Dorian held up his hand to halt those behind him, eyes scanning the horizon ahead. "It would seem Hawke's map is accurate. That's a Tevinter waystone," he told the woman riding at his side, pointing to a leaning pillar about as tall as Bull to their right. "We're close. If this Shrine dates back to the time of Ancient Tevinter, the shrine itself will be on the top of a hill. Something about the supplicant approaching in humility, and whatnot."

Leliana's eyes narrowed as she studied the road ahead of them, then moved to one particular expanse of dirt between the scattered stones. "And those tracks I told you about continue up this road, mere hours old. If they belong to Amell as we suspect-"

"-then we are close," Dorian finished for her, hand tightening on his reins. "Take the lead and watch for those tracks. Let me know if they diverge for any reason."

"Yes, Inquisitor." Leliana's horse edged forward to take the lead, and Dorian signaled the rest to follow him a few paces behind. Bull, Varric, and Solas rode with him, of course-together, they formed a team with a particularly powerful punch. Along for the ride were Cullen's carefully curated selection of the best of the Inquisition troops, as well as Sutherland and his small band of mercenaries, brought along in case Dorian needed to get a secure message back to Skyhold in a hurry. They'd all split off several days ago from the force returning to Skyhold, a small but elite squad intended to be an arrow more effective than the one which had targeted Dorian at the Winter Palace.

He turned his head as Bull rode up to join him, his skeletal steed clacking as it walked. "You know this is a trap, right?" Bull asked without preamble. "I mean, it's gotta be. All the pieces line up a bit too neatly not to be deliberate."

"You've said that before, yes," Dorian said. "But it's a risk we must take. We knew that much of the Winter Palace was a risk, after all, including the parts that didn't include Amell."

"Yeah, but... I mean, Corypheus is sort of like a bronto in a shop full of those fancy white dishes the Ambassador likes so much. He doesn't really try to hide what he's up to because he's so sure he'll win it never occurs to him to be subtle. Amell, though..." Bull frowned, staring ahead of them for a few moments. "We don't know what he wants, we don't know where he lives, and we don't know what he can really do. And yet, he's already done more real damage to the Inquisition than Corypheus did with an entire army of Venatori."

"We did lose quite a few troops at both Haven and Adamant," Dorian reminded him. "So I'm not sure that's an accurate assessment."

Bull grunted, conceding the point. "But we didn't lose the Inquisitor at either place. Sands, Mailani went up against Corypheus face to face and still managed to bring down a whole mountain's worth of snow on him. You faced down a pet Archdemon and the biggest demon I never want to see or dream about again. This guy? Amell? We only saw the blade long after the attack landed. I remember that map Mailani found that led to the cave where she died. Who's to say that wasn't Amell who left the map for her to find in the first place?"

That thought gave Dorian pause. He'd almost forgotten about that, but Bull was right. They'd found the map on the edge of the Western Approach, near the lair of the dragon, alongside the burned body of what they'd presumed to be a treasure hunter. Granted, during their travels, Mailani had proven to have an obscenely keen eye for the weird and unexpected, and they'd discovered all sorts of odd maps and trinkets and scribbled stories that he was sure would later show up in Varric's books. Yet it had never occurred to him the map which had led to the cave might have been Amell's handiwork.

But then, the man had somehow managed to get both blue and red lyrium smuggled to Cullen, so perhaps the idea wasn't as far fetched as it appeared to be on the surface.

Finally, though, Dorian shook his head. "Even if it the map were his doing, we had no idea at the time that he could possibly pose a danger. Now we do, and we can prepare accordingly."

"Yeah, that didn't work out so well in the Winter Palace," Bull muttered. "Remember?"

Dorian absently rubbed his side where Hawke's dagger had struck. "Intimately. But I still argue that is the primary reason we have to do this now." With a frown, Dorian tried to separate the urgency of rescuing Hawke and Alistair from the logical , acceptable reasons they needed to go up against Amell now rather than later. Bull wouldn't accept anything less. "Before, we suspected an ambush, but didn't know whose hand. Now, we know whose hand, and better understand the nature of how it can strike. But most importantly, we simply cannot afford to have him disappear into the shadows again. His most deadly attacks seem to occur when he leaps from the shadows unannounced."

After mulling that over for a bit, Bull heaved an expansive sigh. "Well, I still don't like it," he grumped.

"Neither do I," Dorian told him sympathetically. "But if Corypheus is a bronto in a porcelain shop, then Amell is the adder waiting in the grass: easier to kill when they are in sight, rather than walking around hoping they decide your ankle doesn't look tantalizing."

