The red crystal glittered as Dorian rolled it between his hands, eyes not quite looking at it as he contemplated recent events. It had been, to put it mildly, a harrowing day, and he hoped for all their sakes that the night would prove less so.

His eyes closed as he again cursed under his breath. They'd been so close to taking care of Amell once and for all, after all. He'd felt it in his bones, seen it in the panic in the man's eyes: Dorian had the power to take down Amell, a feat he knew would have been impossible without the Anchor. The sting of defeat still pricked at his mind, to have come so close only to be blindsided by a complication which raised more questions than Dorian could possibly answer.

Time magic.

The crystal paused in its journey across Dorian's palm, and his eyes focused on it. Would he find the answer to that question in its glittering? Or would he only find more questions? Did he want to know if Alexius still lived, if living meant he was in Amell's clutches?

It was bad enough that Dorian hadn't been able to rescue Hawke from the man. He dared not contemplate his former mentor's fate in a similar situation.

With a sigh, Dorian slipped the crystal into one of the pouches on his belt and pushed himself to his feet with the vague idea that the night air would help to calm his thoughts. Certainly they kept scattering, sifting through the events of the day in a systematic attempt to figure out how he could have done better.

As he left his magically heated tent, the cold night air hit his lungs with the force of a gut punch, and he paused to acclimate with a few deep breaths. For a moment he contemplated the arrangement of the tents, grateful they'd been able to find a good site near a clean body of water for what would likely be a few days of rest and recuperation. His jaw tightened for a moment as he regarded the tents of Sutherland and his company, remembering why they would need those days, and again silently cursed his failure to kill Amell in that clash in the Shrine.

An unexpected sound reached his ear, and instinctively he moved towards it, a sense of paranoia settling in. After all, they didn't know where Amell went, and if he could survive a death spell such as Corypheus had set, there was no telling what he would do next.

As Dorian drew closer to the sound, however, the suspicion eased as he identified the noise as a man's soft moan. Realizing that it was coming from the tent where they'd put Alistair to recover, Dorian hurried his steps as concern for Alistair's wellbeing rose. When another moan-one far higher in pitch and of a feminine timbre-joined the first, however, he hastily skidded to a halt, staring at the tent in question in astonishment.

Surely not. Amusement replaced the concern quickly as Dorian took long enough to make sure that the joint moans were, in fact, a result of pleasure and not pain before quietly walking away again with a soft chuckle. He certainly wished Alistair and Leliana all the best, considering the condition in which they'd found Alistair. The chuckle faded as quickly as it had come as he recalled Leliana's hoarse cry as she'd rushed to where they'd found him curled up in a fetal position. It had been chilling to see his truncated limb as well, a reminder that all the horrors Dorian had seen in those odd dreams were true.

But the reminder was enough to explain why Alistair had so quickly sought the comfort of Leliana's arms. The Warden had been through such terror as few would ever experience, and Dorian wished both of them all the best-in private, of course.

As Dorian moved back to the middle of the tents, his fingers absently touched the pouch at his belt, pondering its contents once more. He knew he should activate the crystal, knew he should learn what he could of Amell, but found it difficult to take that first step into the pit. He suspected that whatever method Hawke and his mysterious helper had been able to use before would now be inaccessible, limiting Dorian to whatever information he could glean from other means. The crystal was the first and most obvious place to start, yet Dorian still hesitated. What would he learn? What would he witness? His skin still crawled from the memory of watching what Amell had done to Hawke and Alistair, and he was loath to put himself into a position to watch even more such events.

But Dorian had to know. About Alexius, of course, but also about whatever monster dwelt within Amell, the one he'd seen glimpses of through Hawke's eyes. He dared not ask Alistair about that yet, given the man's mental state, but perhaps the crystal...

He sighed, finding himself having again run a full mental circle. Turning to his tent, he took a step towards it as he reached into the pouch, resolving to observe its mysteries despite the way his skin crawled at the prospect.

"Inquisitor, ser!"

Grateful for the timely interruption, Dorian turned with a smile to face the source of the voice. "Ah, Scout Jim! How may I-" His words trailed off as Jim came closer, and Dorian frowned as he noticed the reddened eyes and mussed hair. Considering Jim seemed to be as perennially cheerful as Dagna, that was a worrying sign. "Are you quite all right? Did something happen?"

