As Hawke disappeared into the Well, Dorian instinctively moved towards it. The raised hand of Abelas brought him to an abrupt halt, however, and Dorian froze at the very edge of the Well. His brow furrowed as he stared at the still surface. "What will happen to him?"

The elf, his own eyes fixed on the Well, made an eloquent gesture which nevertheless held no meaning for Dorian. "That is up to her."

"Her?" Dorian echoed, but his mind already leapt with several possibilities. "You mean Mythal?"

Abelas gave a curt nod. "Those who would drink from the vir'abelasan are bound to her will thenceforth. It is the price of gaining the wisdom of my people."

"That's absurd," Morrigan scoffed. "Again you speak of an ancient goddess as if she were real."

Expression neutral, Abelas' gaze flicked towards Morrigan, then back to the Well. "You will learn the truth of it soon enough."

"What do you—" Dorian stopped as the water in the Well flowed into motion, swirling in place slowly at first but gaining speed quickly. His eyes widened as the water seemed to dissipate before them, leaving a limp figure lying on his back in the middle of the now empty Well.

All other thoughts became secondary as Dorian clambered down the steps and ran to Hawke's side, falling to his knees as he grabbed the man's hand. "Hawke!"

Hawke's brow furrowed, and he tugged his hand away to bat lightly at Dorian. "Fivemoreminutes," he groaned.

Dorian couldn't help but chuckle, both from relief that Hawke seemed to be rousing, but also because that was a very Hawke reaction to an otherwise serious situation. "I'm afraid not, my friend," he said. "But perhaps I could incentivize you, hmm?" Taking Hawke's face between his hands, he leaned down and claimed a rather intense kiss, the one he'd been planning to give the man since Amell had disappeared with him from the Shrine. "There. And there's more where that came from if you wake up now instead of in five minutes."

Lips spreading in a wide grin, one of Hawke's eyes popped open. "Promise?"

"Would I lie?" Dorian asked, pressing his hand to his chest to feign indignation at the very idea.

"I suppose not." Hawke groaned and slowly pushed himself into a sitting position. As he rubbed his forehead, he said, "I'd like to complain to the owner. I feel like I've been sat on by a herd of brontos."

"I'm afraid the closest we have to that is Abelas over there," Dorian said as he rose to his feet and held out his hand. "Though he seemed to have some suspicions about what you've been through."

Hawke looked up at Dorian's hand, and Dorian suppressed a start of surprise as he saw a purple light shining in the man's eyes, though it faded so quickly that he wasn't sure if he'd actually seen anything. "Abelas. Yes, I know that name." Taking Dorian's offered hand, he let Dorian haul him to his feet, then swept the clearing until his eyes settled on Abelas. "Him, right?"

"Ah...yes. Well spotted," Dorian said. "It is a rather unique armor they use, isn't it?"

"Not from where I'm standing," Hawke said with a shrug, then strode to Abelas.

The elf straightened, then nodded to Hawke. "Andaran atish'an."

Hawke nodded in return. "Andaran atish'an. Ar lasa mala Mythal'enansal: Na melana sahlin."

Abelas stiffened, and Dorian thought he detected a hint of shock in the elf's face. Certainly Dorian felt more than a bit surprised himself at the fact that Hawke suddenly possessed any sort of fluency in the elvish language. A quick glance to the side at Solas and the expression on his face indicated that he felt much the same. He watched in befuddlement as Dorian and Abelas spoke extensively in elvish, unable to understand more than a scattering of words here and there from Mailani's lessons.

When Abelas turned away, Dorian stepped forward. "And what will you do now?"

The elf turned to him, one eloquent eyebrow raised. "The Well has been expended as she wanted. My purpose is no longer here."

"There are other places, friend, other duties," Solas said. "Your people yet linger."

"Elvhen such as you?" Abelas asked, an odd tone of scorn in his voice.

"Yes," Solas answered. "Such as I."

Abelas' lips curved into a faint smile. "Then they are your people, not mine." He looked at Hawke for a long moment, as if weighing something in his mind. "And our duty here has come to an end, it seems. We will move on."

"You are leaving the Temple?" Dorian asked in surprise.

"The Well has been expended, its purpose fulfilled," Abelas said. "We will now go where she bids us."

"If you do that, much will be lost. The Imperium went to great lengths to expunge elven history," Dorian reminded him. "You might be the last to know the truth. A living history hitherto shrouded in the mists of time."

Abelas tilted his head. "And?"

A bit taken aback by the blunt tone, Dorian said, "You could bring the truth to the light. Go amongst the elves and tell them what truly happened to their people."

"Would the 'elves' of your lands listen to the truth?" Abelas asked, the scorn returning to his voice.

Dorian stiffened at the subtle barb in the word 'elves', as if Abelas didn't consider them his peers at all, and felt a bit offended on Mailani's behalf. "They might. Would it hurt to try?"

"It very well may, shemlen. Yes." Abelas paused, then added, "As would be the case in the Imperium, else why would your people have erased the knowledge in the first place?"

The words hit home, and Dorian frowned as the insight weighed on his shoulders, reminding him of the burden he now bore: that the Imperium had never been the great conquerors they claimed, but scavengers feasting on a corpse. The Venatori were not the only ones wholly invested in the supposed greatness of the Ancient Imperium, after all, just the ones rabid enough to serve a mad god to restore it. "You may be right," he conceded.

Abelas gave a shrug. "It matters not. Our time here is done." He glanced at Hawke. "We have a new duty to serve."

"A new—" Dorian began, but Solas stepped forward.

"It does not need to be this way," Solas insisted. "There is a place for you, lethallin, if you seek it."

