A/N: Hi! *ducks behind a barricade as items are thrown at me* Sorry for the late update! My ADD reared its ugly head. FYI I have a form of ADD that leaves me lethargic, wanting to do nothing else but sleep. It's called ADD Inattentive type, and it's more common in females. It can actually be misdiagnosed as depression or anxiety. Anyway... Here's the latest chapter! Please don't hate me! T_T

All Elvhen used here is from FenxShiral on AO3.

Disclaimer: I do not own Dragon Age. That right and honor goes to BioWare. The Toymaker/Mahvir is from Flamewing80.

I am still looking for a Beta Reader. If anyone is interested, PM me!

Note: There will be mention of blood in a surgical-procedure-kind-of-way. If you can't stand that, I'll use ***** for the starting and ending points of the procedure. I am no medical professional. Everything portrayed in this chapter is from watching medical videos on tv, and an anatomy class I took in college 6 years ago.

"Hello" - Talking

'Hello' - Thinking

"Andaran atish'an" - Elvhen

Chapter 3

Solas POV

My concern for our survival skyrockets when we are penned in to one side of the battlefield, the prisoner's broken bow laying at her feet. Beyond the group of shades harassing us, the Nightingale and the soldiers are keeping the Pride demon preoccupied and away from us.

The prisoner looks down at the ground for a moment before lifting her head, a look of determination on her face.

"Keep them off me!" she yells to Cassandra.

When Varric asks if her plan will be successful, the prisoner's response worries me.

"It'll either work, maim me, or kill me!" I look at her in disbelief. How can she say that with such a cheerful tone?!

Cassandra just stares at her, and she adds on, "Just get me to the rift, then keep them off of me." The Seeker agrees with a nod.

The Seeker then charges with a war cry, taunting most of the shades into following her to a group of waiting archers. Varric and I follow after the prisoner in order to keep any demons away from her while she works on her idea.

We stand with our backs to her while she faces the rift, attacking any demon that comes too close, and I can feel the magic as she again disrupts it. That's not what has me looking back at her. No, it is the rapid build-up of her magic that has me pausing in my attacks to look behind at her.

What I see takes my breath away. "Ina'lan'ehn," is the only word I whisper, the only word I can think of to describe the sight that I am seeing before me. With her magic enveloping her like a shroud, her dark red hair floats in the air around her head like a halo. Her arms are raised, as if she were drawing an arrow on a bow. I watch as magic coalesces towards her hands, like smoke moving from a burning candle wick. A pinprick of magic then solidifies in her left hand, and I see said hand grip it as the magic morphs into the shape of a bow. Watching as this woman - this quickling elf - cast this amazing feat of magic, an arrow of ice materializes into her right hand, the frost drifting off of it to hang in the air. Her amethyst eyes then open, narrowing as they glow from within with power. She pauses for a moment before she releases the arrow.

Beautiful

The arrow soars through the air with incredible speed, magic streaming from the tip and I see that any demon in its way is immediately frozen. Impossibly so, the arrow picks up even more speed as it morphs into the rough shape of a bird in flight, before it impacts the Pride demon in the chest. All we can do is watch as ice flows from the arrow, enveloping the enormous demon until it is frozen solid entirely. No one speaks, no one moves, as we all look on at the devastation just one arrow had caused. Then, a loud crackling sound fills the air as all of the frozen demons shatter into particles.

'How? How can someone from this Age have such power?' I ask myself as I watch the one who had done this face the rift once again.

She raises her hand to seal the rift, and hopefully the Breach. I see her visibly struggling, and it is at that moment that I realize that she was right. That she will not be able to seal the Breach at this time.

As the energy erupts from the rift and flows to the Breach, I look to see that the prisoner has lost consciousness and is falling to the ground. I move to catch her, at the same moment the energy reaches the Breach. The two energy forces merging create a backlash of displaced air so fierce that we are all swept off our feet. We are also temporarily blinded as the light of the Breach brightens to unbearable levels.

