There is a dragon's roar haunting the wastes.

Keela hears it at night accompanied by velvet wings but for most of their stay in the west the creature ignores them in favor of other prey. There are more pressing concerns for the Inquisitor to attend to than chasing a shadow in the dark. Even if their leader is no more the Venatori still refuse to leave, scouring the sands for pieces of Dwarven history, and their malice is all the greater for what she has done to their glorious future. There are still rifts to be closed as well, puzzles to solve, and Keela gives all her attention to these tasks in hopes of keeping her grief at bay. It still sneaks in, like persistent grains turning up in places she never expects, and always there no matter how hard she tries to dissuade it.

More than a month later the dragon can no longer be ignored when it swoops down and steals one of the Inquisition horses. They spend a few hours tracking it back to its nest that's nestled in a valley surrounded by ruins. That is all this place is - sand and memory, the remnant of something that has be eroded away and buried with time. For all its breadth and beauty it is still a tomb.

The dragon slumbers as they approach. Keela does not signal the attack right away and watches its broad chest move up and down slowly, watches a talon twitch as it dreams of open skies and herds of prey. For a year and more she has hunted them across lower Thedas when they have threatened towns and strongholds or stumbled upon their teeth in the rain and ice. She does not take pleasure in it - Dalish do not waste life, do not hunt for sport or fun, but she cannot deny how hot her blood becomes to fight such a monster and live. How powerful it feels to face death incarnate and survive.

For all she knows this could be the last of its kind in all the lands. Herald of Andraste, Inquisitor, First-Thaw, Basalit-An. Vhenan too, a title like all the rest when she thought it was an exception. Will Dragonslayerbe next? Has she done anything but destroy to become what she is?

What has she done?

Keela thrusts her staff into the ground and sends a burst of fire and energy into the night. The dragon wakes, claws digging trenches into the earth as it rises to meet them.

"Kaffas! Are you mad?"

"You've taken away our element of surprise!"

Dorian and Cassandra both are more startled than their quarry but if she is to die let it be head on and if she is to kill let it be as honorable as such things can be. Bull is silent as he steps to her side and heaves the great ax from his back. He turns to her with a smile and she knows he understands the ultimate truth- If there are any monsters here, it is them.

Bull rushes forward with Cassandra not far behind, her disgruntled grimace turning into something fiercer. Barriers and enchanted weapons glisten but it is the dragon's fiery breath that turns night into day. "Wonderful. Of course it's a fire dragon," Dorian mutters but she is glad. She is glad to face fire with fire. Let it burn and cleanse and let them see who is worthy enough to remain in the ashes.

They have done this dance several times and know the steps, but as the creature begins to bleed Keela begins her own melody and moves closer despite Dorian's protests. She needs to see into its eyes and understand the beast inside her own skin. A maelstrom of flame and fade and lightning flies from her body, her light and powerful attacks attracting the dragon's attention. It turns to challenge her but does not get very far. Cassandra and Bull are there to cut at its legs and sides and bring it crashing to one side.

"Now, Dorian!"

Keela blinks and the world slows around them. They strike out with magic and blade while the dragon seems frozen in time, unable to defend itself against attacks that must seem like blurs to it. The Haste spell doesn't last long but the damage done is extensive. The dragon cannot lift itself and lets out a piercing scream of agony that shakes the air. It rattles through Keela's head in painful waves yet it is the answering calls that make her heart race. Dragonlings emerge from the rocks and rubble. Their wings are only tiny twigs upon their back but they charge forward with tenacity to protect their mother. They have fought the young before too- quick little things full of sharper teeth than the adults but with hides soft and limbs still unsure. Cassandra and Dorian easily kill the first that comes close while Bull cleanly cuts off the head of the next.

Keela cannot move. She is struck immobile as her friends finish the last and watches as the mighty dragon nudges a small body with pleading whines. Something breaks inside her and sends her crashing to her knees. The creature catches her movement and its attention narrows, lips snarling back. It lets out a roar of rage and heartbreak and finds the strength to stand again. Keela can hear the others calling out in alarm and feels giant feet pounding closer, but all she can see is blood on the ground and a child in her arms.

She lets the dragon come. She can do nothing with this pain inside, like barbed chains wrapped around her ribs and pulling. They have both failed their children but it is her fault that they have died in the first place. She should have stayed away, dismantled the camp and left these lands. Her future self should have killed Solas when she had the chance.

There is warm, rancid breath upon her face and Keela looks up into yellow eyes so like her own. They regard each other for a moment, hunters and world changers, grieving and guilty mothers, before the dragon shows its razor fangs. She never feels their bite. Bull charges in with a roar of his own and digs ax deep into the creature's neck. The surge of Dorian's lightning lifts the hairs on her body as it cracks through the air and into a thick skull. Cassandra is there too, arms lifting up their fallen Inquisitor, and it is suddenly too loud. There is a high pitched wail as the dragon's eyes go dark and as the Seeker drags her away Keela realizes it is her own voice that haunts the sands now.

