"Call it off! Harry!"

His body reacted before his mind, responding to the panicked shout by falling into a battle stance.

Falling was the key part of proceedings, unfortunately.

Expecting two legs, Harry found himself dealing with four. With that slight misalignment of reflexes and reality, coordination, naturally, did not pull through very well.

By the time awareness filtered through the low level panic, he was slanted past the point of no return and transfigured somewhere on a spectrum of deer to human.

"Ugh," he groaned, face down in icy dirt, legs back where expected but too late to matter. "Never sleeping in animagus form again."

A shadow fell over him. Harry looked up. Anders and the hart were locked in a strange dance, the aim of which seemed to be some form of permanent damage.

They woke him up to mediate this? "Oh for crying out loud."

"Potter! Don't you dare go back to sleep." Anders tried to dodge closer, but the hart barred the way quickly and harried him back. Anders fended off the clearly bewildered animal with zaps that grew in strength alongside his annoyance. This going to end with a coma, Harry could feel it.

"Cut it out!"

Naturally, this was not very effective. Anders caught a glancing blow to his shoulder, sending him sprawling. He was immediately crowded with antlers, pushed into the snow. "He started it!"

Harry smelt burning hair and the hart jerked back. He whistled loudly, before the hart could retaliate. Ears flicked in his direction, there was a thoughtful pause. For a moment it seemed to be over. The following kick seemed especially deliberate.

With a groan, Harry pulled himself up.

Anders strained against renewed antler pressure. "Oh suddenly you're his best friend. His great protector. Well, you're a little late to the scene!" Ah, so he'd finally decided his position had been overwhelmed and it was time to mouth off.

"Get off him," Harry decided to get right down to business and lead with elbows, shoving at the hart's flank. It shot him a wounded look. Harry rolled his eyes, "You mustn't kill him, it'll just vindicate his tortured soul. Come on, move."

The hart stomped a hoof and eyed them suspiciously. The earth remained unmoved, just like his resolve. It was nice and symbolic.

Harry tried to force more distance between them. He was having just as much luck moving the rest of the mountain backwards. "He's my friend, you horny mule. If you kill him I'll just have to replace him with someone worse. And it won't be you."

The elk settled down, sort of. It crowded Harry instead, and seemed dead set on staying between them, but no one was getting trampled. So the corny approach worked. Bollocks.

Anders scrambled up. "Just a friend," he snarked. "Sheesh, no need to get jealous."

Harry glared, and decided he was not responsible for any damage incurred under his watch.

But with hilariously bad timing, the hart, suspecting he had slipped from their foremost attention, dropped his head over Harry's shoulder and tugged him back, almost knocking him off his feet and into the giant animal's chest. A possessive and protective move if there ever was one.

Anders snorted, eyes alight with unholy glee. "You have got to be joking."

"Coincidence!" Harry spluttered, trying to escape the determined hold. "He's an animal."

"Seems to understand you just fine. You saying that's where intelligence stops? Nope, not buying it."

Anders brushed himself down with great dignity. Snow was plastered to every surface, his hair had come loose and half the feathers on his robes were bent. Oh there would be hell to pay for that.

Harry glared at hart. "This is your fault. He's going to be insufferable now." Harry hoped he was imagining the hopeful glint in its eye. "That was not blanket permission to maul him," he added, just in case Anders was onto something.

"Anyway, I was supposed to fetch you with some sort of urgency. Let's go before they get their holy knickers in a twist," cheerfully, Anders pat his back. "I suppose your minder will be coming along."

The hart did indeed refuse to stay behind. That got some raised eyebrows, but didn't do much to lighten the mood. The advisors and Herald sat under the central tarp with Cassandra, Varric and Solas, and between them they wouldn't have had enough cheer to kick a puppy.

Harry sighed. "What do you need?"

Varric grimaced. "We have the name and face of our bad guy. Corypheus. Causer of Breaches, leader of armies and cults, ancient Tevinter magister, original darkspawn and beginner of Blights – the whole deal."