"N-no, ser!" Jim said quickly, giving Dorian a crisp salute. "I just-I wanted to-I-" After a moment, Jim deflated, his gaze falling to the ground. "I'm sorry, Inquisitor," he whispered. "Amell got away because I didn't do as you ordered."

Dorian closed his eyes for a moment, feeling in poor Jim an echo of the guilt he himself felt, then reached out and put his hand on Jim's shoulder. "Now, now, Jim," he said in a soothing tone. "What order did you not obey, precisely?"

Jim took a deep breath. "You told me to follow him, Inquisitor. Amell, I mean."

"I said to do so if you could do so safely," Dorian emphasized. "Considering the circumstances, I have no quarrel with your actions on the matter. Without you, things might have been much worse for poor Sutherland and his crew."

He felt Jim's shoulders slowly rise from their slump. "I...I couldn't just leave them, Inquisitor. Not after what-what Amell did to them." Jim's face paled at the memory. "He just scattered them as if they were nothing. And that skull on his staff..." A shudder ran through his body. "I swear it looked at me."

Dorian had no doubt about that, considering it was an old trick of the worst sort of necromancer. Where Amell might have learned such a thing was more uncertain, but also far from important at the moment. Putting his other hand on Jim's other shoulder, he said in a low voice, "You did everything I asked of you and more, Jim. I saw what Amell did to the others, and the horses. We're lucky most of them survived, and I daresay you running in to get elbows deep in that chaos played no small part."

"But-"

"No buts," Dorian said firmly. "You were the one who put the tourniquet on Sutherland, and worked with Voth to stabilize the others. You were the one who kept the horses from stampeding so we wouldn't have to walk all the way back to Skyhold. You, and no one else. Amell didn't get away because you failed your duty, I promise you."

The inevitable following thought remained unspoken, of course: He got away because I failed mine.

After a bit more cajoling, Jim's shoulders settled back into their natural position and a hint of his normal cheeriness returned. When an actual smile emerged, Dorian patted his shoulder. "There we are. Why don't you go see if Voth needs some more help, hmm? He's barely let himself rest properly since Amell came through."

Jim straightened. "Yes. I mean, Yes, Inquisitor. I'll do that." He gave Dorian another salute, then hurried away, ducking into the tent which housed Sutherland and his crew.

"Such a good lad," Dorian murmured, tapping his chin thoughtfully. "Overdue for a promotion of some sort, I would think." Making a mental note to discuss the matter with Cullen upon the party's return to Skyhold, Dorian turned back to his tent. The interruption had been nice, but it was time to focus on recovering from his earlier mistakes.

As he reached for the crystal in his pouch, however, he heard the crunch of footsteps on gravel once more and turned towards the sound. A twinge of guilt hit him again as Varric stepped from the shadows of a nearby tent, wondering if the dwarf blamed him for being unable once more to save Hawke.

"Heard you talking to Jim back there," Varric said as he drew closer. "Well done, Sparkler. He's been beating himself up ever since we got back."

Dorian gave a little sigh. "I should have talked with him earlier, but things were a bit…chaotic."

Varric snorted. "To put it mildly. Amell tore through Sutherland's camp like a mad gurn. Must have cost him, too, given how much blood he left behind him on the way out."

"I hope so," Dorian muttered under his breath. "I still can't believe I let him get away."

"Hey," Varric said sharply, causing Dorian to look down at him in surprise at the sternness of the tone. "Don't do that."

"Do what?"

"Don't do what me, Sparkler," Varric chided him. "I heard that guilt in your tone, just like I heard it after Adamant. You can't blame yourself for not predicting the impossible." When Dorian looked away, Varric patted him on the arm. "Come on, let's go for a walk. I get the feeling you've been pummeling yourself ever since Amell disappeared, or you wouldn't have holed yourself away in your tent as soon as we got it up."

Dorian winced. "I hadn't realized I was that obvious. I did make sure everyone was all right first."

"You did," Varric conceded, then grunted and shook his head. "And I would have liked to have added Hawke to our party. He, well, he kinda looked like shit."

