To the pretender-gods once more,

And in return were given, in hushed whispers,

The secrets of darkest magic.

Threnodies 5: 11-13

Shit happened for no reason – but then, good things happened for no reason, too.

Of all the ways in which Varric had thought he would find his death, starving in an oubliette for upholding a principle, had been the very last.

It was not even the hunger, the dwarf thought, but the desolation of abandonment by so many, and, even above that, the thirst. The fact that his own city had done nothing but come and behold him, as if he'd been a rare bird of paradise…

If Varric had thought he'd ever write again, he'd definitely consider that metaphor, not in what regarded himself, but as a rule.

And he'd felt thirsty, and though he was in the sight of many, he felt forgotten by all.

Leliana had come to lock his cage in person, and asked him to repent, lest crows made a feast of him; sadly, Varric did not think she'd meant her human crows would indeed make a feast of him. He had had other carnivorous birds on his mind, yet, given that when he'd been put behind the bars, he'd still been strong, so he'd thought nothing of once more telling Leliana she was being dangerously duped.

By now, he'd had a good mind to piss in his hands and drink it…

Such was the thirst.

And it had only been a week…Or had it? The days had begun melding into each other…Weak and growing weaker, at the mercy of the wind and his ill content citizens, he'd lingered, trying to think of some heroic rescue. If none else moved first, Bianca could come to his aid, he'd told himself, and so, within a fever dream, he'd sucked on the rotten tomatoes being thrown his way for water. And pushed himself to live…One day longer, and then, another…

And then, the day had finally come: he had heard clamour within the troops first. Too dehydrated and too starved, he'd only thought he had imagined troops chanting – Our Hero! Our Hero! and not taken it for even hope of a reprieve until he had understood what the entire ruckus was about.

There had been a brief lash of painful hope when the source of the sudden excitement had finally come close enough for him to see her; Varric had only then remembered that the Hero of Ferelden was an elf, a woman, and a mage to boot.

Leliana had been genuinely happy to see her, just like the entirety of the Ferelden contingent, and she had made a princely entrance to the square where Varric was literally hanging by ancient chains and the mercy of new, wild winds. No wonder, the dwarf had thought, in his daze of hunger and thirst. The woman had as royal a bearing as one could get without wearing a crown, but the fact that she wore the Grey Warden battle uniform – polished within an inch of its life, true – and unassuming Ferelden heraldic, heck, even the somewhat sturdy cart horse she had ridden in on, marked her as a woman of the people, and, first and foremost, a soldier.

Varric doubted that Queen Anora herself might have elicited such enthusiasm amid the Ferelden troops. It was one thing to have a woman in gilded silks cheering one on from the safety of a palace balcony, and well another to have a legendary, competent fighter by one's side.

'Twas true, even from a distance, Sebastian Vael had looked somewhat ashen, but whether it was simply his normal complexion, or he'd not been pleased by the effervescence, the dwarf could not tell. The Hero of Ferelden was the King's mistress, in the end, and Vael was precisely the type of person who would see that, instead of seeing a woman who'd ended a Blight in under a year and a literal kingmaker…Or it might have simply been the time and battle worn staff the Hero of Ferelden carried on her back to make Sebastian Vael look so glum.

Still, even Vael had had reason to feel some joy – or relief? – when the Hero had kneeled before Andraste to receive her blessings; the simple, unassuming gesture had made those bustling in the city square to erupt into even wilder cheers, brought a smile to Vael's face, and simultaneously caused Varric's heart to sink.

The false prophet was gaining more legitimacy by the moment, and though the timing might have been perfect for a reveal, it seemed like the Hero of Ferelden had had no such intention, or that Andruil's illusion powers had grown so strong that even seasoned mages could no longer see through them. And if this was the case, Varric thought, it all had truly gone to fuck.

Well, there was still Bianca…The only disadvantage that the entire ruckus had created, in the end, was the fact that amid all the commotion, people had forgotten to throw any sort of vegetables at him, so dinner was forfeit.

The Hero had vanished behind the walls of what had once been the Viscount's Palace, but had now turned into Andruil's lair. She'd walked arm in arm with Leliana, smiled at Vael, and not forgotten to give her troop a salute – not a delicate, queenly wave – before disappearing inside. The soldiers themselves had slowly dispersed, and the clamour had died down, allowing Varric to pass out with exhaustion, for now, whenever he closed his eyes, he could no longer define sleep as rest – just haunted darkness, populated by stranger and stranger workings of his imagination…

Such as, for instance, the fact that he'd felt his cage being lowered to the ground, the clanking of chains and the creaking of the cage door opening. Yet, all of these were so familiar by now, as they had featured in every increasingly wild rescue fantasy, that Varric did not even open his eyes until he was, quite literally, yanked out.

