A/N: Yes, yes, I know. Another double update. Inspiration seems to hit me all at once, so that's how I post. The format of this chapter might be a bit confusing, so just to clarify…We are flashing back five months and the chapter runs from Tristan's POV at that time. Everything that is described in this chapter, you can assume that he is explaining to Isabela on the beach. I just did it this way cus I wanted to avoid writing a whole long conversation as a chapter. This seemed the easier option.

Let's take a better look,

Beyond the story book,

And learn our souls are all we own,

Before we turn to stone.

-Ingrid Michaelson, Turn to Stone.

Chapter 14

5 Months ago,

Minathrous, Tevinter Imperium.

There was a muted cough, a quiet sigh, a scrape of steel against stone as booted feet shifted restlessly. Tristan Amell closed his cobalt eyes tightly and silently counted to ten, all the while praying to the Maker he wasn't sure he believed in for patience.

"Alistair…" he growled softly, not opening his eyes.

"What?" the blonde haired warden replied, his tone sharper than it normally was. Tristan flinched guiltily.

A year, he reminded himself. It took me a year before I could find the time to help him with this. He has the right to be edgy.

Then he quickly pushed aside the guilt, reminding himself firmly that he had had a duty to the Grey Wardens and chasing after the love of Alistair's life did not qualify as more important than rebuilding his broken order. His eyes flickered open again and he glanced over at Alistair's profile. He was glad that his friend wasn't able to hear the things that were running through his head. Alistair may be devoted to the wardens, but his infallible morals still held first priority. Had their places been reversed and it had been him in need of help, Alistair wouldn't have hesitated.

Tristan took a breath to steady himself, concentrating on the task at hand: finding Morrigan. She had disappeared directly after the final battle, leaving Alistair with a broken heart that still had not managed to heal two years later. It still surprised him, thinking of the mismatched couple. But as the blight had gone on and time had passed, he had slowly began to notice the feelings growing steadily between the pair. He could still remember the way her yellow-gold eyes would grow soft when she glanced at Alistair, or the way her insults had slowly lost their sting as the two of them had grown closer. The witch had given Alistair a ring, something she had claimed would help her to find him should they ever lose track of him. Tristan had managed to turn the magic around, using it instead to track Morrigan. Their search had led them here, into the Tevinter Imperium, all the way to Minathrous. Not that Tristan was completely certain that she was even in the city, the ring's magic was not meant to be channelled the opposite way, and as such only gave him vague and hazy impressions as to her locations. In fact, the more he glanced around the crowded city, the more confident he became that they were searching in the wrong place.

"She wouldn't be here," he said, his blue eyes flickering searchingly across the crowd that thronged the open square. He turned to the blonde who stood beside him. "This place isn't exactly her style,"

Alistair nodded his head slowly, but the gesture lacked any conviction. He glanced at Tristan with haunted hazel brown eyes.

"They're burning witches," he said softly, nodding towards the centre of the crowd, where three pyres were being soaked with oil. The wooden platforms were empty – but they would not remain so for very long. "What kind of hypocrisy…" he trailed off, shaking his head angrily.

"Tevinter Magisters have a precarious position," Tristan explained. "The rest of Thedas has come to the conclusion that mages cannot be trusted to live in freedom. If the Tevinter Imperium is to live on, the Magisters have to prove that they are doing everything they can to maintain balance. Slaughtering renegade apostates helps with that image," he added, his voice cold.

"If it's her…" Alistair whispered. He let the sentence hang in the air, a silent question.

"If it's her, we won't let her get within ten feet of that pyre." Tristan assured him. He scanned Alistair's face, searching the features he knew so well for signs of trouble. They had been comrades for just over three years now, and he could easily interpret every subtle gesture or nuanced expression in his friend's face. If the blight had taught him anything, it was the importance of knowing one's allies. Under any normal circumstances, he knew he could trust Alistair with his life. A born soldier, he would follow any order – to the death if need be. But when it came to Morrigan, Alistair was unpredictable. He had proved that a year ago, when he had abandoned Tristan to deal with the rebuilding of the Warden's alone, while he had gone in search of her. Alistair's eyes narrowed as he stared back at him.
"Don't give me that look," he said warningly.

