Black ichor spattered, stinging like acid as she slid her dagger into the hideous creature's neck. The prickling pain burned through the terror threatening to paralyze her. Filmy eyes locked defiantly on hers as the fang-filled mouth opened in a roar. I will not flinch or falter. Be as a blade, cold and hard as silverite. She let out a growl of her own as she thrust her other dagger into its gaping maw. Fear has no place here… The Fangs of Fen'harel sang their joyful song as they gorged on darkspawn blood. The creature dropped lifelessly to its knees as she pulled her blades free.

"Zoya, watch your back!" Duncan's deep voice cut through the din of monstrous bellows.

Spinning toward the snarling grunts, she dropped into a crouch as the charging darkpawn swung its crude axe where her head had been. One of her Fangs found its way under the creature's crude breastplate. It was almost wrenched from her grip as the darkspawn's momentum carried it past her, but it pulled free with a squelching sound before she was pulled off balance. She wanted nothing more than to rub her face - her skin was starting to itch as the darkspawn filth dried and cracked. But her hands and the blades were united under the gore, glued together with sticky, putrid ooze.

"Your back, again!" Duncan growled behind her. Zoya pivoted, a slash of silver slicing within arm's reach of her. She'd turned just in time to see surprise on the darkspawn's hideous face, but then there was another silver flash, and its head tumbled from its shoulders. Duncan's blades gleamed even under the black blood, "By the Void, girl! If you're going to charge into the fray, you need to be more aware of where your foes are at."

She sucked in a breath, "I don't have eyes in the back of my head, Duncan." The darkspawn kept coming, popping up around every corner and from every shadow - their numbers seemed endless.

Andraste's flaming sword! Zoya cursed under her breath as the Warden's mahogany eyes shifted over her shoulder, his mouth opening to give warning. She barely got her blades up in time to catch the sword arcing toward her left ear, but even so, the sting told her she'd been knicked. Maker's ass! I hope it's not bad – I'd hate to give the Dalish a real reason to call me a flat ear… The creatures were stronger than they looked - the shock of the jagged sword hitting her daggers numbed her hands. She shifted her weight to pull the creature off balance and kicked out at its knee. As it collapsed, howling in pain, she shoved her blade into its cloudy eye. Her gaze flicked toward the Warden, "Besides, aren't you supposed to be watching my back for me?"

"You've spent the last several hours since we left the Dalish camp peering over your shoulder - why have you stopped now?" Duncan flicked his silverite blades, clearing them of black slime, before resheathing them. "What aren't you telling me, Zoya?"

Dropping to a knee, Zoya wiped her daggers on the prone darkspawn. She growled in frustration as the ichor clung to the blades. "I just have a feeling we're not alone." Duncan pinned her in place with a stern look and crossed arms. Her eyes flitted around the passageway, and the words slipped out in a hushed tone. "I think Theron might have followed us."

"Theron? What makes you think that?" Duncan shot her a frown as she started to resheath her blades, freezing her midgesture, "Zoya Tabris, don't you dare sheath those filthy daggers. You know better," he scolded, gesturing for her to proceed down the hall.

"If it were me, I'd have followed us." She offered a wry grin before heading down the corridor, the Fangs remaining unsheathed in her sticky hands.

Zoya's eyes peered into the shadows, ears straining as they picked their way through the scattered debris. She was once again reminded of how creepy this place was. Cobwebs and dust covered every nook and cranny, ancient bones mixed with crumbled rock on the buckling stone tiles, and thick roots slithered along every surface, their woody fingers slowly tearing the place apart. The flickering light on the faces of the statues lining the walls of the passageway made them seem almost alive, stern eyes watching their progress along the passageway. And then there was that sense of… wrongness, slowly smothering her as they moved further into the ruins.

Shaking her head and taking a deep breath, she tried to refocus herself. "This morning, Theron was determined to come to the ruins to search for Tamlen, with or without us. But then he was so quick to obey the Keeper when she told him he couldn't go." The memory of those stormy grey eyes filled with cold fury sent a shudder through her. "It just seemed odd to me that-"

Her ears twitched at the rattling of badly fitting armor in the adjoining corridor. "Andraste's flamey bits, do they ever stop? Were you expecting us to meet so much resistance?"

Duncan loosed a short bark of laughter, "I was expecting more, actually."