She doesn't remember returning to camp. One moment there is earth beneath her feet and the next it is the plush carpets of the command tent. There's a rush of leather and parchment, gauze ripping and water sloshing. There is wine for her, something red and heady that slowly stops her limbs from trembling. When she can think again the room is empty save for her friends who watch her with varying degrees of alarm and anger.

"This end now," Cassandra says. "You have asked us to tolerate this behavior for long enough."

"We're not leaving until you tell us what's happened or until you have us thrown out in irons," Dorian adds. "I think you know which one I'd prefer."

Keela glances at Bull. He sits farther back half covered in shadows, arms and legs crossed. The light is too dim to see his expression, but she doesn't miss the way he gives a little nod. So she tells them. Her voice is steady this time, detached from the emotions of it all. There is no hitch in her voice as she describes the damage done by the anchor, nor the results of Solas' success. Somehow she manages to tell the tale of Fen'Lin and her daughter's sacrifice without crackling and coming apart like logs in the fire.

There is silence when she finishes. Both her friends wear expressions that would be comical in any other situation - a mix of disbelief and horror that she knows well. Dorian is the first to recover. "As you know, time travel is something of a specialty of mine. Alexius and I were close to testing our hypothesis before I left. Even so, and pardon my skepticism when I ask, but how can you be sure any of this occurred? Solas is apparently not a trustworthy source for anything."

She pulls the memory stone from her pocket and tosses it to him. "I made this, in the future. It is all my memories from the beginning of the Inquisition until my death and while memories can be skewed by perception and time, this magic cannot be falsified."

"And how do you know that?"

"The Vir'Abelasan." Solas told her too, but she didn't believe it until the well whispered it true as well. Keela gives Dorian the crystal's instructions and he obeys, eyes closing and body going still.

"This is unimaginable," Cassandra says while he explores the future. "How could we allow it to happen? Solas is a capable mage, and I assume it would not be easy with what you've revealed, but how could we not band together to stop him?"

"Because of me." She thought she would be enough, but she never was. A foolish, vain sentiment. He would never be enough to stop her from her goals either, so why did her future self believe it to be so? The numbness begins to recede and her aching heart feels the sting like a limb coming awake. "I should have killed him."

"Inquisitor-"

With a shuddering gasp Dorian rouses himself out of the memories. "Andraste's hol- Where is he now? You learned all this and he's not a prisoner in Skyhold's dungeon? How is he still living?"

"You would ask her to kill the father of her child?"

"A child that will likely not exist now that time has been altered. You are aware of this, aren't you?" Dorian sighs. "Of course you are. It's why you've been acting this way since we've left. Keela…I'm sorry, I can't imagine how you feel, but we can't let him go about with his plans."

"He won't."

"Are you sure? Can you honestly sit there and tell me you trust him not to? Do forgive me if I don't share your confidence."

"Not for us. For her. He watched her die." Her voice breaks finally. She remembers kneeling in the forest, the broken bend of his body. Once he may have been the world's greatest threat, but he is a wolf without teeth now. "He watched his daughter ripped apart in front of him to pay for his sins. He won't do it again. He might sacrifice everything to bring her back, but that's not possible."

The look on Dorian's face changes to something remorseful yet there's a glimpse of thoughtfulness to it that makes Keela's heart skip. "What?"

"If this did occur then I believe there should be residual energy remaining from the spell. That future may no longer exist in its full form any longer, but something so massive cannot be destroyed completely."

Keela stands. "What you are saying?"

"At the very least I should be able to confirm the time alteration. If I had access to thousands of years of knowledge and a considerable amount of power," he gives her a pointed look, "I might be able to do more."

Her body shivers with regret. She never should have let Solas out of her sight, but she couldn't stand to breathe the same air he did any longer. Will this be another mistake that breaks her world? "Could you go forward to any point or only when the spell happened?"

"I'm not sure it's possible at all, mind you. Merely speculating."

"What do you need to do more than speculate?"

"Decades, probably, and things I'll never find in this wasteland. All my notes are at Skyhold and all the equipment I would need is in Minrathous at the moment. I will likely need this too." He holds up the memory crystal. "Besides Solas, it's the only thing surviving from that time."

Panic scraps on the inside of her ribs and Keela resists the urge to reach for it. Instead she calls the requisitions officer and orders them to send a raven back to Skyhold with instructions on sending Dorian's things onward to Tevinter. "Right away, Your Worship. There are also messages for Seeker Pentaghast and The Iron Bull," they reveal and hand the rolled parchments to each party.

"You would use this magic to undo what's been done?" Cassandra asks as she unrolls her missive.