"What look?" Tristan replied, feigning innocence.

"That look," Alistair waved his hand at Tristan's face. "It's the way you looked at Morrigan when we first met her. The same look you gave Leliana when she first told you about her vision of the Maker. The look you gave Wynne after she told you about the fade spirit inside of her. It's the look you gave Zevran every single time he offered you some of his herbal tea!" Alistair ranted. "It's that look you get when you're trying to figure out how dangerous someone could turn out to be,"

Tristan winced slightly at his words. "I wasn't…"

"Yes you were," Alistair growled. "And I'm fine. I'm not going to do anything stupid,"

That's what you say now, Tristan silently sighed. But if you see her… if she's here... He closed his eyes briefly, pushing back the worries that tugged and played at his emotions.

"I trust you Alistair," he said quietly.

The blonde haired warden gave a derisive snort. "Ri-ight," he said, in his slow, sarcastic drawl. "I have Templar training you know. I can feel that magic of yours humming. You're nervous,"

Tristan clenched his jaw, tightening his control over his magic. Sensitive to his emotions, it would rise up in response to fear or agitation, ready to do damage at any moment.

"Look," Alistair slipped his gauntlet off and tugged a ring off of his finger – Morrigan's ring. "Make yourself useful and see if you can't get anything out of this again,"

Tristan took the ring from him, holding it between his steel clad fingers. The dark, polished wood gleamed in the Tevinter sunlight as he toyed with it idly, focusing his magic upon the ring. His eyes fluttered closed as he drew upon his magic, tugging back at the connection that tied Morrigan to the ring, using her magic against her. It didn't always work, but sometimes, even for only the fleetest of moments, he would gain a sense of the witch. It had led them thus far, Tristan could only hope it would get lead them all the way back to her.

And then what? he silently mocked himself. She's hiding for a reason. Are you really helping Alistair by doing this?

He shrugged his thoughts aside, gritting his teeth as he tried to force himself to concentrate. Slowly he felt the first stirrings of her magic within the wooden circle. He focused harder, clinging to the connection with everything he had. Suddenly his eyes flew open and he sucked in a harsh breath of surprise as his magic revealed a glimpse of the witch's location.

"Impossible," he breathed.

"What? What is it?" Alistair demanded.

Tristan didn't answer him. He was too busy staring at the raven-haired apostate who stood on the far side of the square. As though sensing his gaze, she lifted her head to his, her yellow-gold eyes widening as she stared into his eyes. Alistair whirled his head, following the direction of his gaze across the crowd.

"Morrigan," he whispered, his voice hoarse. Later, Tristan couldn't be sure who moved first. All he knew was that the next second, Morrigan had whirled around and was running away, with Alistair chasing hot on her heels.

"Alistair!" Tristan yelled, giving chase. He struggled through the crowd, almost instantly losing sight of the top of Alistair's blonde head. This was what he had been worried about. Under any normal circumstances, he knew himself to be faster than Alistair. Keeping up with the other Grey Warden should have been child's play for him. He sprinted to the end of the square, growling in frustration as he stared down the street that Alistair had disappeared down. He was no-where in sight.

Fine, Tristan thought, turning towards another alleyway that ran in a perpendicular direction. I'll take the shortcut,

He ran through the deserted ally, his booted feet clattering against the cobbled ground. He burst out into another open section – a market place – he noted distractedly, before continuing to run flat out towards a street on the opposite side. Still connected by their mutual taint, he could just barely feel Alistair's presence somewhere ahead of him. He tore through the second street, made a hairpin turn into yet another alleyway, and came out the other side into yet another square courtyard. The sight before him drew Tristan to a staggering halt. He stood rooted to the ground, staring speechlessly before him, all thoughts of Morrigan and Alistair lost.

Chained up inside an enormous, iron cage, was a dragon.