"My place is to serve Mythal, as I always have," Abelas said with a certain quiet dignity. "And I will not forsake my duty. I did not before, and I will not stop now."

Solas' brows drew together, but eventually he nodded. "Dareth shiral."

Abelas nodded to Solas, then turned to Hawke. "Lath sulevin, lath araval ena. Mythal ma ghilana." For a long moment, his eyes bored into Hawke's face, but then he simply shrugged. "Dareth shiral."

"Oh, I'll be guided, all right," Hawke muttered under his breath just loud enough for Dorian to hear, then gave Abelas a brief bow. "Dareth shiral." As Abelas moved to the stairs to descend, Hawke turned and grabbed Dorian's elbow. "You all in one piece?" he asked intently.

"To my knowledge, yes," Dorian said with a chuckle. "Though I feel I don't know nearly as much as I need to know. Did you always know how to speak—"

His words were cut off as Hawke tugged him into a demanding kiss, seemingly indifferent to those standing around them as he practically devoured Dorian's lips in a fashion which let Dorian know just how much Hawke had missed him. By the time he pulled back, Dorian suffered from an apparent lack of breath and tightness of trouser, which wasn't helped in the slightest by the positively wicked grin on Hawke's face. "You can't imagine how long I've been waiting to do that," Hawke told him with a salacious wink. "And there's more where that came from."

Ears burning, Dorian coughed delicately and studiously avoided everyone's gaze as Hawke released him and moved to stand in front of Alistair, who held up his hand reflexively in self-defense. "You're not going to greet me like that, I hope," Alistair said hastily.

Hawke just laughed and tugged Alistair into a bear hug that somehow worked despite the shield still strapped to the Warden's shortened arm. For a long moment he just squeezed Alistair tight, shoulders trembling with an unspoken emotion, then stepped back. His voice was unusually rough as he said, "It's good to see you. Wasn't sure I'd ever run into you again."

Alistair scratched the back of his neck as his eyes scrutinized Hawke closely. "It's good to see you without… I mean…" Clearing his throat, Alistair asked, "Are you...you know. Really you again?"

"I may have gotten a little help from some old friends, but it wouldn't be the first time," Hawke said, turning to give Varric a wink. "Though some of them can be rather opinionated and get all the facts mixed up when they tell the story later."

"Hey, you told me to lie to the Seeker," Varric reminded him. "Besides, it wasn't always sunshine and roses in Kirkwall. Actually, it pretty much was always the opposite."

Hawke snorted. "They didn't call me the Champion because I won the baking contest for fluffiest souffle in the Free Marches. I had business to—" Suddenly he stopped, his gaze turning to the top of the stairs. "So it begins," he murmured, just as a familiar figure reached the top of the stairs.

Dorian's eyes widened, and he quickly readied his staff. "Avanna, my lady," he called to Calpernia. "I admit, I hadn't thought to see you again so soon."

She drew to a halt, her eyes sweeping the tableau in front of her before dropping to linger on the empty hollow where the Well of Sorrows had once been. "You drank of the Well," she said in a flinty voice as her gaze returned to Dorian.

"Is that why you're here?" Dorian demanded. "To drink of the Well yourself? Actually, you are correct that it is too—"

"No, Inquisitor," Calpernia said with a firm shake of her head. "I told you, I went to seek the truth of the matter regarding my Master. And I found it." Pressing her hands before her, she gave Dorian a formal bow, shaded with more than a hint of student to teacher—and not , he noted with an internal approving nod, from servant to master. "You did not lie. Amell destroyed my Master, and now holds my Master's Orb."

"Amell has acquired the Orb?" Solas asked intently, then turned to Dorian. "We must recover the Orb, Inquisitor. It was dangerous enough in the hands of Corypheus, but even he was no somniari. I do not wish to contemplate the damage one such as Amell could inflict with such power at his beck."

Dorian nodded, a grimace twisting his lips. "That is rather nightmare-inducing, yes. Where did you last see him?" he asked Calpernia.

"I sent scouts to follow him back to his camp," Calpernia said. "They will leave a trail for us to follow."

"Excellent. But…" He looked around at the group standing in the Sanctum. "Powerful as we are, it may be wise to bring in whatever nearby Inquisition forces are available."

"Agreed, Inquisitor," Calpernia said. "If you have some way of summoning them, I will lend you a scout to lead them after us."

Scanning those available, Dorian finally settled his gaze on Varric and Alistair. "Do you think you can find the closest troops?"

"If we can't, no one else could," Varric said. "I'm a good tracker, and Alistair is actually tall enough to see over the Maker-bedamned bushes that grow all over this place. Don't worry, Sparkler. We've got your back." Varric looked at Hawke and pointed a finger at him. "And you. Once this is done with, you're going to tell me every little detail, no matter how small."

"Me?" Hawke asked, grinning. "Why should I do that?"

"I'll split the proceeds from the sales of the next book with you," Varric shot back. As Hawke pursed his lips in speculation, Varric added, "We can talk how much later. Just don't disappear on me again, all right?"

Hawke's expression softened for a moment before it shifted into a smirk. "Ah, of course. It's just for profit. No other reason. Got it."

"Shut up," Varric muttered, then looked at Calpernia. "Where are your scouts?"

Calpernia gestured, and a Venatori trotted up the stairs. She gave him a series of curt instructions, then gestured to Varric. "This man will guide you as necessary."

"Got it. See you soon, Sparkler." He looked up at Alistair. "Come on, Warden Puppy."

"I told you not to call me that," Alistair complained as they headed down the stairs and out of sight.