"No." Keela replies, although she is tempted. So very tempted. There is no point in the future where all her friends still live and her child grows inside her, however, and she will not sacrifice a world for one soul no matter their name or the color of their eyes. "We need confirmation and we might need to understand how it was done in case Solas comes to the same conclusions as we do. I do not want to be several steps behind him ever again. There is another thing I would have you research as well."

"Oh? What could possibly be more important than this?"

"The Veil. I want to know if it can be brought down safely." Cassandra and Dorian both explode at the same moment, spewing outrage and confusion alike at her.

"You can't be serious! You can't possibly want that level of destruction to happen again."

"You know the truth and so should the rest of the world. The Veil is not natural. It may fall someday in the future on its own when we are all dead and if we do not warn them, if we do not investigate, I imagine Thedas will be devastated regardless."

"You're right. It's worth looking into at least. Although you know we would benefit the most from its creator's input. Fen'Harel," Dorian says with a laugh. "I still can't believe it. I've thrown a book at the Dread Wolf himself! It will be difficult resisting doing much worse to him the next we meet."

She doesn't mention the next time they see Solas it's likely his eyes will be able to turn them to stone. Foolish, letting him out of her sight for even a moment. "What does your letter say, Cassandra?"

"The Chantry wishes me to return to Val Royeaux. I am still a candidate to become Divine and they are desperate to have the task completed. Ugh." She crumples the note. "I refuse to go."

"You'll go. You love scandalizing the mothers as much as I do. How lovely, we all have tasks to perform. That leaves you, Bull."

Bull leans forward out of the shadows and looks at Keela. "It's from Seheron. Ben-Hassrath want me to come back and debrief."

"Marvelous. We can travel together most of the way then."

Bull hasn't stopped looking at her and she can see it, the flash of her fire and the pointed end of her staff plunged into his chest - a future that didn't happen, but she swears she can feel the wood in her palms, his last breath moving in and out.

"There was a curious memory in here." Dorian tosses the stone into the air, his brows furrowed. "Only got a glimpse, but there were Qunari everywhere. Maybe a dragon? Is Seheron in our future?"

Please, she wants to whisper, to scream, but it is her turn to wait desperately for an answer. It must be his choice, not hers, and she can understand how a future known, however horrible, may be preferable to one that isn't.

"I…not going back to Seheron," Bull announces and Keela lets out a long breath and sags forward as if released from chains. "Not going back to the Ben-Hassrath."

"Last I checked one couldn't simply retire from the Ben-Hassrath. You'll become Tal-Voshoth. You hate the Tal-Voshoth."

"Yeah."

Dorian's gaze flits back and forth between them. "What is it now?"

"Come on," Bull says and stands. "We need to talk."

Cassandra joins them. "I will see to the preparations for tomorrow."

When they leave the tent, Keela sinks down into soft pillows against the pull of exhaustion and the release of relief. There is more work to be done, a promise she will keep, decisions to be made, grief and anger still a tangle of weeds in her ribcage, and yet she feels them give way just a little, can see some ray of light through the foliage. She has made mistakes, but they do not have to cost everything for everyone she has ever cared for. They do not need to happen again. She won't let them happen, not this time.

Morning brings Dorian to her doorstep. Behind him the Inquisition is readying to depart in many directions - a few will travel to Tevinter's border while most congregate around Cassandra to embark upon the road to Griffon Wing Keep and then onward to Val Royeaux. The Seeker's journey will ultimately be pointless but it is where she belongs for the moment.

"Well, this is…" he clears his throat, "I'm not sure what to say. Don't be fooled for I have many things to say, but I'm not sure where to begin. There's something to be said of Solas and you though - at least you never do things by half measures."

"Dorian-"

"It wasn't your fault. Not just your fault, that is, and let's leave it at that shall we?"

"I'm sorry. I…" She wants to say she didn't know that it could happen, that she didn't know she would be condemning seven souls that day in the rain, that she would like to change their fate if she could, but none of that changes what was done. None of it makes her guilt any less deserved.

"You are my very best friend and few things will change that," he puts a hand on her shoulder, "but if you let this happen again I shall be very cross with you. Cross in a way that involves lightning and retribution and one of us having a very bad day."

"I promise to keep Bull safe and I promise to keep this world safe too, whether it costs Solas' life or mine to do so. I swear it."

Eyes soften and he takes a deep breath, anger and confusion settling down but not forgotten. "Hopefully it won't come to that."

She wonders what it will come to in the end. Will it be no matter how hard she tries it will still be her spell and the end of her staff in Bull's heart? What can be changed and what will always remain the same? Is a death always assured…is a life? "I don't know what I'd do without you," she says, for it is one thing that will always be true no matter what.

