Raviathan didn't dare move.

As soon as he started falling, he curled up tight with his arms covering his head. Loose-bodied might have been better, but his instincts wouldn't let him fall that way. Stones battered him, roots beat him like clubs, boulders knocked him to and fro as if being caught in a strong current. At one point he hit a slide that he was sure broke his bones, the chaos being too much to check by magic. Down he went, sliding down rough stone, carried by a wash of pebbles and sand. Finally he felt open air, his heart in his mouth as he went into free fall.

He smashed into a floor, his breath whooshing out. Propelled by those same instincts, he rolled as fast as he could. The boulders that fell after him vibrated through the floor. A second too late would have seen him crushed, his bones snapped and blood splattered across the floor like a beetle under heel.

Raviathan breathed in dusty, chilled air, and for the first time in his life, felt a fear that paralyzed him to immobility. Never before had he been so aware of how far away his home was. So many miles away-hundreds-away from anyone or anything that could protect him.

When he walked through the alienage, in the late night or early morning when an incredible stillness settled to make the moments feel timeless, he had been aware of all the sleeping elves around him. When he traveled to Ostagar, Duncan walked beside him, his presence reassuring even in the first days when Raviathan had been filled with anger and sorrow to be replaced by hope when Raviathan knew they would be reunited by night's fall.

His companions, filled with disdain, anger, distrust, at least fought by his side. In a crisis, they stood together. Badly, but still together.

Alone, he was terrified.

All his life, with the alienage walls or the walls between him and his friends, walls between him and everyone he loved because of his magic, nothing prepared him for this.

It was like the dream from his Joining. Alone, and faced with the impossible.

He couldn't move.

The pain at the center of his being drove out thought. He felt black inside, hollow. He kept trying to will himself to move. The more he failed, the more the tidal wave of hopelessness pressed down on him, crushing until he could barely breathe.

Despair turned his insides black, crushed him down until he could feel nothing but the suffocating weight of loneliness. It stole his breath until he couldn't tell if he was alive or dead.

Tapping. Claws tapping on stone.

Snuffled breathing.

Raviathan felt his heartbeat speed as if it would pound out of his chest cavity. Even an enemy, just someone there, took away the blackness that crippled him.

Tap, tap, closer.

Raviathan curled up tighter, listening, tensed for action.

Hot breath on the back of his neck.

I don't want to die.

A lick. A wide, flat tongue on his cheek followed by a little whine.

"Venger?"

A low ruff of acknowledgment.

Relief hit Raviathan like a force. Every muscle went lax. He felt dizzy for a moment, the adrenaline after effects making him weak. He reached out a trembling hand to touch the dog's warm fur and solid mass.

"I don't suppose you know if we're alone."

The dog made a sound, as close to a yes as a dog could get, Raviathan supposed. A little force of will, and Raviathan had a mage light up. It flared like a candle flame without wick, steady, hovering in a slow revolution above his head.

Raviathan took inventory of his and Venger's injuries: bruised and cracked bones, bruised tissues, joints jolted from impact, internal bleeding, cuts and lacerations, sprains. Raviathan felt some damage to his brain from being knocked about, but nothing that couldn't be fixed in a few moments. As his magic worked, his confusion lifted, his mind clearing.

Eyes closed to sharpen his mental senses, Raviathan's hands roamed over the dog. Venger had a laceration on one side, strained tendons that caused a limp, a cracked shoulder blade, more bruises everywhere.

His second heart flared, the magic flowing out in an arc of purest white light. Warmth filled Raviathan as his power coursed through him, poured into the shapes his discipline had taught, paths of healing runes that changed his fire, tinted it green, worked to repair the damage he felt. Blood vessels eased, shrank as blood flow restored to its natural rivers. Flesh knit together, fibers and delicate nerves attaching.

Maker, his magic was a glory to feel. Raviathan pitied those who would never know this warmth, this infusing light, how it eased the soul and brought the world to rights. One benefit of all the damage the party had taken over the last months was that Raviathan was becoming an expert in trauma healing.

