten up and wandered off under the influence of a concussion."

"Blessed Andraste. Amnesia. She's had it before. And I hadn't even considered…" his voice trailed off, his eyes searching through the trees yet again, as if at that moment, through willpower alone, he could find her.

Nothing could be seen between the trunks but increasing shadows on the moonless evening.

"The torches are lit, ser," some nameless soldier reported to Cullen's back. "We're ready to head out."

There was hardly a pause before he answered, "Very well." If Leliana was amazed over the change in his voice and demeanor, she didn't show it. Cullen was a natural leader, so of course he would set aside his personal fears and feelings while in front of his men. She watched him step forward and lift his face to address the score or more of people who had gathered in the meadow.

"In case you don't know why we're here this evening, the Inquisitor lost control of her horse earlier today and it threw her off. Now she's somewhere in that forest, possibly hurt, possibly lost, possibly unconscious. And it's our job to find her and bring her safely back to Skyhold. You have all been divided into three groups. The first group will head off to the right of the horse's tracks. The second group will head off to the left. The third group will come with me. Look for any signs, any tracks of animal or person, any broken branches or clothing snagged on bushes. Investigate every thicket and hollow log you come across. She may have crawled inside someplace to find shelter, and for one reason or another is unable to come out. Leave no stone unturned. Understand? Good. Move out!"

He turned back to where Leliana stood next to Cassandra. "Leliana, go with the first group. If you find her, get her back to Skyhold immediately, but send a runner to me. Cassandra, the same goes for you and the second group." He didn't wait for either woman's acknowledgement, nor did he make any promise to inform them if he happened to find Peredura. Instead he strode up to where Krem was standing beside Fear, who was panting and straining at his leash. Briefly Cullen recalled the first time he'd seen that leash, secured to Peredura's bed, intended for his own wrist, and a flicker of sympathy beat in his heart for the hound.

"Krem, you and Fear will come with me. Leliana seems to believe that he'll somehow be able to find the Inquisitor."

"It is possible, ser," Krem affirmed. "He spends most of his time with her, knows her scent better than he knows his own. If anyone can pick up her trail, it's Fear."

The Mabari gave a sharp bark in agreement.

Cullen gave him a nod of approval before he turned to face the large shadowy figure looming behind Krem. "You're coming too, I take it."

Bull stepped up on Krem's other side. "I am. I want to go with the group that has the best chance of finding her, and my money's on the hound."

Cullen only gave a nod in response, readily giving in. The admitted Ben-Hassrath spy was unusually loyal where Peredura was concerned, something Cullen had learned to stop questioning. To one side of the trail, Leliana headed off with Vivienne and Sera and their group of soldiers. To the other side went Cassandra, Solas and Varric with their group of soldiers, including Abbets and Devensport. That left him with Bull, Dorian, and the strange boy, Cole, along with a handful of Bull's Chargers. "Let's not waste any more time."

Though it wasn't quite nighttime yet, the forest was already dark, their torches hardly able to penetrate past where they placed their feet. Several times someone would mutter a curse, tripping over a half-buried branch or stubbing a toe on an unseen rock. Cullen barely paid them any attention, his eyes studying the ground, sweeping back and forth, counting the tracks of Peredura's horse, and the tracks left behind by his and Devensport's horses.

"Cole, may I ask you something?" Dorian's voice floated forwards to the rest of the group.

"You just did," Cole responded, "And, yes, of course."

Dorian gave a long suffering sigh, "Let me rephrase that. May I ask a question about your, er, special talent? The one where you sift through a person's thoughts?"

"Yes, and yes."

Bull's laughter was deep though hushed. "You asked for that one."

"Fine. Yes. Whatever. Ignore him, Cole. I was wondering, is distance a factor for you? I mean, do you have to be near the person in order to hear their thoughts? Or do you have to know where they are?"

"What are you getting at?" Bull rumbled, but Dorian silenced him with a curt wave.

Cole grew quiet for a moment, and though he continued to walk beside the others, it was like he was someplace else. After a few moments, he spoke, his voice sounding as distant as his behavior. "Holding on to each other, so tight, so close, I can see his cheeks flush in the darkness. He always smiles after, his lips curling with such bliss. Should I have asked him? I wanted to, I wanted to so badly it scared me."

Dorian drew up short, a mixture of shock and pain on his face. "What… who…"

"Rilienus," Cole answered simply.

"How… how did you…" he had to pause and swallow the lump in his throat, and when he was able to continue, his voice was unusually husky, "How did you find him, of all people?"