"Come again." Harry twitched. No one had a resume like that. It was ridiculous.

But the dwarf wasn't done. "Hawke and I fought him before. Long story short, we won thoroughly. I consider myself something of an expert at watching other people with big swords hack at things until they stop twitching. He was definitely dead."

"Well that's not good," Harry muttered, because sometimes swearing just falls short. Ancient, undying, well why they'd requested his presence suddenly became clear. "You want me to figure out how he's doing it, I suppose."

"That will be the first step to ending him permanently, yes," Lavellan confirmed.

"One immortal to another." Harry rolled his eyes. He didn't bother reminding them that he'd spent several decades trying to answer the question of his own continued existence, to no avail. His experience still had to count for something. "Right."

Solas tilted his head. "Do you have any ideas?"

There were probably endless ways to extend lifespans, animate dead things and what have you, but bargin bin rituals and cheap knockoff immortality only went so far: if Corypheus had died and recovered, no elixir or spell could account for that.

"Recovering from death is not trivial. Or easy to reverse engineer," Harry added sourly. "But at least it narrows our options."

He tapped his chin. Corypheus could be like Harry, like Voldemort, or like something else entirely.

He started with the easiest; the most likely. "Corypheus could be using the ill-advised art of manipulating your own soul, cutting it and moving it into objects and such."

They looked appalled.

"And that's the best case scenario," Harry laughed, grimly. "His immortality would only be as insurmountable as the protections he could place on his vessel. The tricky bit is locating it. Or them."

"What kind of vessel are we talking about?" Cullen wondered.

"Oh, anything at all. As long as it's solid, there's no limit to what a soul will latch onto."

"And here I thought blood magic was the worst thing I'd hear about today."

Harry snorted. "Option two: functioning immortality. This is where the conditions and loopholes are unknown. That would be bad on a Blights-before-the-Grey-Wardens level. Maybe Corypheus gained immortality through an artefact, a title, an accomplishment. You're going to want every spare brain working on this one. It took a century or more to figured out the weirdly specific conditions necessary for the archdemon to stay dead."

All eyes were already on him, but their expressions took on an expectant hopefulness, as if he should have all the answers.

He had none. There was a high chance that only one person held them all, and that particular darkspawn magister megalomaniac wasn't talking. Harry braced himself for a long morning.

They adjourned hours later, when the camp was preparing to move on, having achieved nothing except missing breakfast. And still, Harry was not free. Solas lurked. He revealed his intention with a polite cough and a serious look. "Just a moment, Harry."

Harry shuddered away an uneasy feeling, but he followed Solas around the people breaking camp, to a hitching post. He watched the horses paw the snow for grass, expectantly.

"Corypheus is using an ancient elvhen orb to amplify his power," Solas said, and petted a curious mare who came sniffing for food.

Harry's eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "I hope Lavellan, at the very least, knows this?"

"She is the only other."

"Alright then." Consider his morbid curiosity ignited. "Could it be extending his life?"

"No."

Solas's poker face was brilliant. Almost like facing up against a blank wall. There wasn't a sign of it in his expression but Harry knew he was deeply worried. That Harry could tell at all was slightly disconcerting; he distinctly remembered being as emotionally perceptive as the average log, but maybe he was projecting his own sense of doom unreasonably.

"Okay," Harry drawled, resting his weight against the post without thinking. It wiggled alarmingly, and his heart jumped. Graceful. He cleared his throat, Solas remained mute and amused. The conversation probably required Harry's participation to move along. He wasn't feeling up for it. "Then…?"

"We would do well to recover the orb. Corypheus unlocked its power, but that same advantage could easily be turned to our side. Not to mention, it would be fascinating to study," Solas summarised, as close to passionate as he seemed capable of.

Harry snorted. That elf and history, honestly. "What kind of power are we talking about?" he wondered. "City levelling? Earth shaking?"

"I'm sure I can't imagine what it would be capable of, in the wrong hands. But the Fade tells a story of several more, and their last bearers were looked to as gods."

