The High Priest of Beauty, Architect of the Works of Beauty, designed

Every work and wonder of the Imperium according to the plans of his god.

To him, the Conductor went in secret, armed

With the whisper of Silence.

Silence 2:1

You imagine that it is always power that is the prize. Don't you, Morrigan?

'That was before I beheld Kieran,' the witch said, sitting up in her bed. 'That was before I loved. Where are you, Flemeth? These words in my mind, these thistles, these cruelties…'

Tiny fires of forgotten fairies lit up Morrigan's bedroom, dancing and jumping. Two at first, but then ten, then twenty, then a hundred; it felt like less of a prison, with the tiny, impertinent lights.

Guess again. The first hint is – not Flemeth.

'I cannot speak to you, Inquisitor.' Morrigan said, guessing right.

Why? You're dreaming, and Leliana cannot follow us here. You think you are awake in bed, you are not. I see you, you are on your side, amid many pillows that do not help you rest. Your dreams are very dark, even without me. You sweat. Now, you turn only to find the other side of your pillow is wet as well…

'Your arm was recovered with blood magic, Veldrin Lavellan.' The witch muttered. ''Tis plain to see…'

Ah, Malefica Imperio... It took the blood of an innocent to restore my arm, yes. Further blood from that same innocent for me to walk in your dream…all so we could have this talk. Don't fight me, I am not here to harm you.

An inescapable sensation of warmth washed over Morrigan, and she felt at ease, despite the fact that her mind was reeling in alarm.

'You've changed,' she said; the thing in her thoughts was amused.

Of course I have. It's been eight years. Haven't we all? Changed?

'You are still only a pale imitation of true power,' Morrigan responded. 'Blood magic…'

Has its limits, yes. Or, perhaps, I am not using enough of it. I saw no reason why I would try to manifest a physical presence by your side. It would be too much effort, and it would leave you under the illusion that you can lie to me. Does Solas manifest a physical presence when he does visit?

The urge to lie rose and fell in the same heartbeat, punished by no more than a playful tug at the corners of thought.

I told you you can't lie.

'Then why is there a need for me to speak?' the witch asked, in irritation.

Because I am not as good as he was, and not even he could travel the mind as he travelled the fade. He could only create dreams, not watch past ones, because ironically, the dreams of the living Shem, elves included, are too weak to truly pass into his domain. I cannot wander through your mind as I would like – you need to show me around.

'Only once he appeared to me,' Morrigan relented. 'To assure himself I would not be a hindrance, which, as you well know, I'd not have been, had I not been found by the fearful and pathetic protectors of the Chant. His heart is unchanged,' she briefly added, trusting by now that even she did not voice her full thought, Veldrin could see it.

He's not fond of change, no.

She felt sorrow, cold and crisp.

'Why do you oppose him, Inquisitor?' she asked of the dream voice. 'You must know that his world, his vision is no danger to you…You must know that if he succeeds, you'd become immortal. Why would you, of all…'

You see? You do imagine that power is always the prize. The world we currently inhabit is not a pretty picture, Morrigan; I do not think fully reversing it would spell perfection, either. What is now a mountain that rests its snowy brow in the sky would become an abyssal chasm. What is now a chasm would become a mountain, but what would truly change? We'd still have mountains and chasms.

'That is inevitable,' Morrigan replied.

True, but if the inevitable is to be accepted, I see no reason why the entire world should suffer to achieve a different state of misery. It is my choice not to hurt others, and it is my choice not to hurt you, Morrigan…I wish I had had a choice in what regards Kieran.

That much was true, the witch felt, as warmth and sorrow passed over her and through her.

'I believe you,' she said, looking at her clenched hands; they did not look like her own, yet felt familiar. She was, Morrigan realised, truly dreaming. 'Betwixt entire worlds and my son, I would choose my son, yet now, that Leliana has him, there is no place left to retreat to. I know what you want, Veldrin Lavellan, but I cannot give it…'

Warden Stroud…

'Warden Stroud has long forgotten you, and all he owes you,' Morrigan whispered. 'The gratitude of humankind is as short as its sight – even if it was not so, you are now of Tevinter. The only true and knowing friend you have left in Thaedas is Varric, and he is a Child of the Stone. He can do nothing for either you or Kieran.'