Shit got a lot weirder after, for the men dragging him out of his filthy abode were Vael's men, and, for a moment, Varric had both hoped and feared that Alistair had sent his girl to at least grant him a merciful death. It was not to be, though: the Starkheaven soldiers had roughly grabbed him by his arms, and dragged him inside the monster's lair, albeit by the secondary entrance that led to the low cells. They'd thrown him into one, without ceremony, locked the door and departed. It had taken Varric some time to get his bearings, for he'd lain unconscious for so long that it was already night, outside.

Through the tiny, barred slit which passed for a window the light of the full moon still crept, milky and soft. The cell was small, but it felt like an immense expanse after so many days locked in a bird-cage, while the sight of a wooden pellet, covered in straw was more welcome than the sight of a featherdown bed…if only Varric had had enough strength left to crawl to it. He did not, but even stretching out on the floor was a blessing…

Until, of course someone opened the door and knocked him over the head with it so violently that the dwarf darted to his feet. Well, almost; he would have liked to, but he was not able to, so he simply sat up, and cursed profusely.

'Sorry,' the Hero of Ferelden said, looking genuinely apologetic. 'Oi, really sorry? I'd have thought you'd be in bed…'

And this, in the category of weird things happening, had to take the lot.

He stopped cursing, and looked at her with a terrible scowl.

'What?' Varric shot, rubbing the top of his head. 'Beatings to be administered in person, now?'

The woman pleasantly giggled.

'Sorry, again. No beatings, upon solemn oath. I had just not expected you'd be lying on the floor.'

'Yeah…'

'C'mon,' she said, kneeling, and hoisting him up – elf or no elf, she had the grip of a bear. Not that Varric wanted to resist it, or did not snatch the water pouch from her hands as soon as she'd sat him down. 'Easy with it,' the woman warned, when his gulps got too greedy. 'If you puke on me, there will be beatings. And man, you smell like shite. I'll tell them to get a tub in here, when they come with the food.'

'Alright,' Varric replied. 'I've died and gone to purgatory.'

'I'm old, but not that old,' the woman warmly laughed. 'Was planning to bring you food as well, but when I saw what Vael had in store for you, I sorta…re-ordered. Will be a minute. Ma'alis Surana,' she said, extending her hand.

'The Hero of Ferelden,' the dwarf said, shaking it.

'No, you are confused there. I am the Hero of Ferelden so it's kind of poor form to introduce yourself as that, Master Tethras,' Ma'alis smiled. 'But I know your name, so it's fine. Glad to finally meet you, sorry for the circumstances. Ali sends his apologies, too. I tried very hard to get them to release you in Ferelden custody, but this is all I could get, and I could not push it more, otherwise Leli would get suspicious.'

'So you did see…her.'

'Oh, yes I did,' she nodded. 'Not easy to un-see, trust me.'

'Tell me about it,' the dwarf grumbled; the water was clean and cold, and tasted like the finest of wines, and Ali's girl…

Well, girl, he thought; she might have been sixty, for all he knew. It was obvious she had once been a vibrant beauty, but middle age was not kind to anyone, not even heroes. Her auburn hair was streaked with white, and she had wrinkles…Laughter lines, he corrected himself, for the first time since Andruil had undone their best laid plans, feeling somewhat upbeat. She might not have been a girl anymore, but she was definitely the woman he might have pictured with Alistair. One that loved to laugh; pretty blue eyes, too, wide and slanted, a playful light in their depth.

Too bad there were slim chances he would see her laugh too much now.

'Why did you kneel to her, if you did see her?' the dwarf asked.

'Because despite the enthusiasm of my troops, I might have joined you in that charming room with a view of an impending disaster you were hanging out in.'

'In front of all your people? They wouldn't have dared.'

'Yeah, maybe,' Ma'alis admitted, with a shrug. 'But I would have left myself in a corner with no room to manoeuvre. Hold on, let me get that,' she said, jumping to her feet, and speaking as if she had not noticed that Varric could not have stood to save his life.

She opened the cell door, exchanged a few words with the guards, then returned by his side with a steaming bowl of soup and a hefty loaf of bread, which smelled as if it had been taken straight out of the oven. Against all odds, she did laugh when Varric sunk his face in the soup bowl.