Pale golden sunlight reflected off its pitch black scales as the beast paced restlessly around the enclosure, its tail swishing back and forth like an angry cat. Enormous iron manacles were clamped around each of its legs, as well as its jaws, preventing it from sweeping its claws through the bars or trying to breathe fire. The dragon could only snarl and growl furiously at the guards standing outside of its cage. Slowly Tristan approached the cage, narrowing his eyes at the guards as he drew near.
"Can either of you explain to me what the meaning of this is?" he demanded, gesturing angrily towards the black dragon.

The guards exchanged glances. "That's Tevinter business," one of them replied gruffly.

Tristan removed the bulging coin purse from his waist and held it aloft. The men's eyes grew eager.

"Well?" he jingled the pouch for effect.

"I suppose there's no harm in divulging a little information – if only to give the citizens piece of mind," the first guard reasoned.

"Exactly," Tristan replied evenly. He arched one brow and the first guard began talking.

"This dragon belongs to the Mages Collective,"

"What's that?" he asked, his brow furrowing.

"It is an elite guild of the finest magisters in the Imperium," the second guard answered, glaring at him as though this should be common knowledge.

Tristan was unimpressed. "And what do they want with a dragon?"

"They're going to use it to seek out the last of the old gods," the first guard said, admiration clear in his voice. "The Mages Collective intends to restore the gods to their former glory by awakening them from their immortal slumbers. This dragon," he gestured towards the cave. "Is the key to finding them. Dragons, you see, can sense out the old gods in much the same way that darkspawn can,"

Tristan felt sick. His entire body had gone cold and rigid. He shook his head slightly, his eyes narrowed with disbelief. Could the magisters really be that foolish? Awaken an old god and it within days darkspawn would be pouring out of the ground to come after it. They would have another blight on their hands – just a year and a half after the conclusion of the last one. His eyes flickered back to the dragon. He had his doubts as to whether or not the beast could sense out the old gods, but he wasn't about to leave that up to fate's fickle hands. As risky as it was, he was going to have to help the dragon to escape.

He nodded his head, forced a grim smile to his lips, and dumped the pouch of gold into the guard's waiting hands.

"Thanks," he murmured, moving away.

Slowly he circled the cage, his eyes pinned on the black dragon inside. He nibbled at his bottom lip thoughtfully.

There's only one, fast, sure way out of this one, he told himself. He cast a hopeless glance around, furious with Alistair. He could have really used the help at that moment. Pushing aside the frustration, he summoned his mana, focusing his energy upon the cage. A moment later, a flash of bluish fire surged towards the iron bars. Shouts of panic filled the air as the bars glowed red with heat. The dragon understood what was happening instantly, and with a violent lunge it threw itself at the weakened side of the cage, bursting the iron bars apart. Panic grew to outright anarchy as men and woman screamed in hysteria, running haphazardly in any direction that would take them away from the escaping dragon. Tristan used the chaos to his advantage, drawing his sword and quickly running after one of the guardsmen. He caught up with the man half way across the open square and pressed the blade against his throat.

"The keys. Now!"

"Are you insane?" the guard yelled.

"Probably," Tristan replied evenly, pressing his sword a little harder against the guard's neck. "The keys," he repeated. A second later he caught sight of a glint of steel strapped to the man's belt. He reached down, snatched the bunch of keys up and ran back across the square. The dragon was growling angrily, fighting against its restraints. Tristan reached its side and quickly began to unlock the manacles around its feet. Later, he would realise just how reckless and dangerous a move this had been, but in the heat of the moment, he didn't give it a second thought. The dragon calmed slightly as he worked, even lowering its giant head for him to remove the clasp around its jaws. Only then did Tristan feel the first flickering of hesitation, but by then it was too late for such thoughts. The dragon was near free and battle mages were pouring into the square. With a metallic snap the last manacle fell away and the dragon was freed. Tristan swiftly backed away, gaining some distance between him and the dragon before it could realise how close he was to it. He needn't have worried. The dragon was too concerned about getting out of there to worry about him. It flared its leathery black wings and pushed itself of the ground, escaping to the skies. Tristan only had a brief moment to feel relieved before the guards suddenly turned their attention on him.