A trio of stocky darkspawn, genlocks Duncan had called them, lumbered around a corner. They shook their crude weapons, pounding them against battered shields as their grunts and growls filled the passageway. The corners of Zoya's mouth quirked upward as she looked to Duncan for direction, "Stealth really isn't a skill the darkspawn favor, is it?"

Duncan raised a dark eyebrow, "No, but what they lack in cunning, they make up for in brute strength and numbers." He stopped, taking a step back and leaning casually against the stone wall of the passageway. In response to her questioning look, he offered a simple gesture that told her to have at them.

As Zoya slid her blades into her boots and reached for her bow, Duncan shook his head. "But why can't I… this would be a perfect opportunity to…" She faltered under the Warden's steady gaze – he was going to make her do this the hard way. "Fine…" Loosing a heavy sigh, she shot a scowl in his direction before pulling her daggers free again.

Slipping into the shadow of one of the statues lining the wall, she watched the oncoming darkspawn for a handful of heartbeats. Their focus was on the Warden; they hardly seemed to pay her any notice. Perhaps they were drawn by the Taint of their ancient enemy, or maybe they just saw him as a greater threat. Either way, she would use their oversight to her advantage, and she set off to move within range.

"Slide in tighter to the wall and make your movements more erratic." Duncan's voice rumbled, and her body instinctively followed his orders. "Better…" She didn't look at him, but the approval in his voice left her with a bit of a glow.

As she got near enough to attack the closest genlock, he called out to her again. "Damn it, girl, don't just throw yourself at the nearest of the bunch. Where's your strategy? You're better off working your way from the back of the group, thinning their numbers and picking off the weakest ones first."

Zoya gritted her teeth at his chastising tone. Well, the praise sure didn't last long… Shifting her silent charge at the last moment, she launched herself instead at the darkspawn at the back of the pack, her dagger finding the vulnerable place where spine meets skull. It slumped noiselessly to the ground, pulling free from her blade. If she couldn't use her bow to take the creatures out from a distance, catching them unaware from behind was the next best thing – staring into their hideous faces and smelling their fetid breath wasn't one of her favorite things.

Stealthy feet swiftly carried her a few strides to the next creature. She spun as she pulled even with it, cutting a backhanded path across the creature's throat before it had even glanced in her direction. It slumped to the ground, the wet gurgling continuing as it twitched amongst the rubble.

Duncan growled, "Well that was pretty to watch, but not very efficient. Had that darkspawn spotted you, it would have run you through in the middle of your fancy little dance."

Zoya rolled her eyes, muttering under her breath, "I got the job done, didn't I?"

The third darkspawn, the largest and most heavily armored of the three, was nearly halfway between Zoya and Duncan. It continued along its path, either oblivious or uncaring of its comrades' demise. Its focus remained entirely on the Warden as it loosed a hatred-filled bellow.

Duncan watched the creature's progress down the corridor with indifference, his eyes flicking toward Zoya. "I'm not sure why you're stopping now – you've yet to drop this last one."

Zoya shifted into a relaxed posture that mirrored the Warden's, "I was just remembering that someone once said those who can't fight are only good for standing around and criticizing."

The darkspawn skidded to a halt, seemingly confused by the voice behind it. Its head pivoted between two foes, and it threw its head back in a defiant roar.

An insolent grin pulled at her lips, "Why don't you show me how it's done, old man?"

His eyebrows shot upward and he shook his head. Do I see the start of a smile on that stern face? she thought.

Pushing away from the wall, Duncan stalked forward, his movements fluid and efficient as his predatory focus shifted to lock on the growling darkspawn. The creature seemed to accept the Warden's silent challenge, smashing its crude axe against a splintering shield. Gone were the flashy techniques of the rogue Zoya admired during her childhood. He now hunted with a more deliberate, but just as deadly, intensity. Zoya couldn't help but wonder if the creature felt fear as it watched the Warden approach. I'd need a change of smallclothes if those dark eyes locked on me that way.

Zoya almost expected the Warden to drag out the fight to provide more of a lesson. But his movements were swift as he brushed aside the darkspawn's axe and slipped his own blade through the creature's defenses. The backhanded slice that severed the creature's head seemed almost an afterthought. Before she'd had a chance to exhale, the darkspawn had been reduced to nothing more than putrid debris.

Duncan regarded her with a raised eyebrow as he wiped his blades clean. "You look disappointed, Zoya."