The memory of Hawke's sunken eyes and gaunt cheeks came back to Dorian in a rush, and he stared blankly across the lake as the two of them came to a halt next to it. "I dread to ponder what Amell inflicted upon him when he failed to show up with my hand after the events at the Winter Palace. Amell doesn't seem to be a very forgiving sort of fellow."

"You can say that again," Varric muttered, then rubbed his face with his hand. "Well, shit. Now I'm going to have nightmares. And I'm a dwarf."

Dorian settled a hand on Varric's shoulder. "That does shield you somewhat from Amell's wrath, at least."

"As long as I don't dream, yeah." Varric glanced up at Dorian. "But honestly, he left a pretty impressive trail of blood behind him. Hopefully he slinks back to wherever he normally hides and licks his wounds for a while."

"That would be for the best," Dorian mused, considering the matter as another hint of guilt crept through him. "We do need to pick up the trail of Corypheus, after all."

Looking Dorian up and down, Varric raised an eyebrow. "Afraid that you're making Amell into something a bit too personal, maybe?"

"Something like that." Dorian's gaze swept over the lake, appreciating the serenity of the night despite the chill. "Or at the very least, afraid of being distracted from the true purpose of the Inquisition. After all, we're not sure what Amell wants. We know that Corypheus wants to use the Orb and become a dark God. I have to remember that's still the larger danger, despite everything Amell has done."

"Yeah." Varric's face twisted into a grimace. "Though it's going to be hard to forget all the shit Amell's done. When I saw Alistair…"

Dorian swallowed harshly as he closed his eyes. For an all-too-vivid moment, he again saw Zevran standing in front of Alistair, a manic grin on his face as he sawed through Alistair's arm. "He has a great deal to pay for," Dorian said grimly.

He felt a hand land on his arm and opened his eyes to look down at Varric. "As long as we don't lose sight of Corypheus, I'm right there with you. Demon armies, possessed Grey Wardens, overbearing Orlesian nobles… We have to do everything we can to prevent those from spreading, right? Especially their fashion. I'm not sure Lady Mantillon's dress would even fit in Skyhold. Well." Varric squinted theatrically. "Maybe in the main hall."

The jab performed as expected, cutting through Dorian's sudden darkness, and he chuckled gratefully. "All true, my friend." Though perfectly aware that the shadow of what he hadn't done would hover over him, Dorian also knew that he couldn't let it be a distraction, either. There was too much to do still. "Let's go back. I want to check in with Sutherland and see how he and his crew are holding up."

"Good idea," Varric said. As they turned towards the camp, though, his gaze was drawn to the forest to their left, and he squinted with a frown. "Wait. I saw someone back there, in the trees."

Dorian immediately flexed his hands as he followed Varric's gaze, sparkles of purple and green light blooming along with visions of a miraculously restored Amell springing to mind. It didn't even have to be Amell, of course. Zevran hadn't been injured, after all, and he knew that Amell had other allies, like the mysterious Avernus. "Where?" he whispered harshly. "I don't see anyone."

"Dwarf eyes, Sparkler," Varric muttered. "If you need someone to see in the dark, just ask a dwarf."

"Even one who's never been to the Deep Roads willingly?" Dorian needled, fighting the thrill of nerves along his spine.

Varric snorted, then pointed. "There. See that flash of movement? That's what I saw. Too tall to be a harmless animal, too narrow to be a large one."

Fingers working through a quick ward, Dorian glanced towards the tents before quickly looking back to the trees where Varric had pointed. "Maybe you should go alert Bull."

"Probably not a bad—Wait! Someone's coming out!" Varric reached over his shoulder for Bianca, cursing slightly when he found nothing. "Damn. Left her in my tent."

Deciding that the moment was up to him, Dorian stepped forward, hands flickering with magical warning. "Stop!" he called, grateful when the figure halted. Taking step after cautious step closer, he looked the person up and down. An all-concealing cloak and hood obscured their identity, but from the general build and size, Dorian guessed it to be a human man. No red glow lurked within the hood, so Dorian felt reasonably certain it wasn't Amell, but he also had no clue who it could be. At least he didn't seem hostile. "Reveal your face," he ordered. "Slowly."