"It was the hurt that drew me. It's always the hurt, because that's what I want to do. I want to help the hurt go away." He turned his cool, washed-out blue eyes towards Dorian. "Did I help?"

Dorian licked his lips. "Ah, yes, well, perhaps we can tackle that particular matter another time. What I was wondering this evening," he had to cough and clear his throat before he could continue, "What I was wondering this evening, specifically, is if you could sense the Inquisitor? Can you find her, without knowing where she is?"

Everyone stopped and stared at the boy, some expectantly, some out of shock, some—like Cullen—mentally kicking himself for not having thought of the idea earlier. Cole stopped too, ducking his head, hiding beneath his wide-brimmed hat. "I've been trying to," he admitted quietly, not sure if he was more uncomfortable with their scrutiny or with his failure, "Ever since we left Skyhold. I thought, for a little while, I thought I felt something that might have been from her. But there's no more hurt now. And I can't find her, unless she's feeling hurt."

"That's… comforting, right?" Bull pressed. And Cullen found his heart daring to hope. "I mean, if she was hurt, lying in a ditch somewhere with her skull cracked open, she'd be in pain, right? But the kid here can't feel her feeling pain. So she's not hurt, right?"

"It's not like that," Cole dashed all their hopes to the ground and pulverized them beneath the heel of his boot. "With her, there's always hurt. Because of the things she was made to do, to others, to herself. And the hurt lingers, like the scars that will never fade, drowning her every day in a sea of pain. I can always feel her… I could always feel her, but tonight there's… nothing."

"Nothing," Bull repeated, unwilling to let go, "You mean, like she's asleep?"

"I… I don't think so…" Cole shrugged. "It's like the pain has been… forgotten somehow? I don't understand it. And I haven't experienced this before. I don't like it."

Dorian sighed, setting a sympathetic hand on the boy's shoulder. "I don't either, Cole."

They started walking again, Cullen trying desperately not to think about Cole's ability to reach into people's minds, or his inability to do so with Peredura. There was some tickle of memory, nagging him over the particular words Cole used, but he ignored it as irrelevant, instead focusing on what they could do, rather than what they could not do. He hastened his steps to reach Krem and Fear, who were taking the lead.

"Anything yet?"

"Not sure, ser," Krem shook his head. "Fear was acting like he might be catching her scent, but the further we've come, the more he whines and gets confused. I think… I think he wants to go back a ways."

"Go back the way we came?" Cullen repeated.

Fear gave an insistent, almost demanding bark, as if saying, yes, that is precisely what he wanted to do.

Cullen looked ahead to where the other two groups were fanning out, calling out to each other and to Peredura, the light of their torches beginning to disappear into the forest. He sighed and turned away from them to face the hound. "Very well. Lead the way, Fear. It's your nose we're following this evening."

Fear gave another bark in answer, this time sounding like he was saying, yes, ser!

They backtracked a little ways, not too far, just to the point where Peredura's horse had left the trail. Fear nosed around a bit, snuffling and whining, pacing back and forth, sometimes in a tight circle, but never once looking like he wanted to leave that spot.

"What is it, Fear? What do you smell? Is it Peredura? Was this where she fell? Can you tell which way she went?"

Fear didn't answer Krem, instead pawing at the ground and making even louder noises of distress.

It was obvious that Fear didn't want to go any further, yet it was obvious that Peredura wasn't there. Cullen felt the hound must have gotten confused somewhere along the trail, and knelt down next to him to lay a calming hand on his shoulder. "It's all right, boy. You're still learning," he said softly, stroking the short fur. Then something caught his eye. It was a glint of silver, like a piece of metal, partially buried beneath the muddied snow. "Bring a torch closer," he commanded, his gloved hand brushing away the grime even before the light grew brighter.

It was a button. It was a silver button, like the ones on Peredura's coat. It had lain overlooked beneath the snow and muck, until Fear's pawing had begun to unearth it. Now it lay in Cullen's hand, growing brighter by the moment as he brushed off the dirt.

"Is that from her jacket or something?"

"Yes," Cullen answered Bull's question. "Fear, she was here, wasn't she? Peredura fell off her horse here. Which way, boy, which way did she go?"

Fear gave an anxious sounding whine, pacing a few feet before returning to Cullen's side.

"Magic was used recently, somewhere nearby," Dorian announced suddenly. "I can still feel it; can't you?"

"Yes," Cole answered almost eagerly. When Cullen turned to fix him with his fiercest glare, he shrugged and elaborated, "Well, I can. It was a powerful spell. The Fade still sings with it."

