A/N: Hello lovies! Sorry for the slight delay but it was my birthday weekend and I was busy. Also my old friend writers block decided to show up for a visit. Very frustrating. Ugh, my problem is that I have every key plot point planned out perfectly but getting to them is a problem. The chapters in between that set them up seem to be the hardest for me lately. Also, I'm just too close to my own work that I can't ever see if its any good. It all makes for a very unhappy writer!

Anywho...thank you again to everyone who has faved/followed/reviewed! I am FLOORED by the attention this story has gotten and I love each and every one of you. Lots of metaphorical cookies to you all!

I had to make up some Qunlat words for this. "Vas Kastoth" is an exclamation of shock/anger. Along the lines of "jesus christ!" I just kinda went with hard consonants and S's. Katari, on the other hand, is a Qunlat word meaning "one who brings death," which I felt was fitting for Cole given that he is an assassin and an "angel of mercy."

Also, lots of questions last chapter about the spell Evanthe casted. Check out the authors note at the end for a bit of an explanation

R&R lovies, nothing kicks writers block in the face faster than a review!

Evanthe stared hard at the door that barred her from the sick room, as if through her will alone the barrier would swing open and she would be allowed entrance. Despite her anger and worry the threshold remained closed and she fought against the urge to blast it open with magic and demand answers to all the questions that were festering inside of her. The knowledge that Cesare was doing his best and would need total concentration to heal her commander was the only thing that stayed her hand, but it was a narrow tightrope of a decision that she walked. The fact that she had been summarily expelled from the infirmary did little to help with the situation.

After the battle Cullen had been swept from the filed on a litter and she had followed close behind, needing to reassure herself that the man still drew breath. Every shallow rise of his chest was a prayer she sent out to any deity that happened to be listening, and every trickle of blood that fell from his wound was a goodbye she wasn't prepared to say. When the group had burst into the sick room, startling Cesare away from a patient, she had pinned the man with wild eyes and demanded that he do everything within his power to save her commander. He had hesitated for only the smallest of moments, his body needing to catch up with his mind, before leaping into action and taking the command of the situation. Barking out orders the healer had rolled his sleeves up to his elbows, demanding answers and commandeering any nearby mage with the slightest bit of medicinal training. Other injured parties had begun to trickle in at that point, reminding Evanthe that Cullen was not the only man under her command fighting back death. It was these patients that Cesare delegated out to the others, and Evanthe had wondered how many of those that quickly filled the cots of the sick room would live to see the morning. For his part, Cesare had eyes only for Cullen, face serious and tight as he worked his magic. In the end he had needed assistance, and Solas, who had somehow managed to slip in unnoticed, was tasked with helping keep Cullen alive. The elf obeyed without hesitation, glancing only briefly at Evanthe to ensure that she was fine with the turn of events. She nodded once in reply, and he turned from her, hands already glowing blue with magic.

Had she the choice, Evanthe would have stayed until it was done, until Cullen had received the blessing of a full recovery, but healing is a gruesome, delicate matter and she was woefully unprepared for just what this endeavor would entail. Bad enough to see the blood and viscera up close, but to hear the screams...it was more than she could bear. When Cullen began to cry out in pain, a sound that seemed to claw its way up from deep inside the man, Evanthe had panicked and rushed to his side, certain that he was dying right before her very eyes. She had, of course, gotten in the way, and Cesare was less than thrilled with her presence. It was then that the healer had ordered her out, stating that unless she knew how to heal, her being there was more of a hindrance than a help. When she refused to move, the man, possessing a measure of strength she didn't know he had, proceeded to grip her by the arm and haul her away, fair throwing her out of the room. And so she was left to stare intently at a wooden door as she wondered just what was happening to a man she wasn't sure she could live without. If Cullen perished...then the Inquisition perished along with him. Without him, there was no one to command their troops, no one to bring some semblance of order to a world gone mad. Cullen was vital to what they were trying to accomplish and, in that moment, it seemed as if the fate of what was left of the world hinged upon whether or not his heart continued to beat.

"Boss," she heard murmured quietly over her shoulder and she turned to find a blood spattered Iron Bull standing nearby. "Come on, there's nothing you can do. Better to let the healers do their work and you to get roaring drunk than stand around and worry."

