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Panic! At the Disco - The Good, The Bad and The Dirty

Set It Off - Why Worry

The Limousines - Internet Killed the Video Star

Kongos - I'm Only Joking

Set It Off - Midnight Thoughts

Fatboy Slim - Demons

OneRepublic - If I Lose Myself

Panic! At the Disco - Miss Jackson

Chapter 13:

Alistiar, moderately pissed off, leaned into me and from between gritted teeth ground out, "He's no warden."

"I know," I told him quietly in return, "but will you trust me when I say that we're going to need all hands on deck?"

My friend huffed and in return muttered, "I might."

I patted his chest gently. "Welcome to the Inquisition Blackwall. You can head to Haven. We'll be along in a day or two."

"That's alright," Blackwall said, hefting his shield. "I'll go with you if it's all the same."

Alistair made a sound at the back of his throat. I shot him a warning look. "No, sorry, we're about to go do something really stupid and really dangerous and I'd rather not expose you to our level of crazy just yet. Hit the camp, eat, drink head to Haven. I need you training our men and women not to hit like a templar."

Again, a strangled, guttural sound from Alistair.

This time I gave him a raised eyebrow. "Do you, or do you not, block spells with your shield and lower your eyes?"

Grumpily. "It's how I was trained."

"And our men are being trained similarly. We need variety in the troops." I nodded at Blackwall who was, for a lying liar, doing a pretty good job of hiding his preening. "We may be a day or two behind you. There are a few loose ends here we have to clear up."

Like that rogue mage den. The astrariums. Fighting the bandits taking over that area to the north west where the dragon was. The ruins with Solas. The bandits to the south once we took care of the ones to the north.

Meeting with Alistair's mom. Breaking the space time continuum.

Bull, Vivienne, Cassandra and...Fenris would be back at Haven before we were. Hopefully. I meant it when I said I didn't want any heros. Hopefully Cass would keep them all to the task. Save as many templars as possible. Get out.

Alive.

I should have left Alistair stay with them. I should have. He would have watched Fenris' back. The nervous tingle in my palms had nothing to do with the mark. I was so stressed out over it, I almost missed the rogue camping out behind an outcropping of rocks. Varric put him down with an arrow between the rogue's eyes.

"Elyria," Varric admonished, "head in the game."

How did you keep your head in the game when your heart was walking into the fire?

Day one was rough. Really, unbelievably rough. I soaked my armor to get the blood out that night. We killed a lot of people that day. Apostates, rogue templars, and mercenaries. Day two wasn't much better. The dragon actually took potshots at me while I tried to gather royal elfroot. The scorch marks on my armor wouldn't come out that night. The blood did.

I made certain to divide up the loot from the Astrariums appropriately the night before day three. Day three, tomorrow, I'd be time traveling. I blew out a nervous breath and scrubbed harder at the scorch mark. The hand on my back, rubbing my shoulders eased the tension in my neck and shoulders.

"Any harder and you'll take off the scales." Alistair told me gently. His other hand took the brush from me and put it to the side. I let him. He took my scale armor and moved it away from my line of sight. "Do you want to tell me why you're so upset?"

I could lie. "Tomorrow's going to be hard." I didn't want to lie. Not to him. "Really, awful and hard."

"Come on." One of his arms wrapped around my shoulders, "Come to bed. You can tell me about it."

I allowed Alistair to gather my things and take them toward our tent. I followed mulling over what I could tell him and what I couldn't. He held the flap open for me and I ducked in. He followed. He knelt down on his sleeping roll and folded my gear neatly, putting it to the side while I, cross-legged across from him continued thinking about it.

"What can you tell me?" He asked after several moments of silence. My Alistair, always so careful when he knows I can't tell him everything. He never argues with me. He knows I won't let him walk into it without warning. He took one of my hands in his and rubbed his thumb gently in circles.

"Tomorrow, tomorrow we're going to see a new type of rift and we're going to face something new and…" I dragged in a deep breath, holding it until I felt my heart beat calm a little. "Tomorrow, the rifts will be distorted by time."

He paused in the gentle rub of his thumb over my wrist. "Ellie...time magic? Is that even possible?"