One of the many lights drifted before the witch's eyes, and blinked rapidly, in frustration. The dream voice sounded irritated.

I cannot help you if you do not help me, witch.

'I have no means to help you,' Morrigan replied. 'You'd kill him if you could, I know this much.'

So tell me how to. You must know; the well is within you, you know. Tell me. You are so many things, Morrigan, but you are not a coward.

'He cannot be killed more than Mythal can be killed, Lavellan.' The witch replied. 'There is a danger greater than you can imagine here…'

I am more aware of that than you care to know.

'You are again asserting knowledge I assure you, you do not possess,' Morrigan snarled. 'In her blindness, Leliana does not grasp that mere human prisons will not hold Fen'Harel. He may be weakened and brought back to his own level of strength, but that strength will gather over time – he needs naught but time. No, Lavellan, the only way in which he can truly be defeated is not taking away his powers or killing him. It's taking away his intent.' She finished, knowing that the satisfaction in her thoughts could not be hidden, and not caring to hide it. 'For good.'

'Oh yes,' Morrigan laughed. 'You would not think of this, Veldrin Lavellan, your mind cannot travel to that…who is helping you with this blood ritual, Inquisitor? How much do you trust the innocent whom you are torturing now? How much do you trust…'

She abruptly sat up, in the perfect darkness of her bedchamber, and leaned back on her arms; her pillow was indeed wet, and she must have truly thrashed in her sleep, for the bedding was in terrible disarray. She wondered whether Lavellan had truly been standing over her all this time, yet…It no longer mattered, Morrigan thought, resting her sweaty forehead in her cool hand – she was awake now, and the voice, as the presence was gone.

'Not very much trust, then,' she whispered, feeling a chill though the satisfaction of landing the final attack did not dissipate. 'Not very much at all.'

'Tranquility,' Veldrin whispered, opening her eyes, in her own bed chamber; Dorian wordlessly removed the garrote from her left arm, and placed the waiting cup of warm brandy in her right hand. 'She thinks the only way we can actually stop him is tranquility.'

'This is going from the horrible to the obscene,' he sighed, tiredly walking away from her. 'All of this, Veldrin,' he reproachfully added, gesturing towards her open, black veins. 'You will never heal.'

'I know,' the elf softly responded. 'Thank you, for…'

'You will never heal of anything,' Dorian said – she guessed him to be both angry and concerned, but he helped her pull on an elbow-high very tight glove. 'Drink up,' he gently prompted, keeping expert pressure on her vein, just above the place where the silk of the glove was turning rosy. The woman winced, but obeyed.

'A healing potion…' Veldrin began.

'We do not have any, anywhere in the house, and you well know why we do not,' he scolded, shaking his head. 'You wanted to do this, you did it, now you must suffer; it's a very steep and slippery slope, Veldrin – you bleed yourself, drink a potion, and you are fine, so you will bleed yourself just a little more the next time, or…'

…Or, Veldrin thought, closing her eyes and allowing the warm, strong drink to spread some pleasant numbness though her chest and head, I will begin thinking that anyone else that I bleed will be fine. And then…

He did not say it, but she knew he was thinking it.

'Nobody starts out by outright believing they will become a monster,' the man said, and she knew all too well it was all true.

Though blood magic was not as prevalent in the Imperium as the south might have believed, it was still not at all rare, and many, sometimes people that both Veldrin and Dorian had regarded as close had gone down its path very fast, and with swiftly diminishing moral qualms. At first, their circles could not have been avoided, as both their attempts at reconstructing her arm had failed; Doran had insisted, then, and it had not been a question of esthetics – Veldrin needed her magic, and needed her arm, so they had frequented people he would normally have avoided, and learned things that neither had, at least for the beginning, wished to learn.