Ah so it was like a wand or staff but seemingly greater than any before, a weapon as bad as the hand that held it. Harry could definitely see the sense in getting it away from a conspiring darkspawn god-to-be as quickly as possible.

"All right, I don't see why not," Harry agreed. Some of the tension in the elf's thin frame relaxed.

He nodded distractedly as Solas left. It briefly occurred to him to be curious about the knowledge source, the need for secrecy; but Solas was often strange about the Fade and ancient culture, and this problem seemed to be an uncomfortable blend of both. No, the bigger issue was turning around in his mind; how to get it.

But Harry once stolen an egg from a nesting dragon. If this orb came with an additional army for protection, well, what was life without a little challenge?

…

By lunchtime the hart had 'defended' harry from three friends and one unwelcome conversation, which in itself wasn't such a bad return. It was the other side effect Harry wasn't keen on, and it was approaching, grinning in advance.

Harry's heart filled with dread.

"He's still following you," Anders said in lieu of a greeting.

Dark brown fur was a constant presence in Harry's peripherals. He grit his teeth and muttered sarcastically, "No, really?"

"You could say, he's fawning over you," Anders beamed.

Harry mustered his most unimpressed look. "That's awful. You should be ashamed."

…

They were chasing a dream that may not be more than a crumbling pile of stones by now. It involved a lot of walking. It was easier and more pleasant after some sleep and a nice song, but it was still walking. Up mountains. In the snow. With children.

The scouts explored the paths, feeling out the safest, easier route through the snow and rocks, while Lavellan spent as much time 'leading' the procession as possible, for fear of the alternative. When she ventured back, the Inquisition swarmed her as if her miraculous knack for survival was contagious.

It amused Harry to no end.

"Troubled?" he asked her innocently, as she headed his way trying to look busy. The hart echoed him, baying welcomingly. He tried to ignore it.

"I can feel eyes on me, like a hungry wolf is stalking – oh, and the Mother Giselle is heading over right now." She was clearly a master of deadpan. Harry's respect for her grew. "Quick, look serious."

He tried his best, but lingering amusement saw him fail to meet her exacting standards. "We have no idea what Corypheus is going to do next. Discuss."

Well that crushed the cheer right out of him. Which no doubt was her intention. "You want me to guess?"

"You're an immortal, crazy mage, recently of Tevinter. I want your insight."

"So you assume I can sympathise with the bad side. You know, I did the hero/villain gig and I was actually in your shoes, not his."

She stared ahead calmly, it was very disarming. "Is that so. I've heard you've been in both."

He felt the sting. He'd been a politician rather than a cult leader, and a pretty bad one, but; "Touché. Still, this is a conversation you should have with Leliana."

"Probably," she agreed distractedly, peering over his shoulder. "The Mother is leaving."

Lavellan's shoulders relaxed imperceptibly and they walked together for the rest of the morning, silently and peacefully.

She startled him when she said, "Ma serannas."

"You're welcome," he replied automatically. "Wait, what for?"

She looked at him strangely. "I'm told you brought me back."

He smiled, and felt far more charitable all of a sudden. "Actually, you probably owe your annoying hart an apple for doing the heavy lifting."

"He does deserve a treat. His favourite, even." she agreed, and her smile took a teasing turn. "Give him a hug for me."

They were all getting too much amusement from his plight. He did not pout (much). "Oh so that's how it is. I thought you'd be on my side. But now that you're no longer dying, so much for 'falon', right?"

Her ears reddened. "I said that aloud? Forgive me. Our gods are said to have taken many shapes, when they still roamed. And then you appeared in form of deer I'd never seen. I thought you a delusion, at best, though assuming Falon'Din had returned was a little optimistic."

Harry blinked. He did not see that coming. "Well I was going to tease you about mistaking me for a friend, but confusing me with a god is much more flattering."

She frowned thoughtfully. "How did you know the literal translation?"