"And your ankles are downright delicious, right." With a snort, Bull added, "But you knew that. All right, boss, I'll go along for now. And I think we'll both be happier if I don't have to say I told you so later."

"Indubitably," Dorian said with a soft chuckle. The sound faded as he squinted ahead to where Leliana had dismounted. "Leliana's found something, I think."

Bull kicked his mount ahead with Dorian's. "You sure it's a good idea to have her along?" he asked in a low rumble. "I mean, I get the whole facing your worst fear thing, but if he's got any hooks in her at all, it could turn real nasty real fast."

"It's not just that, and you know it," Dorian murmured in return. Leliana's request to accompany him had caught him by surprise until he had realized just who would likely be with Amell, especially if, as Hawke had suggested, he and Alistair were dragged along for the ride. "Besides, we're not going up against only Amell, and if there's anyone I'd trust to send against a former Crow, it's the Spymaster of the Inquisition."

"Good point," Bull grunted. "Arainai might be a little too slippery for me to handle."

"To put it mildly," Dorian said in a wry tone. "She also says we dare not leave him alive if Amell is dead, and I'm inclined to trust her judgment on the matter."

"I hope she's right," Bull muttered, then fell silent as they drew closer to Leliana.

Once they reached her, Leliana pointed to the ground. "Their tracks go to the side here, into that copse of trees. Either they found a shortcut to the Shrine, or they made camp. Either way, there are no tracks coming back to this path."

"Fair enough." Dismounting quickly, Dorian summoned the others with a gesture before pulling his staff from his saddle. "Let's investigate, shall we?"

The next few minutes proved to be tense, as those with silent feet crept ahead to let the others know the coast was clear before they could sneak forward themselves. As one of the decidedly not stealthy ones, unlike Mailani and her ability to slip through shadows with ease, Dorian fretted every time Varric or Leliana disappeared from sight. At one point, when they were gone longer than before, Dorian exchanged a worried glance with Bull, wondering at what point longer meant too long.

When Varric returned alone, his anxiety increased, but Bull nudged him with an elbow. "He's not sneaking," he pointed out. "He's walking normally. Amell must not be there, but it looks like they found something."

Bull's surmise proved correct, given the way Varric waved them over to join him, and Dorian released his breath in an explosive burst. "Let's hope you're right," he muttered, then signaled to the soldiers to follow as he rose to his feet.

"Nightingale sent me back to get you," Varric explained as he approached. "We found something interesting."

"Oh?" One of Dorian's eyebrows rose. "Very well. I take it there is no Amell, then?"

Varric muttered Thank the Maker under his breath as he shook his head. "No, but they did make camp here. And more."

The remark puzzled Dorian until they emerged from the trees, and Dorian's eyes widened. "Horses? That's odd."

"Four of them," Leliana said from where she stood rifling through the saddlebags. "Most likely they came directly from the Winter Palace, just as we did." She pointed to two of the horses. "Look at the manacles. Whoever rode those mounts did so against their will."

"Hawke and Alistair," Dorian said, understanding her point immediately. "So they have regained some free will."

She nodded, her expression studiously distant. "Unless this is his way of punishing them for what happened. He kept us in the fog most days during the Blight, but sometimes he would free us for short periods, one or two at a time. I don't know if his magic wasn't strong enough, or if he simply enjoyed our pain, but sometimes having our own mind while still being subject to his will was worse."

Sensing the matter to be too painful for further discussion, Dorian forbore further comment as he took a moment to look around the clearing. "We must be close, then, if he left the horses here. There, I think," he added, pointing to the far side of the grove. "There's a path there. He might have taken a back way to the shrine to avoid alerting the Venatori of his approach. The Shrine would have a large courtyard, after all."

"Easy to spot anyone trying to get in from the main road, you mean?" Varric asked, glancing up from where he was checking Bianca again, a sign the dwarf was anxious. "Four people against a horde of Venatori is still a bit one-sided, though."

"And that's assuming he lets Hawke and Alistair fight," Bull pointed out, taking one of the manacles dangling from a nearby saddle in hand. After a moment's scrutiny, he grimaced and dropped it. "You know, boss, I'm starting to think this guy is worse than demons."

Dorian glanced at Bull, trying to gauge his mood. Demons remained one of the ex-Qunari's greatest fears, but if he perceived Amell as worse... "Would it help if I promise to hit you with a big stick once all this is over?" he asked in a deliberately teasing tone, hoping to ease Bull's worry a bit.

