The days following their departure from Soldier's Peak blurred into a chaotic stream of events which made little sense to Hawke. His body remained close to Amell and Zevran at all times, which meant that he could never see much more than glimpses of Amell's overall strategy. Hawke knew their destination, and knew that the Architect intended to confront Corypheus, but other than that, he knew little else. For all that he remained physically close to Amell, it still seemed that the most important decisions were made just out of eyesight or earshot, leaving Hawke frustrated in his goal to learn what he could about his cousin's plans.

The daily sparring sessions continued as well, though Zevran did not participate in any of them beyond watching them from the sidelines. The elf was growing weaker, and on several occasions Hawke saw him sipping from flasks of various noxious colors which, based on Zevran's expressions, clearly tasted foul. That didn't stop Zevran from eyeing Hawke's progress closely and changing the nature of the fights as he deemed fit, from the number of opponents to the types of weapons used, including throwing a mage into the mix once in a while.

None of that mattered, of course. Whatever Amell and Avernus had done to Hawke's body and invested in his arms and armor had clearly paid off, and Hawke had to admit that their efforts had taken what skills he'd already had—which he could describe without vanity as formidable— and elevated them to lethal. When Zevran gave his opponents real weapons while leaving Hawke with his wooden ones on the third day of travel, he thought the elf insane—until his body won the match.

"What are they getting you ready for?" Anders wondered aloud during the second such match that day. "To take down the whole damned Imperial Army on your own?"

"I'm not sure, and it's making me nervous," Hawke admitted. "Though it does make a bit more clear why Amell wasn't inclined to call me back to my body if he's basically looking to turn me into a killing machine."

Suddenly Anders grinned at him. "Maybe he intends to throw you at the dragon."

"Bite your tongue," Hawke growled. "One of those was enough, thank you."

"You say that, but you loved every minute of that fight and you know it," Anders teased him. "And the sex after was incredible, even by our good standards."

Hawke waggled his eyebrows at Anders. "Care to go re-create the night?"

"Maybe later." Anders gestured to the mirror. "Ser Sourpuss just returned."

Wrinkling his nose, Hawke looked at the mirror where the two-handed maul-wielding Red Warden glowered at Hawke's body with his arms folded across his chest from just outside the sparring area. "He does realize I'm not in there, right? That he's holding a grudge against an empty vessel?"

"I don't think he cares," Anders said. "All he knows is that you keep making him look the fool every time he spars with you, and he clearly can't handle it."

"What's he going to do? Kill the Warden-Commander's precious toy?" Hawke asked in a bitter tone. "He wouldn't dare."

"Never underestimate the ability of people to be stupid," Anders reminded him.

Hawke grimaced. "True. I've been the epitome of that myself on occasion." Dismissing the sour-faced Red Warden, Hawke focused on the fight once more. "All this sparring still begs the question, though. Several of them, in fact. Why? Why does the Architect call me the Vessel? Why are we going to the Arbor Wilds? What are the Arbor Wilds?"

"That much, I do know. The Wilds are a remote section of forest south of the Dales known for being particularly unwelcoming to the outsider." When Hawke glanced at him with a raised eyebrow, Anders said, "What? If you hadn't killed me after I blew up the Chantry, I would have had to disappear somewhere. So I made a short list of 'places where no Templar would bother to look.' The Wilds were on that list."

"Touché," Hawke murmured. "But Corypheus is going there, and therefore so are we. Lovely." He squinted at the mirror, trying to make sense of the chaos of the fight as seen through his body without being able to actually control where he looked. "Looks like I'm down to one—no, make that no opponents," he added as he saw his body knock out the last man standing with the butt of his wooden dagger. "Looks like I'll be heading inside soon. At least, that's what usually happens now."

"Maybe not. Check out Ser Sourpuss," Anders said, pointing.

At least the view was fairly steady now, since his body had resumed an at rest position. As such, Hawke saw the Red Warden stalk over to Zevran and point at Hawke with an irritated look on his face. "Arainai looks more amused than anything," Hawke noted. "Looks like he's demanding a rematch again."

"I wonder why he hates you so." When Zevran cut the Red Warden off with a shake of his head, the Red Warden scowled and stalked away. Zevran glanced towards Hawke's body and beckoned it to follow as he ducked into the large tent in the center of the encampment.

Hawke's body obediently followed, and Hawke sighed. "And now we're in for another night of Zevran and Amell fighting, I suppose," he groaned. "That got tiresome last night, and it will be more tiresome tonight. We're so close to breaking his spell, I can taste it."

"Funny, that's what Zevran keeps saying when Amell isn't around," Anders said in a musing tone as Hawke's body settled into its customary place on a small cot behind Amell's much larger, more comfortable one. "Maker, I wish you slept somewhere else. Anywhere else."

"Vengeance didn't seem so unhappy about it," Hawke reminded him. "Something about being closer so he can feel the resonance of the spell. Right, V?" When there was no answer, Hawke glanced towards Vengeance, frowning when he saw the spirit standing still as a statue, eyes half-lidded. The dark purple light which suffused his being pulsed in a slow, steady manner-almost like a heartbeat, lending the sight an eerie unreality that seemed jarring even in this poor copy of the Amell estate.

Abruptly alarmed at the prospect of getting caught, Hawke stepped closer to the spirit. The sound of faint whispers enveloped him, entering his mind without seeming to pass through his ears, and Hawke instinctively reached up to grip Vengeance's shoulders and jerk him out of his reverie. "Vengeance!"

The spirit blinked as his body shuddered, and the voices vanished as if they'd never been. "Is something wrong?" Vengeance asked, the odd timbre of his voice dragging its fingernails through Hawke's spine as it always did.

Hawke scowled at him. "You weren't responding to me, and I heard voices around you. Are you all right?"

"I am no fragile being of flesh," Vengeance said scornfully.

"Yes, but…" Hawke swallowed at the memory of the whispers crawling in his mind, then felt a wave of irritation wash over him at the spirit's reaction. "What were you doing then?"

"Listening." Reaching up to push Hawke's hands off his shoulders, Vengeance turned his gaze to the mirror in a clear dismissal of the conversation. "Did I miss anything?"