Healed to a few remaining aches, Raviathan stood and took stock. He stood in a hallway, one long-abandoned by the sight of things. The air felt stale, and no animal detritus marred the area. This place hadn't been touched by any in Maker knew how long.

The boulders that had crashed after him blocked off the hole he had fallen through. Two boulders, twice as large as he was tall, sat at the base. Sand and rocks plugged the rest. Though digging out that way may have been possible, Raviathan thought it would be more likely that destabilizing the debris would cause a slide that would kill him.

A tiny trickle of energy, and the light floating around his head turned into four, all revolving in a lazy circle.

"Well, let's take a look, shall we? And warn me if you sense one of the others near."

Woof.

Raviathan headed right from the rock pile. Now that he had Venger, light, and his injuries tended to, he was in much better spirits. In his backpack he had food and water for three days. No, Raviathan needed to recalculate considering his hunger of late. Two days, but that should be enough. With ingenuity and a bit of luck, they would find their way out.

As he walked, Raviathan studied the carvings on the walls. Never before had he seen their like. They were stylized representations, haunting and beautiful, like no art he had ever seen. His fingers grazed over one, the sleek lines of a halla's nose as it led to the elegantly twining horns. Some designs were easily recognizable, others puzzled him as the shapes and lines made no form he could understand. Still, they were beautiful, harmonious in their style, complex but never cluttered.

Maker, what Ness would make of this place! He could see her in his mind's eye, the way she would light up at this discovery, the furious scratchings of her pens to take down every detail. How would she incorporate this into her art? If she could see this with him, his Ness would be the herald of a new generation of artists. He thought of her ink-stained fingers with a fondness that bordered on pain. How she would have cried at this discovery, and he thought of the sweet little frown line between her brows when she concentrated on her work. Why she hated her hands so he would never understand.

Struck anew with the fact that he may be the first person to see these ruins in decades, maybe centuries, Raviathan took out one of the two journals he carried, both of Dalish make. One of the Brecillian trees produced a thin bark that peeled away, its consistency like rough paper, but it took ink beautifully. In one notebook he logged the events of the days, a bare bones account to start then a paragraph on his personal thoughts of events.

In the other notebook he kept records of all the creatures they had seen: darkspawn, the various types of undead, unusual forest creatures, blighted animals, the demons the hermit summoned, and so on. These included sketches and occasional samples, like pressed leaves from the sylvan or a lock of carefully bound werewolf hair. With these entries came a brief story of how he came upon them or the circumstances involved. He couldn't help but take some flowers for pressings and seeds which were gathered and meticulously labeled in his healer's kit.

Though he lacked his wife's artistic training-former wife he reminded his stubborn heart-he could make a passable sketch. Venger napped as Raviathan sketched, time turning meaningless in the sun-forgotten ruin. How old were these? Raviathan's heart ached to see his lost history.

Remnants of a rock slide cut off the rest of the passage. If nothing was done to protect and research this find, this place would be lost far too soon to the continued deterioration of the land. If Raviathan had his way, true artists would be here making proper drawings, studying the lay of stones, working to uncover all this ruin's mysteries. So much lost, and the idea of losing any more keys to history was a pain that burned inside him at the injustices of the world.

Turning back, Raviathan strode passed the wreck of boulders marking his point of entry. If the passage didn't lead anywhere, he could probably blast at the boulders from a safe distance away to make a clearing. Any further disturbance to the ruin troubled him, so he kept it in mind as a last resort. While he could spend weeks sketching every line of the murals, Raviathan figured escape needed to be a higher priority. Pity.

Tongue lolling, Venger trotted by his side. Raviathan let his fingers rest on the dog's neck. So far Venger proved to be his only friend, but what a fine companion the dog made. Raviathan scratched the dog's ruff in gratitude. He stopped and poured some water into a shallow bowl for the dog to drink, took a few sips from his waterskin, and sat to share a lunch. They had time.