The man slowly lifted his hands to his hood. As it was pushed back, a familiar voice rumbled from its depths. "I can't say this is how I expected our next meeting to go, Inquisitor."

Dorian's eyes widened as the magic in his hands flickered and died, staring openly at the man in front of him. "Warden Loghain?"

"The very same." Loghain gave Dorian a half-bow.

"I would not have thought you could go to Weisshaupt and back in such a short span of time," Dorian admitted, quickly scanning the man for any hint of glamour or magic. To his surprise, he did find a ward in place, but it was a ward of remarkable familiarity, and one which Dorian himself used: a dream ward. Fascinating. Still, as far as he could tell, this was Loghain, untouched by blood magic. "I take it you have delivered your warning on the nature of Corypheus?"

Loghain gave a long sigh as he shook his head. "No, for reasons of which you should be informed immediately." He turned and made a distinct gesture towards the trees behind him, and Dorian gaped as a tree suddenly seemed to come to life in the form of a tall man lowering a bow. "I bring friends with me this time," Loghain explained as he turned back towards Dorian. "I was hoping we could all talk in private."

Dorian turned to Varric, unsurprised to find Bull standing next to him with hammer in hand. Making a gesture for them to stand down, Dorian turned back to Loghain with mouth open to speak, but the words remained unspoken as more figures emerged from the trees along with the archer, all cloaked and hooded. One of them was definitely a dwarf, judging from their height, and the last a woman. Remembering himself, Dorian cleared his throat and nodded. "We can go to one of the tents to speak. I take it a certain amount of privacy is preferred?"

"Indeed, Inquisitor," Loghain said as he lifted his hood back into place. "We'll explain everything."

"Very well." Of all people, Loghain was one of the few he would trust to simply appear out of nowhere and ask for a private audience. After all, the man had more than proven himself at Adamant, despite the blow of losing—

Then it hit him: Loghain would need to be told about Alistair. And Dorian had a feeling that it would not be welcome news. Turning to Varric and Bull, he said, "Guide Warden Loghain's companions to the mess tent. He and I will be along shortly."

Bull met his gaze and grunted. "Good idea. Come with me," he told the three behind Loghain.

The archer looked to Loghain, who simply nodded. That seemed to be enough, and the trio fell into place behind Bull, Varric falling in beside the dwarf. As they disappeared into the tents, Dorian heard Varric ask, "So what's your story?"

"We are alone now," Loghain asked softly. "What do I need to know?"

So Dorian told him. All of it.

When Dorian finally entered the tent where the other Wardens awaited him, he did so alone. The archer, now revealed as a tall human with shoulder length black hair and a small patch of a beard on his chin, regarded Dorian through narrowed eyes. "Where is Loghain?"

"He is with a friend," Dorian told the man. "And before you ask, he told me to tell you that the nug has fallen with the waterfall." He chuckled as he saw the other man's shoulders relax minutely. "I will admit, that is not a password I ever would have dreamed up."

"I came up with it," a woman's voice said, and he turned to its source: a dwarven woman with an elaborate, striking tattoo design on her face. "We alternate. Nathaniel's are always boring, so I try to liven it up when it's my turn."

The man—Nathaniel, apparently—gave the dwarf a flat stare, but Dorian thought he detected a hint of humor buried beneath it. "Mine are not boring, they're just appropriately difficult to guess."

"Well, I guess that's true," the woman conceded. "Mainly because not everyone knows what all the different bits and bobs of an arrow are called. Spines and shafts and blunts and whether or not they have feet—"

"It's not feet, it's footed," Nathaniel said with a sigh.

The woman rolled her eyes. "Whatever. Only someone boring would know all that."

Nathaniel's eyebrow lifted ever so slightly. "Or a very skilled archer," he said in a mild tone.

The third Warden, who turned out to be an elven woman, sighed softly. "Shouldn't we be explaining why we are here to the Inquisitor?" she asked a touch sharply.

Nathaniel and the dwarf both jumped, and Nathaniel turned to Dorian. "My apologies. We have not had time or leisure for levity of late." He tapped his chest, then pointed to each of the women in turn. "Nathaniel. Valenna. Sigrun. Grey Wardens of Ferelden."