She'd been the better study, her curiosity unhindered by the actual experience of where the path could lead. The things they'd learned, the things they had done, were slightly painful but harmed none, and they'd succeeded in reconstructing her arm, so her curiosity had expanded. His had stopped once the goal had been accomplished, and he'd never looked back. She'd kept learning, and learned, disguising her genuine curiosity in the many veils of needing to overcome perceptions – attend this party or that, speak to this Magister, have tea with this Magistra. See people and be seen seeing them, don't look like a little savage provincial…

She'd never fooled him, and she was grateful.

There was power here, cheap and plentiful; Veldrin had truly never loved her mark, but had soon come to miss the influence it had given her, the sudden accidental elevation that she had managed so well. Blood magic was easy, and her body made blood. Not only that, but she was good, very good, and learning what their circles of social acquaintances knew had made her realise she was actually more naturally talented, and inherently more powerful that any of the bred for Shem she was surrounded with.

The first time he'd caught her using it alone had been the closest to a genuine row they had ever come. They'd not actually rowed, though, because on that occasion, her first attempt at the dream walking she'd accomplished tonight, she'd minutely failed to kill herself. Had Dorian not wandered in, with a great lust for playing Diamondback, she probably might have. He'd growled at her a little on the next day, but that had been that – the subject had not been brought up again until, a few weeks later, he'd oddly accepted an invitation to a soiree from a couple he considered ghastly, but whose presence Veldrin actually enjoyed.

They'd stayed longer than Dorian normally countenanced the other two. Deserts and digestives had come and gone, they'd danced, and they'd laughed, and enjoyed each other more than the company. She'd actually started to wonder if she'd been wrong on her husband's dislike of the two when he'd not shown any signs of wanting to depart even when the number of guests had thinned threadbare, until, of course, in select company, the hosts had decided to end the evening on a high note, and make a fireworks display.

A beautiful, white horse had been brought into the mansion's vestibule. It had been shown around, it had been touched – Veldrin even remembered the feel of his fur. She'd fed it a piece of apple, just before it had been put on a small dais and stabbed in the throat. From its blood, the master of the house had conjured lights in the night sky, of such colours and vivacity as Veldrin could not have imagined, and would never have seen in the clearing where she'd grown up, where a fir tree branch thrown on an open fire threw sparks that made children and grown elves laugh and clap.

The colours and lights of a dream, but she'd not rushed to the balcony because all she could see was the crimson of the animal's blood weaved to magic by her host's fingers. It was still thrashing as the wondrous lights danced, and she'd wanted no more than to turn and run – there was a dream before her eyes, and blood pooling under her feet. She'd started for the door, but Dorian had held her tight, and tightly in place.

'The next time they do this, it will be an elf, not a horse, Amata,' he'd whispered in her ear, as the blood of the animal destroyed their expensive shoes. 'This is where it leads.'

With those few words he'd made a point the southern Chantry had fought to make for generations, and she had stopped…for a month, then half a year…for a while. Just as with all things that bring power or pleasure, the hook had been sunk in her mind, and its tug had proven too powerful to completely resist. She'd watched herself, however, and finally, when she'd realised that the temptation of going too far was too much for her alone to reign in, she'd confessed, and asked him to actively watch her, too.

Defeated, and with no sense of humour on the matter, Dorian had agreed, while Veldrin had found the confines he set comforting and comfortable; she'd even jested that, with this arrangement behind them, it was a bit clearer why some southern mages actually liked their templars. He'd not even cracked a smile.

As, she feared, he'd not smile again tonight.

Veldrin kept her eyes closed for a second longer, then forced herself to open them, for no other reason than that she felt weak and nauseated, and was loath to give in to either sensation.

'Well,' the man sighed, 'this is what happens when you do things you should not be doing, to find answers to questions you should not be asking.'

He'd sat on the edge of her bed, looking as though he was too tired to even be angry.

'You're right, of course. I should probably not have asked.'

Dorian drew a deep breath and pressed his fingers to his forehead. 'No chance she is lying?' he asked.

'I do not think so,' Veldrin quietly replied. 'I get the very strong sensation that, had Leliana not twisted her arm, Morrigan would be more than pleased to let Solas destroy the veil. She's…not very much of this world, either.'