As he munched on dried apple slices, he thought of the others. Were they alive? Morrigan probably flew off at the first sign of danger. Maker, what a useful skill. He just couldn't get the blasted spell to make sense to him. Instead of a bear, maybe an owl? He liked barn owls. A hawk? Maker, that would be grand, Raviathan thought and smiled to himself. What would it be like to spread his wings? To never fear heights again? To look out over the land, to make the view from atop the cliff a common thing?

Then he thought of Leliana, strange but sweet even if she kept her secrets close to her chest. Raviathan understood that desire well enough. He had been keeping secrets since his earliest memories. Has she survived the rock slide? Maker, he hoped so.

Sten? Sten he could take or leave without much care. While he didn't wish death on the qunari, if Sten decided to make his own way without them, Raviathan wouldn't care. They needed the extra muscle desperately, but the rage and disdain he leveled at Raviathan could take a flying leap into the Abyss.

What of Alistair? Raviathan nibbled his lip, troubled. Had he been wrong about the templar? Former templar? The discussion they had kept returning to his mind, unbidden and unwanted but persistent as the tide. Raviathan wasn't going to feel sorry for templars, not ever. They made their choices unlike his mage-talented kin who were forced away at sword point to be locked up for the rest of their lives without a single word to their families. Learning your child had magic was almost like having them die. You would never see or hear from them again.

However, Alistair hadn't actually taken vows. Raviathan chewed a slice of venison, the tough meat making his jaw ache before it was worn down enough to swallow. It wouldn't hurt to talk to Alistair again, find out more. If the man survived the avalanche.

Then there was Morrigan. He wondered, not for the first time, if he should take her up on her offer. Just sex. No tears, no expectations. With a regular partner, maybe he could keep the intrusive thoughts at bay. He pondered the question, again, and came to the same bitter conclusion. He knew relationships. Even when ended on good terms, they were never as clean as the witch would believe, not when they had to travel with each other, and not when he had made a promise to protect her.

Maker, he wished he could stop the constant background of thoughts, the aching need that never seemed satisfied. That longing nearly wrecked his standing in the alienage, had hounded him like a plague during his childhood and again since he left the alienage. If he couldn't find some relief, he would eventually go to Morrigan.

Would that be so bad?

Yes! Stop it.

For the first time, he wondered why he had never considered Leliana. Attractive, intelligent, and worldly, she had many of the qualities he sought in a lover. Still, there was something strange about her, both a longing and fear that pulled her in two directions, like children holding hands and spinning, pulled apart but unable to separate. Leliana would not be a simple bed partner, he knew, if he desired such a course. The songbird longed for love, a soul deep need, desire beyond sex, yet she didn't trust herself to love or be loved.

Humans could be such odd creatures, but was that humans in themselves or how they chose to live? That was a distinction he just beginning to understand having now seen a few examples of the vast differences in human culture. While he had chaffed at the rules the alienage enforced on relationships between children, Raviathan thought of how they protected the finer feelings until he and his kin were ready to forge a bond with open hearts. Elves who lived outside the alienage had different feelings, more bruised in his opinion, than those who lived protected by the bonds of kinship.

Raviathan knew he wouldn't pursue the songbird even though she would be a better match than Morrigan on many levels. Sex didn't matter—didn't hurt—but love… love was everything, and his heart fractured more and more, every time he thought of his sweet Ness. Moreover, as a Grey Warden, that part of his life was over. He couldn't afford to entertain such thoughts, and he would not be so cruel as to give hope where none existed.

Impatient to get his mind elsewhere, Raviathan packed up and continued down the hallway. The corridor turned this way and that. Some rooms were destroyed by rockfall, others by thick roots that were slowly prying the structure apart. How long would this ruin last? A few doors opened to strange chambers, the purpose of which could sometimes be gleaned, but more often than not, remained in the realm of long dead memories.