"But it suits you so well," Varric protested, just before they left hearing range.

Calpernia gave a discontented little sigh and turned to Dorian. "Amell will not linger for long," she said curtly. "This is our best chance to retrieve the Orb from his grasp, before he has learned how to control it."

"Right." Dorian looked around, pausing for a moment when he found Hawke staring out into the Temple, lips moving without sound as if talking to someone. "Hawke?"

"Hmm? What?" Hawke shook his head slightly, then grinned at Dorian. "Sorry. Just pondering all the lovely plans I have saved up for Amell. I don't think he'll enjoy them, but I certainly will."

Something about the way he said it sent a cold shiver down Dorian's spine. Yet, at the same time, he couldn't blame Hawke for feeling that way—not after everything Amell had done to him. "Very well." He bowed to Calpernia, teacher to student. "Lead the way. As you say, better to strike as hard and as quickly as we may."

Calpernia pivoted and moved swiftly down the stairs, falling in behind some of Venatori scouts who led the way to their destination. As they traveled through the Temple, Dorian noted that the Sentinel Elves had indeed vacated, leaving behind a ghost of a ruin which spoke only of a conflict long dead.

"I guess Abelas meant it when he said their duty here was done," he murmured quietly.

"He did not strike me as a man of uncertainty," Solas observed. "And he was but one of many left behind to guard the Well. I wish them well in their endeavors, though I do not envy them their coming task."

Dorian raised an eyebrow as he turned to look at Solas. "You know what it is? Their next task, I mean."

"To serve Mythal, naturally," Solas said. "As they were told."

"But she's long dead," Dorian pointed out. "Abelas told us she was murdered."

A faint smile came to Solas' lips. "The life of a god—or goddess—is not so easily ended, Inquisitor, as you will come to learn in time."

Dorian frowned. "What do you—"

"Watch out!" Hawke shouted as he launched himself at Dorian, hitting full in the back and launching them both forward. Behind them, a portion of a crumbling ceiling finally succumbed to time and fell from above, landing where Dorian had been standing but a moment before.

As Hawke quickly moved off Dorian and turned him over, Dorian wheezed as he struggled to fill his lungs with air. "Thank you."

"Best not to get too complacent," Hawke told him seriously. "Just because the elves are gone and the Venatori are…" His gaze flickered ahead to where Calpernia waited with evident impatience, given the way she paced back and forth. "Currently, potentially allies, that doesn't mean we're fully in the clear. Who knows? Amell or one of his cronies could be watching us right now."

Dorian grimaced, though at least he'd managed to catch his breath again. "He certainly looked to be in fine fettle when last I saw him," he muttered, then held out his hand. "Well, since you knocked me on my ass, you could at least have the common courtesy to help me up."

"As you say, Inquisitor," Hawke said with a chuckle, even as he grasped Dorian's hand in his own and yanked him upwards. Dorian realized too late that Hawke's deliberate use of brute force inevitably led to their bodies being in intimate proximity, and by the mischievous gleam in Hawke's eyes and the way an arm settled around his waist, Dorian deduced that it was entirely and utterly intentional. "Well now," Hawke murmured, his lips inches from Dorian's face. "Isn't this interesting?"

"Amell awaits us!" Calpernia called. "We have not the time for this foolishness!"

Hawke sighed. "Killjoy," he muttered, and stole a quick kiss before letting Dorian go. "She's right, though. I've had some dishes cooling for quite some time now when it comes to Amell and Zevran both. I wouldn't mind serving them. Let's go."

Serving cold dishes? Dorian puzzled over the words for a moment as their group launched once more into motion, then suddenly chuckled as he remembered the old adage Hawke had drastically paraphrased. He does have better reason than most to want to get revenge upon Amell, Dorian mused, even as his eyes fell to admire Hawke's ass.

Alas, that happy distraction ended when a large stone toppled from another wall nearby as they ran past. "That was no accident," Morrigan declared. "I saw someone moving up there."

"Then we must be cautious and quicken our pace," Dorian declared. "Anyone who wants me to not go somewhere only inflames my desire to make sure I arrive in a rapid fashion.

The next few minutes and some more random toppling of ruins later saw the party leave the Temple doors through a different set than where they'd entered. There, on the very threshold of the ruins, they found not only the Venatori awaiting Calpernia's return, but an even greater number of foes locked in battle with them. With a shout, Calpernia surged into the fray, and Dorian—after making doubly sure they weren't Inquisitor forces—signaled his companions to do the same.

Naturally with four such powerful mages entering the fight, not to mention the peculiarly single-minded frenzy of Hawke, the tide of battle shifted away from their assailants. Instead of running away, however, their foes kept pressing forward, fighting long past the time when it made sense for them to either run or surrender. In point of fact, the only reason they managed to take anyone captive was because Hawke blurred into a shadow to flank the last foe standing and bonked him hard on his helmet with the hilt of his dagger. After a good bit of wobbling, the last opponent toppled to the ground, leaving all his fellows dead around him.

"What sort of beings are these?" Dorian mused. "I've never seen armor like this before."

"Red Wardens," Hawke supplied, kicking over the body of the fellow he'd rendered unconscious. "They serve Amell. They're all Wardens who have sworn themselves to him directly, with no ties to Weisshaupt. There's more to it than that, of course, but you saw their eyes."

"Red lyrium," Calpernia said grimly. "How else to explain the red glow?"

"Magic," Dorian suggested. "But given these are Amell's men and he has a known penchant for the stuff, I'd agree that red lyrium seems to be the most logical conclusion." Considering the unconscious man for a moment, Dorian finally sighed and shook his head. "I don't suppose we have time for a proper interrogation of our erstwhile captive?"

