When last we saw Finn, some dragon cultists had mistaken him for one of their own. He bid our fair elves adieu, with a warning that was really a sign to seek out the Dalish of the Tirashan. Why would he say such a thing? Because he knew that to the Tirashan, and the volcano Arl Dumat, was where the cultists would be taking him. What has he found there?

"Brother Florian of Haven" wasn't a name the cultists knew. Neither was "Father Kolgrim," a name he'd heard from the Warden. That was, as far as Finn was concerned, perfect. He knew he couldn't pass as some unknown magister of their own cult once he reached their headquarters, and a Ferelden identity would explain any hint of an accent in his Orlesian. He cemented his credentials by reeling off some tales of the Old Gods blended with draconic lore; it was more than good enough for the cultists to believe that he'd been studying for his final vows under the Haven cult before it was destroyed.

He questioned them in turn; they seemed to venerate their dragon as a new Toth, the Old God of fire. Since they were headed toward a volcano, Finn had to admit that made a certain amount of sense. It also explained their deference: the Silence of Dumat begat the Chaos that was Zazikel, and from Chaos was born Fire. His purported 'god' was higher up the celestial food chain than theirs.

He got side-tracked, that was what it was, caught up in trying to learn the strange details of their worship and theology, fascinated by the way Tevinter religious practice (as understood from their records) had degenerated into this. There was always another angle to examine, another reference to explore, and so, by the time they reached the eerie twisted ruins, he'd never gotten around to mundane things like, "So tell me about your Revered Father." He would surely be another frothing, spitting lunatic like Kolgrim, yes?

No.

Well, frothing lunatic, yes, Finn thought as the High Dragonmother Tozatha finished formally welcoming him to their temple. But I somehow don't think Father Kolgrim looked anything like that.

For example, he recalled being told that Kolgrim had been armored like his reavers. Chain mail, nothing fancy. Certainly not a... a... dragon costume. Yes, that was a good way to think of it. A silly costume. Very impractical and certainly difficult to get in and out of, the way the stamped and painted leather fitted so very closely, from neck to wrist and ankle...

"...this acolyte of Zazikel," she was saying to her assembled followers, and he snapped to. "This is the sign we have been awaiting, my faithful ones - a sign of a new people come into the world, bringing with them a new order. We shall ride at the head of their horde, as the Children of Andoral wrap the world in their chains!"

Children of Andoral? What could that be? Andoral, fourth of the Old Gods, god of Chains, forged in the fire of Toth to harness the chaos of... oh Maker!

"We shall hunt down fine sacrifices, my children, and offer them to Toth in exchange for his holy blood. And so shall my mate and I sanctify our union, Chaos and Fire, together to bring forth Andoral!"

The cultists cheered, and Finn barely managed not to faint.

Finn had hoped his status as "Chosen Mate" might grant him enough liberty to escape the ruins he found himself in. Alas, no: it had just garnered him two ever-present servants and an honor guard. He kept his eyes open for opportunities, but suspected that he'd be stuck waiting for Ariane and Vashti to swoop in and save the day. Just as well - he was not at all sure he could talk his way into the Dalish camp without them, and they'd have to look for him there or here.

In the meanwhile, he decided to study the ruins he found himself in, both to assist in any late-night escape attempts and to indulge his curisoity. He suspected they must be real elven ruins, perhaps from before the Tevinter had even arrived in Thedas. The stonework was twisted and strange, looking more like it had been poured and frozen instead of carved - and perhaps it had been. It certainly didn't evoke the gentler aspect of Sylaise that Ariane and Vashti spoke of, that goddess of hearth, home and childbirth. Running a hand over the black and bent columns, he wondered if this was a house of worship for an older, darker aspect of the goddess...

(How did the ruins survive this long, anyway? They were at the very foot of the volcano - shouldn't Arl Dumat have buried them in ash or molten rock by now? Was it a trick of the geology or could perhaps Fade spirits actually protect... Right. Later.)

The ground rumbled and growled under his feet; Arl Dumat stirred in its slumber. Tozatha (that was hardly an Orlesian name; she must have invented it to go with her costume) proclaimed it a good sign, that the Great Father of Gods was bestirring himself to bless the union. Finn didn't like it; according to Dagna, back at the Circle Tower, it was a sign of underground pressures building up and seeking violent release at the surface. That sounded bad.