That made Bull bark a laugh. "Yeah. Maybe. Or let me hit you with mine." In the next moment, though, his face settled into a frown. "There's just something about this whole situation that doesn't sit well in my head, like I'm missing something so obvious it's going to smack me in the ass or stab me in the back. Or both."

"Pretend as if it might, and stay alert," Leliana interjected, her tone almost sharp. "It will keep you alive."

For a moment, they all looked at her. Finally Bull gave a little grunt, breaking the tension, and straightened as he peered towards the almost hidden path. "Good advice. So we're going up the sneaky way, right?"

Leliana nodded, then turned to Dorian and held something out to him. "But before we follow, there is an opportunity here."

His eyes narrowed at the sight of the crystal in her hand. "Another memory crystal? Maker, those are exceedingly rare. I wonder where Amell found it?"

"Even during the Blight, he explored ruins in hopes of finding treasure and power," Leliana said. "I would not be surprised if that's how it came into his possession. Can you activate it? If we can see some of his memories, we might learn something valuable."

Dorian reached out to take the crystal, but his hand froze in midair as another thought occurred to him. "I can... Wait a moment." His hand dove into the pouch at his waist and extracted the red crystal Leliana had brought to him from Val Royeaux. "You know, I gave this to Maevaris for analysis while I was tending to my-" The word father died on his lips, and he paused to clear his throat. "At any rate, she figured out how to work with it and taught me the trick. I was going to ask you to smuggle it back to Calpernia for some additional spying, but..." He frowned a moment, then brought the crystal in his hand closer to the one in Leliana's palm, and felt a faint hum which resonated up his arm. When his mark flared into life as well, he murmured, "Fascinating. I think this will be useful."

"Inquisitor?" Leliana asked.

"I could mirror them instead," he mused, even as he gathered his magic to do just that. "Crystals are essentially a collection of matrices, and these particular crystals are highly susceptible to manipulation by magic. I don't know how the Shaperate uses them among the dwarves, but the few that end up in Imperium hands have been studied extensively by magical scholars. In fact, Alexius developed an amulet to test our time-manipulation magical theories using a crystal he changed using one such analysis as a guide. Initial testing showed that it worked, albeit in a very limited fashion, though I do not know how far he got with those experiments after I left."

"Because they can hold a moment frozen in time?" Varric ventured. "I mean, that's pretty much what a memory crystal does, right?"

"That was his reasoning, yes. At least to start with." Dorian's face was a mask of concentration as he manipulated the makeup of the crystal in his hand to match the other. In a fit of inspiration, he called on the magic of the Anchor, using its power to change the substructure of the crystal more quickly with its peculiar abilities to manipulate the substrate of energy. In the next moment, the mark changed from a fitful flicker to a small orb of green light encompassing hand and crystal both, and suddenly the task became much easier and quicker. "It's working," he said softly. "Good. This way we can leave the crystal you found in the saddlebag without them being the wiser if it comes to that."

"You saying we won't beat these guys? I'm disappointed in you, boss," Bull grunted.

Dorian smiled tightly. "I'm saying I'd rather have a contingency plan in place as a precaution than assume we'll emerge triumphant and lose an opportunity. Remember what I said before we left." He spared a glance to Bull. "No martyrs, Bull. Not even you. This is important, but not a suicide mission. Ultimately our primary goal remains the defeat of Corypheus."

"Yeah, yeah, retreat before defeat. I remember." Crossing his arms across his chest, Bull squinted at Dorian. "I just hope you do, too," Bull added in a mutter.

Ignoring that, Dorian returned his focus back to the crystal. "Did you discover anything else of use?" he asked Leliana.

"Some messages, but they are unsigned and do not use names or places," Leliana explained. "I believe they are from his agents. There is mention that they continue their search, but not what they are looking for, or where."

"Well, that's not very helpful. Why bother leaving messages to be spied upon if they aren't informative to the spy?" With a final twist, Dorian completed his work, then compared the two crystals. "There we are."

Varric gave a low whistle. "They even look the same, now. Not bad, Sparkler."

After looking at the crystal in his hand from a few more angles, Dorian nodded and tucked it away in his pouch once more. "You can put that back now. Hopefully it will pay off." As Leliana turned back to Amell's horse, Dorian straightened and faced the soldiers, eyes scanning their ranks. "Jim, come here."

Jim quickly stepped forward and gave Dorian a quick salute. "Yes, Inquisitor?"