Calpernia hesitated. "It would not be wise," she admitted reluctantly. "Time is not on our side at present."

"I will stay here with him until the Inquisition forces arrive and ensure they can take him," Morrigan announced from behind Dorian. When Dorian turned to her, she lifted her chin as she met his questioning gaze. "I have little desire to be in the presence of Amell, Inquisitor."

Ah. Given everything he'd heard about Amell's treatment of his companions during the Blight, including Morrigan, Dorian acknowledged her statement with a nod of acceptance. "A sound idea. It would be useful to have one of his men to question should he manage to elude us."

"Then let us be off so that does not happen," Calpernia insisted, already signaling her Venatori to set into motion.

Dorian gave Morrigan a grateful nod, then set off in Calpernia's wake. He noticed that Hawke lingered a moment or two over the body of their captive before he set into motion, though he caught up to them with ease before they got out of sight.

"Something unusual about the man?" Dorian inquired.

"I think I recognize him from my time in captivity," Hawke told Dorian. "I gave him the name of Ser Sourpuss in my head."

Snorting in amusement, Dorian said, "You'll have to tell me more about it later. That, and what happened in the Well."

"All in good time, Inquisitor, I promise," Hawke assured him, though his pleasant tone turned into something more bleak as he added, "First we take care of Amell."

Dorian frowned at the dark tone in Hawke's voice when he said his cousin's name, recognizing hatred bordering on pain when he heard it. "We will speak of that, as well," he said softly.

Hawke's lips tightened. "That might take longer. Besides, I'd rather focus on the here and now."

"Understood." Taking the hint to drop the subject, Dorian stared ahead, trying to estimate how far they'd come from the Temple and how long it might take for Varric and Alistair to bring reinforcements from the Inquisition. After all, they were trusting Calpernia a great deal at the moment, so the sooner the reinforcements arrived, the better.

Suddenly there was a burst of magic ahead, accompanied by a strangled cry, and everyone came to an abrupt halt. Dorian kept moving until he found Calpernia kneeling a foot or two from the body of a Venatori scout that looked like it had been tossed into a fire for a few minutes. "My word," he said. "It's a rare type of ward that can do that to a person."

"A powerful ward, indeed," Calpernia muttered as she poked the body with her staff. When it sparked at her, she stood with a sigh. "This is most certainly Amell's work, though I will say that it does not seem to have been accomplished with the Orb. I know I would recognize that energy signature."

"As would I," Solas interjected as he came closer. "Whatever wrought this is purely defensive in nature. I would wager Amell is ahead and does not wish to be disturbed, for him invoke such power."

"That staff Amell bears has more than enough red lyrium to help him erect a barrier such as this," Dorian mused, lifting his gaze to squint ahead. The trees didn't help him by stepping aside, however, so eventually he shook his head and looked to his fellow mages. "This is a puzzle I'd prefer to solve without sacrificing anyone else."

"And without alerting Amell," Calpernia added. "At least not until the wards themselves fall."

"He may have already felt the scout strike it and perish," Solas pointed out. "Whether or not he interprets that as an attempt to breach it we cannot know, so we had best work quickly. As well, it is almost certain that he will detect our probing and come to investigate. We can only hope that he is some distance away or distracted by something else entirely."

Dorian's expression darkened. "Such as trying to ascertain how to use the Orb," Dorian muttered. "Let's begin, shall we?"

Between the three of them, it didn't take long to find the breadth and scope of the wards—which were, without a doubt, impressive, even for a somniari. "He really doesn't want any visitors, does he?" Dorian murmured.

"I don't care," Calpernia said in a flat tone, her face a mask of concentration. "We need to bring them down."

Acknowledging her words with a nod, Dorian lifted his hand and awoke the anchor, invoking it deliberately and entwining it with his own inherent magical ability. Ignoring the ache which slowly spread up his arm, he focused the anchor's power onto the wards. "If there is a weak spot, I will find it," he told the others. "When I tell you where to strike, do so with all your might."

"As you say, Inquisitor," Solas said. "You are growing quite adept in the use of the mark."

"Should I be insulted or flattered by that observation?" Dorian asked with a chuckle.

"The Orb is a tricky device to utilize even for the most powerful, and the mark is a part of it," Solas said. "It is a measure of your prowess that you can do so with such finesse. I admit, I have perhaps underestimated you."

Oddly flattered, Dorian glanced at Solas. "Thank you, my friend. Coming from you, that is high praise indeed."

"Can we please concentrate on the matter at hand?" Calpernia grated. "I think I see something moving over there."

Dorian snapped his gaze to the woods on the other side of the wards, where the leaves and branches rustled against each other with flashes of something else behind them. "Hawke!"

"I'm ready, don't worry." Hawke edged closer to the ward, daggers at the ready, then nodded to Dorian. "I trust that when the wards come down, it will be suitably spectacular?"

"As spectacular as we can manage," Dorian said with a grin, then felt a bit of the ward give way under his magical prodding. Swiftly he brought his magic to bear on the weakness in the matrix of the spell, and grunted as he made a realization. "This is an adaptation of the spell Corypheus used on Erasthenes," he told the others. "Modified to kill without fading away. Fascinating. Since that is the case, I should find the thread I need to pull...here." Using his other hand, he reached out and sent a narrow beam of energy into the spell, grabbing the point from which the rest of it radiated outwards, admiring the techniques Amell had used in his attempts to obscure it even as he deplored the intention of the enchantment itself. "There! Strike now!"

