Sword-shattering fear filled me overflowing.

Grandeur of godhood no gaze should defile.

Trembling, I called out: "Forgive me, Most High,

I should sing Your Name to the heights of heaven,

But I know it not, and must be silent."

Andraste 1:9, 1-5

It was a nightmare, Divine Victoria thought, a nightmare from which she could not awaken, not even here, in Radonis' study, where the sensation of heavy, physical uneasiness had dulled into almost non-existence.

In the world outside, however, it was an entirely different story, less so in Tevinter than in Orlais and Ferelden; that was, perhaps, to be expected. For as much as had been lost, the Imperium remained the continent's only magical powerhouse, and their ease around demons, the freedom they granted their mages…the sheer number of mages, rendered them far less vulnerable to whatever new attack Solas had unleashed than Southern Thaedas, which had erupted into pandemonium in little over a day.

In Ferelden, the reports of random demonic manifestations had caused sieges on Magi Towers; caught on the wrong foot, the Templars had not known whether to defend from the sudden explosion of abominations within the towers' walls or from the mobs outside. Kirkwall was burning once again, the blaze extending throughout other cities in the Free Marches, while corpses that had lain still for centuries had risen and walked in Nevarran necropolae, attacking those mortalitasi who had not become demons themselves…

In Orlais, the Montsimard Circle had taken refuge in the Winter Palace, but despite Vivienne's early and wise preemptive actions, the Council of Heralds, who had, thus far, ignored the elvhen exodus could not decide between putting all elves that remained through the sword, to confirm that the sudden disease that had descended upon all humans, but left the elvhen unaffected was not simply another version of the Denerim plague, or ending the lives of all the mages, even those who struggled to keep the disease from descending upon them in its full might.

Antiva City – Antiva as a whole, it seemed – suffered from a spate of riots and unprecedented looting, whose demonic source could only be assumed, but not fully proven; the Felicissima Armada had been taken out to sea, to prevent arson, but by mid-afternoon, all contacts with its many ship captains had been lost.

Crows and pigeons crisscrossed the continent from north to south and east to west; there had even been communication from a Par Vollen so stricken with shock that it had omitted to be belligerent. The Qun was yet unaffected by the chronic fatigue illness that was infecting the humans, indiscriminately, yet they too had seen an unprecedented spate of sarebaas turning on the tamassran, and even members of the Beresaad with no previously known magical powers suddenly losing their minds – it was hinted that the Arishock himself was among them, though the sight of the dragon had rendered the Qunari messenger predictably mum on the subject.

Alone, under a deceitful dome of peace, Minrathous stood still, in bewilderment of a completely different manner, and of course, both Divines felt as if their Chantries had just been landed the final, killing blow, the one after which only a merciful appearance of Andraste herself could salvage them. Because she was the only utterly absent Godly figure of the realm; the Elvhen had just unleashed their last divinity upon the world, and just fifty feet from Radonis' window, a sapphire dragon continued to sleep, with a deep, rumbling snore.

The only small mercy in all of this was that the dragon's appearance had not caused any outright explosion of joy in the city. Though crowds had gathered to behold the wonder, the Magisterium had done its best to restrain both re-empowered and proudly resurfaced cultists and Chantry forces from lighting fires, one way or the other. It might, perhaps had been better if the mood of the city had not been so stifled and uncertain, if the crowd had cried out in adoration or wailed in despair, but there was nothing…Nothing, but eerie, silent contemplation, in Three Imperators Square, as well as in Radonis' study, which overlooked it.

The Archon himself seemed neither joyous nor frightened. Not the same could be said about parts of the concilliarum – Magister Cassius, in particular, seemed ten years younger and walked with a spring in his step, although to Cassandra's eye, the dragon had snubbed them all, and Cassius specifically, in a rather poignant manner.

The only thing that seemed to have soured Magister Cassius' day was the fact that Radonis had seen fit to call conciliarum in the presence of the Divines, Arl Teagan, and even Leliana, who was, after the Orlesian ambassador had packed up his household, and hastily fled the city, the closest thing to a reliable Orlesian liaison that the Imperium had.

'Good thing we didn't invite the Qun,' Cassius had snorted, taking his seat as Leliana walked through the door; to her credit, the Nightingale had offered him a resplendent smile and a very polite bow, and sat as far away from him as possible, even if it meant she had to take a seat beside Arl Teagan, who had clearly spent a sleepless night, and had not bothered to wash or shave for the occasion.