A double door that curved up into a high pointed arch contained what looked like an old pyre. The beaten metal disk stretched ten feet across, and while scorch marks stained the disk, no ash remained. Raviathan marveled at the complex geometric patterns on the floor inlaid with semi-precious stones and copper covered in a green patina. The ceiling rose high overhead in a dome covered with more stylized murals.

Awed, Raviathan wandered, turning slowly as he walked, trying to take it all in. The intense stillness of this place stunned him. Perfect silence echoed, ancient whispers lost, with only his crown of light to toss back the shadows.

Grand murals three times his height made of gold tiles framed the room. Raviathan recognized some of the gods, Ghilan'nain from the ornate halla horns that framed an image of a woman, and Andruil by the bow she carried. He reached up to run a hand over the gold tiles of one god, the design framing the figure in a circle. The tiles gleamed warmly, like a living benediction, where he had wiped the dust away. He did not care that his tears flowed. He stood in a holy place. If he could, he would lovingly clean them all, let them shine as they once did for his people. How they would have sparkled with the fire lit in the center of the room, like being at the heart of The Golden City.

The click of Venger's claws, the only sound in all that impressive silence, followed as Raviathan left to explore further. One room was barred, the doors warped for a reason not to do with age. Using his sword, he pushed it through the crack formed from the wend of wood. Holding the hilt with one hand and pinching the blade with the other, he sawed the blade up and down, gradually pushing the barrier up until it clattered on the ground. Even with the barrier out of the way, the warping required a great deal of force to open. Raviathan wouldn't have been able to force the door without Venger's considerable weight.

Inside, the circular room contained statues tucked into alcoves, all facing a giant gold framed mirror on a pedestal. Raviathan approached the mirror, curious. Mirrors were a luxury not often found in the alienage, but he had seen one at Alarith's shop. Strangely, the mirror was grey, reflecting his countenance only a little better than glass.

Lips pressed, Raviathan thought he looked a right idiot in his ill-fitting clothes and ripped up armor. He fluffed his hair a bit, surprised by how long it had grown. Worse, he could see uneven hunks where his blades had cut off bits when he put them away. Oh, for love of the Maker! He bound his hair up in a thin leather strap then snipped enough off the ends to even up the rest. His hair lay a few inches past his shoulders when finished.

His vanity tended to, Raviathan wondered about this room. The mirror was clearly something special, the focus of the room, but for what purpose? He walked around it, examined the statues, touched the mirror, even tested it with a bit of magic, but no hints formed why the ancient elves had created this or revered the mirror as they clearly had. Puzzled, Raviathan continued on.

The hallway opened up into a grand room with a raised dais in the center. So far very little furniture or other pieces remained in the empty rooms, but this area contained clues to its purpose. Wooden benches sat in haphazard rows, cracked with age and what could have been conflict judging by the deep scars. Tapestries hung, darkened with dust, and was that blood? Porcelain vases, some smashed, and statues gave hints to what this room once looked like.

He had to save this place, somehow. This ruin was a fortune in history. He examined one statue set in a recessed arch. The figure had a slender build to the point of emaciation and narrow arms that seemed too long, giving the figure a faintly eerie cast. A shepherd's staff in one hand, the other outstretched, Raviathan wondered if this was Falon'Din, the guide for dead souls. The figure wore a robe of odd make and an ornate headpiece, but the details of his face showed only a vague hint of eyes and cheekbones.

Strange.

A door to the side opened into a library. Raviathan gasped at the books then began to cough furiously from inhaling so much dust. After taking a few sips of water, he took inventory. Did he dare disturb any of it? If a book crumbled in his hands, he would never forgive himself. A few books lay scattered on the ground. Those he felt he could touch with a minimum of fuss. With the slow deliberate care he gave when sewing up a patient, he righted one with the most minimal shifts he could manage. Even so, brittle pages cracked from the movement.