The torrent of magic unleashed upon the weak spot was impressive, and Dorian quickly joined his own magic to that of the mages at his side. That, along with the inherent ability of the Anchor itself to open what other devices could not, proved to be the impetus necessary to shatter the spell. The wards all flared into visibility at once, a brilliant red flash which extended out to either side out of sight for a brief instant, then vanished as quickly as they had appeared.

In that instant, Hawke surged forward, silent and lethal as he headed towards the movement they'd seen in the depths of the forest ahead. The Venatori hurried quickly after, with the mages following close on their heels.

They burst into a clearing in which an encampment had been arranged, and Dorian instantly recognized the armor of those within to be the same as those who had attacked the Venatori outside the Temple. Definitely Amell's men, Dorian thought to himself, then began to look around for the man himself. His stomach clenched when at first he didn't spot the man, but the feeling vanished as a sudden bolt of magic arced through the air and struck a cluster of Venatori, sending them flying in all directions.

"There he is!" Calpernia snarled, even as she brought her staff up and launched an attack of her own.

As the battle erupted in earnest, Dorian settled into that strange outside-of-time feeling he always felt during the pulse of battle. The Red Wardens, as Hawke had called them, proved to be formidable fighters, equal to or even more powerful than the Grey Wardens themselves. The Venatori and Hawke engaged them with fierce fervor, but Amell's magic kept finding ways to grant the Red Wardens the advantage in between deflecting volleys of magic from Dorian and his companions. Dorian quickly tasked Solas to support Hawke and the other Venatori melee fighters locked in combat with the Red Wardens, a task Solas accepted with a nod, and then gestured for Calpernia to follow him as he confronted Amell directly.

And, hopefully, take him down.

Once Amell caught sight of Dorian, his eyes narrowed. "I should have known you'd come," he snarled. "Though I'm surprised to find Corypheus' lackey at your side. Taken a bit of interest in owning a slave yourself, Inquisitor?"

"I am no man's slave," Calpernia snapped as twirled her staff in her hands.

"And yet you heel so quickly when the Inquisitor called you," Amell said with a dark laugh, even as he easily deflected Calpernia's bolt of energy. "Perhaps you should try a bit of self-reflection, my dear. You might be surprised at what you find."

"You're the one who enslaves men, Amell," Dorian said through grated teeth. "Hawke told us everything."

"Ah, yes." Amell's glance flickered to where Hawke whirled amidst his forces, the hatred in his gaze unmistakable. "My dear cousin has shown a remarkable resiliency against my well-intentioned suggestions. I shall deal with him later, though." A sly expression came to his face as his gaze returned to Dorian. "Thankfully your Commander has proven far easier to subvert."

For a moment, the world crashed to halt around him as all the worry, fear, and dread he'd kept bottled up deep down inside burst outwards in a terrifying torrent of emotional mayhem. Distantly he was grateful that Calpernia continued her assault on Amell, though his acute awareness of his distraction only made it worse. Cullen. He'd managed to force himself not to think about his Commander ever since leaving him behind in the Wilds, but Amell's casual sentence had roused those concerns with a fierce passion.

Realizing the depth of his vulnerability in that moment, Dorian yanked his mind away from the horror of the thought of Cullen in Amell's clutches and instead summoned an impressive ball of lightning around his hand. "I won't fall for your tricks," Dorian growled as he launched his shocking attack. "My Commander is in the Inquisition's encampment, where he belongs."

Batting Dorian's lightning ball aside, Amell sneered at Dorian. "It is no trick. Zevran brought him to me, and now he is mine—more surely than Hawke ever was. Mourn your loss while you can, Inquisitor." Raising his staff, where the red skull glowed in the middle of a large fireball, Amell added, "For the rest of your life, even. It won't last much longer now that you are within my grasp."

The fireball washed over Dorian's barrier, deflected but still powerful, and Dorian's mouth set itself into a grim line. "For one of us, at least," he retorted, then shot back with a beam of light drawn from his own magic and the anchor itself. Deep down, he knew that if Amell spoke the truth, even more was at stake than Dorian had suspected—and he had no intention of letting Amell emerge triumphant.

After that, the fight continued without words, and with a ferocity unmatched by anything Dorian had witnessed even in the Imperium.

Immediately, however, Amell proved his mettle in battle, surrounding Calpernia with a crushing prison of magic followed by a formidable mix of lightning and fire launched in Dorian's direction. Dorian trusted that Calpernia could win free of his magical trap on her own—but then, he had to, given that his full attention had to be devoted to Amell and Amell alone. As she fought against her containment, the struggle between Amell and Dorian narrowed down to the basic elements of a mage's duel rather quickly: attack, defend, and repeat, with each of them trying to find a weakness in the other's technique.

As they fought, Dorian noticed something which had escaped him before, the realization creeping over him slowly as they exchanged volleys. He felt it on the edge of his awareness, in the tingling of his teeth, and on that shimmer of instinct that had helped him elevate Alexius' efforts with time magic where other mages had failed: there was a certain hum to Amell's magic, a resonance which permeated his person and his spells. The melody teased at Dorian's mind, and penetrated deep, until he could feel it in the Anchor itself. Yet, though he analyzed the phenomenon as best as he could, considering the circumstances, the significance of the sensation eluded him. It felt important, though—important enough to tuck away in his mind for later perusal, should it become necessary.

Maker grant that it did not, of course.

Abruptly another magical bolt slammed into Amell's shields, and Dorian spared a glance to verify that Calpernia had managed to escape the clutches of Amell's spell to launch an assault of her own. She glanced at Dorian and gave him a short nod, then planted her staff in the ground and wove her hands in the air around it.

