A/N: I realise that some aspects of this may not accord with the wider DA canon about spirits and so on. Also, if you're reading these latest ones all in one go, don't wait until the last one to offer some feedbacky love!

Killeen rose to her feet.

Somewhere nearby, she could hear voices. One, a gravelly rasp, was familiar. Say that again, I have to get this down. Andraste's tits, this is going to sell like hotcakes.

The fair-haired elf who Varric called Buttercup laughed. She said, you wanted into the Fade? And then bam, she ripped him a new one. Literally. It was great! Could've kicked him in the ballsack first, of course. That would have been greater.

Killeen moved toward the voices, rounded the corner of the wall and saw the Inquisitor and her closest companions. Their voices were clear, but very far away, and they and the stones on which they stood were strangely misty.

Victorious, I see, said the dark-haired mage from the Orlesian court. What a novel result.

"Victorious," Killeen said, to see what the word felt like in her mouth, what the idea felt like in her mind. "Victorious."

None of them seemed to hear her, although the night was still and clear beneath the starless sky. She saw Dorian, leaning on his staff, Blackwall with his shield half black with soot. I wonder if he killed the dragon, Killeen thought. The false warden killing the fake archdemon. Varric will appreciate that.

"No."

It was Cole, and of all of them, he seemed the sharpest and clearest, and, Killeen realised, he was the only one who seemed to see her.

"No," he said again. "No. Go back, hurry!"

Back. At the thought she remembered the broken body she had left lying by the crumbling remnants of the dragon, and drew away from Cole.

"You have to," he said urgently.

"It will hurt."

"Yes," Cole said. "It will. A lot. But I'll help, I promise."

Cole? the Inquisitor asked. What is it?

"Broken, burnt, bleeding," Cole said. "But still a thread. Find her." And then, to Killeen: "Go back! Go back now!"

As if his words had the force of a spell Killeen found herself flying backwards, downward, faster and faster, the world blurring into dimness until she landed —

The pain was so great she tried immediately to fling herself away from it once more but it had its teeth in her, tearing into her side in overwhelming stabs of agony, and her efforts only jerked her arms and legs, which hurt more, Maker, hurts hurts hurts …

"Over here!"

"Harding?" the Inquisitor's voice said somewhere past the great red waves of pain that tumbled Killeen over and down. "Harding, can you hear me?"

"Hello, your worship," Scout Harding said weakly. "Good to see you. Ouch."

"Hold on," the Inquisitor said. "You'll be all right. What happened here?"

"Darkspawn," Harding said. "A lot of them. And then a dragon fell just about on top of us."

"Not her," Cole almost shouted. "Here!" His voice was close, and Killeen opened her eyes, saw his thin pale face through the haze descending over her vision. He reached down and touched her face. "Kind eyes and cruel jokes, stronger when she holds him. Don't leave me."

Then Cole's face was replaced by the Inquisitor's. "Maker's breath," she said. Green light spread out from her hands, washed over Killeen, brought a lessening of pain. "Vivienne! Hurry! I'm not sure I know —"

Madame de Fer's dark face, without mockery in her eyes for once. "We must stop the bleeding."

Killeen tried to speak, but her lips and tongue were cold and thick. Firefly. If I'm still alive …

"Her horse," Cole said. "She wants her horse to be all right."

"Let's get you taken care of, first," the Inquisitor said gently, and Killeen was seized with panic. Firefly, dying, brave, beautiful mare, waiting for her rider to help, waiting and waiting … She tried to tell them, struggling against their gentle hands, tasting blood as something torn inside tore more at the movement.

A long dark finger touched her between the brows. "Sleep," said Lady Vivienne, and Killeen did.

Stars swinging crazily overhead in a sky miraculous clear of sickly yellow-green. Faces looking down at her, gentle hands touching, voices murmuring comfort. Pain again, then gone once more, then back, then gone.

Time passing. She drifts, returns to stone above her, familiar, the wrong angle. Cool, fresh mountain air, an archway. Torches. A doorway. Hands lift her from the stretcher to a bed and it hurts so much she's blind and deaf for a moment.

"There, now," Lady Vivienne said, hand on her forehead. "That's the worst over."

From behind Vivianne, Killeen heard the Inquisitor say, voice soft but urgent: "Cullen. It's —"

Vivienne moved, and past her in the doorway Killeen saw the Inquisitor reach out to take Cullen in her arms, cradling his head against her shoulder, murmuring too quietly for Killeen to hear. Saw him wrap her in his embrace, shoulders shaking with the relief of having her once more in his arms.

Killeen closed her eyes and let the undertow take her.

Let the blade pass through the flesh, let my blood touch the ground, let my cries touch their hearts. The words swirled past her, a low familiar mutter made ragged by strain. Let mine be the last sacrifice … for earth, sky; for winter, summer; for darkness, Light … all that the Maker has wrought is in His hand, beloved and precious to Him.