Zoya caught the rag when Duncan tossed it in her direction, setting to work cleaning her own daggers before dragging the filthy cloth across her face and scrubbing her hands to scour away as much gore as she could. She sighed, "I guess I am… well, a bit. I was almost hoping you'd show me how it's done… I mean, you've been doing this forever…"

"That is how it's done – lethal efficiency." He clapped a hand on her shoulder in response to her frown. "This isn't a sparring match with one of your cousins – you're fighting for your life, and those of your companions. It's one thing to take pleasure in your task, but never forget it's a deadly serious one. One lapse in concentration, and it could be your head." He gave her shoulder one last reassuring squeeze before he released her. "Now let's find the mirror and destroy it before we have to deal with another wave."

She swallowed hard, the truth of it settling on her chest like a boulder – this was her life now. The rest of her days would be spent hunting and killing these vile creatures until she finally made a mistake, everything coming to a violent and bloody finish on the end of a darkspawn weapon. If she was lucky, she would live as long as Duncan, perhaps even know moments of true happiness as he had. But this was her future – danger, destruction, and death. She'd spent her whole life dreaming of becoming a Warden. But now that she finally understood what that meant… Was this really what she wanted?

~oOo~

Evan pulled at his long, blonde beard, regarding Alistair with a serious expression. Duncan's second-in-command hadn't said a word as the Commander's letter was read to him. The continued silence and weight of the man's steely stare set Alistair to fidgeting.

He almost fell off the log, flinching back from the man, when Evan leapt to his feet and shouted for his Senior Wardens. "Gregor, Albis, Odran to me." These four men had been with Duncan the longest, almost since the Grey Warden's returned to Ferelden twenty years ago.

"Wha's happenin', Evan?" Odran poked a shaggy head through the canvas flaps of his tent.

"Are you still abed, you ass?" Albis chided as he and Gregor strode into sight. The two comrades were a study in contrasts – Albis with his blonde hair, blue eyes and sharp-featured, hairless face and Gregor with his dark hair and eyes, his features hidden by a thick, bushy beard. While Albis was hardly bigger than an elf, Gregor almost looked like a dwarf grown to comically large proportions. The only person Alistair had ever met that was taller was Odran; the other Wardens liked to joke that the man was part ogre.

"Wha' didja think'd happen with all the boozin' las' night? Not like there's anythin' else needin' doin'." There seemed to be no end to the tall man as he unfurled in a lazy stretch before running scarred hands through disheveled hair.

Gregor chuckled merrily, "You're even more of a light-weight than young Alistair here. When will you learn you can't outdrink me, brother?" He turned, his grin widening as he reached out to clasp Alistair's arm. "We've been missing you in camp, lad. When's the Commander back to do the Joining?"

"Any day now." Alistair offered a lopsided grin. The thought of Duncan's return gladdened his heart, but his blood ran cold when he thought about the new recruit. "He found another recruit – an apostate from the Denerim Alienage."

Much to Alistair's surprise, the burly Warden clapped him on the back, the enthusiastic pounding almost sending him to his knees. "That's great news! It's been too long since we had a mage around. I'd gladly trade those nasty potions for a bit of good old fashioned healing magic. He's a healer right? I told Duncan he needed to find us one."

Albis rubbed at his pointy chin, "Sure, there's little more valuable than a healer. But I really miss having a mage that can lay down those huge destructive spells. You know… the ones that can scorch everything in an area two hundred paces across…"

"The las' time we'd a mage who'd do that, ya lost yer eyebrows… and yer shorthairs." Odran winked at Albis.

"No worries – they grew back… eventually." The small Warden chuckled. "So what did Duncan have to say about our newest recruit?"

Alistair ran his hands through his hair, "He didn't say much. Her name's Zoya-"

"Zoya Tabris?" Albis loosed a low whistle. "I wasn't sure he'd ever go through with recruiting her. About time, I say."

Evan shook his head sadly, "He never could bring himself to conscript Adaia, and if anyone was ever meant to be a Warden, it was that one."

"How could he not recruit the girl?" Gregor's grin shone beneath his thick beard, "This is the best news I've heard since the Commander decided to recruit our little Templar here! Duncan's been training that sweet elf to be a Warden since she was off the teat. Or if the rumors are true, since before that even."

