Tucked into the Hinterlands just a short trip from Redcliffe, the Grand Forest Villa had been abandoned during the chaos of the Fifth Blight. To Adara's knowledge, the remnants of the Guerrin family had not cared to reclaim their summer home. Perhaps it held too many ghosts and memories for Arl Eamon. Adara could only assume that was how Astrid Comtois came to know about the place. Perhaps she had spent a few summers here herself, traveling from Orlais to visit her beloved sister and dote upon her nephew.

Armed with all the information Reshida could give them, they made good time. Adara pushed them as fast as they could without risking the horses, as losing any of their mounts altogether would create a much larger delay. Adara hoped that they had made better time than Astrid thought possible so that perhaps they could catch the Faithful unprepared. It was a foolish hope, of course, but she didn't have much else of a plan.

The villa was beautiful even at nighttime. The waterfall abutting the villa glowed white in the moonlight, and at first Adara really couldn't fathom why the Guerrins spent any of their time in Redcliffe Castle at all when they had this place tucked away. Once they discovered how easy it was to simply wander onto the grounds, though, Adara understood a little better why they preferred the fortifications of Redcliffe Castle. The villa was sprawling and open: gorgeously designed but surely frigid in the wintertime, and not easy to defend.

Nathaniel spent the better part of the day scouting out the villa, while Carver made sure that Adara's impatience didn't get the better of her. She very much rankled at the strong implication she would be reckless, but she had to admit that rushing here in the first place was not one of her more strategic decisions. That's because I'm not a damned military strategist, no matter who wants to dress me up as one. She had been angrily thinking that for years, probably ever since the very first time Alistair had looked to her with hope and deference in those puppy eyes of his.

Jowan had scarcely spoken a word since they left Amaranthine. Adara told him about Isolde's family because she felt he had a right to know—she certainly would want to in his position—but she was beginning to regret it. Guilt hung heavy around his neck, just like the giant bird in that old poem they had both found so fascinating as children. Adara wished she had commanded him to stay behind, but she knew he would have attempted to follow them anyway. Then he would've gotten lost and somehow found even worse trouble.

Nathaniel's scouting revealed no guard rotations, no traps, and scarcely any signs of recent life at all. Reshida hadn't been able to give them a true estimate of the Faithful's numbers, but the Crow did not believe that the group holed up in the old villa was very large. The Crows had not been overwhelmed by numbers. It was magic that caught them by surprise.

They still expected to find someone.

"Maybe they weren't actually hoping to lure you here," Nathaniel ventured. "If the group here was small, Astrid may not have felt confident enough to face you. Perhaps they fled to regroup elsewhere."

If that was the case, what did that mean for Zevran?

"We need to search the place anyway," Adara said. "Maybe they left some clue as to where they could have gone." Or some indication of Zevran's fate.

The sprawling villa had multiple towers that were connected by covered stone walkways and staircases with flowering vines planted over all of them. It had to be beautiful in the springtime. There was a peacefulness to the place that was at odds with the solemn faces and drawn weapons of their party. "Stay alert," Adara murmured unnecessarily.

A wide staircase led into a courtyard with a large tree in a raised dais at its center. Adara's eyes were drawn first to the movement of its branches in the mild breeze that set red leaves rustling gently against each other. Something moved at the tree's base, and her gaze fell on the figure hunched there. It was a blonde elven man bent almost double with one hand resting on the tree trunk for support.

"Zevran?" Adara asked.

"Adara."

He sounded terrible. Adara didn't think she had ever heard his voice sound quite so pained and hoarse before, and she had seen Zevran go through a great many horrible experiences in their time together. He tried to take a step towards them but fell to his knees with a groan. Adara ran to him without another thought. She knelt beside him and put his arm over her shoulder to try and help him back to his feet.

"Are you alone?" Nathaniel asked. Jowan kept peering nervously over his shoulder, and Carver started to cross the courtyard to help the elves.

"Maker, are you hurt? I was so worried that we were too late. Reshida is fine, she made it to—" Adara's words were cut off in surprise by Zevran's sudden burst of movement. He yanked her in front of him roughly enough for her to yelp. One arm came across her chest to hold her tightly against him, and the other had a knife at her throat before she even realized he had drawn it.

Nathaniel had an arrow nocked nearly as quickly. "Nathaniel, don't!" Adara said. She had seen him successfully take riskier shots than this one, but this was Zevran. "Zev, it's me. No one is going to hurt you," she said as gently as she could manage. If anything, his grip on her tightened. The knife tip just barely pricked into her skin.

Carver had frozen in place and raised his empty hands in an attempt to show Zevran that he meant no harm, but he drew his blade again when they heard a new voice in the courtyard: "That is likely not true."

The woman who strolled into the moonlight looked less like Isolde Guerrin than Adara had envisioned. Her hair was darker and her face was sharper. Isolde had dressed as the ideal Fereldan, whereas this woman's clothing and hair were much more Orlesian. She looked at Carver: "Lower your blade, boy, or he'll cut her throat sooner rather than later." Carver did so begrudgingly. What choice did he have?