"Must've read it in a book." he shrugged. It wouldn't surprise him; he'd picked up quite a bit a Latin and Greek the same way.

She hummed thoughtfully. "Do you know what Banal'ras means?"

"Yes?" Harry raised a brow.

Lavellan lay a hand on the hart's flank pointedly. "You can stop calling him 'it'."

"No! Don't name him, he'll never leave!" Harry despaired. And then froze. "Wait, Banal'ras? Hey, what did I ever do to you?"

She smiled benignly. Like a tumour.

…

When Harry (plus one) had sauntered up to Dorian, bored out of his mind, and stated that they needed to have a proper conversation, this wasn't what he'd had in mind.

Dorian looked him up and down with something akin to despair. "I hoped the animal coat had been a mistake in the rush of battle. Maker knows none of us were looking our best last night. Now I see it's a permanent character flaw; the barbarians got to you."

A guffaw was startled out of him. "What?"

"Skins and furs. Honestly, did Tevinter teach you nothing? Is it so easy to revert to primitive ways, is this my future?"

"Ah, that depends on your tolerance to freezing," Harry noticed Dorian's exposed shoulder was prickled with cold. "You'll get used to the smell."

The Altus wrinkled his nose. "I think you'll find my tolerance is boundless." He shivered. "Boundless, but not silent. Fasta vass, but this climate is miserable."

Harry laughed.

People had been eyeing them already, but seeing them together cackling unseemly was stretching their good faith a little. Whispering, concerned looks, and the nudges to the soldiers increased.

Dorian gave a nearby woman a jaunty wave, causing her to shriek. He rolled his eyes and groaned, "One magister decides he wants to rule the world, and then suddenly whenever two Tevinter mages want to chat, it's a conspiracy."

Harry let the altus work up steam sympathetically. It was hard for natives to be confronted by outsider perceptions of their country. Somewhat understandable, though, since due to Tevinter's disastrous foreign policy of indifference the only ambassadors were the megalomaniacs who cared enough about restoring the empire to bother making the trip.

"What do they think we do all day! Hold evil mage meetings and pass our names around the circle?"

"Actually that's a fair enough description of the politics," Harry interjected, posing thoughtfully.

Dorian covered an inelegant snort with a quick hand. They shared a fond grin. Harry thought it was a crying shame that they'd never met before.

"Speaking of politics," Dorian collected his composure artfully. "How in the world did you get permission to engage a foreign army?"

Harry winced. He'd been trying not to think about that. "I didn't."

"Oh dear." The mage's concern seemed genuine, and Harry defrosted a few degrees.

"Yep." He was in trouble. Closing the Breach was something he could sell as world security, and Tevinter security by extension, but fighting in a foreign battle for his own means… well, the excuse of happening to be in the wrong place at the wrong time wouldn't fly when he'd personally introduced apparation to the world.

"Once we find somewhere to settle I'll head back, sort it out." He still didn't know how to talk his way around it. It felt like he'd exhausted all his options, hence the stalling tactics.

It ached, now, to talk with Dorian. He reminded Harry of the better side of Tevinter that the rest of the world never saw; the buried, authentic heart. And that was something he could lose the privilege to be a part of, something he might have already doomed himself to give up.

…

The hart lowered his antlers and bayed a territorial warning. The footsteps barely hesitated at the threat, by now.

Harry groaned and prayed for patience.

Anders stepped around antlers, eying the sharp appendages warily. "You and your Banal'ras make quite a pair, but his rack is far more impressive than yours."

"I kind of hate you. I just want you to know that."

"Oh buck up."

A flat look was all Harry could spare for that pathetic effort. "You are dead to me."

There was a blessed pause. Harry half thought it was over, but as if in slow motion, an unholy shit eating grin formed, the moment another awful pun dawned. "Oh deer, how will I ever recov- ow!"

…

After a night on the cold ground, waking up was an ordeal sweetened only by dirt flavoured porridge. And then the trek continued.