Eyes narrowing, Hawke said, "Don't think I'm letting you off that easy. I want to know what I heard, and you know more than you're telling me." As Vengeance glanced at him with a frown, Hawke added, "And I will keep asking until you tell me."

"He will, too," Anders interjected. "You used to complain about it, remember?"

Vengeance gave a harsh sigh and shook his head. "Fine. What do you want to know?"

"Did those whispers have anything to do with Amell?" Hawke demanded. "Anything at all?"

"No. I can promise you that. They're…" Vengeance paused, tilting his head as he closed his eyes. "They're from someone I never expected to hear again. That's all. I don't know if they're from the Void or the Fade, but when I can determine the source, I will tell you."

Hawke waited another moment, but when Vengeance spoke no further, he grunted. "That's it? A voice from the ether? That's all you're going to tell me?"

"That's all I know for the moment," Vengeance grated. "I'll tell you more when I know more. At the moment it is just a buzzing in my head. I only paid as much attention as I did because I wanted to make sure it was not Amell."

At that, Hawke grudgingly stepped back. "That's fair, I suppose. I guess I never really stopped to think if you perceive more than I do here, being what you are."

With a flat stare, Vengeance replied, "No, you didn't."

When Hawke opened his mouth to retort, Anders said, "Hawke, come here. Someone just got dragged into the tent. A Venatori, from the looks of it."

After leveling a final glare at Vengeance, Hawke forced his gaze onto the mirror to watch two of Amell's Red Wardens shove a bound and beaten Venatori to his knees in front of Amell. "Maker, now what?" Hawke muttered. "He's never actually captured an agent of Corypheus before. The Inquisition, yes, but not the Venatori. He wanted to remain unknown to them."

"Whatever he's got planned for Corypheus in the Wilds means he doesn't have to hide from Corypheus anymore," Anders said. "At least, if he succeeds."

Hawke frowned. "I know he wants me to fight Corypheus, but when he showed me the new daggers he'd had made for me, he said something about how he had to be the one to land the final blow. So he wants me to fight, but not kill Corypheus."

"Sounds like a good enough reason to train you like he has, honestly," Anders mused. "Corypheus is no mean opponent."

"He's not a god yet," Hawke grated. When Anders didn't reply, he looked up to find a thoughtful expression on Anders' face. "What?"

"Hmm? Oh. Nothing." Anders gestured to the mirror. "We should probably keep an eye on things. Amell doesn't break patterns for no reason."

Hawke grunted as he turned back to the mirror, wincing when one of the Red Wardens slammed a fist into the side of the Venatori's head. The man—a mage, based on his impossibly pointy hat—simply laughed and spat out a mouthful of blood as he glared up at Amell.

"I don't know who you think you are, red eyes" he snarled. "But interfere with my Master's work, and you shall soon feel the wrath of the Dark God!"

Amell said nothing as he knelt down and ran his fingers through the puddle of blood and sputum on the ground. Rubbing it between his fingers, he looked up to meet the gaze of the suddenly wary Venatori, and smiled with a chill animosity. "You are going to tell me what I wish to know," he told the Venatori, even as the crimson liquid on his fingertips began to glow. "And if you're lucky I won't give you to my men after I'm done with you."

With a quick motion, he reached out and smeared the liquid on the man's forehead. The Venatori tried to squirm away as Amell clamped his hand on the man's head and began muttering under his breath. As Amell's chanting grew louder, the Venatori writhed in Amell's grip, his screams drowning out Amell's words until suddenly Amell snapped his fingers. At the gesture, the prisoner's back stiffened and his eyes widened into a gimlet stare.

"That's better," Amell purred. "Now. You are going to answer all my questions, aren't you?"

"Yes."

A triumphant smile came to Amell's face. "No mentioning your master or any foolishness about dark gods."

"No."

"Good." Amell sauntered back to the folding chair where he usually sat at night for meditation, steepling his fingers as his eyes bored into the Venatori. "What is Corypheus after in the Arbor Wilds? My agent tells me that the Inquisition think he's after an Eluvian, but that's not right, is it?"

"No," the Venatori said in a dull monotone.

"Then what is it?"

"He seeks the Well of Sorrows," the Venatori said.

Amell frowned as his eyes narrowed. "What is the Well of Sorrows?"

"My mas—" The Venatori's mouth snapped shut as Amell raised a warning finger. When the finger lowered again, the Venatori said, "Corypheus says it is the power of the elves who guard this place, them and their forebears. He believes it will be enough to help him enter the Fade fully and take the throne of the gods."

"Oh, Sethius," Amell said, his tone musing. "After all this time, have you learned naught?" Shaking his head, Amell leaned forward. "So he will simply march you all in and take the power himself, is that it?"

"N-no," the Venatori said. A confused look came to his face for a moment as blood started to leak from his nose. "What is—"

Amell raised his hand and clenched it into an open fist, turning it slowly as a red haze surrounded the Venatori. The man shuddered as his eyes rolled up in the back of his head. When he went limp again, Amell snapped, "What is his plan?"

"He will send in the woman," the Venatori gasped. "Calpernia will be the Vessel for the power of the Well, and from her he will draw it forth as needed."

"So that's what Erasthenes meant," Amell murmured as he leaned back in his seat. "Which means Calpernia doesn't know her master's plans in full." He tapped his forefingers on his chin, watching as more blood started to stream from the Venatori's nose and ears. "You have a strong mind. Pity it won't save you." Snapping his fingers, he watched with evident amusement as the Venatori crumpled to the floor. "However, I do require one more thing from you." Rising to his feet, he held out his hand expectantly as Zevran rushed to fetch his staff. "You are a powerful mage, one of the highest placed within Corypheus' ranks. Your blood and its power should suffice for tomorrow's plans."

The man moaned softly and held up a feeble hand, crimson streams staining his cheeks as the blood leaked from the corners of his now wide eyes. "N-no."

With a sneer, Amell stalked towards him. "I've seen the dark altars you Venatori have left scattered around Thedas. You can't tell me you've never sucked the life from someone for your own ends." Amell kicked the man onto his back and jabbed the pointy end into the base of the man's neck. As blood welled out and the man choked on his own blood, Amell grated, "May the Void swallow you whole."