He'd nonetheless been the first one who'd dared speak.

'Which one is he?' Teagan had asked, with no preamble.

'Lusacan,' Radonis had replied, in an equally curt manner. 'Though,' he'd added with a sigh, 'I fear we shall see Razikale soon enough.'

'You fear,' the Ferelden had mockingly echoed. 'Why would you fear…'

Radonis had coughed to adjust his voice, and perhaps swallow a sharp response. 'I do not know why we would fear the Old Gods, Arl. It could perhaps be that they will not take well to the fact we have indeed, forgotten them and taken to a faith which is now, beyond doubt, proven questionable.'

'It could be akin to the uncertainty you might feel if the maiden of the Alamarr returned, in the flesh, and took exception to what all of us have done to her people, to the people of her Champion, or on how we have massacred the Chant of Light by picking of it only that which we all found politically convenient.' Radonis ended, smiling.

'You should be the last one speaking such blasphemy, Tevinter…' the Ferelden began, in the same unwisely cutting tone he had employed during all his stay in Minrathous.

'You asked a question,' the Black Divine intervened, removing his hat to wipe his brow of sweat, but nonetheless keeping his voice remarkably level. 'You have received an answer. If the Maker's Bride, blessed be her name, chose to return among us, we all have wickedness to account for in her eyes, as well as those of the Maker.'

'It is your nation that has martyred her,' Teagan insisted, in a low snarl.

'Perhaps,' Radonis agreeably said; one of his cats jumped onto the table. It was a pretty and delicate creature, to Cassandra's eye, and aside for Cassius, who immediately covered his face in his sleeve, all regarded its sniffing at empty wine cups with tired, mild amusement. 'But one can argue that without her martyrdom, there would be no Andrastian faith, thus that her martyrdom was the Maker's will, and Tevinter was merely the instrument of that will.'

The cat sniffed at the air, then decisively headed for Leliana, who welcomed her into her lap with a practiced, charming giggle.

'None should question the Maker's will,' the Nightingale said, smiling towards Radonis; the man approved with an unreadable smile and a nod.

'Especially not with a dragon outside our window, and an elven fungus engulfing what we all hold as civilization.' Cassius sourly put in.

Cassandra withheld a sigh, and unwillingly glanced out, at the gigantic creature, knowing even before she once more measured it that it could probably roast an entire army with but one breath.

'What is his element?' she heard herself ask; all, even Radonis, knitted their brows in confusion. 'I apologise,' she said, realising that she had spoken not as the Divine should have, but as the sword bearing Penthaghast Seeker within. 'Dragons,' she began to explain, 'normally have an element they prefer, which makes them vulnerable to…'

'Ah,' one of the other conciliatus, a woman of Cassandra's years said, nodding. 'Magistra Maryam, of the House Tullius, most recently of Vol Dorma,' she said, introducing herself to Leliana, who was the only person in the room who'd never seen her before. 'I believe it is ice, though none knows for sure. The Ancients obviously have never tried to slay them.'

'Obviously,' Cassandra whispered; the female Magister shrugged.

'It is also obvious that all records of our Ancients' interactions with the Old Gods were duly burned, when the Chantry took over.' Maryam of the House Tullius said, no spite in her voice. 'Little is known. Razikale, I think, is lightning, though she is legendarily whimsical.' She said.

'We are not seriously discussing how to kill the source of our power!' Cassius exclaimed. 'Your grace, this path…'

'If he wakes up in a sour mood, Magister Cassius…' Radonis said, letting the sentence drift.

If he wakes up in a sour mood, Cassandra thought, he'll turn this city, and all of us, into a glacier filled with human sized icicles, before they even pull their staves. Worse, if…

'If this is the start of a Blight…' Cassandra whispered, in turn.

'You southerners and your Blights,' Cassius muttered, shaking his head. 'Does he seem blighted, to you?' he asked, gesturing towards the great beast; she had to admit it did not.

Like all, the Divine had read accounts of the Archdemons of old. The one that had emerged during the Ferelden Blight was still recent enough in common memory that there were men left alive who could speak to its appearance of horror and rot – this creature was, even to the eyes of one who dreaded it, beautiful beyond comparison and doubt. It spoke, and no army of darkspawn had preceded him or risen in his wake.

She nervously ran her fingers though her hair, her glance affixed to the sapphire dragon. The sun was descending, causing its scales to glitter blindingly.