One of the servants coughed discreetly. It must be time for another fitting, he thought with annoyance. He allowed himself to be led off, wishing it could have been robes, or silly hats, or even ridiculous armor. But no. Not only did he have to pretend to be enthusiastic about marrying a crazy High Dragonmother who apparently wanted to breed a master race, he had to do it while wearing his very own dragon costume. The only good thing about it was that it was delaying the wedding. He'd managed to find all manner of fault with the fit over the past two weeks, and he even spilled lamp oil on a leg, requiring a whole new one to be cut and sewn in. Tozatha hadn't seemed bothered by the delays, so he kept inventing new problems.

They walked to the small chamber reserved for the leather-worker. Plentiful small, high windows let light into the little room of black-green lumpen walls. Finn was hardly self-conscious about dressing and undressing in front of near-strangers, not after all his years in the Circle Tower, so he carefully shed his borrowed robes, folded them neatly, and stepped into the garment that was held out for him.

It wasn't as bad as he'd thought it would be. Lacing concealed by small plackets at the wrists and ankles helped to get the thing over his hands and feet, and then it was similarly laced up the back. It wasn't something you could really do yourself, but he supposed a High Dragonmother had people to help her with such things. He automatically brushed off his arms and chest, as if it was a robe that would need smoothing, and looked it over critically. It had been dyed since last time - a rosy shade in the front, fading into a darker reddish purple in the back. Once he gave his approval, the leather-worker would stamp it all over with a pattern of scales and paint on details and shading. That would itself be quite a project...

...which was good, because he was going to have a difficult time finding any faults this week. He moved experimentally around the room, checking to see what might bind or chafe. The seams that he could see looked good; nothing rubbed around his neck; the cuffs hit at just the right place on his wrists. The leather-worker kissed his own fingertips. "Like a glove," he said, clearly pleased with his own work.

Finn nodded slowly. There wasn't a single thing he could find to complain about, except for the entire premise. But the execution was, indeed, flawless. "So you will begin the decorations?" Finn asked, as the servants diligently set about undoing the laces.

"Yes," the artisan nodded. "In a few days, all will be ready."

"By tomorrow, Tomas," announced a voice from the doorway. Tozatha stood there, flanked by her own servants and guards.

"Yes, Dragonmother," the leather-worker bowed.

"T-Tomorrow?" Finn stuttered in surprise. No, no, tomorrow was not good. "Why... why the rush?" He had a pleasant thought. "Are we evacuating?"

Tozatha scoffed. "You worry too much, dear mate. Have faith: Toth protects us here. No, we are not leaving. But we have acquired the sacrifices. You must come and see; truly, it is another sign."

I don't like her signs. I don't like this, Finn thought, turning around, as the servants helped him out of the dragon suit. He shrugged his cult robes back on, fastened them up and brushed them off. "Better," he mumbled, turned for the door - and saw to his mild surprise that Tozatha was still there, waiting for him. "I'm sorry," he apologized. "I did not meant to make the Dragonmother wait."

"It was no bother," she said, in a tone that managed to turn his ears red. "I have served the gods well, it seems. But come, come; you will not believe this."

They, and their entourages, walked down the hall to the exit to the amphitheater, or so Finn thought of it. It was sort of bowl-shaped, and the cultists gathered there to hear the High Dragonmother exhort them, so he figured it qualified. It also offered a fine view of the volcano - he suspected its original purpose - and would certainly be accessible to a high dragon.

A dozen or so cultists were gathered there now. He'd been expecting a stag, or a boar, or (Maker help him) a halla, but there was no animal there. Then he saw what was there and froze.

"Pierre says they are the very two elves to whom you very foolishly showed mercy in the city!" Tozatha exclaimed. "Look, they have followed you so far to become your wedding sacrifice! Is this not the very poetry of fate?"

"I'm... speechless," Finn managed. Ariane and Vashti glared right past him to Tozatha; the Warden Commander who'd nearly run him over was eyeing him cautiously, but was prudent enough not to say anything. The dog was nowhere to be seen; Finn wasn't sure if that was really good news, or really bad news.

"Take them to the holding cells," Tozatha commanded, and the cultists began to shove and hustle their three captives along.

"Wait!" Finn cried, and Tozatha looked at him askance. "I... that is..." The Black Fox and the Chevalier unfurled in his mind, right to where the repugnant chevalier had the Black Fox's ladylove, Servana de Montfort, in his power. He pointed... at Ariane, who seemed slightly less likely to injure him for this. " 'Send her to my quarters, so that I may repay her for the trouble she has caused me,' " he quoted the ballad.

The cultists looked to their leader, naturally. Tozatha regarded him closely. "What repayment have you in mind, my mate? They should be kept whole and unspoiled for Toth."