As Amell sucked the life force from the hapless Venatori, Hawke rolled his eyes. "He almost sounded outraged there. As if he hasn't ruined the lives of hundreds himself."

"Some would say the same of me," Anders said softly.

"And they would be idiots, the lot of them." Hawke retorted. "You didn't kill anyone for power."

"No." Anders frowned. "I killed them because the people in power refused to listen, and I wanted even Val Royeaux to hear what I had to say."

"And justice will not be stayed," Vengeance growled. "Not even by those who benefit from its lack."

Hawke closed his eyes for a moment, remembering his rage at seeing the burning shell of the Kirkwall Chantry, the rage which had helped him plunge the dagger into Anders' back. "They heard you, all right," he said. "In every Circle, in every Chantry, in every Templar Hall. Perhaps some may have forgotten your name, but they remember your actions. It took me a long time to understand it myself. Anders…" He swallowed harshly as the guilt rose again. "Anders, I'm s—"

"You've already said it, Hawke," Anders said quietly. "I told you I didn't want to hear it again. It's…it's not important anymore."

Opening his eyes, Hawke looked at Anders, studying the face of the man he'd loved and lost and found again, all in the most unusual of circumstances. When Anders turned and their eyes met, Hawke couldn't help but melt inside. Despite everything, he still loved the man more than reason would ever allow. "Because it's in the past?"

"Because of what tomorrow might bring," Anders said, expression troubled. "It sounds like Amell intends to find Corypheus for the final confrontation. If that happens, it might be our best opportunity to free your body. I can't help but think he'll be at his most distracted in that moment."

Hawke blinked and glanced at the mirror, where he saw Zevran kneeling in front of Amell as the mage fed the life force from the Venatori into the elf. "You're right. He did say tomorrow, didn't he? And if you're right, and we do succeed in getting me back into my body, then that means—"

"That what little time we've been stealing to be together here will come to an end, yes." Hawke felt Anders' hand claim his own, squeezing tight. "And I don't want to waste what we have left, Hawke. We did that enough when I was still alive."

Swallowing harshly, Hawke took a long, shuddering breath. "Too true." He glanced to the mirror, hoping that Amell would have sent his body to its rest on its cot. Unfortunately, he saw instead that Amell was now standing directly in front of him, though the why of it was not immediately apparent.

Zevran came up behind him, eyes shimmering slightly with the influx of energy Amell had just bequeathed him from the Venatori. "Reconsidering your plan now that you know more?"

"Not at all," Amell said, reaching out to lightly touch his fingertips to the forehead of Hawke's body. "My cousin's flesh makes a fine Vessel, whether for power or for knowledge, certainly better than a mage who might not agree with being made into nothing more than a puppet for her Master's will. I've pre-empted that rather cleverly, I thought. I will send in an empty Vessel, and receive in exchange…hmm. Power as Corypheus expects, or knowledge as Erasthenes surmised? Either will be useful, I suppose." He closed his eyes for a moment, and Hawke suddenly gasped as a cold sensation washed over him. Amell opened his eyes and frowned, staring deep into Hawke's eyes.

"Turn away," Vengeance said harshly. "Think of the Void. Don't look at him. Don't think of him."

Hawke hastily obeyed, drawing the memory of that horrid place beyond life and death around him like a shroud, pushing any thought of Amell as far away as he could. In the far distance, he felt the ground rumble beneath his feet, but he ignored it in a desperate attempt to empty his thoughts and pretend he no longer existed.

In the far distant, he heard a rumor of a whisper say, "Is something wrong, mi amor?"

"No," a memory of a murmur replied. "For a moment, I thought—But it's nothing. He's ready. Tomorrow, you shall go about your task, and Hawke and I will confront Corypheus. If all goes to plan…"

"It will," the rumor whispered in reply. "I swear it."

The weight of oblivion lifted from Hawke as a subtle susurration tickled his ear. You can return now. Follow me home.

He concentrated, remembering how to follow the thought without remembering at first why he should. When he popped back into the shadow reality which Vengeance had constructed, he gasped in shock as he awoke from the inky darkness of the Void into which he had almost fallen too far. "Maker," he breathed. "Don't make me do that again, please. I might not be able to find my way back next time."

"Hopefully it won't happen again," Anders said grimly. "For now, though, he's healed your body again and set it to rest. I can hear them talking, but they're too far away to make out what they're saying."

Hawke glanced at the mirror, noticing that it had gone dark, indicating his body had closed its eyes. "So we're down for the night?" At Anders' nod, Hawke grinned. "Then we don't have any time to waste."

Grabbing Anders by the belt, Hawke hauled the man in for a kiss that used passion to paint over the desperation which powered it. He felt the same urgency in Anders as their clothes were tugged from their bodies, not even bothering with the pretense of politeness by retreating to the privacy of Hawke's farcical bedroom.

At one point, while Hawke gripped Anders' hair and his hips bucked upwards while Ander's oh-so-clever fingers did things deep inside Hawke, he caught a glimpse of Vengeance. The spirit again stood stock still, his glowing purple eyes hooded and his arms crossed. The light which constantly surrounded Vengeance pulsed in time to something no one else could hear, and his lips moved soundlessly, as if talking to someone no one else could see.

It proved a creepy enough sight to momentarily distract Hawke, but not enough to divert him completely from Anders' diligence. When Anders sucked Hawke's cock in so deep that the tip hit the back of Anders' throat, Hawke gave a guttural groan and succumbed to their joined lust once more, Vengeance forgotten in the heat of the moment.

At least for now.

The next morning passed in a literal blur, beginning in the wee hours of the morning when Zevran roused Hawke's body from where it lay to prepare him for what was to come. From the sober expression on the elf's face, there was no doubt in Hawke's mind: this was the day their plan had to come to fruition, or everything was lost.

Including any hope of freedom.

Fully armed and armored, Hawke's body remained close to Amell as he and his troops set out into the Wilds. As they moved through the forest, small groups peeled away one by one, until Hawke found himself alone with Amell and a pair of bodyguards. Even Zevran disappeared at some point, presumably on whatever mysterious task Amell had set before him. At that point, Amell's demeanor grew wary and the pace slowed. Sometimes Amell would pause and turn his head with his eyes closed as if he were listening for something, then change their direction. Other times he would abruptly break into a sprint, clearing a break in the forest mere moments before a crash in the brush behind them told of a near miss with some form of enemy. Their path meandered wildly, yet always in the distance Hawke could see the outline of a large set of ruins.