"I don't want to get roaring drunk," she replied numbly, turning to stare at the door once more.

"I do," came the Qunari's reply as he gently began to steer her away from the infirmary "You can watch. Have you ever seen a Ben Hassrath drink? We can pack it away. It'll help you keep your mind off things." Evanthe let him lead her away, too tired to put up even a token fight, and resigned herself to not knowing what was going on behind closed doors.

Neither of them said a word as Bull led her through Skyhold, a meandering journey that eventually took them to the kitchens. Evanthe slumped down upon a small trestle table and watched with numb eyes as Bull began to poke through the pantries, searching out anything with enough liquor content to get him drunk. When he at last found his quarry, the Qunari triumphantly slammed two bottles down upon the table, setting one before her in case she changed her mind. Evanthe simply stared at the amber glass, eyes looking through it into nothing. She felt untethered, as if time no longer chained her with its earthly bonds. She was apart from the world, existing in a purgatory of waiting, and nothing seemed quite real.

"Falling apart. Everything is unraveling. Smell of copper as blood hits the nose, and she can feel him slipping away. He is waiting to die and she can't stop it from falling apart. How can she do this without him?" a voice whispered from the shadows and Bull nearly jumped out of his skin at the sound of it.

"Vas Kastoth!" he cried out, whirling around to glare at Cole who had crept slightly out from a darkened corner. "Scaring people from the shadows is a good way to wind up dead, Katari."

"Cole," Evanthe whispered, forcing herself to rise to her feet. "Are you alright?"

"There's so much quiet," he replied, voice small and frightened. "Screaming until silence, one by one. I could feel them dying."

"Who?" Evanthe demanded, heart clenching tight in her chest. "Who is dying?"

"The templars. The demons," he clarified, looking at her with wary eyes. "You made them break, pulling them apart from the inside, and now they are quiet."

"Good thing, too," Bull interjected, sitting down to drink once more. "You saved our asses with that light show, boss. Seems a handy weapon to have."

"Cole, do you know what happened? What I did?" she asked gently, taking a step towards him. When she did so, he shrank back, trying to hide himself in the shadows once more. Evanthe frowned and drew up short, unwilling to frighten the boy more than she already had. "What's wrong?"

"It pulses, still feeding on the blood," the boy responded, jutting his chin towards her hand. Evanthe glanced down, turning her palm upwards to gaze upon her mark. "I don't want to disappear"

"Holy hell, Boss," Bull whistled low as he came up behind her. "What did you do?" Evanthe could only stare dumbly down at her hands, shocked that she hadn't noticed the carnage before. Her palms were raw, bloody, and torn to ribbons. Blood had dried in a thick layer, sticky and pulling at the jagged tears that reached deep into her flesh. When she had slid down the chain from the battlements she vaguely recalled a sharp pain from the metal cutting into her skin, but she had been so wrapped up in keeping Cullen alive that she hadn't even noticed the injuries until now. Of course, once she had turned her attention to them, her hands began to throb with a sharp rhythm, pain spiraling out into her arms. And through it all the mark upon her palm pulsed green, crackling and sparking around the blood that seeped from her wounds.

"It made it quiet," Cole reiterated from his corner. "And the blood made it permanent."

"We need to get you cleaned up," Bull murmured, cradling her wrist in his meaty, calloused hand. "One thing I've learned is that if the knife wound doesn't kill you then the infection will."

"Wait," she commanded, sliding out of his grip with a wince and turning her attention to Cole. "Can you...that is...I need to know if-"

"Pain. Blood. Both here and not. He can feel the magic, feel it piecing him back together. Inch by inch it heals. He can't hear her voice, but she was there, and he wants to know where she has gone. Another stitch, another spell, he can't think and he just wants to sleep," Cole interrupted, glancing upwards. When he had at last finished he looked at her with eyes that had seen too much and offered her the truth, depressing as it was. "He is still alive, but his thoughts are fading away."

"Thank you, Cole," she choked out, tears threatening at the corners of her eyes. She made to reach out to him, offering him a bit of comfort in the midst of all the uncertainty that seemed to swirl around them, but he shrank away, and in that moment, Evanthe realized he was afraid of her, though she could not fathom why.