'May I inquire but one thing?' Leliana said, lifting the cat to her arms, in an obvious attempt of gaining good will from its master. 'Your grace,' she said, to Radonis. 'Your excellences.' Leliana followed, addressing the Magisters of the concilliarum. 'Your worships?'

'By all means, Sister Nightingale,' Radonis agreed, before Cassandra could shake off her unwanted fears and give her friend permission to speak.

'What has awoken the Watchman of Night? For ages he has slumbered, heedless to implorations and sacrifices doubtlessly still given to his name. What voice could call so high, or indeed, low, that…'

Radonis narrowed his eyes, yet the smile never left his features.

'Is your guest uninformed on the matter, Sister Nightingale?' the Archon asked back.

'This countering, your grace…'

'Is beneath us both?' Radonis said, smiling in a way that somehow, made him look impish. 'Legends are true then, Sister Nightingale; not only can your voice soothe the savage beasts across all Thaedas, but your ears hear through walls. The only legends that regard you which seem untrue are of your influence and ability to obtain answers and loyalty from all who surround you. Your guest, the witch of the Korkari Wilds is impervious to your charms alone, I gather?'

'I am assured she would become more forthcoming should I and Magister Cassius…combine forces?' Leliana replied, smiling to the man who had bristled at her presence as if he'd been an old and dear friend…and with this offer, one the Divine and her left hand had previously discussed and hastily agreed on, Cassandra noted, in fright, Leliana lost Radonis.

Something, an elongated, slippery shadow, glistened underneath the perpetually clear surface of Radonis' blue eyes, so fleeting that Cassandra wondered if she'd imagined it; the smile that was as effective as an Orlesian masquerade mask, did not slip. The Archon leaned back in his chair.

'Information gathering is something that I am pleased to acknowledge both you and Magister Cassius are admirably adept at. However, for as little versed on the subject I admit I am, I think information sharing is an acquired skill and we are rather short on the time needed to acquire it…'

'In other words, no cooperation,' Arl Teagan angrily and unwisely interrupted. Cassandra felt grateful for it, nonetheless. 'Enough of the game doublespeak – you both know something, maybe different parts of the same truth, but you are willingly jostling your pieces of the truth so that no side can see the whole before the other does.'

'Perhaps,' Radonis answered causing Cassandra to exchange a quick glance with Leliana.

'Ferelden's capacity for seeing to the heart of all matters is always such ray of sunlight on days beset by mist,' Sister Nightingale nodded. 'Yet Lusacan is said to be awake at night,' Leliana replied, caressing the cat. 'The sun is disappearing across the horizon. Not only is this countering beneath all of us, but we should, perhaps, seek an answer to his appearance before he offers one himself.'

Radonis leaned back in his chair, knitting his fingers together, assessing the half offer, half threat; to Cassandra's great relief, he exchanged a quick, questioning glance with Maryam of House Tullius, not Cassius – still, the feeling was all too brief.

He did not outright know, the Divine felt, but he had an inkling of a suspicion, as did a few of the others, Morrigan included – Leliana's offer of information sharing may have been veiled, but it had been sincere.

Radonis must have known so, but, on the other hand, he was a man now torn between initiating true cooperation with the Imperium's former provinces, and letting the dice fall where they may for Southern Thaedas, and seeing to the Imperium alone. A furious Old God might, indeed have spelled disaster, but then, newer Gods did not seem more easily appeased. It mattered little whether Lusacan froze Minrathous or Solas gradually ground it to dust, and, in the end…

If the monster had not woken in a mood to devour after ages of slumber, Cassandra thought, trying to imagine what may have lied behind Radonis' mask, it was improbable that he would wake up in such a mood after a day-long nap; and if Tevinter made amends with the Gods it had indeed, forgotten – though what the price of such amends might be, she did not care to envision… If, then, Tevinter had two entities whom, by legend, rivalled Solas' power, Tevinter could stop him alone, without the other nations of Thaedas: a whisper of hope and a promise of great dread, carried on a single breath.

Unfortunately for herself, Cassandra knew it was a gamble she had once taken in the same direction that she feared the Archon of Tevinter now would. Had she not, in a world that was tumbling to chaos around her, and when the institutions she had dedicated her life to had suddenly crumbled to gaggles of squabbling children, turned to unknown forces for aid?