"What was the spell?" Cullen decided not to try to reason out how Cole knew what he knew, but focused on using his knowledge to find Peredura.

"I… no, I can't see it."

"Dorian?"

"Don't look at me," he shrugged. "I could tell you a spell was used, but not what kind. And if Cole can't see it…" His words stopped suddenly, and a very dashing smile spread across his face. "Of course! That would make sense, wouldn't it?"

"What would make sense?" Cullen's patience was wearing thin, his voice growing more harsh.

"A powerful spell, one that you can't see. Don't you get it? Someone used an invisibility spell, right here, right were Peredura fell. They must have cast it so you and the others wouldn't see her when you galloped past after her horse. Then, after you were out of sight, they picked her up and carted her off somewhere."

Cullen hated hearing how easily he'd been duped, but he had to admit it: Dorian must be right. He stood, the button squeezed tight inside his fist, his lips pressed into a grim line. If he were still a templar, if he were still taking lyrium, he might have sensed the mage nearby, he might have prevented the spell, prevented the abduction…

"Ah, Dorian, I'm not sure that's something to sound so cheerful about," Bull warned him.

"No," Cullen shook his head, panting away his anger and impotence. He tucked the button away, getting himself back under control before speaking, "No, it's better to know what happened, even if it's unpleasant or embarrassing. It is a plausible theory, and would explain why her escort and I never found her, and why Fear can't follow her now. Is that the trouble, Fear? Does Peredura's trail end here, but another person's trail starts?"

Again, there was a bark for an answer, Fear understanding Cullen's questions and doing his best to respond to them.

"Fear, listen to me. It's possible, very possible, that this other person you're smelling, knows where Peredura is, or has her with them. So I need to know: can you follow this other person? Can you follow their scent? Lead us to them?"

Fear didn't bother barking this time, instead taking off through the forest, pulling Krem along.

"Here we go!" Bull cried enthusiastically.

"So that's what was causing Fear's confusion," Dorian seemed overly talkative, even as they hastened to keep up with the hound. "Fear wanted to follow Peredura, but he couldn't because there was nothing more to follow. There was another person's trail to follow, but Fear wasn't supposed to be following that trail…"

"Save your breath for running," Cullen commanded, hoping to shut the Tevinter mage up. It worked—for the time being.

"He's hot on the trail now, ser," Krem called out from the front. "Shall I let him off his lead?"

"No!" Cullen commanded, but it was too late. Fear had taken matters into his own hands—or paws, rather—and slipped the lead himself. He let out a full bay, instinctively signaling to the rest of his pack that he had found the scent, that he was closing in on his quarry. Then he was running off into the night. "After him! Don't lose sight of Fear! Run!"

It was no use, but they tried regardless. Fear was a Mabari, and could run like the wind, zipping in and around the tree trunks without the need for torchlight. If there had been cursing before when they were following a clear trail, there was even more cursing now as nearly everyone tripped at least once on some unseen obstacle.

Finally Cullen had to call for a halt, mostly to allow everyone to catch their breath and rub at sore and twisted ankles, but also to try to listen and determine in which direction Fear had disappeared.

Krem lifted his head first, having heard it before the others. "Ser, I think he's that way."

Cullen tilted his head, cupping a hand around his ear to help. It was hard to hear over his own heavy breaths, but he did hear it. The sharp and fear-inspiring bark of a Mabari on the attack. The next moment he saw a flash of light off in the distance, followed a few seconds later by the roll of thunder almost drowning out the painful whine of an injured hound.

"Maker's breath," Cullen swore, "Not Fear, too. No! Not Fear!"

He took off at full speed, not caring any longer if the others kept up or fell behind. He knew, by what he had heard, that Fear had been hit by a lightning spell. A tight and bitter ball of dread filled his guts, threatening to unman him.

First Peredura. Then her horse. Now her hound.

Andraste preserve him, but he was cursed. Everything he touched, everyone he knew, always ended up hurt or destroyed.

"Over there!" Bull yelled, barreling up beside him. Cullen glanced to where Bull was pointing, and caught a glimpse of an old shack through the trees. He adjusted his course only slightly, his aim having remained fairly true despite the thickness of the forest, but Bull reached the area before him.

The trees were a little thinner around the shack, and if anyone bothered to look up, they'd see the sky had just turned from deepest violet to full night. No one did, however, all their attention focused on the area right in front of the shack. Two separate tracks led through the snow, one where the steps were stumbling and confused, the other leading off in a different direction with drips of fresh blood melting the snow. There was one form still in the area, however, the Mabari, lying very still in the snow.