Dorian's interest sharpened. "Not Orlais?"

"No. We served under Amell in Amaranthine, after Weisshaupt sent him there to be Warden-Commander of Ferelden." Nathaniel's lips curved in a sneer. "It was unpleasant, to say the least."

"What happened to the Fereldan Wardens?" Dorian asked. "Our Spymaster said that you all vanished around the time the Orlesian Wardens dropped out of sight. With them being controlled by Corypheus, I suppose we just assumed the worst."

Nathaniel and Valenna exchanged an uneasy glance, and Nathaniel finally sighed. "Not Corypheus, no, though I'm not surprised Amell tried to make it look like Corypheus was responsible. It would cover up his own activities all too well."

Dorian's blood chilled. Of course it made sense, but… "What did he do?"

"He called all the Fereldan Grey Wardens to Soldier's Peak under the guise of a training exercise," Nathaniel explained. "Soldier's Peak is an old Warden fortress, too remote from civilization and too close to several Deep Road entrances to be useful to anyone but the Grey Wardens."

"I've seen the type," Dorian said with a nod, remembering exploring more than one of those old Warden Keeps in Orlais. "I take it that training did not occur?"

Nathaniel shook his head. "It was a trap," he said grimly. "One that we didn't figure out until it was almost too late. In the end, only we three and a handful of others managed to fight our way out of it. The rest…" He shuddered. "Amell's pet arcanist Avernus made them drink something that weakened their will, then put his own in place. They're utterly loyal to him now."

"Not the dwarves," Sigrun insisted. "Remember Oghren."

Nathaniel bowed his head. "Yes. We will always remember Oghren."

"He's the one who barricaded the door the rest of us escaped through," Valenna explained to Dorian. "We wouldn't have gotten away if he hadn't slowed them down."

With a wrench, Dorian remembered the dwarf he'd seen through Hawke's eyes the first time he'd entered that strange dream-that-was-not. "I understand," he said quietly.

"At any rate, we went to Weisshaupt after that, to report everything to the First Warden and High Constable," Nathaniel said. "Only to find that some fairly hefty bribes had preceded us. Amell had access to an entire country's treasury, and he used quite a lot of it to buy some very specific favors in Weisshaupt."

Dorian frowned, not liking the sound of this. "Meaning?"

"Meaning they threw us out on our asses without even listening to a word we said," Sigrun grated. "Once we said we were from Ferelden, they told us to go talk to our Warden-Commander and not bother them anymore."

"Wonderful," Dorian said sarcastically. "But how did you end up with Loghain?"

"We encountered each other in an inn on the way back to Ferelden," Nathaniel said. "There aren't all that many ways to get to Weisshaupt, after all. After we got to talking, we decided to send some of the other Fereldan Wardens back to Weisshaupt with a letter from Loghain, and we'd come back to Ferelden."

Raising an eyebrow, Dorian asked, "Why did he join you rather than continuing on?"

"Because," a deep voice said gruffly from the tent entrance, "I know Amell better than most. And what he did is not typical for him."

The others turned to face him as Loghain entered the tent, though Dorian waited until he had taken a seat before asking, "Alistair?"

"Sleeping," Loghain grunted, then dismissed the subject for the moment. "Amell is not shy in his search for power. He attained a great deal in his manipulation of my daughter, after all. But he already had power over the Grey Wardens as the Warden-Commander of Ferelden, so it makes no sense why he would seize the Wardens through magic. For all his treatment of his companions on the Blight, his use of blood magic has previously only been targeted at individuals and spending the minimum effort for the maximum gain. This was out of place for him."

Dorian frowned. "So it was the degree of the effort, not the nature of it, that made you suspicious?"

Loghain nodded. "Amell takes pleasure in manipulation, and that is always his first tool, not magic. He wouldn't have gained the power he did if he were so obvious in using magic, after all. He was very popular with the Landsmeet, and a public folk hero in Denerim."

"And he didn't do it by poncing about in a black cloak while flourishing a staff with a damned red skull topping it," Sigrun muttered.

"That, too," Loghain noted dryly.

"So these are recent changes then." Dorian frowned as he considered that. "I wonder what changed him."