Leliana still spoke, as did Teagan; Cassius interjected from time to time, as did Magistra Tullius. The rest of Radonis' shadows remained silent and watched them, while Radonis himself was as distant from the time wasting exchanges as Cassandra herself was. Though all had been facing the wide window and the dying sunlight, they all still spoke; Radonis didn't. He'd simply lowered his glance and kitted his fingers on the table, watching their shadow stretch out over the scattered parchments and maps, a thin watchtower of indecisive shadow growing across Orlais and Ferelden alike, then spreading out into true darkness as the sun hid behind the Watchman of Night.

'You did not need any of us for this, Archon Radonis,' the Divine spoke up. 'Your decision was made before you summoned this room.'

The suddenness of the realisation had been as swift as the words; her unspoken thoughts may have wound at what to her inner self felt as an excruciating pace, but in this regard, of many others, Divine Victoria was unfair to herself. She did not think slowly, she merely thought deeply, and was a better reader of humans than she gave herself credit for.

The Archon of Tevinter was truly in the same position that she'd been in when she had called the Inquisition – barring a few delicate details: that she had had a script from Divine Justinia's hand to support her decision, and that to her choices there was no upside. She'd also not been chosen by a land, to represent their interests. She'd had Leliana and Josie to carry the sacks of sand of politics for her. Radonis had none of those things to ease him, and he was, in the end, just a man.

'You'll make a deal with the dragon, because you do not think there is any other way out,' Cassandra said.

Radonis met her glance. She first saw him without his mask, but learned nothing aside what she had already guessed: the man beneath the mask was sorry and apprehensive, and she understood him better than she might have liked.

'Why did you call us here, then?' Teagan snarled. 'To gloat, to…'

He shielded his eyes with his hand, because, as the sun truly disappeared, all the enchanted candles scattered around the room came alight.

I regret this, Radonis' glance said.

All heard, rather than saw the second awakening of the Watchman – it was a rumble and a scratch of scales rubbing against stone; by the time they had reached the window, to fully watch it, the dragon had already uncoiled and stood on its hind legs, yawning wide and looking about.

He stretched his wings out…

Maker, Cassandra thought, again noting its sheer size…

…then wound them back in, without batting them even once.

There was nothing even remotely human in its face and it did move as an awoken animal, confined by a cage that did not allow it to fully stretch, yet the decision of not batting its wings had been one of distinct human intelligence: if it had truly batted them, it might have caused the buildings that had survived its landing to crumble.

She could hear the crowd in the square below breathe out, as one, and only when they did so did she realise she was holding her breath too. The dragon lowered his head to look at them…smell them, the slits of its nostrils opening and closing with each deep inhalation. Maker, it was so large, and so close that Cassandra could see its eyes, perfect, deep and clear turquoise, more akin to the eyes of a cat than those of a reptile, moving slowly from one face to another, measuring all.

Slowly, it snaked downwards along the body of one of the juggernauts, its movement a triumph of the balance between grace and strength. The crowd drew back, but it did not halt – the ranks at the forefront of the human mass pressed into those at the back, yet none fled, and soon, the crowd had to part to allow the creature passage. It slithered among the ants that were barely as tall as his claws, still lazily looking about itself, so heavy that the ground shook and cracked at each of its steps, until it stopped at the very centre of the square; it stood there, motionless, for a moment as long as a decade, allowing all to bask in its magnificence.

It was so close now that, had it swiped his front paw, it might have ripped straight through the middle of the Argent Spire's tower…Close enough for even a Penthaghast to know that any struggle against this creature would be utterly hopeless, even if...

It did not swipe its paw. It simply raised his head and looked at them, knowing what, and especially who he was looking at.

…even if, gazing into its eyes, she'd seen that it truly was only a dragon.

It wasn't – from up close, for it had come so close now that if Radonis had opened his windows, he might have touched the dragon's snout, its eyes sparkled with human intelligence, its reptilian features had expression. It…no, not it, he spoke again.

Your Lord, the Watcher of Night awakes, City of the Magisters, and yet I see not all mine servants come to greet me.

More presence than words, the voice of Lusacan vibrated through Cassandra's bones to the marrow, causing her tremble not with fear, but pleasure. That, more than any possessive claw at her spirit or skin crawling roar made the Divine blanch in fear. Before Cassandra had a moment to speak, the last vestiges of the sun were blotted out as Lusacan shifted his head to the side, and gazed attentively through the window.