"Magisters."

Alistair, having been friends with Fenris for so many years, probably understood how fucked up the magic of Tevinter's ruling class was. I waited while he processed what I said. "Just like them punching a hole through our world to yours and pulling you through."

My brilliant buddy. No one ever gives him enough credit for how smart he is. Looking at him you wouldn't think he's anything more than a jock. Then he talks and you think for just a second, he's just another pretty face. He is a pretty face and he's a jock but he's also so ridiculously smart. "Something like that, yeah."

"Magic," he muttered in what sounded like anger. "Mages."

"No, don't blame mages for magisters." I turned my hand over in his and squeezed. "That's like blaming all puppies for the actions of a hell hound."

He looked skeptical.

I couldn't have him not liking mages. Not when his mother was one. "Al...there's something else I have to tell you."

He laughed a puff of air. "What else can top time magic?"

I grabbed my bag and pulled my kindle. "I was back in the other place when I found out." Pressing the button to turn it on I tapped the screen a few times to pull up the downloaded wiki page. "Why didn't you tell me that Lady Isolde literally made you sleep with the dogs as a child?"

He looked down and away from me. "How did you find out?"

I held up the kindle showing him his own face. Albeit electronic from DAO. He went slack jawed. He grabbed it out of my hand and turned it. The screen turned with it, the picture compensating for the lengthwise size. "How...is that…" He stared at himself then at me.

I took it back from him gently and scrolled. "Your mother is Grand Enchanter Fiona, an elf and a mage. She and your father became lovers when she was a grey warden. Your father loved her. She gave you to him, insisted that you think your mother was human and-"

He took the kindle out of my hands and read it for himself. Hazel eyes traveled over the page a dozen times before he finally looked at me. "My mother is alive."

"Your mother is alive. And that harpy on Collins Row is not your sister." I confirmed.

He stared down at the words again. "We...we can talk to her tomorrow. Can't we? Please? When we go to meet the mages. I want," he licked his lips, "I want to talk to her. I want to ask her so many questions."

"Tomorrow. Afterward." One more time I took the kindle back and powered it off. "After all of it, once we have a chance I want to sit down with the Grand Enchanter and then you can talk to her to your heart's content."

"Ellie," he said my name like he was trying to process everything. "That was my face."

"Nah." I took out my phone, unlocked it and tapped the camera, sliding my thumb up to turn on selfie view. I turned it around and showed him, "That's your face."

He took it out of my hands like it might bite him and examined it at a variety of angles. "What is it?"

"It's called a cell phone, and it's made out of metal and plastics. Once Thedas hits the industrial revolution, it will eventually develop plastic. Thin durable material that can be used in place of tempered glass so it doesn't break as easily. Rubber, that's a fun one. You can bounce it."

He stared at me like I had two heads. The screen had gone dark already in his hands. I hit the home button and swiped the unlock key. "Smile and hit the red here."

He tried. He really did. His first selfie came out awkward with him scowling and concentrating on trying to smile. I deleted it and turned the camera around so I could take his picture. "Smile at me. Think of tiny mabari puppies wrestling with all those pudgie-" Click, "faces." Click. Click.

I turned the resulting picture around for him. "You're a good looking guy Al. Very photogenic."

He held the phone staring at himself. "That's me."

"It is. I will always have a picture of you on my phone now."

"Take one with both of us." So I did. I leaned next to him, turned it back to selfie view and snapped a few more. "If you had a cell phone, and Thedas had a cell signal, I could send these to you."

"There are so many things about your world I don't know."

My world. What a funny term. My world was Thedas as far as I was concerned. My life, my heart, all of it belonged to Thedas in some way or another. I reached over and tapped his nose. "Maybe, one day, if it is possible I can take you back with me. You'd love pizza Al. It's bread, tomato sauce with basil and oregano and ungodly amounts of cheese."

"Don't say cheese to me Ellie. That goes right to my stomach."

I tapped his nose. "I know. Come on. Let's go to bed. You've got a big day tomorrow. Even the Doctor would be proud of us with how we're going to try not to fuck it all up tomorrow."