"We don't know, exactly," Nathaniel told him. "But when he left Amaranthine to go on his-" Suddenly Nathaniel stopped short, glancing at Loghain as if for guidance.

"The Inquisitor is aware of the Calling," Loghain said. "It was necessary when dealing with the Wardens at Adamant."

Nathaniel nodded. "Very well. He told us he was leaving to seek a cure for the taint, but it was clear to all of us he was answering the Calling. There are signs, you see, and he exhibited all of them. And he left when Zevran wasn't there."

Dorian raised an eyebrow. "That is of significance?"

"He always said he didn't want Zevran to see him die," Sigrun put in. "It was one of their longest standing disagreements."

Interesting. "Why would Zevran want to be there?"

"He knew one of Amell's greatest fears was turning into…well, what a Warden turns into, at the end," Loghain said. "Zevran was a former Crow. He argued it was better to die at the hands of one you loved than to become a thing you feared. Amell didn't want Zevran killing him to be the last thing they did together. It was quite the heated argument, at times, even during the Blight."

Well, that added an interesting wrinkle into the mix of Amell's relationship with the elf. "So when Amell left without Zevran…"

"We knew it was his way of forcing the issue," Nathaniel said with a nod. "That is, until he returned."

"Returned? From his Calling? Aren't those supposed to be final?" Suddenly his eyes widened. "Or did he answer the false Calling of Corypheus?"

"It was before then, though Loghain did wonder the same thing," Nathaniel said. "But the times don't match up. Amell went to the Deep Roads before the first Warden started feeling the call. And, of course, Amell returned."

"With a black cloak and a fancy new staff," Sigrun interjected.

Nathaniel nodded. "Shortly after that, he summoned the Wardens to Soldier's Peak. We've been on the run ever since."

Dorian looked at all of them individually, noting the weariness etched on each of their faces. In fact, the elven woman seemed to be the most tired, and it only took a bit of deduction to figure out why. "He's been searching for you. Magically, I mean."

"And in our dreams," Valenna murmured, rubbing her temple with some thin fingers. "I can ward us against it, but it is…draining. He is more powerful than I remember from Amaranthine."

"Normally I would equate that to his use of red lyrium, but I have ample reason to suspect it is far more than that." Dorian looked to Loghain. "Why seek out the Inquisition?"

Loghain smiled faintly. "A bird said you could provide some protection against Amell."

Leliana. Only mildly surprised, Dorian chuckled. "I should have known she would get in touch with you."

"It seemed prudent, knowing her nature, to arrange a method to maintain contact," Loghain said with a certain wry dryness. "Though I did lose contact shortly before I met up with Nathaniel. But she warned me of Amell invading the dreams of those who had accompanied him during the Blight, and offered your protection. So I hoped you could offer the same to all of us."

That, at least, seemed to be just good common sense. "That we can," he assured them. "Though you are fortunate you did not find us earlier. We were on Amell's tail and encountered him at the nearby Tevinter Shrine."

Valenna blanched and hunched her shoulders. "By the Creators! So close."

As Sigrun gave Valenna a sympathetic look and reached out to squeeze her hand gently, Nathaniel's brows drew together. "And you survived?"

The guilt welled up in Dorian once more. "We almost took him down, but he escaped."

"He has grown powerful, as I said," Nathaniel said grimly, then looked to Loghain, who nodded. "Very well. You said you will protect us. Will you protect the other Fereldan Grey Wardens? Some never went to Soldier's Peak, others have been monitoring it since Amell holed up there, watching his comings and goings. And still others are warding those we've managed to rescue. Can you protect us?"

"From Amell?" Quickly Dorian nodded. "Any who arrive at Skyhold need only state they are a refugee from Amell to be welcome. I'll make sure our Ambassador is ready for you."

"Thank you." Though the man's demeanor remained stern, Dorian did see his shoulders drop as a weight seemed to lift from his shoulders. "In exchange, we will fight for your cause against Corypheus. Based on what Loghain has told us, that is in the Wardens' best interests as well."

"I would say both men are a threat to the Wardens," Dorian mused. "But yes. We allied with the Wardens from Orlais. It would be foolish to turn away similar refugees from Ferelden."