He did not speak, this time – there was only the unblinking, amused gaze of a vast eye, which now more resembled a giant field of painted glass than any portion of a living animal. It was perhaps the most beautiful thing Cassandra had ever beheld and she stood transfixed – it was not for long, however; the dragon once more shifted his glance away, and let out a puff though his nostrils, delicate enough not to shatter the glass. Instead, frost flowers blossomed across it in the blink of an eye, stealing their view of the square below.

Do not content yourselves with watching. Descend, and witness first hand my rebirth, Lusacan said.

Cassius' chair clattered to the floor, as the man stood in terrible haste - the tower shook Cassandra, and all others out of the awed reverie; the Magister scrambled for the door, as did four others of the concilliarum, the five all but trampling over each other to get out. Cassius nonetheless reached the door first, and pulled on its handle, once, then twice, with renewed strength, and still to no avail.

Features contorted with hatred and rage, he spun to his master. 'Why is this locked? Why…' he uttered, in an inhuman growl. The last two of Tevinter's representatives exchanged a tiredly amused glance.

'Because we assumed you would do this, Magister Cassius. Magister Publius,' Maryam Tullius said. 'We shall proceed to pay homage in proper order, not in a disgraceful stampede.'

'You'll not deprive those who have harboured the true faith from their moment of triumph!' another Magister sneered. 'You'll not…'

'We've no intention of doing that, Magister Piso,' Radonis agreeably said. 'But we are assured that the Watchman will not bestow the office of Archon upon the first Magister he lays eyes upon; we shall hence proceed to offer our devotions, as we would proceed on any other state engagement.'

'With you in our lead,' Cassius spat, audibly gritting his teeth.

'With me in your lead,' Radonis replied, smiling; with tiredness and dread lacing his every movement, he stood, and unfastened the Blade of Mercy from his hip to lay it on his desk – unconsciously, as he stepped forward, he let his fingers run across the sword's scabbard and hilt, in a gentle, regretful goodbye caress.

'Don't be so scornful, Cassius,' the Archon said, passing amid his clearly hostile advisors, to unlock the door. 'It may well be the dragon will eat whomever steps up to him first. It is also, I think,' he added, as he emerged into the corridor not looking over his shoulder, 'time for me to remind you of an old adage; you did me this favour not so long ago. Woe to the leader – their back is always turned to many daggers.'

'And we all carry one, your grace,' Cassius hissed.

'I know you do,' Radonis nodded, but stepped up and turned his back on them, nonetheless.

I understand now why you liked this man, Veldrin, Cassandra thought, swallowing dry before she took a tentative step of her own, hand on her sword's hilt. This man walks in true grace.

'Leliana,' she whispered, looking to her friend, only to find her features pale and her gaze empty. 'Leliana, my friend, I shall…I need to see…'

'I cannot, Cassandra,' Leliana whispered; she was shaking like a leaf. 'I cannot go down there. That entire market will set knee to ground once Radonis does, and I…You cannot ask this of me.'

The Divine nodded, and squeezed her friend's shoulder, nodding. 'I understand,' she said; she turned her gaze to the Black Divine, but there was nothing she could say to him – the man was still collapsed in his chair, his face covered in his hands, still breathing, but a soul dead, desperate husk regardless.

She once more nodded, this time to herself alone, then followed Radonis and his concilliarum down the corridor – and found herself immediately shocked by the chaos that reigned outside the door. It was as if a flood had suddenly come thundering down the previously ordered corridors, its waters not carrying crushing boulders or uprooted trees, but bodies of men and women. It was to the same effect, however; the small cluster of templars that surrounded the Magisters barely managed to keep the rushing folk from outright trampling them, yet despite the rough shoving of shields and even the threat of blades, the group looked as a small boat swaying dangerously on the bloated, furious waters of a mountain river.

The range of safety the templars managed to keep around the Magisters was less than a foot wide, and even that threatened to falter at each step – mages in Altus robes, questors, scribes, servants poured out from every room and from around every corner, shoving and trampling each other, each intended on carving a path for themselves and get ahead of others with their elbows or even fingernails. None noticed the ones who stumbled and fell, none noticed the grunts, or screams, or cracking of bones. This was no march of faith, the Divine thought, this was desperate panic, as if all human beings in the Senate building had thought the dragon had addressed them personally.