The morning, once again, ushered in bad news. Or the state of the cuisine summoned it. Either way, Leliana was the messenger, so it couldn't be inconsequential.

"Herald, my team has uncovered a problem."

"Just what we needed. Go on."

"My scouts brought down a Templar rogue. He was working alone, caught up to us around midnight. No word as to how he got so far from the main army."

Harry surveyed the battered Inquisition. They walked on a off camber slope, fairly low on the narrow pass, and half the party were separated by a ridge. It was a shit place for a fight, though not half bad for an ambush. At least the hills couldn't be hiding an army; there really wasn't room for that.

Lavellan took in the information and seemed to know what to do with it. Harry supposed defending caravans from dickheads was a Dalish speciality. "Alert the soldiers, set a perimeter. Get the children in any shelter we've got. Herd the animals into the centre, get some big men on the reins."

"It would not be wise to incite panic unnecessarily, at this point. My scouts can handle this more discretely."

Lavellan straightened, managing to look bigger than the human woman. "We don't take risks on the road. Get everyone closer together."

Not ten minutes later, the screaming started. A war party appear over horizon, which by nature of the terrain meant they were practically upon the leaders and approaching from several directions. The main band charged down the slope, covered by mage fire from the slopes above.

Harry spun, apparating in front of the villagers. He crouched and shook his head to chase away the disorientation. He could hear the armour sliding on leather under the pound of boots.

Ten metres. Five.

"Aguamenti. Glacius." A thick layer of smooth ice formed on the slope beneath their boots. Moving as one, twenty soldiers fell head over arse and slid off the side of the mountain. A pair with exceptional reflexes managed to get a grip and required a bit of a push. Oh well, Harry needed to get the ice out of the road at some point anyway. "Bombarda!"

It was their own fault for picking such a shit spot to fight.

By the time he stood, the flanking venatori and sneaky lyrium monsters had been taken care of. The Bull was enjoying himself far too much, standing over the remaining pieces victoriously. Everyone else had wisely cleared the arena. It was over so fast Varric hadn't even gotten a shot in, if his apologies to Bianca were any indication.

"How did they find us?" Cullen demanded.

Harry shrugged. "Corypheus has got the numbers and time to do whatever he wants. A group of mages could search this entire mountain range in hours, and side-along backup."

"So we should expect this to be a regular thing, now." The commander sighed.

"That'd seems a safe bet."

"You hear that, Bianca? There's always next time."

The next time wasn't as neat nor easy. Neither was the time after, or the time after that. The paths got wider, the trees provided thicker cover. The battalions could get bigger and closer, to say nothing for the individual suicidal idiots who would appear in the middle of Inquisition and let loose with fireballs.

They lost horses and precious supplies to panic, too many scouts to ambushes, and civilians to all of the above. It was slowing their progress, it was annoying and damaging, and not so great for moral.

Harry couldn't set perimeter spells or wards while they were moving, but camping for the night provided a small respite. Harry had to think three steps ahead, layering spell upon spell in a perilous knot, to stop people and spells and poisons and grenades. The first watch became a satisfying duty, as one got to see their harassers die trying to break through the protections. At least until the Templars figured out how to bring it all down. The pricks.

…

Harry's dreams had him tossing all night, rubbing his poor hips into the unforgiving ground with every restless movement. It started with giant owls in the burning buildings of the town they'd left behind, but then he started to see his reflection in the flames. The flickering smoothed out like water until the giant owls were standing on excessively large mirrors. It felt like the empty surfaces were staring at him. They unnerved him even more than the strix, who actually looked a little paternal; it reminded him of how Hedwig used to watch him, and at that thought the black owl turned into Hedwig, and then the green curse was flying and it couldn't miss her. Her feathers dripped red.

Harry blamed the snow. It was terrible to sleep on. It was just as hard and impossibly lumpy as rock, but at least stone didn't condense through the tent and any padding and clothes, then freeze all material to the ground by morning.

Oh, yeah, and it was cold.

Just a little further, Solas had said. Harry could survive that long.