'Now, after the well, even less than before,' he agreed. 'Morrigan is correct in one aspect, though, Veldrin – tranquility is a prison that not even Solas can escape on his own.' Dorian said, questioningly glancing at her. 'Hear me through,' he said, when she opened her mouth to protest. 'I am feeling rather a dunce for needing a pint of your blood to see this – it eliminates both the chance of a later awakening, and crucially, settles our concern that anyone will understand his power and try to replicate it…'

'Tranquility can be reversed,' Veldrin said, dryly.

'Perhaps,' he shrugged, 'but Cassandra's Seekers of Truth are the only ones who know how to, and I do not see them being forthcoming with that information. In fact, I think if this simple and masterful idea occurs to Leliana, that book of the Seekers' will be fire food within the hour.'

'Cassandra is not one to bury knowledge, Dorian. It goes against every principle she's ever upheld.' The woman refuted, shaking her head and feeling as if the dead flesh of her arm had started to stretch under her healthy skin.

'Well, Amata,' he slowly replied, 'I am not seeing anyone's principles putting up much of a fight, here. Never mind Cassandra's or Leliana's…Neither yours nor mine are looking quite as bright and shiny as either of us would prefer them to be; you're tethering on the verge of becoming a maleficarum, and I am on the verge of becoming Vivienne, dispensing tranquility rites and burning books, left and right – I am unsure which is worse. Maker,' he whispered. 'Solas is right,' Dorian bitterly chuckled. 'Conflict does breed the need for simplicity. Don't do this, Vel…' he said, at some length.

'What?' she asked, in return; she'd not noticed for how long she'd remained silent.

'Hide. Not tell me what you're thinking,' the man said. 'Even if you are thinking that simplicity for you, now, would be to warn Solas of what we are planning, let this world burn, and have whatever god sort out his own. Even if you are thinking that, don't hide.'

She looked away, fighting the sudden, growing cold of their very first distance.

'If Solas alone walked untouched by this life's massacre of all our principles,' the woman said, trying to smile once more, 'I'd be thinking that, yes. But he's not, so…Did Corypheus not…'

'Pose any moral dilemmas to me?' he chuckled, making the room and the air between them just a tiny bit warmer. 'No, none at all – and it is funny that you should ask now. Back then, you were the only one who took my intentions at face value.'

'Perhaps because we time travelled and dealt him the first defeat of many together,' Veldrin said. 'Hard to hold on to suspicions after that…'

'Leliana might be worth a mention in that context, Vel,' he said, with a wink.

'Maybe, but you and I are the only ones who remember what Corypheus' world might have looked like.'

'True…No, I never had any moral qualms,' Dorian said. 'In fact, personal context meant I probably wanted to gouge his eyes out more than any of you. The world he sought to bring back was not some sort of idyllic legend – it was not even a legend, per se. It is not the same for you and Elvhenan; we know the truth of its fall was far from Dalish tales, but we still know close to nothing about its actual existence. Maybe it was knife ear heaven, and maybe it was the best of all worlds for your people…'

She groaned and rolled her eyes, slowly relaxing. 'Not even Solas says it was that.'

'My point is that I cannot and could not excuse anyone in present day Tevinter who'd seek to bring back the Old Imperium,' Dorian shrugged, 'because we actually know what the Old Imperium was like. We killed half the world. We started the Blights. Would I be ready to comprehend how a mistreated Tevinter slave, a Dalish elf, hounded from forest to forest, or a city elf, scurrying like vermin…how any scion of a culture once proudly rooted and powerful, now rendered unwelcome on its own lands would dream of a recovered Elvhenan? Far more so. Being misled by a dream is not the same magnitude of crime as ignoring reality, Vel.'

'That is why,' he ended, in a kind tone, 'I would prefer to stop Solas only, not an army of Elvhen. We've fought the Qun for three years…Did you not see Iron Bull in every Qunari we killed?'

'Yes,' she whispered. 'Of course I did.'

'I would prefer stopping him. Ending the one man, the one person, once, rather than seeing he, who I grudgingly respected, you, who I respect and deeply care for, and even silly, outrageous Sera, who inspired naught but bewilderment, in the face of every elf I kill.'

Veldrin gathered her knees to her chest.