"You don't know what to do with me most of the time. Wish me luck and you," he taps the bottom of her chin, "no more foolishness from you. Promise me that, too."

Within the hour all parties are away. After a few rolling dunes, Keela loses sight of Dorian's white mare. The return journey is quiet but without an added sense of dread hanging over everyone this time. Their long stay within the desert is over for now and not even the aloof nature of their superiors stops the soldiers and layman from laughing and carrying on. It is infectious after so many miles and so many days. She and Bull at first stay close, mostly silent but bound together by their shared horrors, and yet one day she finds him off in the distance helping build tents for the evening or passing a drink around the fire.

For her part the warm desert seems to loosen the lines of her mouth into smiles again - not the bright ones that dazzle, but ones that stop her men from wincing every time she glances their way. Here in the endless expanse of sand and sun it easier to breathe without feeling crowded - here she can pretend her problems are small things in comparison and the road ahead starts to appear in her mind, stone by stone. She is not the broken, scattered thing she was in those memories. She is Keela Vastrula Lavellan, the Herald of Andraste who walked from the Fade, the Inquisitor who united the lands of Thedas against a common enemy and healed the sky, the First-Thaw who smote a dragon and honored the ghost of her predecessor, and these are not things to weigh her down.

She can do impossible things - she can survive this too.

"Oi, what's that?" someone shouts. Keela glances up from her thoughts to the horizon. There's a dark smudge there distorted from the waves of heat that seems to be moving even more than normal.

"Looks like Inquisition soldiers approaching fast," a scout with a spyglass says by her side. "Can't tell, but- ah!"

They cry out as an arrow lodges itself deep into their breast. The alarm of ambush is raised as Venatori pour over the sand around them with spells and steel flying. Keela manages to throw up a barrier before a spear runs her through. Everything around her speeds up - there's flashes of colors and metal glaring in the sunlight, mounts and men screaming, the acrid smell of flesh burning as she feels mages pulling on the fabric of the Fade deep in her gut.

Her barrier fails to protect her a second time as a gigantic mace swings her way. It crashes against her magic, sending it splintering into pieces and her flying from her hart. She lands in a puff of sand and air from her lungs. A great figure throws her into the dark as the Venatori agent stands above her with weapon raised. Magic surges through her in a desperate rush, not enough to stop them completely; there will be pain to come, she knows, but if she can survive-

There is a roar and the shape of a familiar great ax embeds itself into the armor of her would be assassin. Blood trickles into the shifting earth, splatters her legs as Bull pulls his weapon free. "You all right, Boss?" he asks when the attacker is well and truly no longer a threat.

"Yes." She takes his offered hand and stands to the sight of a battle quickly ending. Relief spreads through her to see more Venatori bodies spread across the ground than Inquisition colors, no doubt thanks to the reinforcements luckily arriving when needed most. One of them upon horseback approaches her now but she doesn't need him to remove that silver helm to know who is beneath it.

"Afternoon, M'lady," Rylen greets with a bow of his head and Keela nods hers in reply, still a little winded from the blow.

"Good timing," Bulls says. "Saw them coming?"

"Intercepted one of their runners and worked out the rest. My men will clean up this mess and tend to the wounded right quick, Inquisitor. Why don't we get going to the Keep?"

Despite her agreement, Keela still stops to check on a few of her injured and help turn over a fallen wagon. She finds her hart jittery but unharmed and it takes some effort to climb into the saddle now that adrenaline has waned and every new bruise and aching muscles makes itself known.

"All in one piece there, M'lady?" Rylen asks as they finally make their way.

"Yes. Thank you for your assistance."

"Just doing my duty. Speaking of - heard you zipped up that blasted Breach for good this time. Glad to hear it. Makes standing around melting in my boots for months worth a damn."

"I hope you have been doing more than standing around, Captain."

He flashes her a smile and something tightens inside. "Aye, been shoring up the keep real nice for the next time the lovely lady Inquisitor decided to swing on by. You'll barely recognize it, I think."

"Long as it's got one good cot and some grog, sounds like a palace to me," Bull grunts.

"Got plenty of both."

The day has grown hot and both Bull and Keela's injuries grow more pronounced, but nothing keeps her mind from shouting and spiraling even if she rides still and silent for much of the remaining ride. Every once in awhile she'll let her eyes slide from the desert around them to catch on Rylen's arm, the strips of colored ink on his chin, the long slope and hook of his nose. There are memories carved in the shape of him, some that have already happened and some that haven't, and her heart suddenly feels stretched by too many hands.

When she looks next his eyes are on her this time, sparkling with that same easy amusement that drew her to him so long ago in Haven's unblackened snow. She holds his gaze as Griffon Wing Keep comes into view at last and isn't sure what she wishes to find in either place.

Rylen is the first to look away as he sweeps his arm out. "Welcome home, Inquisitor."