"You'll stay here with Sutherland and his Company. They have been tasked with making sure our horses remain safe while we're investigating the Shrine so we don't have to walk back to Skyhold, but I need you to do a bit more than that." Nodding to Amell's horses, he said, "I need you to find a safe hiding place and watch these horses in particular. If Amell returns before we do, follow him if you can do so unseen, but only if you can do so unseen. Do not take any chances, and do not engage with Amell or anyone with him. Understand?"

Jim's face fell. "You don't want me to go with you to the Shrine, ser?"

Dorian smiled faintly at that, and he put his hand on Jim's shoulder. "I need a man I can trust to do this," he told the man in an earnest tone. "And you've earned that. It may not be glamorous, but it could be of vital importance. Besides, Sutherland can sometimes take a bit too much initiative. I need you to be the steady head in this."

That made Jim brighten a bit. "Yes, Inquisitor. I can do that, ser."

"Good man. Remember, stay hidden," Dorian repeated. "Stay safe." Patting Jim's shoulder, Dorian watched as Jim walked over to stand with Sutherland and his oddly assorted crew, a faint smile on his face. Then he turned to the remaining soldiers standing nearby. Unlike Jim, who had promise but was still relatively young, Cullen's chosen volunteers represented the more experienced of the Inquisition soldiers. He recognized all of them, and some of them he'd shared more than a pint or two of ale with in the Herald's Rest as he'd listened to their stories of being a Nevarran soldier, or an Orlesian legionnaire, or, in one case, a woman who had stood in the path of the darkspawn as they laid siege to Denerim during the Blight.

They were good, solid fighters, and he knew he could depend upon them-which is why they'd been chosen for this mission. They didn't need a pep talk, just orders, which he gave with only a few words: "The rest of you: with me." They nodded, and he turned to lead the way to the Shrine.

He only hoped that he wasn't leading them to their doom.

The path Amell had taken led them to a small crack passable for people, but not animals. It provided a good answer as to why Amell had opted to leave his horses behind, especially when Bull had to strain a bit to fit through the narrow gap. Once they were through, however, they found themselves only yards away from the main entrance, with the vast courtyard stretched out before them.

A vast courtyard pockmarked with bodies.

It was a sobering sight, and one which they all took to heart as they moved towards the vast maw of the shrine's entrance. Dorian felt the change in demeanor as weapons were drawn, shields hefted, and staffs readied. Silence accompanied them as they moved into the Shrine proper, pausing to let their eyes adjust to the change in light.

And saw that the carnage outside was but a mere harbinger of the chaos within.

Dorian's eyes widened as he surveyed the signs of destruction around him. The Venatori hadn't just been killed, they'd been obliterated. The smell of burnt flesh lingered in the air as they moved cautiously ahead, and nothing stirred aside from themselves. Sunlight shone through the ceiling above through ragged holes, giving Dorian far too good a view of what, exactly, Amell had done to decimate the Venatori so very thoroughly.

"Inquisitor."

Dorian blinked at the first spoken word he'd heard since they'd entered the shrine, and looked to its source to see Solas gesturing him over. Quickly he moved to Solas' side, knowing that the elf would never speak in the circumstances unless it was imperative. When Solas gestured downward, Dorian automatically transferred his gaze as indicated.

And recoiled at the sight which welcomed him. Raised and trained in the Imperium, Dorian knew blood magic well enough to recognize its remnants at a glance. But even to him, the sight of a corpse literally sucked dry of its life essence proved to be the stuff of nightmares, a tale from the days when the High Priests had ruled the Imperium in the name of the Old Gods, when hundreds of slaves were sacrificed in the name of great deeds and greater power, and atrocities such as this had been almost commonplace. His stomach clenched as he stared at the shrunken corpse, and it took him a while to recognize the robes which garbed it.

It was only then, as he stared at the insignia of the Venatori on its chest, that he realized that the corpse wasn't a remnant of the distant past, some poor soul sacrificed to Dumat. Despite looking as if it had lain under a desert sun for centuries, this was a servant of Corypheus in his current incarnation, reduced to a shell by a spell which hadn't been used in over a thousand years.

Since the time, in fact, of Corypheus.

"Maker," he breathed.

"Magic such as this would explain the thinness of the Veil here," Solas murmured in low tones. "We must be cautious."

"We are fortunate we did not walk into a bevy of demons," Dorian agreed, glancing around out of habit just to make sure.

"Pray such fortune continues." Solas looked around them, a deep sorrow on his face. "And this is not the only one in such a state."