When at last they emerged from the undergrowth, it was to follow a long gorge that ended in a large pile of rocks at the base of a cliff. When Amell poked at the rocks with his staff, muttering to himself, Hawke frowned. "What is he after? I thought we were heading to those ruins."

"I thought so, too, but I also know Amell well enough to know his mind doesn't work the way everyone else's does," Anders replied, gaze intent on the mirror. "Whatever he has planned, it's not something anyone could anticipate."

Hawke made a face. "Don't remind me," he muttered with a glance at Vengeance. Leaning closer to Anders, he whispered, "So should we be worried about him yet?"

Glancing to where Vengeance stood like a statue with half-closed eyes, Anders said, "At least he's not muttering anymore. Perhaps it's best if we left him undisturbed until the opportunity arises. Whatever is happening to him—"

"—is getting worse the longer we're in the Wilds," Hawke pointed out. "Are you sure he can still help you if the chance to break free arises?"

"He won't ignore that," Anders insisted. "Amell is still his obsession. This…whatever it is, he can come out of it, we know that." After another moment of studying Vengeance, Anders shook his head. "And for now, that's all we can—"

The sound of a shockingly loud explosion interrupted his words, and both he and Hawke snapped their attention to the mirror as the boom was followed by a the rumble of rocks and boulders falling down the hill. They saw Amell standing at the bottom of the same cliff, save that now the rocks had been blown to the side to reveal a large opening which disappeared into the darkness of the mountain.

Anders' eyes widened. "Well, shit," he breathed, just as something emerged from the darkness. "Of course. Why didn't I think of that?"

Hawke stared at the darkspawn hovering in front of Amell. "What is that? I don't recall running into anything like that in the Deep Roads."

"An Emissary Alpha," Anders breathed. When another large figure emerged to stand next to it, he added, "And that one is—"

"—a Genlock Alpha. I remember those bastards," Hawke snarled. "What in the Void is Amell up to?"

"Not Amell," Anders corrected. "The Architect. He wants to take down Corypheus as much as Amell does, and apparently his hold over the darkspawn is as strong or stronger than it was when I first met him."

Both men fell silent as they watched Amell and the darkspawn hold a quiet conversation, at the end of which both darkspawn actually bowed to Amell. As they disappeared back into the darkness, Amell gestured the Red Wardens to him. "You know what to do from here. We don't have a lot of them, so you need to make sure to use them effectively and not as a bludgeon." Amell fixed his gaze on one of the Red Wardens in particular. "Your horde will have the ogre with it, so press in hard when the Commander's troops are weak. I want the Commander injured but not dead, understand?"

"Understood, Master," the Red Warden said with a crisp salute. "We will not fail you."

"No. You won't," Amell said in a bleak tone as he stepped back and waved Hawke's body to fall in at his side.

In the next moment the darkspawn emerged in full from the cavern, moving in small clumps in the wake of their Alphas, who themselves followed the Red Wardens out of the gulch and into the Arbor Wilds proper. Hawke whistled slowly as he watched the hordes file past. "I mean, it's not the legions of the Blight, but it's definitely going to be a distraction."

"And that's probably exactly what he wants. For all eyes to be everywhere that he is not," Anders mused. "Especially when he goes after Corypheus directly." His eyes latched onto the ogre and watched it until it was out of sight. "Maker, I'd hoped never to see one of those bastards again. Brutes."

Once they were out of sight, Amell set into motion, commanding Hawke's body to follow with a simple gesture. Hawke watched in tense silence as they dove into the woods again, following a circuitous path which avoided all outright fighting but came close enough a time or two to hear swords ringing and spells crackling. Eventually they reached the edge of a large open space which Hawke saw must have once been a ford for a mighty river, complete with the remnants of bridges. There Amell halted them, settling into the deep shadow of a tree which allowed them to overlook the ford but not be seen by those within it.

And, for the first time, Hawke saw the fighting.

In fact, the ford churned with it. Inquisition forces battled Venatori and Red Templars and some sort of new enemy in elegant golden armor. Hawke's eyes narrowed as he studied those, unable to determine their origin, and almost jumped out of his skin when Amell spoke.

"So those are the local Guardians," Amell mused softly. "Their magic is unusual, that is certain. Old, very old."

"Shit," Hawke whispered. "He's not talking to me, is he?"

Before Anders could respond, Amell spoke again, though this time with a voice shifted in both pitch and timbre, and Hawke relaxed. Right. The Architect.

"Older than the Imperium, certainly," the Architect observed. "I see the roots of Imperium magic in it, though why their magic would hold any similarity mystifies me. Yet it does reinforce my theory that whoever these elves are, they remain untouched by the outside world."

Amell grunted, his voice returning to normal as he said, "That has interesting implications, don't you think? Perhaps the Imperium isn't what you thought it was. It certainly would bear out those archives we found in the Deep Roads, the ones referring to the fall of—"

His lips snapped shut abruptly as his expression darkened. "Ward your tongue," the Architect snarled. "You know nothing of the true grandeur of the Imperium at its dawn. The Old Gods wrought well."

As the odd argument continued, Hawke leaned towards Anders and murmured, "Is that as creepy as I think it is?"

"More," Anders assured him, watching Amell with a fascinated look on his face. "Justice and I never did that, did we? Please tell me we didn't."

"Not that I ever saw. Maybe when you were alone," Hawke said.

Anders shuddered. "I hope not. I mean, being an abomination of any sort is bad enough, but add that level of macabre on top of it and…ugh." A grimace twisted his face. "Maker, no."

"I'd tend to agree." Hawke frowned as he scanned what he could see of the battlefield. "What is Amell waiting for? The fighting seems to be winding down, at least. Wait…Is that Dorian?" His eyes narrowed as he stepped closer to the mirror, trying to will his body to look where he wanted it to look. After a moment, his body obliged, and Hawke tapped the glass. "Yes, and Cullen, too. In a rather ridiculous lion helmet, but I recognize that fur mantle of his even from this distance."