"Come on, Boss," Bull urged, guiding her to the table once more. "Let's patch you up."

~oOo~

Evanthe hissed as Bull gingerly pulled another shard of metal from her palm. For the last hour he had been carefully cleaning her hands, wiping the blood away with water soaked rags and cleaning them out with burning splashes of whiskey. With every pass more bits of debris were revealed, each having to be pulled from her flesh lest her skin begin to heal around them. Once cleaned the wounds looked less impressive, merely angry red gashes that traced a map of pain across her hands. Her mark had stopped pulsing once the blood had been wiped away, almost as if the crimson stain had been a catalyst for its behavior. She was too much of a mage not to be worried at this. She knew the dangers of mixing blood and power, even unintentionally, and she wondered just how potent something born of the fade would be when boosted by her blood.

"Almost done, boss," Bull murmured as he splashed more liquor upon her hands. The whiskey hit her like fire, burning through everyone of her nerves as it sizzled along her wounds. "We'll have to wrap them until the healer can take a look."

"Allow me," she heard offered from the doorway and Evanthe leapt to her feet, turning around with her heart in her throat. Solas stood in the doorway, his tunic covered in blood and exhaustion edging his eyes. He looked worn out beyond measure, as if he were half a second away from falling asleep while still standing. Evanthe didn't care, all she wanted to know was how her commander was faring.

"Solas," she breathed out, rushing over to him. "What-"

"He is fine, lethallan," Solas answered. "He sleeps, aided by magic, but he will wake in time. The commander will recover, though it was a near thing." Evanthe let out a breath she wasn't aware she had been holding, and felt relief crash through her in a painful wave. Everything seemed to speed up, to snap back around reality and time, and it was difficult to adjust. The worry she had carried with her seemed reluctant to leave, and she could feel it reaching out, whispering venomous doubt in her mind.

"Thank you," she whispered, once her voice had returned to her, gazing up at him with grateful eyes. "It was a kindness that you helped." Solas bowed slightly in acknowledgment before turning his attention to her ravaged hands. He frowned ever so slightly as he reached out to cradle her palms in his own, one finger ghosting delicately over a particularly deep cut.

"Da'vhenan," he murmured. "These are deep. They..." It seemed to be too much for him, and he let himself trail off, tongue fumbling over all the words he wanted to say. Evanthe stood still before him, bracing herself for a lecture about her foolishness, or warnings that her hands may never functions normally again. But Solas simply stared at the damage, a thousand emotions flickering in his eyes as he quietly contemplated what she had done to herself in the service of another. "Come," he said at last, voice thick as if he were trying not cry. "Let me tend to you. Cesare will be sometime yet with the injured, and we must needs stem the tide of improper mending, lest these become useless to you in the future."

"In that case, I'll go," Bull interjected, lumbering to his feet and taking his leave. "See if I can find some more whiskey. Wasted too much on your delicate little fingers, boss."

Evanthe raised a hand in farewell and allowed her self to be guided to the table once more, following as obediently as lamb. Once they were settled Solas reached into his tunic, pulling a vial of lyrium from its folds and drinking deep. She could see the tonic take effect, bringing a measure of color back to his naturally pale skin, and for the first time she saw the shadows around his eyes and the way that exhaustion pressed down upon his shoulders.

"You should be resting," she muttered as he reached for her right hand. "This is too much for you. I can see it in your bones. There are others who can tend to this, you don't have to-"

"Yes," hes interjected firmly, "I do." He flicked his gaze up to her and the worry in his eyes nearly felled her. Much as she had needed to be near Cullen to reassure herself that he still drew breath, Solas needed to tend her injuries, in only to prove that she was not a figment of broken hope.

"Solas..."

"I was so angry with you, da'vhenan," he murmured as he began to work upon her hands. The magic wove it's self around her flesh, sinking into her skin with a cooling sigh. She could feel the tendrils reaching into her wounds, knitting tissue and chasing away infection. It almost turned her attention away from the man before her, but his words echoed in her head and she glanced at him in confusion. Solas, for his part, refused to meet her gaze and continued to work; his body remaining detached when his voice would not. "I could not fathom what you were thinking when you leapt from the battlements. An act of bravery so simplistic in its stupidity. Your fall seemed never ending."