Dorian frowned as he surveyed some of the dead bodies nearby. "No, it isn't. Which would explain how one mage could do all this without needing to drink his own weight in lyrium."

"Even supplemented by lyrium of either hue, I would think arcane works such as this would test the limits of power for any mage." Solas idly traced his fingers along his staff as he studied the drained corpse for a moment more before lifting his gaze to meet Dorian's. "It is imperative that we proceed with utmost caution. What can be done to the Venatori could just as easily be inflicted upon us as well."

"Then let us hope we find him suitably distracted," Dorian murmured, glancing down at the corpse with a shudder. "Aside from the brutality of the act, however, I must wonder where Amell learned such a spell. I recognize it from descriptions in the archives of the Minrathous Circle, but know of no living mage capable of such a feat."

"It would seem that his path has taken him down dark and twisted turns." Kneeling, Solas reached out to hover his hand over the body for a moment, then shook his head and stood. "There is nothing there. I daresay even your skill could not raise this man."

"But that would mean-" Dorian frowned, and stepped back so that he could move his staff and gesture with an innate grace, trying to summon up the man from the dead. Yet he found that Solas was right: there was nothing to call upon. "This goes beyond anything I know. Life energy is one thing, but to consume a soul? I cannot imagine such evil."

A haunted look passed over Solas' face for a moment. "I have seen such brutality in my travels, in the Fade."

Setting his staff down, Dorian laid a companionable hand on the elf's shoulder and squeezed gently. "Let us push forward," he said in a hushed voice. "Perhaps we can prevent further evil."

Leaving the disturbing bodies behind, Dorian took the lead once more as they moved cautiously through the ruins towards the large double doors closed in the back. Occasionally they would pause as a scout ran quickly to check the side rooms, but they would always return with a shake of the head.

By the time they reached the doors, every person in the group had their hands on a weapon and moved with as quiet a tread as could be managed. Even Bull walked slowly and hung back a bit to ensure that a clink of his armor wouldn't give away their approach. This close to another mage, Dorian dared not cast any new spells, but he was already running through scenarios of what to do depending upon which circumstance they encountered.

They reached the doors to find them left slightly ajar. Taking a slow breath, Dorian stepped forward to grasp the door.

And heard a voice.

"-questions for you, and you will provide me with answers."

That voice. Dorian swallowed harshly. It was Amell's voice, yes, but Amell with the sonorous overtones and odd stilted cadence of Amell's monster. Freezing in place, he signaled for the others to wait and tapped his ear to indicate he wanted to eavesdrop, then tilted his head as he listened closely.

An old man's voice answered, querulous and thin, speaking over a faint hum of sound which spoke of magic to Dorian's ears. The hum merged with the man's words as he spoke, giving them an otherworldly edge as his voice twisted and curled around itself in response to the spell. A spell of containment, perhaps? Dorian wondered idly, then shook the speculation away as the man answered, "To Corypheus I am bound, to answer every question- gaah!"

Dorian frowned as the man cut off speaking with a cry of pain, wondering what Amell had done to him. Surely not even Amell would torture someone who was already cooperating. Would he?

"Then let us begin with your name," Amell said in a chill tone. "You are Erasthenes, yes? Magister of the Imperium, scholar of the Old Gods?"

"That I am, yes," the man replied in a strained voice. "For Calpernia's sake, I am lost."

Dorian's blood ran cold as recognition went through him. Erasthenes? Dorian remembered the man vaguely from a lecture he'd given at the Circle of Minrathous about the Magisters Sidereal years prior, when a sullen youth called Dorian who had all but given up on his aspirations within the Circle sulked sullenly through the entire lecture. Why is he here?

"The slave means little to me," Amell said in a dismissive tone. "Tell me of the Conductor's interest in you."

Erasthenes took a shaky breath. "One night, he came to my door. For my relics, I thought. My writings and runes… But instead, my slave went to his side. Calpernia. To become the Vessel, and save Tevinter."

"More the fool, she," Amell sneered. "Sethius never could see beyond his own lust for power, but he has always been able to find those blind enough to believe his delusions." There was a pause, and then Amell's voice lowered in volume, too low to hear anything clearly.

As the conversation progressed, Dorian eased the door open as slowly as he could, peering inside with all the caution he could muster. His eyes quickly picked out two forms leaning against a nearby wall, though a vice gripped his heart when he saw that one of them had a shortened left arm, tucked in tightly against his body as if even Alistair didn't want to think about it. The sight of it solidified that truth of what Dorian had experienced, even more than what had occurred at the Winter Palace: that he had, indeed, been seeing the world through Hawke's eyes in all its brutal honesty.