Cullen cautiously approached Fear, not wanting to upset or startle the wounded hound. Fear's side was blackened just at the bottom of his ribs, little whiffs of smoke rising into the night air and carrying with it the stench of singed fur. He was breathing shallow, his pants broken up every now and then by a thin and weak whimper. Cullen scooped up a handful of snow and placed it over the burn, hoping to ease the hound's discomfort, hoping to calm the wheezing beast. "Krem!" he shouted, perhaps a little harshly, but Krem was the one who allowed Fear to slip his lead, so in a way he was responsible for the Mabari's injuries. A cough from Bull, however, reminded Cullen to curb his temper and not take out his anger on another man's subordinate. "Krem, get Fear back to Skyhold. See to it he gets the best of care. You," he pointed at another of Bull's Chargers, "What's your name?"

The blond man only grunted for answer.

"His name's Grim," Krem answered for him, kneeling down on the other side of Fear. "Doesn't talk much."

"He doesn't have to," Cullen allowed, brushing snow and fur off his hands and standing up, "He only has to help you carry Fear back to Skyhold. All right, people, we're splitting up. Bull, take someone with you; follow the trail without blood. You," he pointed at one of the Chargers he recognized, their resident surgeon, "Stitches, isn't it? You're with me. I'm going to follow the bloody trail, and I may want your skills when I find the person at the end of it. The rest of you, search around the area and the cabin, look for anything, any information, a scrap of paper, a discarded shoe, anything that will tell us who has been using this cabin."

"Ser!"

Cullen stalked off into the night, Stitches hurrying to catch up. Whoever had cast that spell—undoubtedly a mage—had to be nearby, there simply hadn't been enough time for him to get too far away. And right then Cullen was counting on the blood trail leading to the mage. He felt the need to hurt someone. Badly. Perhaps even maim them. And the mage made a very convenient target.

If Cullen could see himself at that moment, he would have been disgusted. But he was too far gone, caught up in his rage to recognize himself, to see that he was turning back into that old Cullen, the Cullen who'd been tortured by mages, the Cullen who'd seen his friends slaughtered by mages, the Cullen who wanted to see all the mages killed for breaking the circle at Kinloch.

The Cullen he didn't like very much.

If he took the time to follow his reasoning a little further, he would have to conclude that Peredura would have to have been upright and ambulant to have left the other trail. Such a thought, however, would give him comfort, something he could not allow. He could not let go of his anger, of his hatred. He forced himself to keep it growing, to blame the mage for doing whatever he had done to Peredura. Otherwise… the only other person to blame was himself.

The two of them followed the blood out of the forest to find the trail ended at a river.

"Damn!" he swore, seeing there was no one in sight. His gloved hand closed over the pommel of his sword until the bones of his hand threatened to break.

"Looks like whoever was bleeding, took to the river," Stitches surmised, holding his torch over the narrow crease along the shore where the keel of a small boat had rested and recently been pushed into the stream. "Should we look for him downstream, or up?"

The taste of disappointment was bitter on his tongue, his voice tired and defeated. "I doubt we'll find him upstream; the current is too strong for one man to row against, especially if he's wounded. And it would do no good to follow him downstream; we'd never catch him on foot. He's probably halfway to Lake Calenhad by now." He took a moment longer to stare at the swiftly flowing river before he turned around and started back for the cabin. "I'll send men after him, in the morning, have them comb both sides of the river, see if we can pick up his trail again."

Stitches nodded, wisely keeping his mouth shut.

"Let's get back to the others. The Inquisitor must be at the end of that other trail, and she may need our help." He stalked through the night, his pace steady and sure. As soon as he found that other trail, he was going to follow it no matter where it lead. He had been denied the mage; he'd be damned before he was denied Peredura.

"Which one do you think we will find, hm?" Dorian asked, trotting along after Bull. "The Inquisitor? Or her abductor?"

"The Inquisitor, of course," Bull answered confidently. "She's one tough little lady, she is. No matter the shit that's been dumped on her in her life, she always pulls through. So I'd be willing to lay odds, she found a way to stab her abductor and escape."

"How do you know that?" Dorian pressed. "She could just as easily have been the one stabbed, or bleeding from some other wound. She did fall off her horse, after all."

"Nope, this is her trail," Bull replied confidently. "See the size of the footprint? Small, like the Boss's feet. And it's confused, stumbling, like she doesn't know where she is going. It would make sense, if she'd been knocked out, abducted, woke up in that shack with no idea where she was, racing outside only to find herself in an unfamiliar forest. There!" he stopped and pointed, "Up ahead. I think I see… ah, craaaaaaap!"