He tilted his head at me, nose scrunched. "Doctor who?"

I just couldn't help laughing.

I'm not nervous. You're nervous. I'm terrified. I'm about to break the laws of nature, physics and the spatial-temporal dynamics of existence and life as we know it. Breathe Elyria. Breathe. The trigger to pop a rift is my mark getting within approximately (give or take a few) 100 feet. I slowed Boggie down, pausing just before crossing what I estimated was 120 feet.

Solas swore profusely.

Ahead of us the terrors stood frozen in time, half in, half out of their portals while a despair demon howled out a blast of frost suspended mid-scream. Three, no, wait, four shades in a variety of green hues held stock still, floating mid-air and posed. Like they were just waiting for us.

"I know you said…" Alistair's voice was shocked and a little bit terrified, "but…"

"That's just not right." Varric groused. "That's just a different kind of not right."

"Varric," I said as I pulled the glove off my left hand. I could feel the tell tale itch of the rift tickling the bones, asking to please just tear the fade open and relieve the need to stitch the fabric of the world. "I'm going to need a volley followed by an explosive shot. Can you do that?"

He adjusted Bianca on his back. "Bianca can do anything she sets her mind to."

"Good. Solas."

"Frost trap?" He asked.

Oh lord. Was I becoming predictable? I hope not. "That envy demon needs a fireball to the face. Or lightning. Whatever you have on tap that isn't ice based."

"Just when I begin to think I understand your strategy tactics." The elf observed.

Alistair dismounted, pulling his shield from his back and giving the new - that's right new - one handed axe a quick turn in his other hand. He took the lead walking in, nodding at me silently. I wait as they station themselves. Through the mark I could feel the stillness of this tear in the fade. Like a wasp nest hibernating in deep winter. All I had to do was take a few more steps and the activity would start buzzing. Unsheathing my weapons, I met Al's gaze from where he now stood, a foot or two from the bigger terror.

I backed up a little more, giving myself a good few extra steps to get a decent running start and took off. Everything happened fast once I crossed that twenty or so feet. The despair demon howled like a banshee, at the same time the shades began their whispering and the terrors screeched their high pitched whine. Nails on a chalkboard.

Varric and Solas went first. Explosions and repetitive shots the sound of ping, ping, ping as the arrows flew in succession. The snapping crack of ozone as Solas lets loose a chain lighting. Pop, pop, pop down went the shades before they ever had a chance. Believe it or not, the fighting calms down the nerves. By the time the ground is pulsing in time with the mark on my hand for the next round, I'm not terrified anymore.

This is just another day in the Hellmouth.

Dorian found us about ten seconds after after the rift closed. While the Redcliffe guards were calling out the all clear, a distinct, slow clap came from just beyond the gate. Varric turned on him with Bianca raised, Alistair kept his shield up.

"My, you are a sight." Dorian Pavus, the number one reason I didn't want Fenris with us. Tall, dark haired, he could almost pass as someone mixed race leaning toward Indian-British descent, dressed in the most beige clothing imaginable. No. Really. I questioned his fashion sense immediately.

My hand tight and tingly like the mark didn't want to mess with the time rift to begin with, stung a little. "I know. We're fancy as fuck. You should see the tall one in a crown."

Varric snorted. Alistair groaned. Solas chuckled.

See I'm funny as shit when I want to be.

The gate rolled up, and he stood there almost lazily looking the lot of us up and down. "I take it, then, you are the one they call the 'Herald of Andraste?'"

"Do you see anyone else here with a big green crag in their hand closing rifts?"

"Fair enough." He walked toward us with a flourish. "I am Dorian Pavus, but I assume you knew that if you're sending me letters." He held up the letter I assume was the one I had Josephine send on my behalf between two fingers. She's the diplomat after all. I'm just the face.

Alistair made a sound at the back of his throat. He leaned in, lowering his voice to say, "Ellie, are you sure?"

No. I'm never sure, but that's the way we play the game.