Our vision returns and we all groan as we recover from the backlash. I look to where the prisoner last was, only to see no one there. Slightly panicking, I look around at where she could have gone to.

"Solas!" I hear the Seeker yell and look behind me, to where her voice came from, only to freeze.

The Seeker is crouched next the inert form that is the prisoner, a couple dozen feet away from where she was last seen before the backlash. From here, I can see the blood flowing from her back and face. I unsteadily get to my feet, before rushing over as quickly as I can.

"What happened?" I ask Cassandra

"She must have been thrown over some jagged rocks when that blast of air hit us," is all that the Seeker says to me.

I look over the prisoner's possible injuries with my eyes, not wanting to further injure her by moving her. Looking past the obvious injury on her back, I look over her legs, wincing when I see the state her leg brace is in. Luckily the metal held, but the top part of the leather has torn and the straps securing it have all snapped. Other than that, there are no visible injuries to her legs.

"She's not going to be happy when she sees her brace," I tell the Seeker, and she grimaces when she sees it as well.

"Let us hope that Harritt can repair it," she agrees.

Finished looking over her legs, I draw my eyes upward, again looking past her back to her head. At first it is hard to pinpoint where the wound is due to her hair being blood-red in color, but finally I spot it: a small gash on her forehead with freely flowing blood, and I grimace. Head wounds always bleed a lot. Carefully moving my hand over her skull I feel a large lump at the back of her head. I continue to look her over. She is on her stomach, the back of her tunic torn, the entirety of her back that I can see is covered in bruises, as blood flows from a gash that runs parallel and over her spine. I pause as that last segment runs through my mind. Over. Her. Spine.

"Fenedhis!" I growl out, removing my bag from my back as I kneel next to the Seeker, searching for the materials that I may possible need: my knife, cotton and bandages, and a small rectangular wooden box.

Fuck!

"Is everyone alright?" asks Varric, walking over as he rubs his head with one hand. He freezes when he sees the state our friend is in. "Shit," he curses, then sees her injury, "Double shit! Is her back... the injury?"

"That is what I am ascertaining right now." I say as I reach for my knife.

"What are you doing with that knife?" Asks Cassandra as Leliana walks over to us.

I start to cut away the torn tunic from my fellow elf's body. "I need to see the extent of her injuries. As we cannot move her without risking further injury to her back, I need to cut away the fabric to see what I am working with," I explain as I cut away the final piece of fabric covering her back. As It is moved away, we all get our first glimpse at the horrific state it is in.

Besides the heavy bruising to the majority of her back and the six-inch bleeding gash that starts high on her back, running on the right side before turning to cross over her spine mid-back, there are scars. Old scars. The ones that have us staring in horror start mid-back below the new gash and run down and to the right; so long that the scars continue further under her pants. Four identical marks, that could only be claw marks, that run across the majority of her lower back and over her spine. The scar tissue is deep and slightly raised. There are also numerous, neater, scars criss-crossing over those four marks and across the expanse of her back and sides. I recognize those kinds of scars: Surgical scars.

"By the Maker," Leliana gasps out, a hand going over her mouth in horror. "How did this happen?"

The dwarf takes her aside to explain, while the Seeker looks towards me.

"What do you need me to do?" she asks as I place my hand on the prisoner's back, probing the site with my magic.

I pull back my hand and swiftly remove the lid to the box, picking up two potion bottles from within. Each bottle has a different colored top: one orange and the other green. I place them between myself and the Seeker.

"Assist me. That includes handing me anything that I tell you to," I say, as I take my knife and quickly sterilize it with a hot flame that I conjure.

"What are you doing?!" Cassandra yelps, and Leliana and Varric hurry back over. Leliana has a particular look on her face as she looks upon the prisoner; A look of both awe and respect.