Dorian knew how he felt, stopping so suddenly he had to grab on to Bull's arm holding the torch to keep himself from pitching face-first into a snowbank. "You don't think she…"

"…fell down the ravine?" Bull finished, staring at where the trail disappeared over the side of a steep slope. He patted Dorian's hand and dislodged it gently, before walking up to carefully peek over the edge. He already knew what he would see, but he needed to see it anyway. "Yeah. Yeah, she did." He could just make her out in the torchlight, nothing more than a shadowy form, but there was something about it that told him it was undoubtedly her. After all, it wasn't as if this was the first time she'd fallen off the side of a cliff. Then an idea struck him. "Hey, Dorian, how much do you weigh?"

"That's a strange question to ask at a time like this."

"I was just thinking, it might be easier if I lowered you down there on a rope. Then you could tie the rope around the both of you, and I'd pull you back up."

"Ah, well, yes, that would be an excellent idea, only we have no rope."

Bull grunted. "Good point. Hoist your skirts, mage-boy. We're going to have to do this the hard way."

"This is not a skirt," Dorian protested, "It's a robe."

"Same difference," Bull shrugged, starting down the slope a little further along from where Peredura went over the side. He didn't want to kick loose stones and gravel down on top of her. "It's long and it hinders your legs, so lift it up and out of the way."

"You're enjoying this a little too much," Dorian huffed, but did as Bull suggested, starting down after the lumbering oaf.

"If you trip and fall because your legs got tangled in those heavy skirts, I'm not going to catch you and set you back down on your dainty little slippers," Bull paused a moment to look back up and see how he was doing. "Hey, I didn't know you were wearing leggings beneath that."

Dorian smirked and gave his skirts, er, robes a little flourish. "Disappointed, are you? Hoping to catch a bit of skin? A little more, perhaps?"

"Well, yeah, sure," he shrugged like it was no big deal, starting back down the ravine again, "A man's got to take his fun where he can find it."

Dorian made a disgusted noise, feeling an impulse to throw something at the qunari's head, like one of the stones that kept slipping out from beneath his boots. He settled for a grumbled insult instead. "Ox-man."

"Vint."

Neither of them knew of the brief smile that flickered across the other's face.

The going was difficult, the ground slippery, loose gravel and dirt causing numerous close calls for both of the men. "Shit," Bull grumbled, the torch slipping from his hands after one particularly nasty slide. He watched it tumble and spin down the slope, end over end, to land in a snowbank at the bottom, quickly extinguishing itself.

"Bad luck, that," Dorian piped up from somewhere above him.

Bull really didn't want to answer, unable to do so in a civil manner and knowing this wasn't the time to start a real fight. But so help him, if the next thing out of that Vint's mouth wasn't something helpful…

"Mind if I lend a hand?" Soft blue light began to glow, sending a long and distinctive shadow downhill to swallow Bull. He looked up and had to smile, seeing how Dorian was making the tip of his staff glow from where it was securely strapped to his back. "Is that bright enough for you to see, or do you require more."

All right, Bull thought to himself, maybe this one Vint wasn't so bad, after all. But he wasn't going to let him get the last word. "You know what? If you can make it sparkle, that'd be really cool."

Dorian wasn't quite sure if he was joking or serious. "Another time, perhaps. Shall we continue?"

They made it the rest of the way down the slope without any more major mishaps. Bull was the first to reach Peredura's side, Dorian a half-step behind him, his staff continuing to glow and give them enough light to see by. "Hey, Boss?" Bull called softly, seeing as her eyes were open, though she made no sign that she had seen Bull much less recognized him. "Boss! You gave us quite a scare, you know. Hey… Boss?" He touched her cheek, but she continued to stare unseeingly into the night sky.

"Is she… vishante kaffas… is she…?"

"She's alive," Bull confirmed, "Her chest is rising and falling with her breath, see?" He pointed at the opened front of her coat, the blue sash torn and dangling from her waist. Her chest was moving, slow and steady and calm, despite the obvious danger or pain she must be in.

"But she's…" Dorian leaned in closer, willing the light to glow brighter. He could see that the collar of her tunic had been torn, possibly in the fall down the ravine, pale skin and paler scars barely visible by the light of his staff, "She's just… lying there… not moving. It doesn't appear as if she's recognized us, or even hears us."