Cassandra could not fight the human tide, so she allowed herself to be carried, trying not to think of what or who she was stepping on when she slipped; she was crushed upon the shield of one of the Templars, then helplessly swept aside, just as the group was approaching the staircase landing. Here, the fleeing men were getting truly desperate, the river now encountering a dangerous turn and narrow straights. Radonis's entire detail was pushed to the side, and Cassandra found herself helplessly flattened between the wall and the shield of the bewildered templar, who was pressing all his weight on it and hiding behind it at the same time.

'Maker's breath!' she loudly cursed, pushing back with all her might – she was wearing armour, but it was light, and no match for the weight of a man with a tall shield and in full battle irons. Surprised by the backwards pressure, the templar peeked above his shield, but it was all Cassandra needed. Painfully freeing her arm, she grabbed the man by the side of his helmet and pulled it off, not so she could see him, but so he could see her; not that it mattered much, as there was no glint of recognition in his eyes, only surprise at the fact that he was truly crushing another person, which was clearly not his intent, followed swiftly by confusion on what he should have done next. The pressure he was putting on the woman increased, because he too was being pushed – there was no radius around the Magisters now, and he was faced with the very unpleasant choice of persisting in what he was doing, or letting an unknown armed individual within the huddle of those he was meant to protect.

Still, small fortunes existed – a robed arm reached over the templar's shoulder, grabbing Cassandra by the edge of her breastplate, and yanking her in; still confused, but definitely grateful that the decision had been taken by a higher power, the man shifted his shield aside just enough to allow her to slip though. Unfortunately the movement scratched the mage's arm to the blood.

'Kevesh!' Maryam Tullius cursed, looking at her torn robe and bloodied arm. 'Fasta vass1!'

All glances within the small, and increasingly pressed together group incredulously turned to her; though she was still struggling for breath, Cassandra noticed Radonis did actually appear shocked.

'Magistra Tullius…erm,' one of the others said, 'the Divine…'

'I'm not cursing at the Divine, Piso!' the Magistra thundered. 'What in the blazing hell are we doing? We're getting swept aside like worms, when…'

'…when it became poignantly clear that we are no longer the power in the land,' Radonis shrugged, unpleasantly rubbing shoulders with Cassius. 'What do you propose, shooting chain lightning down the stairs, to clear them to our passage?'

'If she is, she's not the only one thinking that.' Cassius mumbled, nudging Publius away from himself. 'Some dignified entry we're making,' he sneered.

'At least you did get crushed in the stampede and no one has room to draw a dagger,' Radonis said.

'Don't start with me, Clodius Radonis!' the Magistra spat. 'No more of this kaffas!' she huffed, yanking one of her earrings out, and causing it to blaze in focus. The push of her barrier spell caused all outside the templar's protective ring to stumble tens of feet backwards, and fall over each other; some unfortunates, who were closer to the group were thrown over the railing, and landed twenty feet below with thuds dulled only by the screams of the others.

'If have die on my knees, I shall at least walk out there without servants and Liberati trampling my robes,' Magistra Tullius said, dryly, regaining the evenness of her breath even as she had given all others room to breathe. 'Your grace,' she said, stretching her bloodied arm towards the now empty, majestic staircase. 'If you will.'

Radonis lowered his glance, nodded, and started downwards – with the luxury of the few feet of distance he'd been awarded, he walked ahead of the others, waving Cassandra to his side.

Barely resisting the urge of elbowing Cassius to the face as she pushed past him, Cassandra did join Radonis at the point of the small arrow. She did not need to make her strides wide, for he was walking with small, unhurried steps, hands clenched behind his back, as a man might have, she dully thought, when taking a stroll through a fragrant garden.

'I cannot guarantee your protection beyond the doors just ahead of us, your worship,' Radonis spoke, softly. 'I cannot even guarantee my own. Perhaps it for the best if you were to return to the relative safety of my study.'

Cassandra pointedly pressed her hand to the hilt of her sword.

'That will not help either you or I, your worship,' the Archon said.

'There is no safety within these walls…' Cassandra began; he swiftly nodded.

'I did not think that spillage of humankind we just carved a way through was rushing to worship,' Radonis said. 'I think they were rushing to get out of the building and eager to take their chances out in the square. More side streets, you see. I could, of course, be wrong, in which case, I still cannot assure your safety. You are a brave woman of a faith that will be extinguished tonight, in Tevinter. Faith and fear are good cousins, your worship, and those who kill for one leave one as dead as those who kill out of the other. I do not wish your lynching to be the first of many I shall be powerless to stop.'