Opening her eyes, Killeen saw a wooden ceiling, dimly lit by the glow of candles. She tried to turn her head and failed. In the corner of her vision she could see Cullen kneeling by her bed, head bowed over clasped hands, so close that if she could have moved her hand she would have brushed his golden hair with her fingertips. Beside him knelt the Inquisitor, hands wrapped around his.

"Cullen, at least for a little while. You can't go on like this," the Inquisitor said.

Cullen didn't seem to hear. "The Light shall lead her safely through the paths of this world," he said hoarsely, "and into the next. For she who trusts in the Maker, fire is her water."

Water. Killeen realised her mouth was dry as the Hissing Wastes. Water, she tried to ask.

No words came out.

"Cullen," the Inquisitor said again. "Do I have to order you?"

Killeen closed her eyes again, so as not to see him leave, drifted a while in the dim place that she had been inhabiting recently, not quite asleep, unable to wake. From time to time hands touched her, brought pain, took pain away. A cup was held to her lips, cool water, not as much as she wanted.

She was surprised to wake again to Cullen's voice, barely more than a whisper. "As the moth sees light and goes toward flame, she should see fire and go towards Light. The Veil holds no uncertainty for her, and she will know no fear of death, for the Maker shall be her beacon and her shield."

"Marvellously inappropriate," Dorian said from the doorway. "Can't you find something a little less gloomy?"

Cullen's voice was little more than a croak. "Dorian."

The mage came a few steps closer to the bed, leaning heavily on his staff. "How is she?"

"The same," Cullen said.

"Her eyes are open," Dorian said.

Cullen raised his head. His eyes were shadowed with weariness, his face marked with it. "They have been, from time to time. But —"

"Well, it's at least —" Dorian staggered suddenly, caught himself on his staff. Cullen rose quickly, lending his shoulder for support. "Thank you. Sorry, mite exhausted."

"How is — is there any news?" Cullen asked, helping the mage to the chair that stood against the wall.

"I've done what I can." The mage rested his head back against the wall and closed his eyes. "I'm not much of a healer, but Dennet says she's sound enough. Refuses to put the foot down, though. Frightened of the pain she remembers, Dennet thinks."

"Aren't we all?" Cullen said, very low.

"You really should get some rest, you know," Dorian said. "You look worse than I feel. And, naturally, you look worse than I look."

"Must you jest at everything?" Cullen snapped.

"My dear Commander," Dorian said, "knowing our lovely Lady Lieutenant, a really good dirty joke is more likely to wake her than a thousand repetitions of the Chant. And if I were you, I'd skip the bits about resting at the Maker's side, personally."

"I know as many jokes as you know prayers," Cullen said.

"Maker," Dorian said, his melodious voice rich and soft, "You are the fire at the heart of the world and comfort is only Yours to give. The deep dark before dawn's first light seems eternal, but know that the sun always rises." He paused, and then said in his normal, cheerful tones: "Your turn!"

"I hardly think —"

"Oh, no, Commander, I know a bet when I hear one. Come on. Make one up, if you can't remember any."

Cullen rubbed the back of his neck. "Well, there's — Maker, I can't believe I'm doing this! There's one, I think, about a nug. Or, no, about a man, in a tavern, who builds … boats and houses and so on. But no-one ever calls him the boat-builder, or the carpenter. Because, you see —"

You always were the worst joke-teller in Thedas, Killeen thought, as Dorian said, pained:

"You are murdering this. I may have to fall unconscious myself to avoid hearing what you do to the punchline." He gestured imperiously. "Start again. With the man in the tavern."

Cullen sighed. "You're not going to give up, are you?"

Dorian chuckled. "Not a chance."

"There's a man in a tavern," Cullen said resignedly. "Someone asks him his name, no, they ask him what he's called. And he tells them about the house building and so on, and how no-one ever calls him the carpenter, or the wall builder, or the field clearer or whatever. And this goes on for a while, I remember, all different sorts of things. And finally he says —"

But you fuck one nug ….

Both men's heads snapped around, and then Cullen was on his knees by the bed, Dorian leaning over to study her face. "Killeen? Killeen, can you hear me?"

"Water," Killeen croaked, and Cullen grabbed the jug on the bedside table, slopping water all over the floor in pouring a cupful.

Killeen drank thirstily. "Thanks."

"How do you feel, lady Lieutenant?" Dorian asked.

"It hurts," Killeen whispered.

"I'll get the —" Cullen started to rise to his feet.

"To hear you brutalise that joke," she finished, and Dorian began to laugh so hard tears streamed down his cheeks. "Maker's … balls, Cullen. How can you … get that wrong? It's the easiest … joke in the world."

"I'm sorry," Cullen said, lips twitching in a smile. "You'll have to teach it to me again."

"Later," Killeen said tiredly.

"Yes," Cullen said. "Later. Rest, now. Rest."

She closed her eyes again, imagined she felt Cullen's hand warm over hers, his lips brushing her fingertips.

"The sun always rises," he whispered. "The sun always rises. The sun always rises."

Killeen took his voice down with her into the sweet, dreamless dark.