Astrid Comtois smiled at Adara. Once Adara could take her eyes off Astrid, she took note of the armored human standing behind her. His face was also distantly familiar: Ser Harrith. Harrith kept his eyes on Carver—presumably identifying him as the largest threat in the courtyard—while Astrid spoke.

"I never planned to speak with you, you know. Or see you at all. I hoped I would just receive pleasant news of your death from the comfort of my home, but this was too interesting of an opportunity." Astrid flapped her hand at Carver in a shooing motion until he took several large steps further away from Zevran and Adara. "Do you know who I am, Commander? Or do you prefer to be called Hero?" She spit the last word with venom in her voice.

"I know who you are, Astrid. You are the sister of Isolde Guerrin," Adara said through gritted teeth. "Isolde was not my enemy."

"No?" Astrid said with raised brows. "Then what was my sister to you, hmm? A tool? Something to be used up and discarded, like what I will do to your fellow elf when I am finished with you?"

Zevran remained silent and still.

"What have you done to him?" Adara asked. She already knew because there could only be one explanation, but she still wanted Astrid to say it.

"Magic has always run in my family's blood, you know," Astrid said placidly. "My nephew was not the first." She held out a hand in front of her as if studying her fingernails. "It is not difficult to find instruction in… darker arts when you must turn to dark places to find help in the first place."

"My sister wanted to hide her son just as our parents hid me. I planned to come to them before Loghain began turning away our chevaliers at the borders. I wrote to Isolde. I asked her to send Connor to me instead, but I do not believe my letter reached her in time."

"And you would have taught Connor to be a blood mage like yourself?" Adara said.

"Do not say that to me as if you know nothing of it," Astrid snapped back. "Do not pretend we do not both know what you did to my sister."

"She didn't do anything! I—" Jowan began. Adara shot Nathaniel a look, and Nathaniel grabbed Jowan's arm tightly and whispered something in his ear. Hopefully it was shut the fuck up.

"It was her choice. It was to save Connor's life," Adara said.

Astrid swept her arm in front of her in a slashing gesture. Adara let out a small, pained sound as Zevran squeezed her more tightly. "I do not care to debate this. Give your excuses to the Maker, should he care to hear them, though I'm not sure your kind end up at Maker's side anyway."

"How do you even know what happened?" Adara had faced enough enemies to know that it was good to keep them talking, particularly when she had no plan at all.

"Teagan told me the truth of it after I learned enough from poor Connor to question. He has no idea I'm here, of course. I was always the sweet younger sister. Why would he suspect me of anything?" Astrid shrugged.

"This is a very convoluted way of killing one person, you know that?"

"I am Orlesian: I enjoy the spectacle." Maker, was Astrid joking with her? "And you are hardly one person. Each feat is more fantastic than the last, and your allies are many and powerful." Astrid tilted her head as she regarded Adara with a critical eye. "Somehow I expected you to be taller."

"I also hoped I could do more than kill you. I wanted to tear your legacy apart, and I wanted everyone to know it. The Hero of Ferelden is not above an ignominious death."

"I never claimed to be," Adara said tiredly.

"I could not attract much help with my search for justice, but there are still many, many people in Thedas who are ready to see you fall. An elf, they say. A mage, they say. How dare she try to rise so high." Astrid smiled thinly. "It only took a little to gather them and to spur them into action."

Adara recalled Evrard's letter. "It's gotten larger than you intended, hasn't it?" she asked softly. "It turned into a full-on movement. You can't control them anymore."

For the first time, Astrid looked nervous. "That is why I will finish it tonight. Before they… it does not matter. Once you are gone, it will end."

The doors to the villa slammed open, and Adara's heart sank when abominations began to pour out of it. They were humanoid in shape, but she could feel the wrongness of them immediately. They were too tall, their arms were too long. The bodies bore too much flesh in some places, forming bulbous protrusions and covering parts of their faces. Other places had no flesh at all.

"When they learned this was their chance for glory, they were eager to welcome the demons inside them. Look what they were willing to become just for the chance to rip you apart," Astrid said, her voice growing higher pitched with excitement and nerves.

So that's what became of the rest of the Faithful in the villa, Adara thought sadly.

"Kill them," Astrid said, waving her hand casually towards Nathaniel, Jowan, and Carver. With guttural roars, the abominations charged them. They were met with arrow, blade, and spell, but the abominations had greater numbers. Adara jerked against Zevran's hold to run to them, to help them, but she may as well have struggled against a stone statue.

Astrid tapped one finger against her lips while she studied Adara in thought. "Do I let you watch your allies die, or do I kill you now?" she said musingly. "That is what you do, is it not? Watch people die because of you?"

"No," Adara whispered.

The knife was already cutting a fine line into her neck, but she would have to take the risk. With a deep breath, Adara pulled sharply from the Fade to cast mind blast. She became the center of an explosion of telekinetic energy, and Zevran was blown away from her. Adara heard him smash against the tree, but she couldn't try to help him. Not yet. Not if Astrid was still able to control him.

Adara ran towards Carver, throwing her hand out in front of her. Ice was conjured in her palm that shot out in a solid stream, coating the nearest abomination with a layer of frost. Carver took the opportunity to slice its head clean off, but Adara had no time to say anything before another one was on him.