After a moment of assimilating that recognition, Dorian continued to work at the door with the help of Bull, until it stood wide enough for someone to stand in the doorway. A brief peek around the door showed Zevran staring at Amell from the wall opposite to Hawke and Alistair, and Dorian retracted his head before the elf could catch a glimpse of him. As it stood, however, he had a clear view of Hawke and part of the room beyond, and Zevran could see nothing but the partially open door.

A small victory, at least for now.

Reaching down, Dorian picked up a piece of debris from the ground and launched the small missile with a touch of magic to guide its course. A moment later it landed on Hawke's cheek, and Dorian tensed as he waited to see what Hawke's reaction would be. Without touching him, there was no way to know if Amell had replaced the spell of control on him or not.

With admirable self-control, Hawke didn't even flinch when the stone struck his cheek. Instead, his eyes opened slowly, and he spent the next few moments casually looking around the room until finally he turned to the open door. Their eyes met, and Dorian felt his mouth go dry at the intensity in the other man's expression as his eyes raked over Dorian and then darted to those who stood with him. Dorian saw the man make a gesture, but wasn't sure what it meant. When someone tapped his arm, he looked down at Varric in surprise, then bent until his ear was level with the dwarf's mouth.

"That was one of our old battle signs from Kirkwall ," Varric whispered in explanation. "So we knew who to attack first. That one means mage first."

Ah. Well, that made sense, particularly in this context. More than that, it, coupled with Hawke's behavior, indicated that Hawke hadn't been turned into a mindless thrall again. Dorian straightened and gave Hawke a nod of understanding. Still, there was also an opportunity here, and one Dorian refused to ignore. He met Hawke's gaze again, then touched his ear and pointed at Amell, watching for Hawke's short nod to see that the man understood his meaning before focusing his attention on the conversation once more.

Now, however, Dorian had at least a partial view of the interrogation, and what he saw made his eyes widen. It wasn't so much the sight of Amell leaning on his staff with the red lyrium skull, or the man kneeling in a ritual circle as it was the dome of magic shimmering in the air around the kneeling man. That containment spell! It would hold a dozen pride demons! Even as he watched, the spell flickered red, and Erasthenes doubled up in pain. Dorian winced in sympathy-if the spell was as powerful as that, then the pain would be equally powerful. Given the runes drawn on the ground around Erasthenes, and what Dorian had heard so far, it wasn't Amell causing Erasthenes pain at all, but Corypheus.

With a shake of his head, Dorian forced himself to listen to the conversation and put off any further speculation until later- after dealing with Amell.

"-their names are forgotten, outside of rare copies of the Liberalum." Erasthenes paused to catch his breath, hands trembling as they lifted to gesture vaguely towards Amell. "A book that-"

"I know what it is," Amell snarled, clearly frustrated. "But it is clear too much of the Imperium has forgotten. But tell me this: how is it that the Imperium has no record of our-of the fates of the Magister Sidereal after they entered the Black City?"

Dorian felt a chill grip his spine as he focused on Amell's seeming slip in word choice. Our?

"Though the Imperium does not hold the Magisters Sidereal to be the reason for the Blights, most records of them were later destroyed or hidden out of fear. With the Old Gods gone and the Temples abandoned, their names became spoken only in hushed whispers, " Erasthenes explained through laboured breathing and several pauses. "There were rumors, scattered reports of encounters before and after the First Blight, but they were whispers of rumors as much as rumors themselves. Scraps of paper, snatches of overheard conversation written down and forgotten." A long, weary sigh came from Erasthenes. "So little knowledge. So much lost. I fear for our future, that we cannot see the dangers of the past."

Amell shifted on his feet, leaning heavily on his staff as he leaned forward. "Like Sethius?" Before Erasthenes could answer, Amell straightened. "No. How could he? He didn't see what happened to the world after our-after the failure of the Magisters Sidereal. He didn't see the Blights, or Andraste, or any of the consequences of searching for the Gods." Amell shifted so he could look up at the hole in the ceiling of the roof, his left hand toying with an amulet around his neck which glowed a bright white. "Time has not passed for him because the people and events who lived in that time are not real to him. He saw none of it, and despises all of it. And that is why he will ultimately fail."