Loghain grunted. "Then I will continue with you to Skyhold, and the others can go spread the word to the remainder of the free Wardens."

Free Wardens. The phrase struck Dorian as more than a bit poignant, but he didn't make a point of highlighting the fact. "An excellent plan." Dorian looked to Nathaniel, then held out his hand. "It was a pleasure to meet you."

The man's grip was firm without being forceful, but there was a definite easing in his stern expression as he met Dorian's gaze and nodded. "Though we do have one more word of warning for you," he said in a serious tone.

A slight chill touched Dorian as he asked, "Oh?"

"As best as we can determine, Amell has an agent already in Skyhold. We don't know who, but everything we've managed to intercept indicates the presence of one." Withdrawing his hand, Nathaniel rose to his feet. "Be cautious."

"I've learned that is the only sensible state to be in of late," Dorian said with a sigh as he also rose to his feet. "Good luck, Warden. I look forward to seeing you in Skyhold."

As Valenna and Sigrun also rose, Nathaniel tugged his hood into place. "Good luck, Inquisitor. Until we meet again."

As the trio filed silently from the tent, Dorian looked after them with a frown on his face. An agent of Amell in their midst? That was quite the disquieting thought. With a sigh, he made a note to talk about it with Leliana the next day.

Once they were alone, Dorian stuck his head out of the tent and gestured to Varric, who was standing nearby, within, then turned to Loghain as the dwarf entered. "I'll have Varric take you to one of the spare cots. We don't have many, what with all the wounded, but—"

"It shall suffice," Loghain said, pushing himself slowly to his feet with an effort that spoke more to his weariness than anything else. "I take it you plan to remain here for a few days?"

"Enough time for the nearest Inquisition camp to bring us some mounts to replace the ones we've lost, and give the worst of the wounded time to recuperate, yes. Luckily, no one was injured badly enough to require heroic efforts." A faint smile came to Dorian's face. "Though all of them certainly put them forth against Amell."

That earned a soft chuckle from Loghain. "The Inquisition has good soldiers. I noticed as much at Adamant Fortress."

Dorian smiled. "They do the Inquisition proud."

"And the Inquisitor?" Loghain asked, his eyes suddenly weighing Dorian.

"I hope to do them proud as well," Dorian said with a little bow.

Loghain considered the answer, then nodded his head. "If all leaders thought like you, the world would be a better place. I wish I had always realized that myself. Good night, Inquisitor."

"Good night, Warden Loghain. Varric," Dorian added.

"This way, Warden," Varric said as he led Loghain from the tent. As their footsteps disappeared into the night, Dorian heard Varric continue talking. "Since I like you so much, I won't put you right next to Alistair's tent. He gets a bit loud at night, I've noticed."

Varric! With a sigh, Dorian rubbed his face with both hands, then absently moved a few things back into their places in the mess tent before leaving himself.

As he made his way back to his own tent, his hand fell to rest on the pouch with the red crystal. He'd learned quite a bit from the Wardens in their conversation, and it had, admittedly, whet his appetite. Drastic personality change certainly fit in with possession, but Dorian still couldn't definitively say that is what had happened to Amell, given the lack of demonic or even spirit-based energy about the man. He'd been close enough to Amell while the man used magic to have sensed that in the Shrine, and Dorian was relatively confident he would have noticed given his own background in magical training.

But, if not a demon or a spirit or otherwise denizen of the Fade, what could Amell possibly be possessed by? Had the taint gotten into his brain, somehow?

His hand closed around the crystal as he stepped into his tent and settled down on the low camp chair. Pulling it out, he held it up as he summoned a wisp for faint lighting, then sighed. "There's only one way to find out, I suppose."

Settling the crystal onto the small part of a brazier he'd removed for just this purpose, Dorian ran his finger along the length, feeding a trickle of magic into it as he did so.

"Let us see what secrets you keep, my friend," he murmured, then sat back as red light sprang up from the crystal and slowly formed itself into moving images.