'Remember beatings will happen if you puke,' she chuckled, but then let him eat in silence, and the silence lasted, until the soup bowl had been licked clean, and only a corner of the back bread remained. Varric was still chewing on it when she spoke again.

'The favour of everyone is hard to obtain, and even harder to maintain. The foot soldiers love me, but Anora's generals don't. My presence here will erase their authority, Master Tethras, and none of them will like it.'

'Varric's the name, shit's weird the game, Ma'alis,' the dwarf replied, hastily swallowing the last of the bread; making her laugh, once he inevitably started to hiccup was a truly unexpected boon.

She was definitely Ali's girl; he did not like it when she suddenly turned into Mae.

'I could not push any further for you because I want a seat at that abomination's table,' she said.

He liked it even less when she turned into Leliana.

'I need to bring my mages into this, Varric. If I don't smile and nod and make myself look stupid, I won't be able to. So, I need to wait for the opportunity. I made it clear to the lot of them that Ferelden will go to war with Arlathan, and claim it in the Maker's name, even if every knife ear within its walls is dead…'

'So easy for you to do, you are…'

'A flat ear, yes, and a Circle Mage, yes,' Ma'alis said. 'Respectable, through and through, at least through human eyes. Which is why not even Andruil can expel me, now, that I am here – I'm very sure she knows I saw through her little ruse in an eyeblink, but she cannot snub me. Ferelden's troops outnumber Starkheaven's by five to one, if we withdraw, they stand no chance. Leliana does not understand her prophet's fear of mages, so I will exploit that, too…'

'Good,' Varric said, laying down on his side. 'And supposing this will all happen…'

'In common parlance, I'm gonna fuck me up a bitch.'

'What if it doesn't happen?

'I'm gonna die trying to fuck me up a bitch,' Ma'alis said.

You and Hawke would have so much to speak about, Varric thought to say, but he did not, because he felt warm, and safe, his belly was full, and there was still so much good left in the world.

And maybe, just maybe, the good left in the world outweighed the evil in it. Or maybe it was just the good soup, and the bread.

He could not tell, but no one could have; Vael's agents spent the entire night trying to decipher the code in the Hero's simple letter to King Alistair Therein.

The Blight dream is true, she'd written. In peace, vigilance. In war, victory. In death, sacrifice.

They had not understood it, Leliana had insisted it was just a simple expression of a Grey Warden going on a last mission; given the fact that the Old Gods could no longer be turned to Archdemons, the Hero had found a different, yet worthy way to die, when the Blight's song began.

Vael's agents made even less sense of the second letter, one addressed to the Tevinter whore.

I saw the true light, may we in the true light meet; I greet you, and I shall fall to you in combat before I acknowledge any false light shines brighter than the truth. Fiat iusticia, pereat mundi'1.

Leliana had taken it for a threat and a promise; had he been awake, Varric might have made a lot more sense of it than Leliana had – all in all, some people handled magic, some handled swords, others handled bows. Varric was a writer though, and his first mastery was words.

He read no such exchanges, for he had no opportunity to do so. After being forcefully awoken to bathe and impolitely been prompted to force himself into a change of fresh clothes, Varric had fallen asleep again, not even noticing that the wooden pellet he had for a bed was covered in a straw mattress, not merely straw.

And so it came that Varric Tethras slept soundly through the week when the united Free Marches and Ferelden invaded Antiva, and Empress Celene Valmont the First of Orlais declared war on Ferelden, to the great dismay of the Chantry and the utter delight of her Chavaliers.

'Perhaps an all-out invasion might have been the better option,' Radonis reasoned; he was uncharacteristically, not wearing any of his Archon regalia, and, even more uncharacteristically, when asked what refreshments should be offered, he had asked for a tankard of ale.

The irony of it all was the fact that the tankard had made the sturdy, extra table that had been brought to the Pavus library resemble the one that had once occupied the War Room in Skyhold, which gave Veldrin a rather dizzying sensation of déjà vu…It was just that the actors had changed, and it was quite the dissonance to see Clodius Radonis standing in for Cullen and Briala standing in for Leliana, while Josephine retained her place; yet, flying cows had once crossed the sky over Minrathous. It was not the strangest thing imaginable. Not by a long shot.

'Your grace cannot ask Her Radiance to set her hair on fire fully,' Briala answered, with a shrug. 'We have considered an eastward advance as well; it would have forced Ferelden to turn around, but…'

'One cannot un-invade a country,' the Archon nodded.

'Quite so, your grace.'

