This corresponds to Silea's memory of getting knocked into a wall by a dragon's tail.

The ambush is undoubtedly not going precisely as they hoped.

To begin with, none of the Venatori have Silea's skill in woodcraft, and so she realized what was about to happen minutes earlier than they would have preferred. They ought to have called off the attack, but it seems the red Templars accompanying them had objections to such a sensible plan, because they charged in the moment it became clear we weren't going to ride into the trap. The Venatori followed only grudgingly, leaving their initial assault in utter chaos - so chaotic, indeed, that Silea managed to make it into the trees without anyone noticing, from which position she has been steadily picking off enemies.

There are, however, only ten of us, and they outnumber us three or four to one - or did at the beginning. They have taken an unacceptable number of casualties - but Bull is swinging his great maul one-handed now, Blackwall has lost his shield, Sera, Cole and Cassandra are all protecting Dorian, who is reeling from a blow to the head, Vivienne is beginning to burn through her lyrium potions, and Varric and I have been cut off from the rest of the group. Silea is trying to be everywhere at once, shooting anyone who appears on the verge of scoring a decisive hit on any members of our party.

We may still win, but I am not at all certain we will all come out alive.

And at this point, I have the least hope for myself and Varric. Though I can see Cassandra glancing at us, aware that we are in trouble, she cannot leave Dorian's side without getting him killed - it is very likely he has a concussion. Bull and Blackwall are on the other side of the battlefield, guarding both each other and Vivienne. Silea is lost somewhere in the trees. There are six Venatori and two Templars coming for us.

In unspoken agreement, Varric and I position ourselves as well as we can, placing our backs against the trunk of a great tree. He shoots one of the Venatori mages through the throat. I freeze one of the Templars, giving him time to make a pincushion of the creature, but the Templars are difficult to kill, shrugging off damage that would fell nearly anyone, save perhaps some Qunari. It roars with rage and begins to move several seconds before it ought to be able to, coming for us. I am nearly depleted, but there is no time for a lyrium potion. I manage a barrier just before the formerly-frozen Templar crashes into Varric - and only then realize the other is swinging at my head.

My barrier absorbs most of the force of the blow - else it would no doubt have caved in my skull - but it still knocks me to the ground, and I can feel the magical protection draining from me. In the clear moment before the killing blow falls, I see the Templar above me, already in the act of swinging a second time, a Venatori archer beyond it, lining up a shot, and a mage beside him, calling up a lightning bolt.

And then a shrill sound seems to stab through my head, and it takes me a moment to understand that I have not been struck by lightning, arrow, or blade of red lyrium, but that the sound is one of wordless rage. A form swings down from the branches above, catching the Templar in the chest and sending it crashing into the mage, whose electrically-charged hand flies out and brushes the archer, delivering a shock strong enough to make his shot arch harmlessly into the leafy depths of the tree.

Silea lands in front of me, somehow already in the process of fitting an arrow to her string, and her shot flies true, catching the erstwhile archer under his chin as he foolishly stares after his lost arrow, dropping him. She remains in motion as more Venatori fall upon us, seeing my weakness as an opening. I can hardly even keep track of her as she almost dances among them - kicking one in the groin, even as she looses another arrow; pulling the next arrow from her quiver before the last has struck its target, and elbowing a chanting mage in the throat with the same motion; flourishing her long, heavy bow like a staff, knocking away a blow from a sword and then catching the owner of the sword in the head on the backswing, sending her to the ground; stomping on the fallen swordswoman's hand, no doubt shattering every bone it contains, as she looses her next arrow, aiming for the Templar that has only just managed to gain its feet.

And just like that, as I struggle upright, half of the enemies that were, moments ago, charging towards us are dead or thoroughly incapacitated. Only two mages and the two Templars remain, and, as I glance towards Varric, I see him deliver the killing blow to the Templar we initially attacked. Silea spares me a brief look from the corner of her eye. " Ea son? " she asks, her voice tense with concern.

My head is pounding and one wrist aches with what is likely one or more fractured bones, but I am not in any danger, and so I answer: " Son sathast."

I can still see the rage fairly boiling off of her, but she has channeled it into an icy clarity that bodes poorly for our remaining foes. The mage she caught in the throat with her elbow is still trying to regain his voice, and the other, knocked flat by the Templar, has only just sat up. Silea and Varric therefore both choose to concentrate on the Templar as I pull a lyrium potion from my belt and uncork it with difficulty. By the time I manage to actually drink the potion, they have killed it - Silea getting in close enough to cut its throat with a knife Varric tosses her.

I ready myself to face the remaining mages, when they surprise all of us by turning and fleeing.

For a moment, Silea stares after them, and then I see her smile with dark humor. "Focus on the Templars!" she calls out to our companions, all of them still embroiled in their own struggles. Her logic is clear: the Venatori never wanted this fight on these terms, and they have few heavily-armored individuals among them, mostly relying on the Templars to fill that role. If we kill the Templars, odds are good that the rest of the Venatori will break and run.

She turns on her heel and stalks back towards me - or at least towards the tree still at my back, though she pauses when she reaches me. With her right hand, the one unencumbered by her bow, she tugs my face down and places a fierce kiss on my lips. "Can you fight?"

"I may be a little slow, but yes," I assure her.

"Stay back from the combat," she orders as she releases me, immediately swinging herself back up into the tree.

"Damn," Varric sighs, coming to join me. "Did you see that shit?"

"I did," I agree, my eyes still following her as she throws herself back into the fray.

"I - don't suppose you would be willing to write it out for me?" he asks. "I kept getting distracted by the Templar trying to kill me, and I think my next book is in need of a good rampage."

I cannot even say whether he is serious, so I shake my head and return my attention to the battle.

This fight I remembered quite differently, and I suspected Solas had still been somewhat confused from being hit over the head when I arrived to rescue him. Hitting the swordswoman with my bow, for instance, had been an accident - she had dropped her sword when I parried and had tried to take the bow from me. When I twisted it from her grasp, it had spun out of my control and had hit her in the head with enough force to stun her. Similarly, whatever anger I had felt was dwarfed by gut-wrenching terror, and while it had given me a certain desperate clarity, I was certain I hadn't been nearly as masterful or controlled as Solas's account suggested.

I could say definitively, however, with the benefit of both hindsight and exposure to the novel Varric had published the year after, that his request had been entirely serious.

Ea son?: Are you well?

Son sathast: Well enough