"Can you not understand why I did what I did?" she questioned, angry at the implied lecture.

"Of course I understand," he replied mournfully. "I understand far more than you give me credit for. When you jumped...in the moment between fall and landing I watched you die a hundred times over. And I was forced to confront a world in which you no longer lived. It was only when your feet touched the ground did I dare to hope. To witness you caught in such peril was a torture I found myself unfit to bear."

"We are at war," she offered uselessly, uncomfortable with his sudden confession. She didn't know what to do with his words, didn't like the way they slid inside her and latched on to her heart. It was a pretty speech but there was no place in her world for such sentiment, not anymore, and yet the confession carved a place for itself nonetheless, a permanent part of her story whether she liked it or not. "I will be put in harms way, it is unavoidable."

"And yet I foolishly wish it were not so," he muttered as he switched hands, turning to her left and inspecting her mark. "I would give a great many things to ensure you see the full measure of your years, da'vhenan."

"Solas-"

"Do not say my name in such a fashion," he agonized. "Please, Evanthe. To hear the pity and exasperation is a torture all its own."

"Then how am I to say it when you speak so mournfully?"

"You are right," he said after a moment, all trace of deeper emotions gone from his voice. "Forgive me. It was selfish of me to give voice to such things. Especially given the nature of our...relationship."

"That's not it," she argued, watching as her skin began to knit together before her eyes. "Whatever lies between us, it does not discount my actions...or your reaction to them."

"And yet, it should," Solas countered quietly, finishing off his spell and gently placing her hands in her lap. "I have already let myself get too tangled up in your life, da'vhenan. It is a kindness that I never speak of such matters again."

"A kindness would be you speaking plainly for once," Evanthe muttered in irritation. "You're so full of secrets hidden in words that I don't know what to believe anymore, Solas. You claim to live and die with every breath I take and yet you continue to hide much of yourself behind deceit and an indifference we both know you do not feel."

"It matters little what I feel when you have made it clear that such a thing is unwelcome. You're daring rescue of the commander only serves to underscore such a point." Evanthe gaped at him in shock before pushing herself to her feet and back peddling away from him.

"Is that what this is about?" she demanded. "Your seething jealousy over another man?"

"No," he countered angrily, rising to chase after her. "It is that, but it is also a great deal more. Whatever lies between us is more than just my deceit and your anger. Try as you might you can not wish away your feelings for me, da'vhenan, any more than I could force myself to step away from you. And yet we both would be better off were it so. I should be doing everything in my power to push you into the commander's arms but the thought sickens me. I sicken me, for I never should have allowed this to get as far as it did. It is more than some barbaric ownership of your affections, it is you, Evanthe. You, in all your tempting glory. You were not supposed to happen."

"I am not at fault for any of this, Solas," Evanthe protested in outrage.

"Of course you aren't, any more than the rabbit is at fault for being prey to the fox," he countered stepping away from her as if being near her was agony in and of itself. "Perhaps we should speak of other matters. This subject treads too close to things best left unsaid."

"Then what would you have us speak of?" she demanded petulantly, hoping to stoke his anger enough that he would not retreat once more behind a wall that closed her off to him. This was as close as they had come to truly speaking of what lay between them, and despite the pain, Evanthe needed this. If nothing else they could wound and prick each other into an awful sort of catharsis, bring closure to whatever they had once meant to one another. But Solas was already one step ahead of her, and she could see the transformation from heartbroken elf into cool, professional apostate take place before her very eyes.

"The power you unleashed upon the field of battle," he answered her at last, gesturing to her palm. "It was quite terrible in its fury. You cleared a circle of at least twelve templars and demons in one blow. I wonder what caused such a display."

"I don't know," she answered with a weary sigh, "I wasn't exactly paying attention at the time."

"Think, da'vhenan. Try to remember what happened when you reached for the power inside you."

"I didn't reach for anything," she explained. "I just threw my hand up and let go. It was...it was like I opened a door inside me and everything just came rushing out."

"Not rushing out," Solas corrected, reaching for her left hand. "But reaching out. You commanded the fade, Evanthe. I could feel it upon the battlements. You used your mark as an anchor to warp the magic of the veil to your will. It is why the demons were felled so quickly, you managed to create a rift within them, banishing them from this world."