'Besides,' Veldrin put in, biting her lower lip, 'it would have made it impossible for our forces to meet, now that Nevarra has joined war against us.'

'It is regrettable,' Josie timidly said, 'but unavoidable. I have received assurances that they don't plan to be overly active, but it was also made clear to me they will not look the other way if Tevinter tries to cross their territory.'

'Will Orlais?' Radonis asked.

Briala opened her mouth to speak, but Mae spoke in her stead.

'The legality of the issue is murky.' She said. 'We have a peace treaty with Orlais, but not a mutual defence one, and even if we did hastily signed one now, on our knees, technically Orlais is attacking, not being attacked.'

'We can negotiate a culoir du passage,' Briala offered. 'As long as it is time limited, and the Legion does not come within five hundred miles of Val Royaux…'

'The word is buuuurnin'!' Sera reminded, in a tone that demonstrated both her boredom at the proceedings, and the fact that she did not give a toss who was actually in the room. 'The veil is wobbly! An' you guys are talkin' paaaapers!'

'International political affairs are not really your strong point, eh?' Kieran muttered, peeking out from behind the massive wall of books that he, his mother, Dorian and Solas were hiding behind.

'Focus, please,' Morrigan muttered. 'The veil is wobbly…Gods!'

'I've heard that one before,' Solas calmly put in; he was so engrossed in his book that only the tips of his ears were showing. 'In fact, I have heard worse – do try to focus, young man…Dorian, why is this ankh placed this way? It is most inefficient; leaves the tail of the Fade warp open too wide.'

'Ugh,' Dorian replied, 'yes, but it also helps weaker mages ride your coat-tails. If you leave trace energy available, others can draw from it.'

'Ah. An actual improvement on our technique…'

'Ah, an actual compliment…'

'Can everyone focus, please?' Morrigan grunted, in obvious exasperation. ''Tis no trifle we are trying to design, here. It would be greatly useful if we could actually examine the Somnaborium…'

'Impossible, Lady Morrigan. Master Solas here is not coming within five hundred feet of it,' Radonis replied, wrinkling his nose.

'I am sure Daren'thal finds your confidence in her binding spells tear-inducing,' Solas said, still not looking up from the book.

'Oddly,' Radonis said, 'it is not that; your return to being a mage is not widely known, and I would have my throat slit if I brought you to the Senate without you being bound and gagged, or as some would have it, have your lips sown together. I am rather keen for the former not to happen, and I am quite sure you are not keen on the latter.'

Solas looked up from his book for the first time, and met Radonis' reproachful glance – not with anger, as Veldrin had expected, but with an odd sort of…respect?

'Understood,' he said, yet again disappearing behind the covers of his tome.

'Is he always that…curt?' Radonis whispered.

'You have no idea,' Vel whispered, in response. 'That was actually him being polite…'

'Keeper Lavellan, can you conclude the tactics and strategy faster?' Solas said, in sign that he had neither missed the exchange, nor appreciated it in the least. 'We're going to need you and the Heir to Darinius back here soon.'

'Alright,' Radonis said. 'Give me an acceptable culoir du passage, Marquise, and we should be done.'

Briala nodded, then politely bowed. 'Within the hour, your grace.'

'Ambassador Montilyet, can you also make sure the Unnamed Queen…'

'There will be no drinkable water, nor food other than cactus blooms in Antiva.' Josephine said, with a polite bow of her own.

'A, y'all planning to starve a bunch of little people…' Sera piped up.

'Most of Antiva is uninhabited and a desert; their people are bundled in the coastal areas. We won't be starving anyone but…Why am I even explaining this? Why in all the Gods' names are you even in the room?' Kieran angrily spoke.

'Free drinks,' Dorian said.

'Duh,' Sera replied. 'Dalish is asleep, the Bull wondered off with a red-head and Skin's getting on my nerves and…yeah, of course, free drinks! Also, Dorian's mum screamed like she saw a ghost when I tried to nick one of her knick-knacks…'

'You do understand my mother's jewellery is of the Steel Age, and thus priceless, yes?' Dorian grumbled.

'Might explain why she threw a full bottle at me, aye? Also free drinks. Be glad I didn't steal her knickers, or are them knickers also Steel Age?'

'I think she just needs to drink more, and drinks are on the house,' Radonis said, in a conciliatory tone. 'House Pavus that is – and since we are speaking of drinks, may I get a refill…?'

'I hope you still have money, Vel,' Dorian muttered. 'By the end of this afternoon, House Pavus will be ruined and out of booze…This is pandemonium!' he exclaimed. 'Why is everyone making notes on the same diagram sheet?'