********************Skip down if you don't like blood or surgeries********************

"One of her vertebrae under those scars has shattered. I could heal it with magic but there is too much risk: there are bone fragments embedded in her spine." The blood drains from their faces at that, but I continue. "I need to open her back up alongside the shattered bone and carefully pick out the fragments before that can happen. Then I need to heal any damage done to the spine and nerves that run from it." I line up my knife and start making the incision, probing the area with my magic to be sure that I am not cutting through anything vital. Even as blood starts to pool from under the knife and down her back, staining the snow under her red.

From my peripheral vision I can see that Varric and the Nightingale are standing a few feet away, keeping everyone else away so that I can work uninterrupted.

I continue my task, occasionally asking a pale-faced but determined Cassandra to wipe away the excess blood that pools from the incision so that I can see where I am cutting, ignoring the blood that now covers my hands. Her blood. Her blood that is now continuing to pool on the ground where I am kneeling. What feels like too long, I have finally cut deep enough and long enough to pull back the skin and muscles to visually see the damage. I hear Cassandra hiss as she takes a look. My expression is blank as I extend my magic to prod at the shards that are embedded in the spine, testing how deeply they go, all the while holding the incision open.

"This is the most delicate part," I tell the Seeker. "When I tell you to, open the bottle with the orange top. It includes a dropper; fill it all the way then hand it to me with the top facing down."

I work carefully, slowly prying the shards from the prisoner's spine with my magic, one small shard at a time. I leave the most deeply embedded one for last, knowing that that one has gone through the wall of the spine and will cause it to 'bleed' the moment it is pried loose.

"Start preparing the dropper," I say, and once there is nothing but the largest one, I carefully but swiftly dislodge the 8 millimeter long fragment. It comes out easily, but now I have to deal with the loss of the spinal fluid from her spine.

I hold my right hand out, left one keeping the incision open, and I feel Cassandra place the dropper into my waiting hand. With quick precision I drip at least four drops onto the laceration from the last shard, seeing it smoke and hiss as it seals itself. I continue placing drops where the other shards were embedded, seeing them close up swiftly and without any complications.

Once the last laceration to her spine has been sealed shut, I hand the dropper back to Cassandra and start pouring my magic into the shattered vertebrae. It regenerates quickly, my magic accelerating the bone growth until there is solid bone where there had been fragments before. Sending my magic through the prone body before me, I heal any peripheral damage done to the nerves before deeming that there is nothing more to do than to close up the incision and the gash on her back, then her head injuries.

"Green bottle, dropper," I say as I pinch the inner most muscles together. I am handed the dropper and I start applying the drops to the muscles, seeing them knit themselves back together. Layer by layer I work, making sure the muscle fibers are lined up correctly to each other. Until all that I see are solid muscle tissue. The only thing left to heal are the layers of skin.

"Hand me the needle and thread. It's in the rectangular box." A moment later I am handed the thread, that I cut with the knife, and the needle. With practiced ease I thread the needle and it takes me less than 10 minutes to close up the incision I had made. It takes me less than that to close up the gash on her upper back after it's been cleaned of debris.

Placing my bloody hand at the base of my patient's skull, I swiftly pulse my magic to stop the bleeding of the gash on her forehead and to reduce the swelling in her brain as the lump on the back of her head shrinks. I remove my hand as the lump disappears and the gash stops bleeding, healing as much as I safely can.

Without telling her to, the Seeker hands me the cotton pads and bandages. I carefully wrap some of the bandages around her head, quickly tying it off and cutting the excess. At my nod, we turn the prisoner over and Cassandra supports her torso as we lift her up and begin wrapping the bandages around the cotton-covered wounds, after carefully removing her ruined tunic.

*******************************It's safe now!*******************************

"Why did you not heal the wounds all the way with the potions or your magic?" She asks me, wrapping from the front so that our patient can maintain some form of modesty from me.