The vague outline does not reveal much at first, but as your eyes adjust to the crimson light, it reveals a man sitting at a desk, fiddling with the crystal for a moment before he sits back and regards it with a tilted head. You immediately see that it is Amell, an Amell with a full head of hair and only slightly sunken cheeks. He nods at the crystal. "That will do," he murmurs, then sits back in his chair. "All right, then. Continuing the analysis of my deterioration, this is my third entry. Avernus' potions are starting to fail as predicted along the curve we projected. The nightmares are becoming worse. More hairs are falling out, and I'm dropping weight no matter how much I eat."

He pauses and touches his ear, wiggling his finger inside as if that will make a difference. "All my research indicates that those who Join the Wardens during a Blight suffer a shorter time of viability before the Calling begins, and it would appear that I am no exception. The song at this point is distant, but audible, and the spell I've been using to drown it out can no longer be used without rendering me deaf."

Amell's hands drop down to rest on the table, and for the first time you notice a mild tremor in his left hand, the one with the burns on it. "All my efforts to find a cure have been unsuccessful thus far. Through the judicious use of blood magic and Avernus' potions, we have discovered a way to cure the taint in certain subjects, though if the cure doesn't work, an instant and painful death is the result. I have ordered him to discontinue that research for now until I find a better source to power the potion's effect. I cannot afford to waste the life of more Grey Wardens. There are too few, even if some have volunteered in hopes of being cured."

He sighs and rubs his eyes for a moment, and this time the tremor is far more noticeable. He mutters a curse under his breath, then blinks a few times and holds out his trembling hand. "I have narrowed my focus towards locating the source of the idol my cousin found in the Deep Roads. A brief examination of Knight-Commander Meredith's remains in Kirkwall provided tantalizing hints that red lyrium may be precisely what I seek, but I would prefer to find a source not tied to a publicly displayed statue. I have managed to obtain a journal that should lead me to—"

A coughing fit interrupts the words, small at first, but quickly rising in strength and vigor until Amell is forced to hunch over and surrender to its demands. When Amell finally manages to straighten, you see a trail of dark liquid trickling from his mouth before he hurriedly wipes it away with his sleeve. Blood. Even as he takes a deep breath and opens his mouth to continue, however, you see the door behind him open.

"Sitting alone with your back to the door?" The distinctive Antivan lilt to the voice tells you who it is even before Zevran's face enters the scope of the crystal's recording sphere. "I thought we'd talked about that, amor."

You see Amell's hand make an abortive move towards the crystal, but Zevran reaches forward and grabs both of Amell's hands, swinging him around in his chair to face the elf full on. Amell forces a small smile to his lips. "You're back early."

"I tracked down the Guildmaster and finally convinced him to drop the contract on my head once and for all. He was a bit stubborn, but not quite as stubborn as I feared," Zevran says with a chuckle, but the smile dies on his lips as he scrutinizes Amell's face. "You've lost more weight. Is it…is it time?" You see Amell look away sharply, and Zevran's immediate reaction to it as he kneels in front of Amell, his tone becoming more pleading. "Don't go to the Deep Roads, amor. Please, I beg you: when the time comes, when you cannot ignore the song, let me send you to your sleep with love. I promise to make it painless."

Amell exhales in a long sigh, then cups Zevran's face in his hands. "And I've told you: I don't want that to be my last experience in the world. Or to be your last memory of me."

Zevran reaches up and grabs Amell's hands. "You assume I will long survive you in this world?" Zevran murmurs. "I told you, years ago: I would storm the gates of the Dark City itself as long as I could be by your side. Where you go, there go I, si? Even unto the Fade."

Amell's answer comes in the form of a savage kiss, and soon enough the two men are caught up in something a bit more primal than conversation.

Dorian quickly reached out and deactivated the crystal as soon as he realized where that little scene was going. He'd seen enough to corroborate what Nathaniel and the others had said and, quite frankly, that was enough for now.

He wasn't sure what to make of the scene. He'd become so accustomed to Amell as a monster that seeing something as simple as the human need to deny the inevitability of death or having concern for a loved one made Dorian frown and wonder. What had happened to Amell? What had finally driven away the last vestiges of humanity he'd been clinging to in the form of his love for Zevran?

Dorian sighed and rubbed his temple. Not something he cared to contemplate, and it was more than enough Amell for the moment. He would endure more later, but for the moment, he simply wanted to rest, and to think.

And try to convince himself that it would all work out.