Recognizing the spell she intended to cast, Dorian pressed his own attack against Amell, trying to attract the mage's attention to himself as much as he could. "Thank you for returning Hawke to us," he called out in a merry voice. "It's good to have him back. Mostly, anyway."

Amell quickly deflected the sheet of ice Dorian sent his way and focused on Dorian, eyes glowing red. "Are you sure you can trust him?" Amell taunted Dorian. "Who knows how many spells I've woven through his very being, what triggers I've set in place?"

"You think to lecture a Tevinter mage about blood magic?" Dorian asked in a deliberately incredulous tone. "My dear man, I've seen more blood magic during my time in the Magisterium than you could possibly have utilized in your lifetime." It was a lie, of course, given Amell's history, but one intended to distract through sheer bravado.

"How droll," Amell drawled. "Then you should recognize the signs of it in her, I take it?" he added, nodding to Calpernia.

"Lies!" Calpernia snarled. "My Master would never—"

"No, they don't tell you, darling." The condescension dripped from Amell's words as he sent her an amused glance. "They never do. But the stench is on you, clear enough."

Calpernia's face twisted with determination as she drew her hands together and then whipped them forward, unleashing the blast of the fire spell she'd been building. The ball of fire, larger than Amell, roared through the air and struck him with all the power of Calpernia's anger. As it hit Amell's shields, their shimmer buckled and warped visibly, then shattered completely as Dorian's own onslaught, a bolt of pure energy from the Anchor's magic, followed on the heels of Calpernia's assault.

Amell hissed through his teeth as he staggered backwards, but he didn't seem to be affected by the spell. In fact…

Dorian's eyes widened as the magic from his spell seemed to tilt and wobble, then abruptly compact itself into a small sphere that got sucked into the red lyrium skull at the top of Dorian's staff. "How—"

"There are magics that you Vints have never even dreamed of," Amell grated through clenched teeth. As he spoke, and before either Calpernia or Dorian managed to launch a subsequent attack, his hand swept through the air, and a new barrier snapped into place around him. "And I will use them to crush you like a—"

Suddenly he snapped his head around, staring into the distance behind him, even as the sound of a distant scream reached Dorian's ear. "Zevran!" Amell gasped, half-turning to the sound. Calpernia's barrage of lightning quickly drew his attention back to them, however, and he pivoted around to face them again. His glowing eyes landed on Dorian. "If your precious Commander has harmed Zevran, I'll—"

Whatever threat he intended to make was cut short as a blurred figure—Hawke, Dorian realized in shock—barrelled into Amell from the side, stabbing straight through the barrier around Amell with a dagger. A small explosion flung the two men apart as the barrier reacted to the enchanted metal, and Dorian's gaze followed Hawke as he flew through the air and hit a nearby tree to land in a heap at its base. One of his daggers, presumably the one which had struck Amell's barriers, sparked and sputtered as the metal warped and buckled. Once he was sure Hawke was fine, if a little dazed, Dorian looked to where Amell had landed, noting immediately the blood dripping from one hand as the redhead struggled to his feet.

"I don't have time for this," Amell snarled. In the next moment, he whipped his staff in a circle around his head, unleashing a firestorm which swept over the forest around them with the implacability of an inferno.

"Inquisitor!" Calpernia cried out, holding out her staff. Quickly understanding her meaning, Dorian mimicked the action so that their staffs touched, pouring his magic into her. She was the fire mage, after all, and had the best chance of fighting the conflagration. As he watched, she threw up a barrier that seemed to be made of fire itself, but as the firestorm reached it, the barrier flared high, sending a wave of heat over Dorian that was enough to curl his hair and spark his clothes, but in the end consisted of only heat and not flame.

Quickly batting away the sparks which had settled on his clothes, he rushed to Calpernia's side and caught her before she collapsed, quite aware of the amount of effort had been required to counteract that wall of fire. "I have lyrium if you—"

Shaking her head, she waved him off. "No. I'll be fine. Just promise me." She looked up at him, her gaze intense as she met his. "End this. End Amell."

Dorian's lips settled into a firm line. "I will."

"Then go," she grated, closing her eyes as she sagged against her staff.

Knowing that time was fleeing quickly, Dorian rushed over to where Hawke had regained his feet. When Hawke turned to face him, however, Dorian jerked back in surprise when he saw a purple light lurking in Hawke's eyes, accompanied by a faint lattice of light around his body of the same hue. "Hawke—"

"Where'd he go?" Hawke demanded, grabbing Dorian's arm with one hand before just as quickly releasing it. "Never mind. I can feel him. We need to go after him. He must answer for his sins." Without waiting for an answer, Hawke hurtled deeper into the woods. "Follow me."

Dorian did so without question, the spectre of Cullen in Amell's clutches rising again in his mind. Surely Cullen wasn't here, was he? Cullen was in the Inquisition encampment, taken there by Loghain and his Grey Wardens. He would have been safe there, wouldn't he?

Pushing the thoughts aside, Dorian frowned and concentrated on Hawke's back as they pushed through the forest. The moments passed by in a blur of pounding blood and panting breath until suddenly Hawke and Dorian reached a crumbling wall of yet another elvhen ruin. As they ran along its length, the sound of muffled screaming reached their ears, and Dorian's heart clenched.

That sounded like...Cullen?

Finally they rounded the corner of the ruined wall, and Dorian beheld his worst nightmare come true: Cullen wrapped in an angry bundle of Amell's red magic, a crushing prison designed to squeeze the life from him. The spell made it hard to make out any details, but something about the way Cullen looked through the haze of magic made Dorian's stomach clench. For a long, frozen moment he stared at Cullen, trying to figure out whether the red lines on his body were part of the spell or somehow part of Cullen himself. In the next moment, however, Cullen's head dipped back, a scream loud enough to echo through the forest tearing from his throat, breaking Dorian from his stupor so that he could analyze the rest of the tableau.