She had forgotten about the templar. Ser Harrith's smite struck her hard from behind. It hit like a physical blow, and Adara fell to the ground. With her ears ringing and the wind knocked out of her, Adara lay stunned for a moment. She had faced templars and their smites before, and occasionally she could even brace for their physical effects, but this one had caught her by surprise.

She managed to climb to her knees just as Ser Harrith appeared above her with his sword raised to finish it. Adara's magic was already returning but slowly, too slowly to roast him in his armor or blast him away from her entirely. With a flinging motion, she was able to rip the sword out of his hands and send it clattering away.

Then an arrowhead bloomed out of his throat. Harrith did not even have time to react to being disarmed, and his arm was still raised as though it held a blade. Adara looked nearly as surprised as he did. Harrith reached for the arrow in his neck, fingers touching it with a stunned expression before he fell to the ground. Across the courtyard, Nathaniel nocked another arrow on his bow and whirled around to fire at an abomination that had fallen upon Jowan and was slashing viciously at the mage.

A lithe figure almost danced into the battle. Zevran moved with catlike grace even as he surely fought the compulsion that drove him. Carver was cutting down abominations nearly as quickly as they came, and he didn't see Zevran coming before the elf buried a knife in his side. The distraction was enough for an abomination to knock the sword from Carver's hands with a swipe of its deformed clawed hands.

Adara was not going to watch anyone she loved die today. She cast about for something, anything, that was sharp.

Harrith was still alive when Adara grabbed the arrow in his neck just below the arrowhead and made to rip it out. Her hands shook and her gorge rose at the wet choking sound he made when the shaft snapped in half as she pulled it free. Once it was gone, his blood gushed across the ground in earnest, and Adara could almost hear it whispering to her. She pressed the broken arrow against her flesh, crying out in pain through gritted teeth as she dragged it down her arm.

She did not need her mana when she had so much blood.

The blood did not drip to the ground but rather seemed to twist itself into tendrils that wove down her arm, nearly singing with power. Perhaps she was only imagining it. She felt Harrith die as she drew power from his blood, and she felt Astrid's shock when Adara's mind—determined with rage—brushed against hers. Astrid struggled against her, but her power was waning while Adara was nearly set aglow with hers.

Astrid could not maintain her control over someone else when her own mind was under siege, and Zevran stopped in his tracks. His knives clattered against the flagstones only a moment before he collapsed to the floor.

Adara took control of Astrid more easily than she had Father Kolgrim or Lily. Maybe it was because she used another's blood, a thought which would have turned her stomach if she had time to think about it.

"Make them stop," Adara said.

Astrid could not speak, but Adara could hear her thoughts: I can't. Just like the Faithful, the abominations were beyond Astrid's control now. After all, demons often considered a mage's directive to be more of a suggestion even when it fell in line with their own wants. It was easy to have them create pain and death, but it was far more difficult to make them stop.

The others were slowly gaining the upper hand now. Jowan was on his feet again, if pale and unsteady, and directed a cloud of entropic energy to envelop the abomination going after Carver. The effect was unsettling: a thin dark cloud wrapped around the abomination like a swarm of insects, or a school of fish, nipping at the creature in small bites.

That left Astrid for Adara to deal with.

Astrid still fought against her hold. Adara could hear her thoughts and see flashes of memories that threatened to overcome her. Meetings with cowled figures in dark alleys, then in closed chantries. Templars, clergy, smallfolk, nobles. They were thrilled to find a purpose, and their numbers grew. At first they listened only to me but then some began to make other plans. It was greater than the Hero of Ferelden. To some, all mages needed to be shown their place. To others, all elves needed to be reminded of it. It would end gloriously, and it did not matter how many others would die in the chaos. This wasn't what I wanted. I only wanted justice for one woman, just one, a life for a life. Not this. If I can kill her now, surely it will all stop. Surely. I will stop it.

Adara forced herself to ignore the whirlpool of emotions and thoughts in Astrid's head. She had to end this before she lost control. Astrid was right about that: it had to end now, one way or another.

"Pick it up," Adara said to Astrid. The words were barely audible, but Astrid didn't need to hear them with her ears: they would be thrumming through her mind louder than drums. Nor did Adara need to specify what she talking about: her will was Astrid's will now. Shaking hands picked up one of Zevran's knives, and her eyes met Adara's. They were dark with fear and anger.

She and Isolde have the same eyes, Adara thought distantly.

"Bring it across your throat," she said. She could feel her lips forming the words, but they almost seemed to come from somewhere else.

With a slow but steady hand, Astrid placed the knife just below her ear. There was one moment's pause in which their minds were tangled together and Adara could feel her terror and her despair as if it were her own. Wait. This is too much, Adara thought. Those were her own thoughts, not Astrid's.

Astrid dragged the knife across her throat in one smooth motion. She collapsed to the ground as her blood spurted out around her, and Adara felt Astrid's mind slip away just as her life did. She was left holding on to nothing.

Adara stared at Astrid in horror. She turned away and staggered to the tree before falling to her knees and throwing up.