Redcliffe Castle. The last time I was here...looking up at the stone halls felt almost familiar, if only in a sense of time long gone. We were a ragtag group of would be heroes trying to save the world. Alistair stood next to me as we entered the hall, his back stiff, his eyes trailing around. If Oghren were here he'd have made a drunken joke about something. I know it. Shale might have made an off hand comment about the lack of change in decoration. Right now all I'm thinking about it getting through today. Today and a year from today if that makes any fucking sense to anyone.

Honestly, I don't feel like the badass representative of the Inquisition that I'm supposed to be walking into the room. Alistair to my left, Varric and Solas backing us up. We probably look like something out of a hard rock montage. Someone hit play on the soundtrack and stand back.

An absolutely awful pun about dead gods and the quasi-jackal mask of the magister greeting us sat on the tip of my tongue. What is with all the pointy bits man? I mean, really? If the goal was to make these guys look like the sitcom creeper who would 100% turn into reaver material, well they fricken succeeded on that end.

"Are you overcompensating?" I asked the white, bronze and blue clad asshat standing there staring at us like this was all shits and giggles. "Or are you just fond of looking like you are?"

And here comes that servant. Or slave. In all honesty, it didn't matter. He drank the kool-aide either way. "The magister's invitation-"

"Elyria doesn't go anywhere without us." Varric snarked from behind me.

See. My friends know how we roll.

The blonde guy's face fell for an instant, brow furrowing as he looked at me quizzically. Like he was waiting for me to disregard my party and come along like a good little pup. Instead I crossed my arms over my chest, stood firm and watched him steadily. The guy with the claws (seriously, they're actual claws on his hand) circled around us, flanking. Alistair's fingers twitched in the corner of my vision.

My buddy. Always so aware when he's in warrior mode.

Finally blondie nodded and turned indicating we follow him. More guys in mask came down the stairs, again flanking us. We went up the stairs.

"My lord magister, the agents of the Inquisition have arrived."

Alexius doesn't look like he's a terrible person. He looks like a father willing to do what he has to in order to keep his son alive and safe. The son beside him in yellow that looks so much like him. He has no idea he's about to get screwed by the big bad in a faustian deal.

Never make a deal with the devil. They never go your way. Except for that guy with the goat that we rounded up. Apparently, a deal with a rage demon possessing an unnaturally long lived goat was working out for all parties involved.

Fiona on the other hand…was staring at Alistair. Again.

Beside me Alistair's gauntleted hand bumped my gloved one. Knowing him the way I do, it isn't just because he got too close. He needed a second of reassurance. I let my elbow brush his armor.

"My friend," he almost sound genuine when he calls me his friend. As if this isn't an act. Though, I suppose, all the world's a stage. The bard told us so. "It is so good to see you, and your," he doesn't look pleased as his gaze travels over Solas, Varric and Alistair, "associates of course. I'm sure we can work out some arrangement that is equitable to all parties."

Look at him slinging favors like he's the king.

Leliana was right. He's so complimentary, I am absolutely certain he's going to try to kill me. When is the question.

"Are we mages to have no voice in deciding our fate?" Fiona finally snapped out of the shocked 'oh god my son is here' momentary pause she'd taken upon seeing us come up those stairs. The tone in her voice, irritated, incredulous, wary, a smidge of anger and not a single ounce of fear. No doubt, I'm going to like my bestie's mom.

"Fiona," Alexius' condescension is palpable, "you would not have turned your followers over to my care if you did not trust me with their lives."

Where is my goddamn backup?

Once, a very long time ago, Elyria described to him something called a s'more. He appreciated her trying to make the evening less uncomfortable. Nearby, not out of hearing distance, Hawke and Isabella were...entertaining each other. Both of them knew very well how the sound carried off the boulders on Sundermount and yet, there they were no more than one hundred feet away playing - as Elyria called it - hide the sausage.

He snorted at her description, laughing at her lewd gestures.

Though there were a dozen other moments between them, this one stuck out most to him. This was one of those moments when he realized, back then, that he - despite best efforts not to burden her with his broken soul - wanted to be with her.

"It's a graham cracker, honey flavor but sometimes cinnamon tastes just as good." She raised her voice a bit to cover the 'ooh' and 'ahh' and 'yes, just like that!' sounds Isabella was indulging in.