A chill ran down Dorian's spine as he listened to those words, his eyes drawn irresistibly to the amulet around Amell's neck. Something about it called to him, a faint hint of familiarity which gnawed at the edge of his awareness and burrowed into his mind. Before he could do more than notice it, however, Amell's hand suddenly closed tight around it, and he went still for a long moment-so still it seemed he'd stopped breathing. Then the amulet fell from his fingers, and Dorian's eyes widened as he saw Amell's dulled eye flicker into life, though he only caught a glimpse of it before Amell faced Erasthenes once more.

Still, it was enough to warn Dorian to listen closely, and he heard the differences. The slow, sonorous tones of what Hawke called Amell's monster were gone, and the voice sounded much more Fereldan in flavor.

"Tell me more of the Vessel," Amell said softly. "What will Corypheus gain from it?"

"Power," Erasthenes wheezed. "He seeks more power, and the Vessel will hold it for him."

"What if she refuses?" Amell demanded.

Erasthenes shook his head weakly. "He does not need his Vessel to have free will. About her, these same chains will fall." Weakly he gestured at the glowing light around him. "Iron, to cage lightning. My binding is the poor pencil sketch. Calpernia will be the masterpiece."

As he spoke, Dorian saw Amell's head slowly turn towards the back of the room. Swiftly Dorian ducked away from the door's opening, praying Amell hadn't spotted them, and didn't move back to the door until he heard Amell speaking again, the sound of his voice indicating he was facing away once more. "Power without free will," Amell mused. "So that is the role of the Vessel. Excellent. Efficient and reliable."

"Yoked like a Qunari mage, a saarebas, a circumscribed sycophant," Erasthenes muttered with a clear note of disgust in his voice.

Amell simply laughed at that, the sound decidedly unpleasant as it echoed in the expansive space. "Sometimes a bit of ruthlessness is called for to accomplish great things," he told Erasthenes. "Whether it's to end the Blight, or to save the world. Life is pain, after all. Anyone who says differently is selling something."

Save the world? Dorian frowned. Is that what he believes he's trying to do?

"I have had enough of pain." Erasthenes raised a hand to press against his face a moment. "I have answered your questions. Please. Breach the circle-its wards will trigger. I will be dust and light. Free."

Realizing that the time for surprise was now drawing to a close, Dorian glanced down at Varric as a glimmer of an idea came to his mind. Gesturing Varric closer, Dorian touched his fingers to Bianca, then pointed inside, raising his eyebrow in silent query. Varric nodded silently, then held up the crossbow when Dorian mimed the lifting gesture. Setting his fingers to the tip of the crossbow bolt, Dorian crafted a subtle spell for the arrow with magic pulled mostly from the Anchor, a spell designed to 'open' any magical barriers it found. It was a bit rough around the edges, but it should suffice long enough to get the bolt through regardless of Amell's defenses.

Squeezing Varric's shoulder, Dorian stepped aside and gestured the dwarf forward. With a grim expression, Varric stepped forward on noiseless feet to stand in the doorway, risking a moment's visibility to get the best shot at this, their one shot of surprise. Dorian held his own breath as Varric raised Bianca, aimed down the sights, and slowly sucked in a deep breath.

Then he pulled the trigger.

The bolt glittered in the air as it shot forward. Dorian felt the moment when it hit Amell's defenses, and an odd pain shot up his left arm for a blazing instant. In the next, however, Amell shouted and stumbled, stopping just short of falling into the shining barrier around Erasthenes. Before Bull even had a chance to yank the door open, Leliana surged forward, her daggers already in motion as she faded into the shadows. Dorian heard an Antivan curse as they all surged forward, and saw Amell's staff swing through the air in a large circle before it was slammed hard into the floor. A jagged green line suddenly appeared in the air on the other side of the room, then burst open to allow a horde of howling demons to pour through.

After that, things got complicated.

Leliana kept Zevran occupied as the wave of demons surged towards the Inquisition forces, an attack met with the cool calm of professional soldiers. Leaving them to their task, Dorian summoned a nimbus crafted from both his own magic and that of the anchor around his staff, using the added strength of that energy to help him hack his way across the battlefield, roaring in rage to attract Amell's attention.

When their eyes met, grey and glowing red, Dorian realized that he'd made the jump from annoyance to enemy in Amell's mind. While good for keeping his attention, it had the potential to prove bad for the sake of his tender hide. Still, there was no choice, and Dorian knew it.

No duel in the Imperium could have prepared Dorian fully for what followed, and he'd seen quite a few where one or even both parties of a duel had ended up a pile of dust on the ground. He instantly knew that, without the Anchor, Amell would have crushed him within the first few exchanges of magic. He fought off fire and responded with lightning, melted sheets of ice and shot back with bolts of pure magical energy, summoned a sturdy barrier around him to fend off chunks of falling ceiling and called on the souls of those sacrificed long ago to rise from the very ground and launch themselves at Amell.