The script, though beautiful, was unlike any he had ever seen. The common letters of the King's tongue tended towards straight lines, but these had elegant curves that flowed more from a brush than a pen. In that moment Raviathan knew he had no choice. He would have to come back. After the blight? If he survived the blight, he thought with a bitter, painful resignation. Perhaps he should let Zathrian know of this place. The ancient Keeper would have more resources to understand the books and symbols.

So why did his heart mourn at the idea of telling Zathrian? Raviathan knew he would never be a keeper of history, and he did want to spread this wonder to the rest of the elves. Certainly, he could not stand to see this lost. In some way, this was his and only his right now. Seeing others learn it's secrets while he had to step back, be made an outsider of his own history, it hurt in a way that made him feel like a traitor to his people. Maybe… maybe a note? Something to show the location of this ruin on a map so that if he died, this treasure would not be lost.

When he examined the room again, a glint of red caught his eye. Picking his way carefully so as not to damage any of the books on the ground, Raviathan found the sizable gem that winked in the light. It had to be glass. No ruby was that size. But… strange. A trick of the light, or did the shadows in the gem swirl of their own accord? Raviathan held a hand over it, let his power flow.

Shocked, he snatched his hand back. Next to him, Venger whined.

Not his imagination. The shadows and light in the gem swirled frantically. Raviathan felt emotion from the gem. Fear, and desperation. The hint of a plea.

Dare he trust it? Raviathan sat on his heels and contemplated the gem. If Morrigan was here to back him, he would try contact again. Alone? He risked far too much without anyone to intercede if he needed help.

He felt it, the plea, so faint, like the near forgotten memory of a dream. The growing desperation pouring from the gem pulled at his need to help.

"I'm an idiot." Solyn would have reddened his ass for even thinking of communicating with the gem. He sighed. "Complete idiot."

Stretching out his fingers, just shy of touching, Raviathan let his power flow again.

Fragments of thoughts in a language long dead. Fear. Hopelessness.

Raviathan couldn't understand the language, but the emotions spoke clearly. Taking a deep breath in preparation and part resignation, he held the gem.

Instantly the images clarified. An elf in armor that shone like moonlight. Magic flowing through his swords as if they were staves. Protect the weak. A war, one he was certain to lose.

In a second, Raviathan understood his kinship with the trapped spirit.

Something between a sob and a gasp raked Raviathan's throat. Too many dead, and one needed to survive to give an account. The spirit had willed itself into the gem to survive the battle, expecting to be freed once his brethren reclaimed the cathedral.

A psyche broken by loneliness and too much time spent in fear and uncertainty. Memories so faded with age they eluded lucidity like shifting mists veiling the world from sight. A plea for death, the true death of the soul.

Pressure, like a clenching fist, squeezed Raviathan's chest in sympathy pain. Maker, what monster would deny this tortured soul?

"Rest," Raviathan said. He held the gem tight in his hand and made his first spell, his fire.

His fire, his sun, struck with the fierceness of lighting. His vision turned white. The veil covering the memories lifted. Images snapped into his conscious, flash flash flash, one after another. They streamed into him, inexorable. Raviathan couldn't concentrate to slow the torrent let alone stop the onslaught.

The forest as it once stood, new trees as the elves cultivated it. Bright, golden sun on open plains, and the new green of trees reaching upward.

A tapestry his father wove, a sense of pride at the pure mastery of craftsmanship, hung in the cathedral.

Children playing in a field of flowers, yellow, pink, violet, making wreaths to wear. A woman—sister—with her son.

Exhausted muscles straining, trembling, but the training did not stop. Again, lift the swords though they are shaking as he pushs at the end of his endurance.

Fear, a darkness, a change, a curse of the Forbidden Ones. Rumors and facts intertwined. What is coming?

Racing a halla, a woman with dark hair flowing behind her, a wink and wild grin at him as her halla leaps over a log to speed down a hill.