'But could you live with yourself with looking into his eyes and finding them empty?' the woman dreamily queried.

'Forgive me, Vel, but I and Solas did not do much gazing in each other's eyes.' Dorian answered, lifting both eyebrows. 'Somehow, he was very adamant that I am not his type.'

'Perhaps,' she said. 'Would you…then, prefer to prove Morrigan right? Mankind,' Veldrin whispered, tilting her head to the side to meet his glance, 'stumbles through the world, killing all its wonders…'

Elves, she thought. Spirits, dragons…

'For better or worse Solas is one of the few wonders left in the world,' she continued, curling in bed, by his side, for the lightheadedness caused by the blood loss was truly beginning to affect her. 'He's also the only true link the Elvhen have to our past…and I know what you are thinking, that if he is made tranquil, he will become the greatest library the world has ever known, but…'

'…it is not the same for you,' Dorian said, distractedly playing with the tip of her ear.

'It is one thing to read about Minrathous and well another to see it,' Veldrin shrugged, shifting her head on the pillow, to pleadingly meet his glance. He grinned at the shy manipulation attempt.

'These days, it is better to read about it than see it,' he sighed. 'I understand where you are leading, Veldrin, yet Solas is…'

Dorian paused, looking for his words. 'I understand his shock at the world in which he awoke, at the terrible consequences of his actions; I even understand his hostility to me, as sublimation. For all his curiosity and erudition, this man is a hot-tempered warrior, though. He will not share a renewed Elvhenan with humans, even if they are magically and spiritually aware. He will massacre the Qun to a child. In fact, I am in serious doubt he will welcome the Shem elves in his Elvhenan – you were less of an ant to him than most of us, but that was because…How did Sera put it? Ah, drop'em small clothes, and rebuild the empire! Phwoar, patriotic duty, vhenan!' he chuckled, making her smile sadly at the memory as well.

'Might have been the Mark alone…' she scolded.

Everything might feel so much easier if it was only that.

'I think it was both,' he said, caressing her hair. 'You not only survived it, but you managed to manipulate the fade open as well as closed, without anyone teaching you how to. You also briefly gained control of his focus orb…'

'Only to destroy it,' Veldrin softly refuted.

'Details, details... There is probably something in you that only he saw. That only he could see. Maybe you can actually make little god-elves on your own – I propose an experiment.' He followed, in regained humour. 'You let go of this abstinence nonsense, and have a go at some happy monkey business with someone else but him. I doubt House Pavus will even see pointy ears, if they come out all glowy and casting chain lightning at the servants if diapers are not changed on time; there is also the option of a small surgical intervention to make ears flat, thus promoting them to the master race…'

'Dorian!' she exclaimed, feeling amused and annoyed at the same time, and trying to lift herself on her elbow. The room spun, all things shifted in and out of colour, and she fell back, lost in the fade-less, dreamless dark.

'…how much blood did she use?' she heard, as through a thick door.

Lexi's voice was present, and close.

'About a pint, Lexi. Maker, I saw her bleeding about a pint, she should not…'

'Look at the size of her, Dorian, she weighs only a pint if soaking wet already. Veldrin.' Lexi called, 'Veldrin, come back. Vel, come back!'

She felt a slap and her teeth clattered.

She wanted to say she was sorry, she wanted to say she was awake, but her lips would not move, and her eyelids simply fluttered. She heard Lexi, gentle, humorous Lexi ordering Dorian to lock the door in a commanding bark.

She heard a swift swish and strangle, she heard a blade's swift draw too, but it was not her arm the blade found blood in.

Veldrin felt warm and safe.

Not you too, Lexi, she thought she heard Dorian say, before she fell asleep.

Hey there, sorry for the fast posting, readers and commentators, all – I did really need to get the chapter last night out of the way, because it did logically belong to the previous two scenes, and it was too short for a weekly installment.

As a bit of a warning, this story does contain some characters from the DA comics series (we'll have one mentioned next chapter), and will refer to events depicted therein. I'll try my best not to spoil the action in the comics, but will clarify the characters in footnotes.

With that, I thank you for reading and commenting, and warn you that the next chapter will contain some lovemaking of the M kind.