Which... worked, Dorian noticed with some surprise, though it had been meant only as a distraction. He watched with raised eyebrows as Amell veered away from the outstretched arms of the ghouls given a ghostly form by Dorian's necromancy. Face locked in a sneer, Amell lurched to the opposite side of Erasthenes and the man's dome prison before finally sweeping his staff through the pale shades with a roar that sounded almost frantic.

Tucking that odd reaction away in the back of his mind, Dorian took advantage of the break to launch his own attacks upon Amell, and in the next moment they were locked once more in a mage's duel. Around them the battle raged between Dorian's companions and the demons, but for the moment, Dorian's attention was focused entirely on Amell-and the reverse, he sensed, was true. As the battle progressed, it became evident that Amell was shocked to learn that Dorian could hold his own against him, and Dorian wondered if he could use that surprise to his advantage.

As the battle extended, Dorian called upon the power of the Anchor more and more frequently, until all the spells he cast were supplemented by the pale green of its power. He observed his opponent keenly, watching the sneer on Amell's face slowly falter into a look of intense concentration as an easy victory—or perhaps any victory—grew more and more elusive. The air around them filled with the zap and whine of magic in a way few duels even in Minrathous could garner, and Dorian pressed in with his attacks over and over again, until finally he thought he saw a weakness in Amell's defense. With a sudden inspiration, he grabbed his staff with both hands and cracked it sharply down onto the ground, sending a burst of energy which shone a bright green arcing into Amell—or, more specifically, the magic protecting Amell. The mage's barriers and personal wards burst wide open, and Amell staggered back even as he raised his staff in defense against whatever Dorian might throw at him next.

Except that the next blow came from behind, and not from magic.

Appearing as if from nowhere, Hawke surged into Amell's back with a roar. Dorian's eyes widened and he reached forward with a wordless shout as the impact toppled Amell forward—

—and into the round dome of light around Erasthenes.

The spell Corypheus had crafted to contain the Magister until his death flashed as it activated, sending a burst of light through the room. Amell crumpled to the floor with Hawke on top of him, unmoving, but Erasthenes… Dorian shuddered as the man turned into a glimmer of dust and light, then disappeared entirely. Even the remnant of his soul was gone. Whatever Corypheus had done, it was no incidental magic.

And the spell around Erasthenes, if Dorian recalled the conversation accurately, was only a sloppy prototype.

In the next moment, he realized that the sound of fighting had stopped, and looked around quickly. The demons, no longer held in the waking world by Amell's spell or will, had simply vanished. Without another moment's consideration, Dorian quickly raised his left hand and sent a burst of green light towards the rift Amell had torn open, sealing it tight to prevent more enterprising demons from finding their way across the divide.

Before he even had a chance to lower his hand, however, harsh words spoken with an Antivan accent ripped across the room:

"Stop, or the Champion dies!"

Dorian froze in place, as did the others, as he watched Zevran haul the weakened Hawke into his grasp and set a knife to the man's neck. Dorian and Bull exchanged a glance, and he saw as clear as day Bull's unspoken question:

Is Hawke worth saving at this price?

Even as Dorian pondered the matter, a movement in the corner of his eye caught his attention as Zevran dove towards Amell's body. Bull took that as a signal to act and rushed forward with his maul raised high, but Dorian's eyes were on Zevran's hand as he pulled that disturbingly familiar white amulet from around Amell's neck. With one arm still tight around Hawke's neck, Zevran swung the amulet down so that it hit the red lyrium skull on Amell's staff just as Bull's maul started its descent.

There was a blinding flash of light and burst of magic of the sort Dorian had never thought to feel again. When his vision finally returned, he wasn't at all surprised to see that Amell, Zevran, and Hawke had vanished, or that a trail of blood led away from them and through the doors. While the others cried out in various stages of surprise and Bull roared in fury as his maul crushed the center of the empty spell circle, Dorian simply stared at the open doors leading out of the room, mind whirling. After all, he was intimately familiar with the sort of magic which Zevran had unleashed from that skull with the aid of the amulet around Amell's neck.

But how had Amell learned of it? So far as Dorian knew, there were only two people in the whole world familiar with that particular kind of magic. One of them was himself… and the other one was dead, killed by darkspawn in the Frostbacks as he'd fled the wrath of Corypheus.

Wasn't he?

"Alexius," Dorian breathed. "What have you done?"