'Alright!' Maevaris screamed, causing all to fall silent, look up, and draw back from whatever they were doing. 'Have you all reverted to puberty? We are trying to coordinate a war effort!'

'I think the purpose of our gathering here has not escaped anyone,' Veldrin cautiously put in.

'Then start acting like it,' Mae huffed, in obvious dismay. 'We have little time to join up with the Orlesians before Andruil storms Arlathan; we've barely gotten in formation, we are not yet on the move, and we still don't have permission to station ourselves on even Arlathan's borders…'

'I do wonder why,' Solas rhetorically sighed.

'You. Shut. Up.' Maevaris commanded.

'And thus, Maevaris Tilani just got herself a spot on the Archon nomination list – thank you for the ale,' Radonis laughed. 'Let's go, and do. My ladies?'

'Your grace,' Briala and Josie said, bowing and giggling, before disappearing though the same eluvian, to, no doubt, vastly different destinations.

'What are we looking at, here?' Radonis asked, fighting his way around Dorian's desk and the impenetrable wall of books.

'I have not the faintest,' the Magister sighed.

'To be as painfully honest as you are, neither do I…Magistra Pavus, perhaps you could illuminate me?'

'Let's make it so everyone can see it,' Kieran said; and this was no joke, nor was it any trick. With one single wave of his hand he made the vellum upon which the magical diagrams were written turn into patterns of stars.

Indistinct at first, but clear a moment later, constellations rose from his hand, adorning the ceiling, and spreading out in distinct, glowing outlines, as the young man attentively moved his fingers. Solas nodded, and actually smiled at the display.

'Andaran atish'an. Truly Urthemiel, I see.'

Kieran smiled, and blushed a little at the compliment. 'No longer,' he said, 'but, soon.'

'Do not be smug, 'tis unbecoming,' his mother warmly scolded. 'Also, please differentiate the patterns, so it becomes more legible.'

The young man nodded, and the constellations shifted once more, into four very clear focus circles – two glowing vibrantly green, one blue, and one warm purple. Though the two green patterns appeared very similar, there were minute differences, and more importantly, they were vastly different in size, one being almost three times the size of the other. The blue and purple patterns were completely dissimilar; they too varied in size: the purple marking had the same diameter as the smaller of the green ones, and, unlike all the others, its edges were faded.

'You're being modest,' Solas chuckled at Kieran; the boy shrugged.

'I cannot know how much I will be able to absorb or use,' he said. 'So I shall leave it so for now, lest my mother scolds me again.'

'Hm,' Radonis said, looking up at the four circles, and biting his lower lip in concentration. 'I think I somewhat understand now. Or at least I think I do…Magister Pavus?'

'Yes. Green – fade green, are Solas and Veldrin. Blue, I assume Mythal, or rather Morrigan, and then purple for Urthemiel and Kieran. I can somewhat read the green ones because they have a similar pattern to the one on Corypheus' orb…'

'Correct,' Morrigan nodded, though I shall let you amuse yourself with guessing which one is the larger one…The conundrum we are all facing, however, is that all of this is the magic of the Elvhen.'

As if his mother had given him a secret signal, Kieran once more shifted the patterns around, leaving an wide, empty space in between them.

'Yet, you will need a Tevinter device to use any of the circles,' Maevaris said.

'Yes, Magistra Tilani.' Morrigan said. 'Hence why I said we need access to the Somnaborium.'

Radonis wrinkled his nose yet again. 'I would genuinely rather no one came close to it for the moment,' he earnestly said. 'But…may I, young man?' he asked, looking to Kieran.

The boy passed him the vellum upon Morrigan's silent prompt, and Solas actually stood, letting the Archon into his seat.

Radonis looked at the diagram on the page, then, just as Dorian might have, decided that it was already too complex for more markings; he simply flipped the page over, and began drawing in his turn, not paying any heed to the fact that Solas was leaning over his shoulder.

'That cannot be correct,' the elf said frowning, once Radonis had finished his schematic. 'It would not have held me if it was simply…that.'

'Patience, patience,' the Archon inattentively responded. 'I mean, Lady Patience,' he said, straightening so abruptly that he almost knocked his head against Solas' chin. 'Come over – these were the original focus diagrams of my Somnaborium, I am sure you played with them a tad.'