"She's alive," Bull repeated, stubbornly holding on to the positive with the teeth of a Mabari. "Knocked senseless by her fall, maybe, but alive." Carefully, so as not to dislodge her hair from around her mutilated ears—he remembered at the last moment that Dorian didn't know about her past—he ran his fingers over her scalp. He was searching for a bump or blood or anything that might be causing her lack of response, and though he found nothing wrong, he felt little relief. Without a head injury, he had no idea what could be causing her strange behavior.

Her expression remained blank, her eyes refusing to focus on either of them, even after Dorian flashed his smiling visage in front of her eyes and snapped his fingers in front of her nose. Frustrated by her lack of response, he tried to determine for himself why she wouldn't—or couldn't answer. He found one side of her face was darkening with a bruise, her lip cut and bleeding, but neither injury was severe enough to cause a concussion. Turning her face the other way, he saw it was discolored by something that wasn't a part of her skin or scars. Dorian's fingertips reached out and touched that corner of her mouth, finding some sort of sticky residue clinging to her lips and part of her cheek. "What is this? Not blood, certainly, but it looks like it drooled out of her mouth." He dabbed a bit on his finger and brought it up to his nose to sniff. "Smells like…" he sniffed again, "Smells sweet, almost too sweet. Could she have been drugged?"

"Would explain a few things," Bull agreed, "Like all that stumbling she did along the way, and why she won't—or can't—answer us." He twisted to look at the top of the slope. "First things first, we need to get her back up there. Help me lift her up, and I can climb out of here with her over my shoulders."

Dorian thought they had other options available to them, but as they were already down there, they might was well carry her out before going for help. He reached for her hands, thinking to untie the leather straps holding her wrists together. "Nah, leave her hands tied," Bull advised. "Just loop her arms around my neck. It'll be easier for me to climb, if I don't' have to hold on to her."

"It's your neck," Dorian quipped. "But if she strangles you, don't expect me to carry your sorry ass out of this ravine. I've already carried you once before up the side of a mountain, and it's an experience I do not care to repeat."

"When was this?" Bull asked, sounding genuinely confused.

"It was just before the avalanche at Haven. We were staying behind for a time while the others escaped, helping Peredura with the trebuchets. Come on, my dear, let's get you sitting up, shall we?"

She sat up with very little help, causing both men to look at each other with nearly identical incredulous expressions. Dorian was the first to find his voice, testing his theory by asking her to do something else. "Er, Peredura, do you think you can loop your arms around Bull's neck? Be mindful of his horns, now. Don't hurt yourself."

Again, Peredura easily complied with Dorian's suggestion. Bull held off any comment until her arms were safely secured around his neck and shoulders. He cleared his throat, turning around carefully until she was hanging against his back. "Go on with your story. We were, um, helping with the trebuchets," he prompted, hoping the mage would understand and follow his lead, going back to talking about something other than her condition. He wasn't sure how much she could understand, but if she was aware on some level of what was going on, he didn't want to upset her.

"Ah, right, well," Dorian seemed to understand, giving a nod in answer. And he was always ready to listen to the sound of his own voice. He picked up his narration as they started climbing. "Do you remember getting hit on the head? No? Pity. It was a spectacular blow. A red templar had come up behind you on the left and swung a club-like arm at your head. He hit you with so much force, I thought I heard your teeth rattle. You dropped to your knees like a stone, allowing Peredura a clean shot; she stuck an arrow directly through the corrupted templar's eye. Yet the damage had been done. You tried to regain your feet, but only managed to stumble into the trebuchet and knock it slightly off target. We immediately knew you could no longer fight, and she ordered me to make sure you got to safety. It seemed to take forever, lugging your dead weight up after the others, all the while you were, er…" his voice trailed away, his cheeks tinging pink as he remembered Bull's ceaseless innuendos, and the offer to wrestle with him.

"I was what?" Bull asked after he had grown quiet for too long, pausing a moment to shift Peredura away from his neck, taking hold of her arms to do so. He felt something odd, like the bones of her forearms were shifting where there shouldn't be any movement, and swore softly under his breath. He knew, however, that there was nothing to be done for it, not right then, and in the state she was currently in, she wasn't complaining. He hoped it was because she wasn't feeling pain, and not because she was unable to show it.

"What was that you said?" Dorian asked, hoping for a distraction.

Bull sighed, giving in, knowing he'd have to tell him sooner or later. "I, er, think her arms are broken."

Dorian stopped climbing for a full count of three before he found his voice. "Set her down, again, man! Untie her! You can't let her hang like that from her arms when…"

"There's no help for it," Bull argued, refusing to stop. "Look, I can't carry her and climb—I'm gonna need both my hands for this. So the only way to get her out of here, is if she's hanging onto me, and she can hang on easier if we leave her hands tied."