"Arrest that man!" one of them yelled.

Crap,

Tristan raised his sword into the air, leaving his dagger hand free for spell casting. He wasn't particularly keen on being arrested in Tevinter – their justice system would no doubt see him hanged by the morning, Grey Warden or not.

"I've had worse odds," he muttered, scanning the crowded square, hoping desperately for some sign of Alistair.

A ball of fire suddenly came rushing towards him and Tristan flinched sideways, only just avoiding it. He had almost forgotten about the battle mages.

Double crap,

The air filled with metallic clangs as the guards drew their blades, moving towards him. Tristan reacted instantly, and with a graceful sweep of his hands, cast a tempest over the square. Howls of pain echoed around him as jagged lightning bolts swept down from the sky. Some were killed instantly from the force of his magic; others stumbled to their feet and raised their swords, searching wildly for him. Tristan moved forwards, sword ready, adrenaline and magic humming together in his veins. Sword slicing the air with metallic hiss after hiss, he slashed his way forwards mercilessly, cutting into anyone who dared come in his path. The old lesson Duncan had once given him still held true… when it came down to it; fancy swordsmanship did no one any good when outnumbered in a fight. The best you could do was to try and cut your way out. He threw herself into a graceful sideways somersault, narrowly dodging a blade and wincing as it sliced the air where his neck had been just seconds before. One wrong step and he was doomed. He cut down another guard and sent a blast of fire towards the rest of them. They were falling fast, but more were steadily steaming into the square. No matter how hard he tried, he was going to be overwhelmed in a matter of minutes, maybe less.

It turned out to be less.

While parrying a blow from a guard in front of him, he stumbled directly back into the waiting blade of a man he had failed to notice creeping behind him. The sword sliced cleanly through the gap between his cuirass and his grieves, angled upwards into his body. White hot pain filled his body. He screamed in pain, collapsing weakly to his knees as the guard pulled his blade free. Blood poured from the wound, pooling around him. He raised his hand weakly, fumbling to heal the wound. The magic sputtered around his fingers before fading to nothing as his mana was suddenly drained from his body.

A Templar, he thought distantly, as he collapsed face forwards on the cobbled ground. Since when did the Tevinter's keep Templars?

Footsteps moved closer towards him, the sound of it strangely loud in his ringing ears, steel clattering against stone. He lifted his head weakly from the ground, the small movement sending a dizzying wave of pain rushing through him. His swimming vision caught a glimpse of black streaking from the sky… and then everything went dark.

...

Wake up human,

Tristan's eyes fluttered open, staring up at an azure blue sky high above his head. Grass prickled his cheek and he wondered what had possessed him to fall asleep outside. Scratch that. He'd settle for just knowing where he was. He sat up slowly, blinking his eyes to help adjust them to the dazzling golden sunlight that spilled over the meadow he had been sleeping in.

"What the hell?"

You're looking better,

He yelped at the sound of the soft, feminine voice inside his head, pushing himself to his feet and whirling around to face the source of it.

"Oh. Dear. Maker," he whispered fearfully.

Just a few feet away from him, curled up with its tail wrapped around its sleek body like some sort of giant cat, lay a dragon. The dragon. Yellow gold eyes watched him interestedly as he stared back, his throat dry, his heart hammering with fear.

You're rather skilled, for a human,

Again, the voice came from inside his own head. He stared at the dragon suspiciously.

"Is that you?"

A soft chuckle echoed through his thoughts. My, my. And I thought you were intelligent. After all, you did save me. That shows that you have a little more sense than those Tevinter fools,

Tristan stumbled backwards, shaking his head wildly. "This isn't happening… This isn't real! This… This is the Fade! Or, something. I died. I know I did! This can't be real… People don't talk to dragons!" he ranted. He stumbled slightly and fell, landing heavily on his back in the grass. The dragon stood up slowly, stretching with a cat-like grace. A shadow fell across him as she moved lithely to stand over him. She lowered her spiked head, a blue spiked tongue dashing out to taste the air around him. A smell of ash and smoke surrounded him as her hot breath washed over him.