Suddenly Amell straightened. "The darkspawn are almost here," he said in the slow, deliberate tones of the Architect. "Are you certain of this scheme of yours?"

"As certain as I can be of anything. The Commander has an unseemly amount of good luck," Amell growled as he stepped forward and twirled his staff, setting a ward around himself and Hawke's body. "This time, I'll make events proceed as I wish."

Hawke frowned. "What kind of ward was that?"

"One of his specialties," Anders said. "Obfuscation, his twist of mixing entropy with spirit magic. It works by making the magic dependent on the spiritual and mental state of the viewer. I used it to disguise the entrance to my clinic in Darktown, for one. If a wounded Templar had ever gone looking for me strictly for the purposes of healing, they'd have found me. But since they weren't…" Anders gave a little shrug. "All they ever saw was a blank wall."

"But I found you," Hawke pointed out.

"You were with someone who already knew where it was," Anders explained. "The ward didn't work on you because of that."

"Clever," Hawke mused. "So that's what Amell did? Wove a ward so that people will just see forest if they look his way?"

"That'd be my surmise, yes. But why—" Anders winced as a roar rang out over the clearing. "I'd know that sound anywhere. Any Warden would."

Hawke recognized it too, and watched the fight unfold between the already weary Inquisition forces and the darkspawn. He lost sight of Dorian, but managed to keep track of Cullen as he fought against the ogre along with two others. Cassandra he recognized instantly, but it took him longer to recognize the third warrior involved. "Alistair!"

"What?" Anders asked, confused.

"The one fighting the ogre with Cullen and Cassandra. Look at the shield arm," Hawke said, pointing. "I'd bet my life that's Alistair, Templar armor or not."

"That's a clever shield design, if so. Good for him," Anders said. "Up and fighting is definitely an improvement over the last time we saw him."

Feeling an odd sort of pride to see Alistair recovered so well, Hawke watched the fight with the ogre anxiously, feeling utterly useless. His eyes darted between Cullen and Alistair, holding his breath each time the ogre's huge swipes came close. Slowly other sensations crept over him, oddly physical ones: the itching of phantom gloves, the weight of armor he wasn't wearing, and sweat slowly trickling down his scalp. Hawke's eyes widened as he realized that he was so invested in the scene in the mirror that he was starting to resonate directly with his body again, and quickly he clamped down on that, pulling back both mentally and even a little physically by taking a step or two back.

"What's wrong?" Anders asked sharply.

"I started to feel my body again," Hawke explained. "I didn't want to trigger anything, that's all."

"That's a good sign, actually," Anders said. "When Amell's distracted and you're invested, you almost seem to flow naturally into your body." For a moment, both Anders and Hawke stared at Vengeance, but he was much as he had been before: still, silent, and glowing. "And I'm sure he would have roused if he felt Amell notice you."

"Hopefully." Shaking his head, Hawke focused on the mirror again, automatically seeking out Alistair. "Looks like they're tiring," he said. "But so is the ogre. Look how it's favoring its leg."

"They've been taking turns," Anders noted. "Classic Warden tactic against the things. I think Alistair was next… Yes."

As Hawke watched, Alistair darted forward and slashed at the ogre in a feint designed to attract its attention a beat before Cassandra and Cullen closed in from its sides. This time, however, the ogre ignored Alistair and roared, lashing out to strike Cassandra with enough force that she landed several lengths away. His other hand closed around Cullen and lifted him, struggling, from the ground. Hawke watched in horror as the beast raised Cullen above its head and then slammed him into the ground several times over.

When he finally released Cullen's body, it was clear that that is all it was: a mangled mass of flesh without any life in it. Nothing could possibly have survived that onslaught, especially not the way that blood and gore coated the rocks around the body or the way the head lay at a hard right angle to the rest of the torso.

Hawke heard a howl of anguish, felt the heat and hardness of the mirror before realizing that the scream was his own, and the pain in his knuckles spoke of his attempt to punch his way into the mirror. He distantly felt Anders haul him away before he actually did damage it, but Hawke still floated in a cloud of shock as he stared at the battlefield. The shock tightened and solidified, wrapping Hawke in a haze of cold. How else could he explain why everything in the mirror seemed to have stopped? Swallowing against his still-tight throat, Hawke asked, "Am I dreaming? That didn't happen, did it?"

A glowing white hand abruptly appeared in one side of the mirror, and Hawke's eyes fixed on the amulet dangling from Amell's fingers, an amulet he hadn't seen since their escape from the Shrine of Dumat. "Maferath's fucking balls, I knew that ogre would be trouble," Amell muttered, adding a few more choice oaths as he stepped forward and raised the amulet high. A white haze edged with green surrounded him, and an expression of utter concentration settled on his face as, for a moment, the entire world seemed to hold its breath.

Then slowly, tortuously, the figures on the battlefield began to move. Not to continue their dance of death, no—but to undo it. The ogre's hand jerked back to wrap around Cullen, and Hawke watched, the shock thudding in his body with every blow, as the ogre seemed to beat Cullen back to full health. The sight curdled in Hawke's stomach, twisting it both with the impossibility of it all and the faint sense of hope battling against each other.

At the pinnacle after—or before—the first downswing of the ogre's arm, Amell paused everything again. His breath came in short, sharp pants by this point, and he muttered under his breath, "Slow. Steady. Injured, but not dead. Fuck all ogres." Then, inch by inch, he lowered his hand.

The ogre slammed Cullen down once, twice, then abruptly stopped as a white-hot bolt of lightning shot from the surrounding woods to hit its hand. With a roar, the beast flung Cullen aside as it whirled around looking for the source of the new pain. A calculated risk on Amell's part, to hope that no one would notice an unexpected slug of magic from the surrounding forest, but it seemed to pass unnoticed as a horn blast abruptly echoed over the battlefield.

Amell fell to one knee, holding himself up with his staff as he panted heavily for a few long moments. During that time, Hawke watched as Dorian and Cassandra tended to Cullen, relief flooding through him as he realized that Cullen yet lived. "I don't believe it," he murmured.

"We've just seen…the impossible," Anders breathed. "Amell used magic to change someone's fate. Do you realize what this means?"