"Oh, of... of course." There was the other thing dastardly fellows in ballads threatened to do to women, but from the look the High Dragonmother was giving him, he didn't think she'd approve of that, either. "You are correct. I... let myself get carried away."

Tozatha waved her hand, and the guards continued on their way.

Finn stared at the darkened ceiling. He was not supposed to be the 'daring rescue plan' person. He was the 'read old books and put the pieces together' person. He was not good at this. But yet, here he was.

He'd kept an eye out for the dog, but hadn't caught a glimpse of the mabari. He was beginning to have a bad feeling about that; not much could be keeping the loyal creature away from its mistress for so long. He couldn't count that the furbag would put in a timely appearance.

Well, it'll work or it won't. It's not going to get any easier the longer I wait. He rolled out of bed, feet quiet on the rug. He wasn't an invisible ghost of the shadows like the Warden, but again his time in the Tower put him in good stead. Slipping quietly past the sleeping servants was second nature to someone who'd spent so much time in dormitories and shared quarters.

The guards were another story entirely. Exiting his room, staff in hand, he nodded to them as they pulled themselves off the walls they were leaning on. "I want to see the prisoners," he said.

"Brother Florian, that's hardly wise," one said.

"They killed all of the brethren of Haven," he said quietly, looking at the floor. "Including my mentor. Before they die in the morning, I would know why." He looked up at the guards. "Can you understand?"

They could. After a short conference, they led Finn down the glassy hallways toward the chamber that the cult used to hold its sacrificial victims. Four guards were posted there. They were still a score of feet away when Finn slowed and stopped, fiddlingly nervously. "I know they're... very dangerous," he said to his guards. "Could you... maybe... go ahead and check with the guards that everything is safe?"

The nervousness wasn't feigned. This was it. If they went, the plan would work. If they didn't...

His guards looked at each other and shrugged. Whatever disdain they may have felt at his evidence cowardice was tempered by the knowledge that protecting him was their job. Twenty feet was not very far; they sauntered ahead, hailing their fellows.

Finn let out a deep breath and, once all six guards were conversing, cast the glyph. The men saw the eldritch lines flash on the ground around them, and Finn shouted, "Dalish invaders!" and pointed behind them. They looked, and that was all the opportunity he needed to cast the other glyph.

There was a reason he hadn't tried to paralyze the drake in the sewers, once it had breached the warding field. Each glyph was stable on its own, but the two, when inscribed together, became explosively unstable. It was unpredictable and generally best avoided, but in this case, it was exactly what he needed.

The force wave rippled out, carrying with it the effects of the paralysis glyph. All six men were easily caught, freezing in the act of drawing their weapons to face the 'Dalish invaders,' but the wave dissipated with a sigh a few feet from Finn.

He hurried, searching all four guards for keys before finding them. Getting the key in the lock was harder than it ought to be, but his hands were shaking. Finally it opened, and he called up a spellwisp to shed some light on the scene.

All three were chained to the walls, but on their feet and ready to go. Vashti was closest, so he arrowed to her, fumbling for a different key. "The plan is that we leave," he said promptly. "I know, we're here for something, but the last time we faced these fellows without our gear it went badly. Please don't argue."

"Good plan," Ariane agreed, as he got one of Vashti's arms free. "Back to the Dalish and regroup."

"And I?" asked the Orlesian Warden.

"I'm getting to you," Finn snapped, as the other manacle popped open. Vashti stepped to the center of the room, chafing her wrists and looking darkly at the chained man.

"If you're just going to kill me, I'd rather take my chances with the cultists," he sniffed.

"I am not going to... Why would you even think..." The person who put the puzzle pieces together had several snap in place suddenly. "You've had an eventful trip following me, I take it?" he asked Ariane, as he moved on to her wrist. The Dalish warrior nodded as the key clicked. "Well, we're not going to just leave him here, right? That would be - "

Everyone else gasped or shouted; noise from behind him hinted that crying "Dalish invaders!" might not have been the best distraction earlier. He turned, thinking to conjure another ward -

- and kept turning, to his great surprise. And his staff came down as he did, catching the Dalish Warden hard in the side. She wasn't expecting such a blow from behind and stumbled, then fell. What? The exclamation was automatic... or it should have been. He tried to speak and found he couldn't. His eyes should have gone wide with horror, but didn't.

His body stopped, staff coming back up. Ariane was cursing a blue streak behind him, yanking and jerking her remaining manacled hand so that the chains clattered. Ahead, guards streamed past Tozatha to pile on Vashti; his betrothed removed a bloodied dragonbone dar'misu from her own arm.

"I am disappointed, Florian," she said, just before the whole world went red.