They were upon the last three steps when he finally turned to face her.

'Please remain here, your worship. Not in the building but within its grounds – I shall leave these men,' he followed, pointing to the twelve soldiers that guarded them, 'to protect you, if the need arises. They are not only skilled, but good men.'

'I need to see, Clodius Radonis,' she softly said, in turn – it felt right to call the man by his name, now that'd she'd learned in in full.

'I know you do. If I were you, I too would need to see. I am not asking you to not watch; I am asking you to not die foolishly, Divine Victoria. If you go out there, in that mob, you will. It is a mistake I can warn you of but not prevent you from doing. I can merely ask that you be wise. By your leave, your worship.' He ended, with a bow and a smile.

She followed him to the arch of the open door, but went no further. The Archon spared her a final glance, and a smile that felt genuine. 'I swear to you, should we not die tonight, we shall not forsake Thaedas.' He said, and Cassandra's heart skipped a beat, for she could read no threat in the words.

'Oh yes, lady Penthaghast,' Cassius cackled from behind, 'we most certainly will not.'

She did not have time to respond.

The seven moved forward within the protective barrier of Magistra Tullius' magic, a single bubble of order in the now chaotically jostling crowd – their walk was not a long one, but to Cassandra it felt like millennia before they came to stand before the dragon; if anything, their appearance had only caused the others to become more frantic, and their advance had not been slowed by hesitation, but rather by the fact that they were advancing as a frail ship navigating thick ice, which could crack its hull at any moment.

Lusacan looked about himself, his expression denoting naught but disgust, as in its upheaval, the crowd was even closing in on him, and some unfortunate had been pushed forth so recklessly that it brushed against the dragon's claw, then shrieked, seeking to dive back in the solid mass.

Cease this! He thundered, shifting his momentous weight, and half batting his wings. Cease this, and tremble before the power revealed!

And there it was, again, the voice that was more sensation which grated within – more than its icy breath might have, more of the implied threat of his movement, which by now, would have crushed tens of men, if the dragon chose to spin about itself, the people froze and slowly moved back, a step, then two, allowing both dragon and Archon some room, and as well as allowing Cassandra to catch a glimpse of Radonis turned back.

There is no man in history that I have pitied more, she thought.

Behind Radonis, Cassius and Piso threw themselves down on their knees; around the square, many others did so as well, in whatever little space they had to do it in, then more still followed –Cassandra hoped against hope that the ice flowers had not yet melted, and Leliana was not watching. Radonis still stood though, and few, too few others did as well. Cassandra prayed for their souls but nothing burned in her heart; the words were hollow.

She found herself hoping that these last few would kneel as well.

Lusacan lowered his head to look Radonis in the eyes, a glance the Archon could not sustain for long. He lowered his eyes, and lowered himself to his knees. All others followed, then, and in the heavy, terrible silence that followed, the dragon reared on its hind legs and roared towards the night sky, its cry making the empty heavens shake.

Cassandra turned to leave, for she too could watch no longer; the voice caught her unprepared, and she spun on herself once more, in shock. It sounded as if the monster had sighed.

So I see now all that is left of unassailable Minrathous in the Defilers' wake, Lusacan said, his sapphire glance rolling over the square; none dare look up. He looked…dismayed? The Divine thought, in a daze, a daze which was soon overtaken by true dread, as Lusacan lowered his head so much that it all but lay on the ground beside the Archon – and yet, no teeth were bared, and no spikes bristled: the dragon simply used its enormous, scaled jaw to give the Archon a nudge so mild that the man did not even lose his balance.

I said tremble, not kneel, Lusacan spoke. Rise thee, bearer of the Ferryman's Ring, heir to Darinius, for I have much to demand and learn of thee before we might the foe in battle…That, and mine neck has a crank in it such as only millennia of contorted sleep could grant me; looking down all the time is a mighty pain.

Radonis stood, and Cassandra noted that only now the Archon was shaking from all his joints long before she noted that her lower jaw must have been resting on the floor.

1 No clue what these literally mean, but they are Old Tevene swear words a bit rougher than Kaffas.

And so, Cassie and Radonis meet Lusacan...and he is not what they expected, is he, now...well, wait till the next installment.

In the meanwhile, a good chiropractor is a wise investment!

We thank you for reading and commenting.

Cheers, Abstract :)