"Yes. Cullen's alive, that's what it means," Hawke said, fighting to climb above the shock.

Anders paused, then frowned as he studied Hawke's face. "Why did that hit you so hard?"

"Why, are you jealous?" Hawke joked, falling back on humor where he couldn't fall back on logic or rational thought.

"Should I be?"

The question, matched with the utterly serious tone behind it, jerked Hawke back into the present, and away from the present that could have been. He turned to look at Anders, really look at him, as he realized how his behavior could be viewed. "I…no. I just…you know how I feel about Dorian."

After a moment of hesitation, Anders nodded. That had been one of their longer conversations early on, but eventually Anders had accepted it, even if he didn't love the idea of Hawke in love with someone else. "But this didn't concern Dorian."

Hawke frowned, poking the emotions roiling within as he tried to make sense of it. It made sense to him, but the moment he tried to order it into words, it fell apart. Finally he said, "I don't want Dorian to feel the pain I did. And losing Cullen…it would be like that for him, I think. Even if his hand didn't do the deed, his order as the Inquisitor brought Cullen here. I know Dorian—he'd have felt Cullen's death in combat as a…a personal failing, like I did. Just because he'd be wrong about it doesn't mean the pain would be less."

"I…I suppose," Anders said dubiously.

"I realize that's a pretty piss poor explanation, but they don't call me the Champion because I can make sense of this jumble of a mess in my heart," Hawke told him sheepishly.

That made Anders laugh silently before he abruptly pulled Hawke into a tight embrace. "I'm going to miss you," he said, voice oddly hoarse.

"Where did that come from?" Hawke asked, even as he grasped Anders just as tightly in return.

"For all that you could infuriate me without saying a word, I love you. Maker's breath, but I do." Burrowing his head into the crook of Hawke's neck, he said, "Don't ever forget me, all right? No matter what happens."

"Never," Hawke swore, then jumped when he heard a voice echo from the mirror as Amell pushed himself to his feet. Both men hastily pushed apart and turned to stare at the mirror. Hawke did reach out to take Anders' hand, though, and smiled when he found that Anders had done the same. Hands clasped tight, they watched the events unfold in the mirror.

"Well, that was not how I expected to use the amulet," Amell muttered to himself as he dusted off his robe. "It was an emergency, yes, but not my emergency." Holding up the amulet in front of his face, he shook it, a frown coming to his face as it flickered briefly into life, then faded again. "Damn. Well, hopefully I won't need it." Turning his attention to the new arrivals on the battlefield, he grunted. "Nathaniel Howe. I should have known he'd show up here." Shaking his head, Amell leaned on his staff and settled in to observe the remainder of the battle. "I hope saving your incaensor is worth it," he muttered bitterly to himself.

"He will be," the Architect murmured in return. "He will be the key which gives us the Golden City. The poor wretches of the Chantry do not understand the true potential of the ones you call the Templars."

Hawke frowned. "I don't like the sound of that," he muttered under his breath.

"We still need the power of the Orb," Amell argued. "Are you certain you can control its power?"

The Architect laughed softly, a dark, evil sound that sent a chill down Hawke's spine. "Better than that fool Sethius, of that I am certain."

"And if he does not have it with him?" Amell countered. "My agents said he did not seem to be carrying it when he entered the Wilds."

"Then he will have entrusted it to the one being whose loyalty cannot be questioned," the Architect said. "He is Tevinter to his core, but no more than I am. And if he can make a dragon bow to his will, then so too will I. You need not concern yourself on this matter."

Amell grunted, twisting his hand absently around the base of his staff. "Then I'll leave it up to you. Looks like the Inquisitor is moving on."

"Then we shall follow, but at a distance. It would not do to find Sethius until we are certain the Inquisitor cannot interfere with our plan," the Architect said darkly. "He must fall to my hand and no other."

To this, Amell said nothing, instead turning his head to track Dorian as he led his party from the ford, then made a curt gesture that set Hawke's body into motion after him as they moved through the trees in a parallel path. As the lushness of the forest swallowed them once more, it was almost easy to forget the horror of what had happened in the ford, but just the thought of it made Hawke's heart thud and his blood race. Pushing the memory of what might have happened aside, Hawke focused instead on Amell, forcing his thoughts back on his true goal.

Freedom.

Amell drew them to a halt at the entrance to the tunnel into which Dorian and his companions had disappeared, a frown on his face as he looked around them for an alternate route. When he saw none, he shook his head and touched the skull of red lyrium on his staff, quieting its glow. "I can feel Sethius at the other end, his arrogance and his corruption. So long as he exists, our plans will never come to fruition." Amell turned to face Hawke's body, with one dull eye indicating that it was indeed the Architect who spoke. "I hope you have shaped this Vessel well in both blade and form, for the time has come to test its temper."

Hawke swallowed harshly, reflexively stepping back from that searching stare, but the Architect had already turned back and started down the tunnel. Hawke's body followed, and for a time all they saw or heard was the gradually increasing light at the far end of the tunnel. "Think we should wake up Vengeance yet?" he whispered to Anders, then felt a bit silly for whispering. "Is it time?"

Before Anders could reply, a blinding flash erupted in the distance, forcing them to drop and hastily cover their eyes. At the same time, the deafening roar of an explosion blasted down the tunnel with enough force to make the ground tremble and a few rocks fall down from above. The mirror went black as Hawke's body covered its eyes, but the light had been so sudden and so bright that the world became muted even for Hawke and Anders, despite the fact they weren't even physically present.

"What in Thedas was that?" Hawke groaned, eyes squeezed shut. Even that didn't help at first, with the afterimage of Amell's body lingering in the back of his eyelids. "Something Corypheus did?"

"Whatever it was, it was damn powerful," Anders muttered. "And Amell doesn't look happy."

Indeed, Amell had set into motion again, a curt gesture sending Hawke's body into a lurching motion. "Something's wrong," Amell muttered under his breath, just loud enough for the words to leak out of the mirror. "That must have been elvhen magic. If those Guardians have ruined my plans, I will not rest until all lie dead."