Alistair arched an eyebrow at the Warden, "So you four know this Zoya? Am I the only Grey Warden in Ferelden who doesn't know her?" He dropped back down to the log, a frown pulling at his mouth. He'd known Duncan his whole life. Why couldn't he remember ever meeting this girl or her mother or Duncan mentioning them? But then Duncan wouldn't have brought a pair of elven apostates to visit him in the monastery. And so much of his earlier childhood had faded to little more than vivid bits and pieces, like a handful of colorful fish swimming in a murky lake.

Gregor tugged at his beard, "Just us four in Ferelden and two others in Orlais know about the girl. Duncan… well... some cards he plays close to his chest."

"An' we knew the mom more 'n the girl." Odran settled next to Alistair. "Tho' I did spy 'er in the Denerim market more 'n a year back. Spittin' image o' her mom, she was."

"Adaia was a fiery one – every bit the Commander's match and a one-woman darkspawn killing army. There were these spells she did – you remember the ones, brothers?" Albis' angular features softened. "There she would stand, this tiny slip of an elf facing down a darkspawn patrol. And with a simple gesture, her spell would move from one darkspawn to the other so fast it was like the entire mess of them would collapse at once. Sometimes it was lightning, sometimes their heads would just explode - it was truly a sight to behold. I wonder how many of those spells Adaia taught the girl before she-"

"With all this clucking, it's hard to tell if I sit among Wardens or washerwomen." Evan slammed a knife into the corner of a map, anchoring it to the stump they used as a work surface. "We have strategy to plan, brothers. Duncan has ordered that we send a pair of Wardens with select patrols to scout darkspawn movements…"

Taking the more senior Wardens' talk of strategy as his cue to leave, Alistair rose to his feet.

A large hand gripped his shoulder, "You heading back to the recruits, lad?" Gregor paused for Alistair's nod. "Don't feel too left out. I'd gladly coat my dangly bits in honey and hang them over an ant hill rather than go out into the Wilds with a group of raw recruits, especially now that Zoya will be along. If anything happened to that lass… well, Duncan would slowly skin the person responsible with a dull, rusty blade. But no worries - we know there's no better Warden than you for the task."

Alistair raised an eyebrow, a wry grin tugging at his lips, "Somehow, that doesn't make me feel any better. Thanks!"

"Glad I could help, brother." Gregor chuckled, ruffling his hair. "Have a flagon waiting for me tonight – and some of that mystery stew you make - I'll stop by the Warden's tent after my patrol. I'm in need of a card game that I can actually win for once – Odran has left me with a coinpurse filled with naught but dust."

Alistair chuckled as he bowed with a flourish, "Glad to assist, Senior Warden." He turned to stride off, but turned back when he remembered another bit of information he wanted to share with Duncan's second. "Evan, one more thing… When I dropped Daveth off at the Tower of Ishal today for confinement, I could swear I sensed darkspawn nearby. Have patrols reported any that close to the encampment?"

The Warden pulled thoughtfully at his beard. "No reports as such. One of us will try to check it out. But it's probably nothing to be concerned about."

~oOo~

Zoya's breathing echoed loudly in her ears as she stooped over, hands resting on her knees. The effort of raising her drooping head to peer around the chamber almost seemed too much. The very air seemed polluted, coating mouth and lungs with darkspawn filth as she tried to catch her breath.

The fight to reach the mirror chamber hadn't been an easy one, the darkspawn becoming more numerous as they approached their destination. Zoya had almost resorted to pulling herself and Duncan into the Between more than once. If she hadn't been afraid of luring demons through the already shredded Veil, she would have. That's all we need… to be fighting waves of darkspawn and demons. Zoya's limbs trembled with exhaustion as she forced herself upright, moving to the winded and weary Warden to search him for injuries.

Duncan waved her off, instead retrieving a potion vial and silver flask from his pack and raising them in salute, "I always prefer my potions with a whiskey chaser." He offered a subtle wink before downing the potion and following it with a long drink from the flask. Loosing a satisfied breath, he tossed it to her. "You did well, Zoya."

Zoya felt her cheeks flush at the compliment. She offered a tired smile, opening the flask and sniffing at it before taking a pull. The liquid burned a lovely trail toward her gut, and she took another large gulp before tossing the flask back to Duncan with a nod of thanks.