Dorian hated to admit he was right, but there truly was no other option, not at this time. He made a disgusted sound, but allowed Peredura to remain where she was. "Oh, all right then, but at least let me cast a spell so she won't be injured any further."

He quickly and expertly drew his staff and cast his spell, all in one fluid motion. Bull stopped long enough for the spell to take effect, and could feel the tingle of magic wrapping around her form and protecting her from further harm. He blinked back down at Dorian, impressed, and had to admit, "That was… pretty good, for a skirt."

"Yes, well, the spell will only last for so long, and protect from just so much more injury before it dissipates, so don't waste time jabbering."

"Yes, ser," Bull's lips drew into a suggestive smile. He did love ribbing Dorian, the easy way his feathers would ruffle, the cute sputtering, the huffy quality to his voice. He left off teasing for now, however, and returned to the earlier topic of conversation. "So, what was it I was doing, while we were escaping Haven?"

"Oh, ah," he paused to bite his lip and think of something he could say that wouldn't be as embarrassing as the truth. "You were concussed, of course. Saying all sorts of nonsense. Going on and on about, um, silly matters and the like. Anyway, my point is, I've done that once already; I'm not going to do that again!"

Bull smirked, "All right, all right, Vint, don't get your silky panties in a twist. Just keep your staff upright and bright, will ya?"

Dorian sniffed. "They're satin, not silk, you barbaric behemoth."

Bull laughed again, needing the excuse. It was hard for him to keep his spirits up when Peredura was acting so strangely. And her state was oddly familiar somehow, not that he'd ever seen her this way before, but he had seen others acting like she was, staring unseeingly, unable or unwilling to talk or move unless prompted by others. It was…

"Bull! Dorian! You found her!"

Bull risked a glance up the cliff to find Cullen's face above them, his expression indiscernible in the pale light of Dorian's staff. "Commander," he acknowledged as he returned his attention to climbing the steep slope. "Did you find anyone along the other trail?"

"No, it lead to the river. Whoever left that trail escaped downstream in a boat. Where was Pere… er, the Inquisitor?"

"At the bottom of the ravine. She's alive, conscious even, but, ah…"

"What?" Cullen pressed, unwilling to let the matter drop for a moment, not even long enough to allow them to finish climbing. He stayed near the edge, watching them, his hand out and ready to assist them. "What's wrong? Is she hurt?"

"Ah, it's a little more complicated than that," Bull sighed, knowing there was no way to hide her condition—not from Cullen, at least. They might be able to fool the others, maybe order Peredura to keep her eyes closed and pretend she was sleeping, but Cullen was right there, taking his hand, pulling him up the last couple of feet and getting a good look at the Inquisitor.

"What…?" his voice sounded lost, confused, as he stared at her unseeing eyes.

"Help me up, would you, Commander? That's a good fellow," Dorian called. Distractedly Cullen reached his hand down to Dorian, all the while he refused to take his eyes off of Peredura. Bull walked a few paces from the edge of the slope before kneeling carefully down on a clear patch of snow. "We suspect she's been drugged," Dorian began once he reached the top. He spoke softly so their conversation wouldn't be overheard, keeping hold of Cullen's arm and preventing him from racing to her side. "She's awake, and… aware of us… on some level at least. But she acts as if she has no will of her own. She'll do whatever we tell her, like looping her arms around Bull's neck, even though, er…"

"What?" his voice was now dark, demanding, turning to pierce Dorian with his best glare. "Even though what?"

Dorian swallowed, knowing it would be foolish to try to keep the truth from him, "Her arms are broken."

Cullen looked like he would rip their heads off with his bare hands. He didn't, thankfully, instead taking the time to note the condition of the slope, and approximately how far down she had fallen, and looking back to where Bull was gently laying her on the ground. "You could have called for help."

Dorian nodded, "We could have, but we were already at the bottom with her when we discovered her condition, and since we had to climb back out anyway, why make the extra trip?"

Cullen nodded, but he could not let the matter rest. "Is she… You said she was drugged with something? Can she feel pain? Or is that numbed somehow by the drug?"

The mage shook his head, "We don't know. We don't even know what was used. Only that she's shown no signs of distress. That's something, isn't it?"

Cullen swallowed but didn't answer.

"She's forgotten," Cole sighed, making all three of them jump.

"When did you get here?" Cullen demanded, thinking he had left Cole back at the shack with the others, preferring to follow Peredura's trail alone. He strode up to where Cole was standing at Bull's shoulder. The qunari looked like he was about to have a heart attack himself, the kid's voice coming so suddenly out of nowhere.