When they burst from the tunnel, it was just in time to see Dorian and his companions pelting across the bridge as if all the denizens of the Fade nipped at their heels. Hawke's gaze was drawn down to the close end of the bridge, however, where a writhing figure twisted amongst the scattered corpses of Grey Wardens and Venatori.

"Is that—" Hawke's eyes widened as the figure suddenly straightened and raised its arms to the heavens. "Corypheus!"

Abruptly Amell hunkered down behind the railing, pulling Hawke's body down with him, though Hawke managed to keep his eyes on Corypheus as he stepped onto the bridge. When a piercing shriek filled the air above them, Hawke winced and clapped his hands over his ears, not needing to see the source to recognize it. "So that's where the bastard's dragon got to!" he shouted at Anders, even as a dark shadow passed over where his body crouched next to Amell on the other side of the mirror.

As the shadow passed, Amell abruptly stood, his staff blazing with power. The ball of magic he summoned was both impressive and terrifying, expanding quickly to the size of Amell's height before he launched it at the dragon with a jab of his staff. Hawke stared in disbelief as it struck the dragon and quickly engulfed it, binding its wings to its sides and depriving it of flight. With another ear-splitting shriek, the dragon plummeted from sight, striking the bridge on its way down with enough force to break it in twain.

"Well, that's one way to make sure Corypheus doesn't get away," Anders muttered.

With a blink, Hawke realized that Anders was right. In that moment, Amell reached down and grabbed the shoulder of Hawke's body. "Now is the time," he growled. "Use the shadows and distract him until I can kill him once and for all. Wait for my signal, then attack without hesitation."

Now the sight in the mirrors became a blur as Hawke's body embraced the darkness of stealth. As his body edged away from Amell and dropped onto the level where Corypheus stood, he heard what he know knew was the Architect's voice speaking with Corypheus. "What are they saying?"

Abruptly Vengeance's eyes opened, and he turned to face the mirror. "They are speaking in the language of the old Imperium," he said, eyes glowing as he stared at the chaos in its depths. "It has been long since I have heard anyone speak in that manner. Each accuses the other of betrayal, and the Conductor blames the Architect for the failure of their plan to take the Golden City." Vengeance reached out towards the mirror. "They will fight. No matter who wins, we must take advantage. Both Amell and the Architect will be distracted once Corypheus is vanquished."

Hawke and Anders exchanged an uneasy glance before Hawke cleared his throat and said, "Look, while I'm happy that you're back with us, you have to admit you've been acting kind of strange lately."

Vengeance turned to face them, and Hawke fought the urge to take a step back. "Be ready. She is calling to us, and we dare not be late."

The hackles would have risen on Hawke's neck, if he'd been in his body. As it was, he frowned. "She? She who?"

A sudden movement in the mirror caught his attention, and Hawke jerked his head around just in time to watch his body drive two daggers into Corypheus' back. The Magister roared with fury, twisting in place as he struck out at the source of his pain. Hawke's body rolled away from the Magister just as a cloud of magic enveloped Corypheus, who collapsed to his knees, presenting Hawke's body the opportunity to close in and slice the Magister's throat with both of his daggers.

Corypheus collapsed, his blood seeping into the ground as fast as it spurted from the slash across his throat. Hawke stared at it, recalling a similar moment at the end of his first encounter with Corypheus, and frowned as he remembered that the damned Magister hadn't done a good job at staying dead. When a fireball thudded into the corpse from above, Hawke's body jumped back, and Hawke stared as Corypheus was quickly reduced to a pile of ash.

Movement caught Hawke's gaze, and he shifted his attention to one of the nearby dead Wardens as it slowly stirred into life. Almost before he could blink, the corpse had risen to its feet, bones snapping and limbs stretching until Corypheus stood before him once more, hands glowing with power that he quickly launched at his foes.

As the fight roared into new life, Hawke cursed under his breath as he took stock of the battlefield. "There must be over a dozen dead Wardens there. Is that bastard going to resurrect each one?"

"Probably. I was afraid of that," Anders admitted. "It's been on my mind ever since you found out that Corypheus had risen from the dead. Archdemons can take the body of the nearest blighted creature. It's why a Grey Warden can kill an Archdemon where none other can. Something about the taint we accept as part of becoming a Grey Warden traps the Archdemon's soul in our body and prevents it from making the leap into another creature."

"Except Corypheus has had literal centuries to study the Wardens. He must have figured out a way to use their nature to his advantage," Hawke breathed. "Damn. All this time they thought they were studying him, and all they did was give him time to learn their weaknesses."

"That's the only way I can think of to explain how he walked away after we killed him," Anders said with a nod. "We weren't alone in that tower after the fight that left him dead, after all."

Hawke snapped his fingers. "Janeka."

"It must have been. He probably took over her body and rode her out of the tower like his own personal carriage."

"I knew there was something weird about her," Hawke said in a bitter tone. "Damn."

"I'm just as glad he didn't try to take me," Anders said. "My body was still a Warden, after all."

"I might have noticed if you'd started spouting Tevinter gibberish during sex," Hawke teased him.

Anders shuddered, though a grudging grin claimed his lips as he rolled his eyes. "Don't even joke about that."

"I stopped him," Vengeance said suddenly. "Or at least, my presence did. He wouldn't have dared to try to possess Anders with me already there. He would have had to kill me."

"And lost his cover. All right. One for your side," Hawke said a trifle awkwardly. "I will say you're preferable to an ancient Magister darkspawn, even in your present form." His eyes settled on the mirror again, noting that Amell had emerged from behind the railing, effectively pinning Corypheus between his barrage of magic attacks and the daggers of Hawke's body. "Wait. So that means Corypheus won't be able to claim Amell either, right? Since Amell already has the Architect inside of him."

Vengeance hesitated. "He doesn't need to conceal himself this time," he said slowly. "If he thinks he can defeat the Architect—"

"Or worse, ally with him," Anders muttered. "Amell is bad enough with one evil ancient Magister darkspawn inside of him. I dare not think what he'd be like with two."

Vengeance's head twitched a tiny amount as something vaguely resembling a smile curved his lips before vanishing into the ether again. "Even more intolerable, I'd imagine."

Hawke rubbed his forehead as he groaned. "Thanks for the insight," he drawled. "So how many dead Wardens are left? Is anyone keeping count?"