The enormous mirror was exactly as Theron had described. It rose a dozen feet above the high platform at the center of the room and was flanked by strangely serene statues of warriors – nearly twins, except one's ears were rounded and the other's ears were pointed. Even from where she stood at the platform's base, Zoya could feel the malevolent energy rolling off the relic. The rippling surface drew her eyes, luring her forward to touch it. One foot moved to the stairs of its own accord. But before the other could follow, Duncan's hand wrapped tightly around her arm, breaking the mirror's hold. She shook her head roughly, "You've encountered one of these things before?"

"Yes. Your mother and I destroyed many of these corrupted mirrors, one of the last shortly before you were born." His eyes lost focus and his brow furrowed.

Zoya watched the Warden's expression become more despondent, "Sounds like there's a story there."

Duncan's reply was interrupted by clashing metal and flashes of magic outside the mirror chamber. She could feel the tears in the Veil growing, foulness pouring through faster. Andraste's tits! What kind of idiot would use such heavy-handed magic in this place – are they trying to draw the demons down on us? Pulling her bow free with a sigh, she nocked an arrow and pointed it at the door. "I guess we missed a few, Duncan."

She lowered her weapon when the three Dalish - Merrill, Fenarel and Theron – pushed into the room. Their wan cheeks were speckled with gore, and their breathing was labored, but they appeared unharmed.

"Ah… you suspected Theron would follow, and here he is. And he brought companions - Merrill and Fenarel, isn't it?" Duncan's gaze shifted between Zoya and the Dalish as he waited for a nod of confirmation. "I recall the Keeper forbidding you from coming with us, Theron. And I'd assumed you wouldn't be up to fighting through the horde. You've recovered from your illness better than I'd imagined." The Warden regarded the Dalish hunter with curious eyes before turning to Zoya. "The fact that the lad even stands is truly a testament to your skills as a healer."

Zoya shook her head, "It was mostly Keeper Marethari's skill-"

Theron pinned them both with a scowl, "If you heard us fighting, why did you not come to help?"

Duncan crossed his arms as he turned to face the Dalish. "It sounded as if you had things well in hand, and we had our own battles to fight. Who do you think cleared most of the creatures? But I do appreciate you cleaning up the stragglers. It'll save us from having to do it when we depart."

Fenarel looked around the chamber, his eyes widening at the darkspawn corpses littering the floor. He poked indelicately at the one nearest him with his boot, a look of revulsion twisting his face. "You two killed all of these creatures?"

"Yes. But that was our purpose." Duncan silently assessed each one of the Dalish in turn before speaking, his tone stern. "You three are either very brave or very stupid to have come here. Your Keeper specifically told you to stay away from the ruins, yet here you are. I can't imagine she'll be pleased to discover you missing. Or did she change her mind after we left, sending you after Zoya and I? I told her we'd be in no danger."

Theron's gaze shifted to the looking glass on the platform, "We are only here looking for Tamlen. You and Zoya are not my concern."

Duncan rubbed at his beard, "Zoya told me that you and Tamlen were exploring these ruins when you encountered this mirror, that Tamlen may have passed through it and hasn't been seen since. Is that true?"

Theron nodded, "Tamlen touched the surface, and something started to pull him through. I tried to hold him here, but it started to pull me through as well." He swallowed hard, his eyes haunted, "I might have been, had that bear monster not gotten ahold of me, dragging me back down the corridor where you found me."

"I see. That's… unfortunate." Duncan regarded the young Dalish sadly before turning to give Zoya a shake of his head in response to her questioning stare. "As I was telling you earlier, the Grey Wardens have encountered artifacts like this before. We understand them to be Tevinter in origin, used for communication. Over time, some of them become corrupted, carrying the same Taint as the darkspawn. Tamlen's touch must have somehow triggered it." He turned his gaze on Theron, "It's what made you sick-"

Theron's eyes widened, his voice incredulous, "So it is true… I had the darkspawn taint?"

Zoya turned her focus to her hands, nervously twisting her fingers together. "I'm sorry to say that you still have it. Marethari and I couldn't cure you, just temporarily contain the corruption." She approached on silent feet, her healing magic sweeping over him for an instant. It took every bit of her self control not to flinch away when she felt the greasy blackness leaking through the magical confines the Keeper had crafted. "The sickness is spreading in you again. We need to get you back to the Keeper right away."

Merrill's gaze shifted between Zoya and Theron before she laid a curious hand on the hunter's arm and let her own magic rush forth, "But I do not sense anything."