"There has already been too much foreign magic placed into her body, from both my magic and the potions," I chide. "Any more, and it would be detrimental. It might even counteract everything that was done. As it is, her body cannot handle any more magical healing or potions until tomorrow."

"Understood," she says after a momentary pause, tying the bandages together into a knot when I hand her the end.

It is then that Leliana comes up to us with a few blankets draped over an arm, two soldiers carrying a stretcher waiting a dozen feet away. They at least have the decency to turn away so as to not look upon the prisoner's lack of dress.

"Here," she says, helping us wrap one of the blankets around the prisoner. Cassandra carefully removes the ruined brace from her leg, placing it on the ground. It is then that the soldiers come over with the stretcher.

"We will take her," Cassandra says, and the Nightingale nods her head in agreement. Together, it doesn't take us long to situate the prisoner on the stretcher, covering her with the other blanket. The Seeker picks up the ruined brace and sets it on the stretcher at the prisoner's feet. Cassandra and Leliana grab hold of the stretcher's handles, and soon we are preparing to leave the ruined temple.

I am cleaning my hands of blood when I notice Varric pick something up from the ground. "What have you found, Varric?" I ask him while continuing to wipe my hands on a rag. Deeming them as clean as they're going to get, I place the soiled rag in one of the outer pockets of my pack. He walks over to me, the item held in the palm of his right hand.

"This necklace. I think it belongs to our friend. I remember seeing the cord around her neck, but the pendant was under her top," Varric explains, opening his hand to show me his find. It is a necklace, alright, with the leather cording snapped. It is the pendant itself, that makes me pause. It is circular and made of silver, with a blackened engraving of two ravens circling around a set amethyst. What makes me pause is that I recognize the pendant.

'This should be impossible.' I think in surprise and slight shock. 'Such jewelry was lost soon after the Veil was raised. Especially those depicted to them.' I look at the dwarf and tell him, "May I see that? I'll be with our friend shortly to look after her while she recovers. I'll make sure she receives it when she awakes."

"Alright," Varric shrugs, dropping the pendant into my waiting hand. I tuck it into my pouch before picking up my bag and following after the two women carrying my patient on the path back to Haven.

By the time we make it back to Haven, the sun has set and word has already spread about what had happened at the Breach. About how the prisoner had not only sent people to rescue the squad on the mountain path, but also about how she had risked her life in the attempt at sealing the Breach.

There are also whispers about how she appeared after the explosion that formed the Breach, but I pay them no mind. She has spiked a fever by the time we reach the gate, and it takes all of my self-control not to pulse my magic through her body to break it. 'The non-magical way it is,' I think, reminding myself to ask someone about acquiring a bucket of ice, as well as clean cloth.

We settle her in a side room inside the chantry, to the right of the the door leading to the back room. Removing her from the stretcher and carefully placing her on one of the two beds in the room, Cassandra drapes the blankets on her while I speak with the Nightingale.

"I will need some clean ice and cloth," I tell her, and explain when she continues to look at me. "She has had too much foreign magic used on her today. Any more could unravel the wounds that were healed at the Breach, and she now has a fever. I need to reduce it as much as I can without using magic or potions until at the least tomorrow, when it will be safe to do so. But I need that ice and cloth first."

She nods at me before leaving the room, Cassandra following her soon after. I turn back to the occupied bed in the room. Walking over to stand beside the female elf laying in the bed, I observe her for a moment. Her cheeks are flushed with fever and her breathing is shallow. When I place two of my fingers at her throat, I feel that her pulse is fast, too fast for normal. I also note that her skin feels clammy, paler than normal compared to earlier.

Leaving her side for a moment to reach into my bag for an empty notebook and a stick of charcoal, I start writing down all of her injuries and treatments thus far, as well as her current symptoms since arriving at Haven. One of Leliana's agents stops by as I'm writing, carrying the bucket of ice and cloth as I had asked, leaving as soon as he'd arrived after depositing the items on the table I indicated.