Amell, face set in a grimace, stood in front of Cullen, his staff raised as he concentrated on the spell surrounding Cullen. Standing behind and to one side of Amell was Zevran, his hand pressed to his bloody forehead as he pulled on one of Amell's arms. "That's enough, amor," he shouted at Amell over the sound of Cullen's scream. "You have punished him. Release him!"

"He dared defy me!" Amell roared, and the red magic increased in power. "I will ensure he never defies me again!"

Hawke, who had also frozen in place next to Dorian, suddenly surged into motion before the mage could think to reach out and stop him. "Hawke!" he hissed. "Amell's protections!"

In the next instant, however, Hawke's tactic became clear: his target wasn't Amell, but the elf standing behind him. Even as Zevran turned and raised an arm in self-defence, a shocked expression on his face, Hawke's blades slashed through the air with all the fury of the Champion of Kirkwall.

The dagger which had been blunted and warped by Amell's protections hit and slid along Zevran's arm, failing to find purchase, but the other struck true. Dorian stared with wide eyes as the dagger sliced through the man's forearm near the elbow, getting most of the way through before it finally caught on bone. As Zevran shrieked in agony, Hawke seized Zevran's hand and then lashed out with a frenzied kick, twisting his blade with cruel deliberation. A wet crack echoed in the clearing as Zevran's arm split in two, and Hawke's foot connected with enough force to shove the elf into Amell, toppling him before he had a chance to react.

Dorian took the opportunity of Amell's discomfiture to unleash the Anchor's magic into the red cage surrounding Cullen, rushing forward with the intent to drag Cullen away from Amell and Zevran. In that moment, everything else became but a secondary concern, as Cullen's well being loomed large in Dorian's heart and mind. As Dorian ran towards him, Cullen raised his head and looked at Dorian, and for the first time Dorian had a clear view of his face.

The sight of the glowing red lines framing Cullen's face made Dorian's heart skip a beat. Sweet Maker. The shock sent ice down his spine as his eyes moved down Cullen's body and beheld the extent of the primal pattern of red lines incised in his skin. What has Amell done to you?

Unfortunately, the distraction cost him dearly as Amell unleashed his fury in the form of a sizable blast of pure magical energy. Both Hawke and Dorian went flying across the clearing, landing in heaps of leather and pain. With a flick of his staff, Amell set a crushing prison made of crackling red magic around Dorian, then turned with a roar of rage to face Hawke.

When his eyes fell on Zevran's crumpled body still lying on the ground, however, Amell dropped his staff and knelt next to the elf, pulling him into his arms and settling one of his hands over the bloody stump of Zevran's arm. "My love," he said in a hoarse voice that carried across the clearing. "Stay with me."

"I'll be f-fine," Zevran said weakly. "I have you, mi amor. "

As Dorian struggled against the tight grip of the magical prison around him, Amell wove a complex matrix of magic around Zevran's arm. When his hand pulled away, Dorian could see that the truncated limb now ended in a shiny scar. Dorian would have been impressed by such a feat of healing magic if Amell hadn't then looked at Hawke, hate gleaming in his eyes as he took up his staff once more. "I will return soon, my love," he said through gritted teeth. "Something rather urgent requires my attention."

"Amor, no," Zevran pleaded, even as Amell set him aside with care. "Let us simply depart. You said you would not kill Hawke, remember?"

"That was before he hurt you," Amell said. "I have had enough of his rebellion." His gaze flicked to Dorian, who flinched back from the venom in his eyes. "And don't think I have forgotten you, Inquisitor."

Exhausted but still struggling to break free, Dorian watched helplessly as Amell rose to his feet and stalked to where Hawke lay on the ground groaning. Amell settled the bottom of his staff on Hawke's chest, but Hawke managed to bat the end of it away. With a snarl, Amell raised his staff up with both hands, clearly intending to jam the point down into Hawke. In a burst of effort powered by desperation, Dorian managed to punch an arm through his cage and launch a bolt of energy at Amell. Thankfully, it was enough—if only barely—to deflect the staff away from Hawke's chest and into the ground, though from Hawke's vociferous string of curses, it still managed to graze him.

With an oath, Amell struggled to pull his staff out of the packed dirt, then abandoned it and raised both his hands, magic crackling until they were surrounded by a sinister nimbus. "Die, cousin," he snarled. "I should have killed you before you ever left Kirkwall!"

A movement caught the corner of Dorian's eye, and he turned in time to see Cullen rise to his feet, the red lattice of lines on his body noticeably glowing. Dorian had just enough time to recognize Cullen's intentions and attempt to brace himself before the smite radiated out of Cullen with all the fury of the firestorm Amell had used earlier.

The smite hit both mages at the same time, and they both screamed in agony as the effects washed over them. Whatever a normal smite might have felt like, Dorian didn't know, but this smite burned like fire from his crown to his toes. The crushing cage around him flickered and died, but Dorian didn't even notice as he writhed in a pain unlike any he'd ever experienced. Even Amell proved vulnerable. In fact, it seemed to affect him even harder, if the way his neverending scream and violent thrashing on the ground was any indication.