"Check with the Keeper when you return to camp if you don't believe me." A lump grew in Zoya's throat. She wished more than anything that what she sensed was wrong. "Theron, I'm sorry. But if you look inside yourself, you'll know I speak the truth."

Theron clenched his eyes shut, his complexion becoming ashen. "There is something to what you say. What does that mean for Tamlen?"

"I'm sorry." Duncan shook his head, "There's no chance your friend survived."

"I'm not leaving until I find him." The Dalish crossed his arms, the muscles in his jaw tightening.

The Commander came through in Duncan's stern voice and rigid posture, "Let me be very clear, Theron. There is nothing you can do now to help him. He has been left unaided for three days now, the corruption coursing through him. Through Zoya and your Keeper's healing magic, and perhaps even through your own willpower, you have clung to life. But Tamlen has had no access to healers - he has no chance. Believe me when I tell you he is gone." The Warden shook his head, "We need to destroy this mirror immediately and return to camp so I can discuss your cure with the Keeper."

Theron's grey eyes filled with sudden hope, "But if there is a cure for this disease, then why can we not find Tamlen and give it to him?"

"It's not that simple." Duncan's voice took on a gentler tone, "The only cure for you now is to become a Grey Warden, to go through the Joining."

"And why not find Tamlen and put him through this Joining?" The elf watched Duncan's reponse carefully. "I will not leave this place without him." Grey eyes turned toward Zoya, despair darkening them. Her heart ached in sympathy. "I know he still lives – I feel the truth of that in every fiber of my being. He may not be in these ruins any longer, but perhaps he is on the other side of that mirror. He said he saw something… an underground city…"

There was something about Theron's tone, the twitching in his limbs and clenching of his fists that caught Zoya's attention. Her gut told her to move closer to the elf, and she reached out to grasp his hands. The need to calm him, to get him to leave this place was like a band tightening around her chest. "Theron, we've no idea what lies on the other side of the mirror. What if Tamlen saw the Deep Roads or dwarven ruins that are now crawling with darkspawn? Those here in these ruins had to come from somewhere, and we've seen no evidence of any other tunnels. And if just a simple touch of the mirror left you as ill as it did, what would happen to someone who went completely through it? Duncan's right – without someone to slow the corruption, he wouldn't make it."

Theron's gaze shifted between each person in the chamber before settling on Zoya, his fingers tightening convulsively on hers. "Tamlen is still alive. My heart tells me it is so. This world means nothing without him in it. If you have ever truly loved, then you would understand…"

Zoya's heart leapt into her throat as Theron suddenly stilled, his eyes slipping shut. She knew that look of resignation, of coming to terms with a choice, better than most. Her mother's face that awful night on the docks flickered through her thoughts. Maker, please no… don't let him do this… Time seemed to stop as his fingers released hers and he pushed past, sprinting up the platform's stone steps. Her body reacted without conscious thought, spinning to dash after him, feet flying up the stairs.

"No!" A ragged shout tore free as she threw herself at Theron, her hand closing around his belt. The air vibrated around them as he hit the roiling surface of the mirror. Her feet scrambled desperately, trying to find purchase as they slid along the time-worn stone. His momentum dragged her forward, but there was no way she was letting him go now. It wasn't too late… it couldn't be too late to help him.

Her free hand grabbed desperately at one of the statues flanking the looking glass, her nails bending back as they dragged along the smooth stone. A cry of pain and despair caught in her throat as she tried to throw her weight back onto her heels. The reflective surface reached out for her, shimmering tendrils wrapping around her hand and twining up her arm. She gritted her teeth as her hand, followed by her arm, disappeared into the darkness. Its touch was so cold that it was like being burned, like touching metal on the most frigid winter day.

Inky blackness wrapped around her chest, yanking her head and shoulders through the churning surface of the mirror. The last thing she heard was Duncan's yell, then silence as she was dragged through.

A/N - Thank you yet again to my beta Eve Hawke (and you should all thank her as well since she's the reason you aren't seeing 10,000 word chapters, lol). And hugs to Etaine M. for holding my hand as I wrote this and the forthcoming chapter. To those who continue to read this story - and especially to those who review, favorite, and follow - I can't possibly thank you enough. With this chapter, I pass a pretty huge milestone (100,000 words), and poor Zoya hasn't even made it to Ostagar yet! Thank you all for your patience - we're almost there ;)