"Only one. I would imagine this battle is why Amell focused so intently on your training and equipment, so that together you two could take down Corypheus not just once, but multiple times." Anders frowned. "Actually, I'm not sure how he's still on his feet. Corypheus is throwing some serious firepower around there. There's not enough lyrium in the world to—"

"What about red lyrium?" Hawke interrupted. "And blood? Amell was never above using his own blood to supplement his magic as necessary, and that skull is no mean power source."

"But it's also no Orb," Anders pointed out, then frowned. "Wait. Corypheus doesn't have his—" He winced and turned away from the mirror as a bright flash of some sort of magic engulfed Corypheus. "Well. I think we're down to the last body."

Even as the last dead Warden shambled to its feet, however, Amell leapt into motion. Before the body had even finished forming itself into Corypheus' shape, Amell rushed forward while holding the pointed end of his staff out in front of him like a spear. With a swift and vicious motion, the mage thrust it into the Magister's still-spindly body, hitting the heart with surprising accuracy. As Hawke watched with wide eyes, Amell twisted and leaned into the staff until it popped out the other side.

Corypheus' mouth hung open as he collapsed to his knees, arms spreading wide as the staff erupted into a crimson light. The light seemed to fill the Magister from the inside out, showing through his skin and shining out of every hole in his head until his body disintegrated between one moment and the next, collapsing into a pile of dust.

Hawke's body also fell to its knees, panting to regain its air as Amell pulled back his staff and leaned on it, staring at the pile of dust intently. Hawke frowned. "Is he…dead?"

"I don't see how. A fancy light show isn't enough to—Wait." Anders pointed. "Something's happening."

Hawke's eyes widened as an inchoate cloud slowly rose from the ash of Corypheus' body. As it did, Amell smiled and stepped back, opening his arms wide almost as if in invitation. "Well, shit," Hawke breathed. "I guess they made sure Corypheus was desperate enough to try. But why—"

Before either Anders or Vengeance could respond to that, the cloud enveloped Amell, swirling around him with a frenetic energy of hunger as it sought to devour the man whole. For a brief moment, Amell disappeared from sight, and his staff toppled to the ground with a loud clang. For a long, tense moment they watched the cloud pulsate around Amell as it flickered with bits of white and red color deep in its depths. Then, with the same suddenness they'd seen in the tunnel, a burst of white light exploded from the cloud, rendering the mirror itself pure white with only the merest hint of gold flecks throughout.

Flinching back from the light, Hawke raised one hand to cover his eyes until the light finally dimmed. Blinking a few times to clear his vision, he kept his gaze fixed on the mirror as images slowly assembled themselves into something that made a bit more sense to his overloaded mind.

He saw Amell, seemingly unharmed, standing with arms stretched akimbo in the middle of a large circle of scorched earth. As best as Hawke could determine, his own body had been flung back into the base of the railing they'd hidden behind earlier, and stared up at Amell from a position of lying flat. Slowly his body pushed itself up into a standing position, and Hawke studied Amell closely the whole time, wondering if it was still Amell, or if he was now Corypheus. He watched as Amell reached up to touch his own face, then ran his hands down the front of his robe. Abruptly he raised his hands up to the sky and gave loose a great shout, one that turned into robust laughter as he whirled to face Hawke's body.

Instantly Hawke noticed all sorts of small ways in which Amell had changed. He wasn't quite as tall as before, for one, having lost two or three inches of height, but the lost height had somehow been transmuted into broader shoulders and heavier muscle on his arms and torso. Though the burns remained on part of his face, they looked different, more like normal burns than waxen skin trying to fall off of his skull as they had appeared only a few minutes prior. Amell had changed, that was certain, but it wasn't an alteration which spoke of Corypheus to Hawke.

He felt Anders suddenly grasp his hand even as Amell ran up to seize the face of Hawke's body, planting a sound kiss on what Hawke had to assume were unresponsive lips. "It worked," Amell said in a jubilant voice. "It worked. All the planning, all the suppression of thought, all the magical tests and probing and pretending…and it worked. Twins. Twins! I knew the theory was sound, and her ritual just needed a bit of reworking, and then… Freedom." Amell laughed heartily as he released Hawke's body and twirled in place.

"What is he talking about?" Hawke frowned as he looked at Anders, realizing just how tightly the man was holding his hand. "Anders? What's wrong?"

Before Anders could respond, Amell pivoted to face Hawke. "Come, cousin!" he said in a brisk tone as he snapped his fingers. His skull-topped staff pulled itself from where it lay and flung itself towards Amell, who snatched it from the air with a practiced ease. "We have no time to revel in our victory. I have my task—to find the Orb—and you have yours: to find the Well of Sorrows and let it fill you to the brim with its power, then return to me." Amell turned and pointed towards the other side of the bridge, to where some distant figures— Dorian and the others, Hawke realized dully—were even now squeezing through the broken remnants of an imposing set of doors. "Fly, my Hawke."

Hawke tensed as his body suddenly flung itself into motion, running straight forward. No, not quite randomly forward, Hawke realized—it was heading directly towards the bridge.

The broken bridge.

Before he could do more than reach towards the mirror and shout in surprise, his body had already hit the last stone on his side of the bridge and leapt into the air, a trajectory which left him at least a dozen feet short of the other side and doomed to a rather spectacularly gruesome death at the bottom of the misty trench below. Instead, somehow, his body suddenly flipped end over end a couple of times before landing heavily on the other side of the bridge. As his body rose to its feet, Hawke caught a glimpse of Amell across the bridge, noticing the dying flare of light in the red lyrium skull and the way his hands lowered to his sides as if he'd raised him.

"Did that bastard just toss my body through the air ass over teakettle?" Hawke demanded in a tone of outrage.

A hand landed on Hawke's shoulder. "Forget about him, Hawke," Vengeance said through gritted teeth. "This is our chance. Amell is distant and distracted. If we're ever to break his spell on you, now is the time."

Hawke's body had already set into motion in obedience to Amell's directive, though Hawke didn't really notice. Instead he stared at Vengeance, suddenly consumed by a sensation that could only be described as terrified hope. "Yes," he said softly. "It is time."

Sweet blessed Andraste, please let it be time.