'More than a tad,' Vel replied, 'but it wasn't me playing. Dorian and Mae did most of the adjustments – Tevinter high magic is not my forte…'

'Y'all so boring,' Sera sighed. 'But them lights are real pretty…'

Maevaris and Solas rolled their eyes in identical dismay, while Dorian ignored all and leaned over Radonis' other shoulder, picked up another quill and began modifying the schematics.

'Is this right, Mae?' he asked, some half an hour later.

'Yes,' Maevaris answered, 'but this is, er, the blood magic diagram. I am not sure we can still count on…'

'You'll have a blood mage,' Radonis said, dryly. 'Not me, of course, I never do blood magic,' he falsely grinned, 'but rumours have reached me that Altus Hadrian is well versed in it.'

Dorian grunted loudly.

'I am sure your grace can think of somebody else,' he said.

'He will have dispensation,' the Archon breezily replied.

'That's not the problem, tho',' Sera put in. 'I think Dorian be more like – don't wanna rub shoulders with my ex, there, cuz it reminds me of rubbing other…'

'Sera, fucking hell!' Vel exclaimed. 'Can you just drink and shut up?'

'Bah, I hear and obey, your Magisterial Grumpyness…' the blonde elf mockingly uttered, fully lying back on the couch.

'Look, Magister Pavus,' Radonis spoke up, apologetically bowing his head to Dorian, 'I would not be doing this to you if it was not needed. The Somnaborium will be travelling with you in Magister Cassius' custody, so I think we should employ Magistra Tilani's past wisdom, and use the one man who is on our side…'

'Uhm, excuse me, your grace, but…you are not letting us anywhere near the Somnaborium, yet you will be entrusting it to Cassius?'

'Yes, Lady Patience,' the Archon nodded.

Solas narrowed his eyes.

'Daren'thal must have had her reasons for advising you so, Heir to Darinius.'

'She did, and, as is fast becoming customary, she did not explain herself. My own logic dictates that it will have something to do with his early and painful demise, that I shan't witness. Unfortunately. Now, are we done with the diagram?'

'Yes,' Maevaris sighed.

'Good, then, Kieran, would you be so kind as to place this in alignment?' Radonis asked, returning the vellum to the young man.

'Gods, this is ugly,' Kieran whispered. 'I do not mean your grace's diagram, or your additions, Magister Pavus but…It is ugly. How did you survive this, Pride? This needs gallons and gallons of blood; we'll be upon a battlefield, so I gather blood will be abundant, but how you alone could possibly…'

'I'll explain later, da'len. Show it to us,' Solas said, putting his arm about Veldrin's waist, and holding her tightly.

Doing just as he had before, Kieran projected the new schematic onto the centre of the ceiling, in pulsing crimson – and all mages contemplated it in utter horror.

'Manaveris Dracona,' Radonis whispered. 'I know what you are trying to do is channel every individual magical imprint into its correct vessel, but how you're going to do it…Our pattern is completely dissonant with yours; I see no anchor from the Somnaborium to any of the Elvhen magics…'

Solas chuckled, and stepped forth from behind the desk, letting go of Veldrin and placing his arm under Kieran's, and closing his hand over the young man's.

'Not quite so, Heir to Darinius,' he said, as symbols on the ceiling started coming alight in all five circles, and lines that had not existed before appeared, crossing the crimson circle, linking all focus diagrams to each other; it did not last, and all but Sera, who was now fast asleep and snoring like a sawmill shielded their eyes as the symbols Solas had illuminated exploded into blinding light, then promptly disappeared, leaving only the original projections in their wake.

'Good try, but I think, wrong sequence,' Veldrin said. 'This was designed to remove differences between individual channelling powers – we're trying for the opposite now, so I think we will need to do it backwards…Let's see if I can do better – Kieran, are you alright for this?'

'For the woman who chanced a whole world to save one ill-begotten child, I am ready for anything. Let's try again.'

'You were never ill-begotten, Kieran,' Veldrin whispered, her arm along Solas', three hands entwined. 'So…'

'Let's make some fucking shit blow up, already!' Sera said, rolling over to hide her face in the cushions. 'Or I'll just bring bees!'

'What does she mean by bees?' Radonis asked.

'Trust me,' Dorian said, as Vel's sequencing of symbols went as wrong as Solas', and both men had to shield their eyes with their forearms, 'you don't want to know.'

1 Let justice prevail, even if it ends the world.

We know the HoF, she's not going to stand idly by anything. As for the Vints, well, they finally managed to get their stuff and Gods in order. Sort of!

We thank you for reading and commenting, hopefully we made you smile a bit, while talking about serious things.

Next up - Andruil is not very fond of the Hero. Did we expect her to be?