…

He wasn't going to make it.

Harry had hoped he would be too busy to be bored, but in the interludes between chaos, he had too much time to think. Or just worry, as the case may be.

He needed action, not dead ends, but without a way to start gathering the information, he couldn't even begin unpuzzling lyrium, or Corypheus's immortality, or how to get his arse out of hot water with the Tevinter Senate. Or the right etiquette when mirror calling a godfather to basically say: 'Still alive! Sorry I forgot to tell you for a few days, hope you didn't notice and freak out'. (Harry felt that might need to be followed up in person).

A distraction was in order, but his usual go-to source wasn't being very obliging.

"Is it customary for you to punish the people around you when you are bored?" Solas complained, a slight bite to his tone.

Harry ignored it gleefully. "Yes, snark-master. Teach me something, please. Bestow your wit and charm, or maybe talk about that orb some more."

"No, I don't think I will." There was definitely an undercurrent of amusement, there.

"Oh come on!" petulantly, Harry kicked up a bit of snow. "Let's have a story at least."

Out of nowhere, Solas gave a put-upon sigh that did nothing to mask a tiny, indecipherable grin. "Fine."

Harry bit back his surprise. He'd expected it to take a lot more needling, maybe some blackmail. But then he noticed Lavellan was looking over curiously, and Solas was very determinedly not staring at her.

Ah. Harry fought to school his grin before the male elf noticed. So Solas was playing nice for ulterior motives (and probably several more that Harry couldn't fathom, the wizard was willing to bet).

"What do you know of the elven pantheon?"

"Not much. Their names have come up a few times," Harry said with a shrug.

"It is said that the most powerful, Elgar'nan All-Father and Mythal, the great protector, had two children under their care; Dirthamen and his twin soul, Falon'Din. The two were inseparable, they had a bond like none other in existence.

They were the brightest and lightest of the gods. Dirthamen was known for his hope. He was drawn inexorably to the innocent love Falon'Din bestowed on all things. They were perfectly complimentary, far better together than they were apart.

But they became separated when they found an elder deer without the strength to move. She desired rest, and Falon'Din kindly obliged her. He carried her deep into the Fade where she gave up her earthly body for freedom of soul. Dirthamen could not follow along the path that opened to Falon'Din, but neither noticed until it was too late. Lost and alone, Dirthamen struggled. But he knew that his brother was well and loved him, and that allowed him to conquer his greatest weaknesses; fear, rage and grief.

A pair of ravens were drawn to his strength and astute mind. They showed him the hidden paths and led him to Falon'Din, who despaired without his brother.

From then on, Dirthamen became renowned for his knowledge and love of secrets, and he could follow Falon'Din, who spared one hand for the dying souls and the other for his brother. They brightened the world together."

Solas finished with a small shrug. "Those were the innocent years. The rest include a fair bit of blood, unfortunately. Would you like to hear about how Mythal rallied the other gods against Falon'Din when he started wars to collect more worshipers, envious of the attention paid to others?"

"That's not the way they tell it in the clans," Lavellan furrowed her brows. Solas couldn't pretend not to be hanging onto her slightest reactions, then.

"I am not surprised. Every clan has a slightly different tale, all distorted by time. The Fade remembers, however, if one knows where to look," he imparted.

"Do spirits keep history?" the Herald wondered, guiltless eyes a match for any defences.

Solas gave a small, impressed smile. "Some do. Spirits of wisdom in particular. They have marvellous tales, and they are often closer to the original than one can expect in the Fade."

Harry slowed and fell behind, with no desire to be anywhere near Solas's weird flirting. He looked around for someone else who was alone and unarmed, that might be persuaded to entertain him.

…

Harry felt it before he saw it. An ancient energy had seeped into the air and rock, charging it like a thunderstorm. It was stirred by their footsteps and set his hair on end.

Reaching Skyhold felt like coming home.

…

Translations

Banal'ras: shadow

Falon: friend

Falon'Din: friend of the dead