"I came as soon as I found her," Cole answered, looking calmly at them through his lanky bangs, "I've been looking for her, too, but it's been hard. She's forgotten her pain. She's forgotten everything. It's easier, she knows, to forget, to let herself forget, even though it doesn't really help. That's how I found her," Cole looked down at her blank face, "The nothingness. There's a kind of pain there, too, in nothing, a sort of loss of self that hurts more than anything else ever could, even if she can't feel it. Does that make sense?"

"As long as it makes sense to you," quipped Dorian.

"It doesn't," Cole admitted, "But it worked. It helped me find her. And you found her, too."

"Yes, we did… how did you say you found her?"

Cole blinked at Dorian's question. "I said I found the pain she felt because of the nothingness."

"No, that wasn't it…"

"She's forgotten everything," Cullen answered, his brain at long last beginning to work, remembering Peredura's description of…

"Opeigh! That's it!" Dorian exclaimed, snapping his fingers. "That's the sticky residue on the side of her face. That's the drug she was given. I've heard of it, back home. There's some unsavory sorts of magisters who would use such a drug on their, er, more unruly servants."

"Slaves," Bull grumbled, remembering what Peredura had once told them, months ago, when she had confessed to being an elf from Tevinter.

"Slaves," Dorian gave in, "Yes, well, I've never treated any of my servants thus, but there are those who are less, shall we say, scrupulous. It's a dangerous drug, highly addictive, and makes the slave forget everything, leaving them in a sort of mindless stupor. But I didn't know it was used here in Orlais."

"It's not known here," Cullen agreed.

"You know what this means, right?" Bull asked Cullen more than the others.

"It means it was a Tevinter Mage who abducted our dear Inquisitor," Dorian answered, missing Bull's deeper meaning. "Undoubtedly one who is working for Corypheus."

A male mage, Cullen thought to himself, remembering the male mage who had been trying to kill Peredura back in Haven. The would-be assassin had been absent since before the avalanche, however; could it have been because he needed to go back to Tevinter for some opeigh? Did he have knowledge of Peredura's addiction, or was it unlucky happenstance? "Maker's breath."

"Good heavens," Dorian swallowed, "I hope no one thinks I'm a suspect. I do sort of fit the description."

"Don't be stupid; you were in Skyhold when she went missing," Cullen dismissed him, wanting the mage to shut it so he could focus on his own thoughts. Peredura had an opeigh addiction, though she hadn't taken any for months. Yet thanks to his own difficulty with lyrium addiction, he had to wonder how she would react to this. Would her body remember the effects, and start craving more? Would she remember how blissful the forgetfulness was, and even after coming out of this stupor, would she go looking for more opeigh, preferring that state to her current one of closing rifts and fighting demons and facing Corypheus…

"Commander? What are your orders?"

Bull's question dragged him out of his ever downward spiraling thoughts. Whatever had happened, whatever was going to happen was out of his hands. There were other matters, however, that he could focus on, matters he could affect.

"Bull, get Peredura to Skyhold as quickly and as safely as you can. Dorian, go with him. Try to remember everything you can about opeigh, anything that might help her recover from this. Make her recuperation as easy as possible for her."

"There's not much to do but let it wear off," he shrugged, "Which shouldn't be too difficult to get her through. It's not like she's ever had opeigh before, much less developed an addiction to it."

Bull and Cullen refused to look at each other.

"I suppose we'll need to signal the others that we've found her," Cullen continued. "And I'll want more men here, to finish searching the cabin, and along the river, see if we can't find where the bastard came to shore."

"Ah! Leave that to me," Dorian whipped out his staff once more. He twirled it end over end, his other hand poised dramatically, before he swung and pointed the tip straight up into the night sky. Sparks shot out from the talisman, red and blue and green and white, bursting large and bright high above the tops of the trees. "That should do the trick, no? I'm sure they'll coming running from whatever part of the forest they're in. And we'll send more men back here, once we reach Skyhold."

"Very well," he agreed, hating having to let them take her away. But there was nothing he could do for her, or her hound, for that matter; he knew next to nothing about healing burns or setting bones. He did, however, have plenty of work here that needed his supervision. The sooner he started on that, the better he would feel. "You should get going."

He stared hard at Peredura, unable to take his eyes away until Bull picked her up and started for Skyhold. Then he turned, too, and started for the cabin before the fireworks had a chance to fade.

From a couple of miles away, Varric lifted his head to stare at the fireworks display, visible through a break in the forest canopy. "Told you he sparkled," he commented dryly to Solas.