"How is that possible? I didn't actively cast anything! And even if what you say is true, why then were the templars struck down? There is nothing in them that ties them to the fade, they should not have been affected."

"Perhaps it was this that caused the templars such distressed," Solas posited, brushing a finger over her now healed wounds. "Blood is a powerful amplifier when paired with the most basic of magic...when coupled with something of this magnitude? The results would be extraordinary"

"Are you saying I cast blood magic?" She whispered, yanking her hand away and cringing as all her worst suspicions came to light.

"Not on purpose, da'vhenan, but yes. You bled upon your mark and let your power free. The result of which is twelve enemies felled in a manner of seconds."

"I'm not doing it again," she insisted, cradling her hand close to her chest. "Accident or not, it never should have happened." For all that her clan embraced magic, it was understood that those who sliced open a vein in order to divine the secrets of the fade did so at their own peril. There was no place within the clan for such a mage, and those that wished to remain of the people stayed far away from the forbidden practice.

"As you wish, da'vhenan," Solas replied, not even putting up the barest of arguments. "But refusing to cast blood magic does not cut you off from the initial power. It seems your mark has a purpose beyond sealing rifts, a purpose you would do well to explore."

"And how am I to explore it? It's not as if there are books of study for those who find themselves carrying a bit of the fade around with them."

"By practicing, of course," he explained patiently, clearly put out at her reluctance. "You will soon be venturing outside the safety of Skyhold's walls as you search for the dwarven kingdom. The opportunity should afford you demons a plenty on which to test your new found power."

"I don't know if I feel comfortable messing about with something so dangerous, Solas," she hedged. "It's not as if this is merely some lost bit of fire magic one tinkers about with because one is bored. This is magic on a grand scale that no mortal was meant to wield I can't just point my palm at an enemy and hope I don't kill my allies in the process."

"Unfortunately you are left with little choice," Solas countered with a shrug. "You have been given a weapon, a powerful one, and you must learn to wield it with grace and control, lest you falter and Corypheus crushes us all."

"But how am I to learn with no one to guide me? The fade was never my path, I don't know the first thing about..." Evanthe trailed off when her brain finally caught up with her words. It had been so obvious that she almost hadn't seen it, and honestly, a part of her wished she hadn't. She could see the moment in which Solas caught on as well, and both looked away, unwilling to voice what was staring them both pointedly in the face. It seemed almost comical that after their initial discussion, fate would force them into such a position, though neither seemed to be laughing at the irony of it all.

"Please, Evanthe do not ask me. There are other mages in residence-"

"But none that boast your talent and knowledge when it comes to the fade," she interjected softly. "Let us not bother with the argument, Solas. We both know it has to be you to teach me this."

"And you would be comfortable to have me in your company, working closely beside you as we guide your skills to greatness?"

"Comfort has very little do with anything, Solas," she sighed. "But we must learn to live in the same world as one another, if only for the benefit of others. If I am to win this war I must sacrifice my happiness in order to see my enemies slain."

"I only wish I was not the cause of it," Solas lamented, turning his back upon her. "Very well. I shall be your instructor in this, because I find I do not have it in me to refuse you."

"Thank you," she replied awkwardly and for a time neither of them spoke. Evanthe could see that no matter how hard she tried there would always be a thread tying her back to this man who had betrayed her on such a deep level. Fate would only allow her so much slack before tightening the bond once more and pulling her back to into his periphery. Solas would be a part of her life for the foreseeable future, and she had no way of knowing whether it was something she would be able to bear without getting lost in the power he seemed to wield over her. Her only solace was that he seemed to be just as lost to her, so if nothing else they would suffer together, each trying desperately to untangle themselves from one another's lives.

"You should see to the commander, da'vhenan," Solas offered after a time as he began to take his leave. "I am sure you wish to see his recovery with your own two eyes. Perhaps his presence could offer you the happiness mine seems to destroy."

A/N: Okay, so Evanthe's spell. The "mark of the rift" ability in game banishes demons in the area of effect and also injures/outright kills other enemies caught in the circumference as well. It's a green glowy/foggy visual that makes the badies freeze and slightly bend back. With Evanthe, I kinda wanted to play with it being amplified because of the blood upon her hands. Hence the intensity of the spell.