Music surrounding him, vibrating inside him, the power of hundreds of voices filling him to a place beyond thought, where sound and emotions are one.

He stands with blades out, a dance of grace and death, his will and body one.

Magic and metal, muscle and mind, he is the guardian, and he shines against the darkness.

A final flash, and Raviathan fell back, his head thumping against a bookcase. The old wood, weak with age, groaned with the impact.

Andraste's burning knickers, what the fuck was that?

Venger whined. He pawed at Raviathan's arm and looked ready to slobber on him if that would help.

"I'm okay." He patted Venger's shoulder, ignoring the tremble in his hand. "I'm okay, bud. Just… wow."

The images stuttered in his mind, less intense, like the aftereffects of looking at the sun. When Raviathan glanced down at his hand, he saw thousands of tiny red shards. He blew on them to scatter the little crystals so as not to cut himself.

Instead of rising, Raviathan took a moment to try to sort out what the images meant. The soul was gone, poor tormented thing. Raviathan was glad for that, but it did leave him with a complicated puzzle to solve, a puzzle made worse by having missing pieces and no reference to solve it. One thing he could confirm was that all the elves wielded magic in the days before humans. The children making wreaths had spelled the flowers to glitter or intertwine. Children with that level of magic! And free to practice without fear, all with the gentle guidance of their elders.

Many of the images remained disjointed, some with no context, or thoughts too alien to comprehend. The Forbidden Ones? Gods of deceit and malice, the followers of whom had to be hunted down. Why would anyone follow such a god?

An image floated up from the shifting pool of memory. A man scorned, forbidden to follow the Emerald Path, loss of standing with his fellows, a temper, an accident. A terrible accident. Vengeance denied so turned to the Void. Madness. Eyes turned crimson. Blood, tears of blood streaming down his face.

Raviathan shook his head at the series of emotion-tinged memories. So much to sort through. What did it all mean? And what kind of magic could seal away a soul in a gem? And how the fuck did this soul communicate with him and transfer these memories? This was unlike any magic he had ever heard of. The only thing that came close was blood magic, used to control minds and emotions, but there had been no control. Aside from the transfer of memories, Raviathan had complete autonomy.

His first spell could have some unusual effects. He'd meant to destroy the gem, but this flood of memories? Healing and peace were the main purpose of that spell, but he needed to remember that his first magic could be unpredictable.

When Raviathan raised his head to look at the small library, he mourned again the history of his people. The incredible amount of knowledge, collected and refined over centuries, even millennia of lives dedicated to learning and mastery, lost. The injustice of it would choke him with rage if he let his mind dwell on this path.

After a scratch on Venger's shoulder to reassure the dog, Raviathan rose and continued to explore.

Back in the main room with the dais, Raviathan saw with new eyes. On the far wall hung the tapestry his - the spirit's - father had created. He went over to examine the fine weaving, the skill that could only be attained through centuries of practice. Horns of a halla turned into tree branches that linked at the top. In the center stood a woman in a field. Sun glinting off her armor and swords even though star constellations dotted the background. Through the dust and years, Raviathan could still make out the flares of light woven with subtle attention. The swords seemed an impossible design with curves and wicked spikes, the material more like glass than metal.

Amazing.

The pottery now looked familiar as did the statues. Not that he had seen the like before, but everything here had an overlay of memory as if he had visited this place long ago.

Now that he had a layer of understanding coloring his view, he recognized the spherical construct tipped over and half hidden in the debris. A sphere made of a dark green marble-like stone lay on its side, forgotten. He righted the sphere back on its pedestal, and spun the globe into activation. The sphere crackled with energy. Instantly, Raviathan felt a shift in the Veil, the sensation bringing a new awareness to his perceptions. A shiver feathered up his back at the new awareness, as if he peeled away a bandage and all the sensations felt new to tender skin.

Maker help him, he didn't want to leave this place with all its treasures.