Somewhere in the haze of his pain, Dorian watched Cullen sway in place for a moment, tears streaming down his face, before he stumbled over to where Dorian lay. Ignoring Amell's writhing body, Cullen fell to his knees next to Dorian and collapsed on top of him.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Cullen breathed, repeating the words over and over again as his tears dripped onto Dorian' neck. "I didn't mean to hit you, but Amell—"

"I know, amatus," Dorian croaked in a hoarse voice, battling through the strange, all-encompassing numbness which grew as the pain receded. At the moment, it didn't matter: only Cullen mattered. "I know."

With some effort, Cullen shifted so that their lips could meet in a lingering kiss, and for a timeless moment, they floated in that intimate perfection amidst the chaos, too tired to move and ignorant of the world around them. Eventually, however, their lips pulled apart, and reality slammed home once more.

Suddenly Cullen's eyes rolled up, and he collapsed into a boneless heap next to Dorian. After a quick check of his pulse reassured Dorian that he yet lived, Dorian forced himself to his feet, one stage at a time. After all, Amell wasn't dead yet. Of course, judging from the sounds of muffled groans coming from where he lay, he might very well be yearning for it.

As Dorian struggled with the heavy fog that had settled over him, Hawke finally stirred, shaking his head violently before he pushed himself to his feet. Retrieving his warped dagger from where it had fallen, Hawke's gaze roved over the area. Dorian frowned as he once again saw the purple glow, wondering what the color meant even as Hawke's gaze settled on Amell.

Moving to where Amell lay twisted in the dirt, Hawke fell to his knees on one of Amell's arms and grasped the mage's throat in one of his hands. "Wish I was dead, huh?" Hawke grated. "Feeling's mutual." He bent over long enough to spit on Amell's face, then hefted his other hand with the twisted blade as Amell struggled to push away the hand wrapped around his throat. "The other dagger would have been a cleaner death, I suppose," he mused, "but you don't deserve that. I wish I could send you to the Void as you sent me, but a painful death will have to do. Farewell, cousin."

As Hawke raised his hand, Amell's hand dove under his robe and yanked out a familiar amulet that flared with a familiar white magic. Dorian cursed silently and struggled to his feet, fighting against the persistent lethargy of the smite as he felt time shift around them, slowing the dagger's descent. In that instant, bereft of magic and too far away to do anything useful otherwise, Dorian wondered if Amell would once again manage to slip through their fingers. Even as the thought crossed his mind, however, the amulet abruptly flared and sputtered as the white light winked out entirely, releasing Hawke's dagger from the manipulation which had slowed it.

Amell screamed as the blade found his side, the sound turning into a gurgle as Hawke twisted his blunted blade deeper into Amell's body. Dorian swallowed at the expression on Hawke's face, the glowing purple eyes only adding a further macabre element to the nightmarish glee. Clearly Hawke intended to make Amell suffer before he died, a sentiment Dorian could understand but still feel uneasy about witnessing.

A small knife suddenly flew through the air, slicing Hawke's cheek as it flew past. With a curse, Hawke stumbled back and pressed a hand to his bloody face, leaving his dagger behind in Amell's side. Stung from complacence, Dorian saw that Zevran had taken advantage of being ignored to crawl over to a pile of equipment. As the elf desperately searched for something in one of the bags, Dorian managed to stagger close enough to club Zevran in the head with the end of his staff.

As Zevran fell into a motionless heap, Dorian gripped his staff tightly and reached for even an iota of magical energy. The feeling of nothing matched the hollowness pervading his mind and body, the emptiness defying analysis and action. Was this what it felt like to have no magic? he wondered dully. With a sigh, he turned and slowly made his way towards Cullen, trusting Hawke to deal with Amell at long last.

And then a large shadow fell over the clearing.

He didn't even realize Hawke was moving before the man appeared at his side, hauling Dorian bodily over his shoulder to carry him away as a burst of purple fire burned the spot where he'd been standing. Dumping Dorian unceremoniously behind the wall on the edge of the clearing, Hawke spun around and dashed back into the fray. Dorian watched as Hawke darted across the clearing, avoiding the flame of the lyrium dragon as it tried to hit the moving target. In a dance of deadly determination, Hawke plucked Cullen from the ground, dodging and ducking his way back to the relative safety of the wall.

Once all three of them were mostly out of sight behind the wall, the dragon landed heavily on the ground and roared, then limped over to where Amell lay. It nudged Amell with its snout, and when Amell's shaking hand reached out to pat it, the dragon made an odd warbling sound, almost like a whimper. In the next moment, it picked Amell up in its forearms, then clumped over to where Zevran lay and did the same with the elf. For a moment, it turned to look directly at the huddled trio, and for the first time, Dorian saw that a large chain hung around its neck, from which a cage dangled like a pendant—except this cage held the Orb of Destruction.

So that's how Corypheus protected it.

Its eyes glowed red as its wings pulsed on its back, and Dorian wondered if perhaps the dragon would unleash another blast of fire. Bracing himself, Dorian squeezed his eyes shut, knowing he had no defenses against such a blast now with his magic still out of reach. In the next moment, however, he heard only a cacophonous roar and the thunderous flap of wings as the dragon launched itself into the air. He opened his eyes in time to see the dragon fly away, two bodies dangling from its forearms as it took Amell and Zevran—and the Orb—with it to whatever dubious safety it could find.

Well, Dorian thought as the world blurred around him. There's a thing, isn't it?

As the last spark of adrenaline drained from his body, Dorian collapsed into a heap on the ground. He heard Hawke's distant voice curse as arms wrapped around him, felt lips press against his own before imploring him to stay with me, dammit. He tried to open his mouth to say something, but nothing passed his lips. In the end, his eyes rolled up in his head as he finally succumbed to injuries and exhaustion, one final thought passing through his mind as consciousness fled:

Maker help us all.