Waiting for the alchemist, Adan, to arrive, my thoughts drift to the woman I am caring for. For some unexplainable reason she is familiar to me, but that is impossible. I would remember a person such as her if that were the case. I shake my head to clear it of unnecessary thoughts, focusing back on my notebook.

Adan shows up soon after, and after notifying him of the potion restriction, we set up a rotation of shifts so that one of us is always with the patient. It is decided that he would take the first shift until 3 AM, giving me 6 hours to rest before relieving him for my shift. With that settled, I leave the chantry building to my cabin to rest.

Nothing notable happens that night, other than Adan and myself requesting more ice to reduce our patient's persistent fever. I almost feel pity for the person who had to collect the ice in the middle of the night, but brush it off. That person was probably, most likely, retrieving it as a punishment for misconduct.

No, it is mid-morning after the attempted sealing that anything out-of-the-normal happens. Leaving the tavern after a late breakfast, Adan and his apprentice watching over our shared patient, I hear a commotion occurring near the front gates of Haven. Wandering over, I see Commander Cullen arguing with the Seeker while a male elf wearing a worn black robe watches on in thinly veiled amusement.

The male is roughly as tale as me, maybe a few inches shorter, with black hair that brushes his shoulders. The skin of his face is somewhat pale and contains the faint vallas'lin of Dirtheman, and his eyes are purple. Taking a closer look at him I note that the shade is almost the same shade as my patient's. He wears a black scarf around his neck and is also holding onto a staff with gloved hands.

Listening in to the argument clues me in as to who this elf might be.

"We cannot allow everyone in without confirmation!" shouts Cullen, crossing his arms over his chest in agitation.

"But we cannot turn them away, either." states Cassandra in a huff, not backing down to him. "Besides, she said a friend of hers would be arriving soon."

"You cannot confirm or deny that with every person that walks up here." The commander counters.

I shake my head before deciding to interfere before it comes to blows. Walking down the steps to the open gates of Haven, it is the new elf that notices me first.

"Andaran atish'an, hahren," the man greets to me, nodding his head a little.

Greetings, elder.

"Andaran atish'an, da'len. What brings you to Haven?" I ask him, pretty sure that I know why he's here.

Greetings, young one.

He grins up at me, a mischievous look on his face. "I'm here to see a dear friend of mine. I heard that she was here and hurried as quickly as I could."

I see the commander and seeker cease their arguing to watch our conversation. I pay them no mind.

"You are, are you?" I raise one of my eyebrows at him. "She wouldn't happen to have hair the color of blood, eyes of amethyst or be wearing a brace on her right leg, would she?" This is said with a little amusement, and I see Cassandra start as comprehension dawns on her face.

The man's face lights up, catching on as well. He begins to laugh. "That's her! Tell me, how much mischief has she gotten into this time?" He asks lightly, that grin still on his face.

"Quite a bit," I answer him, not giving away details just yet. "Tell me, are you this Toymaker she has told us about? The one who also made her her first brace?"

"So she has mentioned me to you," he says. He then looks at the two humans watching us. "Ah, how rude of me. Let me introduce myself. My name is Mahvir, but the Dalish know me as the Toymaker," he introduces himself, bowing a little at the waist. All the while, that mischievous glint in his amethyst eyes never dims.

Ina'lan'ehn - beautiful

Fenedhis - fuck

vallas'lin - blood writing. Ritual tattoos the Dalish apply to their faces in reverence to the Creators.

Dirtheman - Keeper of Secrets. One of the Creators that the Dalish worship.

Andaran atish'an, hahren - Greetings (formal), elder.

Andaran atish'an, da'len - Greetings (formal), young one (m).

A/N: I apologize for the lateness of this chapter. As I explained at the top, my ADD really got the better of me, and I was also stressed out from the quarantine and being cooped up in the house with my grandparents (who both have dementia and don't know why they can't get out of the house). Anyway, read and review!