True. People don't talk to dragons. I'm afraid you're rather a unique case,

"U-unique?" he stammered. "W-why am I unique?"

Because I saved you. You're right. You did die. And you would still be dead were it not for me,

He pushed himself up onto his elbows, his curiosity slowly overcoming his fear. "Why? Why would you save me. And more importantly… how?"

The how? A blood bond. I tied your life to mine. It's a parasitic connection of sorts, but your meagre life doesn't demand much of my energy. I can sustain you. The why? A little more complicated. I guess you can say I felt that I owed you. And besides, someone needs to put a stop to the Mages Collective before they actually manage to succeed with their mission,

Tristan's brow furrowed as he remembered. "You're right. If they managed to catch you, then what's stopping them from catching another dragon and trying again. Hey wait a second, can you really find the old gods?"

The dragon laughed again. You're not as timid as I first thought. And yes, we dragons are connected to the ancients, or 'old gods', as you call them. We can sense them,

"Oh wonderful," he muttered sarcastically. He gathered his knees beneath him, inching slightly back from the dragon's head before slowly rising to his feet. "You sure you're not planning on eating me?" he asked, a little nervously.

You're hardly much of a meal, the dragon replied, with a soft, derisive snort. Trust me human, I didn't go to all the effort of forming a blood bond with you, only to devour you mere hours later,

"Good to know," he murmured, raking one hand nervously through his raven hair as he stared at the beast. He chewed at his bottom lip, considering it. "I need to get back to Ferelden. The Grey Wardens need to hear about this,"

You can't go back to Minathrous. They'd have your head before you could get near the city,

"Then I'll need to travel south, across land. I have connections in Orlais. I could arrange a crew and a ship from there to get me back to Denerim,"

We'll need to go together, human. Unfortunately if you intend to keep that precious life of yours, you'll have to stay near to me. The connection would become too weak to sustain you otherwise,

Tristan stilled in surprise. "And once I've dealt with the Mage's Collective? Once your vested interest in me is over? I'm sure you don't intend to be my shadow for the rest of your life,"

The dragon stared at him silently.

Tristan nodded his head. "I get it. I get it. My life is on loan. Makes sense," he added darkly. He had fully expected to die a year and a half ago when he had slain the arch demon. His surviving it had been a Maker-damned miracle, one he still didn't understand. It made sense that Death would find a way to collect him after all.

The dragon lowered herself to the ground, stretching one paw towards him.

Climb on my back, human. We can travel faster if we fly,

Tristan hesitated, staring at the dragon with wide eyes. "Fly?"

Yes, fly. Now come on. It's a quite a journey to Orlais,

Slowly, hands trembling slightly, he moved towards the dragon. He placed a hand on her paw, feeling her soft, cool scales beneath his fingers. Carefully he clambered up onto her leg, then hoisted himself up onto her back, resting between her shoulders. She shifted slightly beneath him, accustoming herself to his weight.

"What's with all this 'human' stuff? I have a name," Tristan pointed out, as she flared her massive black wings. His heart was thundering in his chest, racing so fast he thought he might faint. She paused for a moment, granting him the brief moment he needed to get his fear under control.

A name? Humans have names?

"Uh-huh," he said quickly, hoping to distract her for a little longer. He wasn't feeling particularly keen to try out flying. "Mine is Tristan. What's yours?"

Umbra. My name is Umbra, she replied. Then, without warning, she flapped her wings once, pushed off from the ground and swept them up into the sky.

A/N: Okay… so… obviously I am diving into some major AU here what with Morrigan and Alistair having a romance and a talking dragon. Hopefully you all will forgive me for my craziness. =)

If you feel like reassuring me and dropping a review, I would really appreciate it. Really getting nervous as this story begins to branch away on its own direction.