The next chamber he entered, he understood its purpose. A fountain dominated the center with a shallow pool forming a perfect circle. Here, the ancient elves revered Mythral, the All Mother. Raviathan knelt in front of the pool, not surprised that water remained.

We lost our gods, our stories, our language, and in the process, lost ourselves.

For long moments he contemplated the water. Venger lay next to him, the dog's head on his lap. Raviathan scratched behind the dog's ears when he remembered to but otherwise let his hand rest on Venger's neck.

We cling to scraps and no longer remember what they mean.

Though tempted, Raviathan did not drink from the water. He was a Grey Warden, and the job of reclaiming this ruin belonged to someone who could devote their lives to study. Knowing this place existed and that its secrets would no longer remain hidden from his people was enough for him. For the first time, Raviathan didn't see his people as dock workers or servants, prostitutes or outcasts. His people weren't the wandering elves with fragments of stories.

We were great, once. We had magic beyond the mages of today. We built grand places that filled our hearts with reverence and knowledge. We were warriors, crafters, inventors. We didn't just garden, we made forests. We shaped this world. We were great, once.

Raviathan rested his head on the lip of the pool, his tears falling on the pale stone.

He thought of elfroot, the hardy plant that grew everywhere, wild and strong, the miracle plant that healed. Roots, stem, leaves, it vanquished disease, sped healing, cleaned blood, calmed stomachs, and so much more. Because the plant was common, most gave it little thought even though all benefited from its grace. He thought of his people as elfroot, scattered to the winds, unappreciated but essential, each seed holding the possibility of a living miracle.

We were great, once. Trample us down, break us apart, take away everything, and still we grow as persistent as weeds. The seed is there to be great again.

He kissed the lip of the fountain, thankful that it existed. Abstract stories gave him heart, an identity as one of the Elvhen, but this, the physical proof of his ancestors, calmed away the fears that the shems had been right about his people. He wiped away the salt from his tears and stood.

Now with purpose, Raviathan strode through the maze-like corridors. He examined one exit after another, each grand double door either blocked with rubble or petrified through other means. Finally, he found a simple, small door. The lock was a strange one, not the usual tumbler-based system of most locks. He nibbled on his lower lip as he worked, he head moving to and fro to get a better view of the mechanism. His mage light was invaluable in highlighting the wafers that required different heights in order to work. By the time he finished, his knees ached.

Another break, another meal, time to rest his knees. All that work, and this door might not lead anywhere. He had time though. When Venger finished chewing his venison stick, he turned hopeful eyes on Raviathan.

"Okay." Raviathan tossed the dog a corner of cheese. "But we have to conserve until we find a way out. Just in case."

Venger snatched the cheese out of the air, his stump of a tail wagging.

The door led to what had to be servants quarters judging by the smaller rooms and furniture. Though Raviathan hadn't thought about it, he supposed there would have to be servants. The idea surprised him, after all that grandeur to have something so mundane. Mundane, but evidence of catastrophe was written into each room, the spilled furniture, dark stains on the walls, bones turned to dust, the remains of age-broken weapons. Whatever had happened, it left some rooms empty, almost untouched, and others wrecked. More mysteries.

After a passing through a morass of passages and rooms, Raviathan had to pick his way through another lock, this one easier after his initial practice. This time, he needed magic to unseal the door. He held his hand to the carved stone, his mind's eye seeing the runes to unravel. When he opened the door, the scent of earth and pine was more intense than he could have imagined. The contrast from the stale air of the ruin felt like stepping through time.

The door led to a narrow cavern, a natural fissure in the earth with rough granite sides winding up to a green canopy turned gold in the sunlight. Directly above was an earthen overhang held together by the forest vegetation. The roots of plants hung down through the earth like a multitude of broken fingers. Raviathan closed the door and reset the runes. The ledge he stood on extended a few feet before falling into a chasm blackened with shadow.

Raviathan stared at the fissure, hands on his hips, lower lip between his teeth. He could scale the walls without too much trouble, but Venger?

"Okay, bud. This isn't going to be comfortable, but I trust you to be smart enough to trust me. Okay?"

Venger cocked his head and whined.

Pulling out a few spare clothes from his pack, Raviathan used them to pad the rope he wove around Venger's chest and legs. The dog outweighed him by a few stone. Still, Raviathan tested the rope harness he made to make sure it was balanced then tied the other end around his belt.

He got on one knee to face the dog, his hands cupping Venger's head. "Listen. I'm not leaving you behind. Be patient. When I start pulling you up, it will be uncomfortable, but you can't struggle. It's the only way out for both of us. Understand?"

Venger gave a low, serious woof.

Oh, Maker, please let this work. If he gets hurt, I'll never forgive myself.

Raviathan pressed his hands and feet against the narrowest section of granite walls he could reach. He had to move forward along the fissure walls to get out of the overhang that hid the little forgotten door, but the climb was easy enough.

The rope's slack was nearly at an end when Raviathan found a good tree, one with smooth wood, for the next part of his plan, then calculated what he would need to use from the forest.

Tying the rope firmly around his waist, Raviathan called out, "Get ready."

Lifting the dog directly would be impossible, but leveraging him up using the trees as makeshift pulleys might do the trick. He's seen the principle at work in the dock yard. He braced his feet against a boulder, rope tight, and thrust with his legs. The rope went taut with Venger's weight. So far, so good. He leaned, near parallel with the ground, and stepped up to the next tree. Going slow to keep his balance, he braced against the trunk in a crouch, and stretched out his body again.

Rope taunt, Raviathan circled the tree until the rope remained in place with minimal effort. Untying himself and knotting the rope, he could now relax knowing whatever happened, the rope would keep Venger safe in case he failed.

"Are you okay, bud?"

A whining sort of woof made Raviathan smile. Venger maybe uncomfortable, but he was fine. Raviathan braced himself against the first tree, wrapped the rope once around his forearm, and pulled. He trapped the rope under one foot, not something he could trust, but the rope now had enough slack for him to make a knot that would allow only one-way pulling.

Knot executed, he relaxed. Thank the Maker this was working, but each second that ticked by added to his guilt. He need to get Venger to safety. Just… let the blood flow back into his arms a bit longer.

One deep breath, position set, Raviathan pulled. At the end of each pull, he held the rope against the tree with his foot just long enough to weave the slack through the base knot. Raviathan lost count of pulls after five. His thighs began to burn, but only when his muscles gave out would he stop. Another pull. Another. Raviathan's hands trembled with the effort, his arms starting to shake with strain. He had to remind himself to breathe or he would wear himself out.

Finally he saw Venger's tan coat reach the lip of the ravine. Grinning with relief, he heaved one more time. Venger righted himself and ran over to give Raviathan's face a tongue bath.

"Oh dear Maker! Yes, yes, I love you too." Silly dog. "Such a good boy."

Unable to stop his smile, Raviathan undid the knots, putting everything away. "You're doing all the heavy lifting for the rest of the day."

Venger agreed with a happy bark.

"Do you think we can find the others?"

Nose twitching, Venger lifted his head up. He moved about in different directions then led Raviathan up a rise. More nose twitches, then Venger lifted a front leg to point at the cliff side they had been scaling down when the avalanche struck.

"Let's go see then, shall we?"

Raviathan started to set off when Venger stood in front of him to block his path.

"What is it?"

A woof, and Venger looked just above Raviathan's head. Confused, Raviathan glanced behind him, then above, then back at Venger. The dog raised his front paw to scratch at his head.

"Oh!" The mage light! Raviathan extinguished it with a thought. "Thanks, bud."

Venger's jaws opened in a wide doggy smile then trotted off towards the others. The dog is smarter than I am, Raviathan thought with a grin. His brows knitted as he started to wonder how long he could keep his magic secret from the rest.