Obviously, Hawke was an excellent lover. Or Isabella was overacting for Hawke's benefit. Any combination of the two were possible really.

"And you put the chocolate down on the graham cracker, you put the marshmallow in the fire until it gets a nice brown crisp shell on it and then you squash it down on the chocolate with another cracker."

He glanced at her with raised eyebrows. "Sounds...messy."

She grinned at him, poking the fire with a stick. "Yeah gets all over your hands, but it tastes amazing."

"Ohhh, Garrett!"

Elyria winced at the same time Fenris rolled his eyes heavenward. "Seriously, he can't be that good."

Fenris' gaze dropped back to her. "There is only one way to find out."

She pulled a face on him, waving the stick about, the glowing end making mindless patterns in the dark. "Uh, no. I'm a team player and all, but that is above and beyond my paygrade. Besides, he's not my type."

He found himself asking, before he could stop himself, "You don't find Hawke attractive?"

As his reward for being forward with her, she flushed pink across her cheekbones, down her neck and up to her hairline. He found it very attractive. A long, loose lock of blonde hair fell into her eyes which she hastily tucked back behind her ear. "Har har, very funny."

"Do you prefer Alistair then?" He pressed, if only in a masochistic desire to hear her say yes. "Or," and he could not believe himself saying this, he prayed the answer would be no, "one of the other men in our party?" Please, Maker, let it not be Sebastian. Or the abomination. Someone like Alistair, he could live with.

Green eyes, much lighter and brighter than his own, flashed over to him and darted away again. "No." A pink tongue swiping out across her lower lip and his eyes traced the movement with the greatest attention. "You know I'm not." She stabbed the fire once more, devoid of humor now. "Don't ask questions you don't really want answers to Fenris."

One of his arms crossed the distance between them, a foot or two and stilled her movements. "Perhaps I would like answer."

Her grip on the stick faltered. "You don't."

Fenris found himself watching her mouth, "Elyria…"

Elyria's breath left her lips in a soft, sharp pant. "Don't," she slid back in the dirt and grass, "just...just don't. I can't...I won't…" She pressed those intriguing lips together and he had the deepest urge to take her wrist and pull her closer. The fingers of her left hand, despite her pulling away, were still only an inch or two away from him.

All he had to do was reach out.

"My heart can't take being broken again," her words were so soft, so low and quiet that he almost lost them in the crackle of the fire. She shifted her left hand into her lap, away from him. "Don't unless you mean it this time."

This time. He meant it last time, though she couldn't have known. Not from the way he'd treated her afterward. He simply couldn't stand being touched and despite the year or so between then and the night in front of the fire, he'd attempted to get used to it. Because he very much wanted to slide his hand under her shirt again and hear her breathing catch on a moan.

He still remembered the way she tasted. The pale skin of her chin, ear, neck. The way she gripped at his back, trying to pull him closer. The tears in her eyes and the desperate need to make it all go away because no one as beautiful or as good as she was should ever, ever hurt that way.

He still loathed himself for taking advantage of her.

Fenris withdrew, dropping the stick.

"So you and the boss, huh?"

Fenris looked up from the fire. "What?"

Bull, motioned with the stick he'd been using to stoke the fire. "You and the boss, used to be a thing. Heard it around Haven."

Fenris, very pointedly, glared at him. "And what is that to you?"

"I was thinking." The Qunari told him conversationally, "She doesn't have a type. You're thin, not too tall, but the other guy, muscles and height. Most women have a type. They like their men a certain body type, eye color, hair color, elves, humans, even dwarves. The other guy has what, hazel eyes? You have green. He's at least six foot something two hundred pounds easy. You're five foot nine and maybe one forty, one fifty."

"Is there a point to this?"

"You're an elf, he's human. He follows her around like a bodyguard. You glare and stare." Bull poked the fire. In more ways than he knew. "I'm saying, she doesn't have a type." One large shoulder rose and dropped. "I have a type." He said it with a wink.

"As do I." Fenris told him flatly. Blondes with a temper who could hold a grudge forever and a day. "Not. You."

Bull held up his hands, palms out save for the fingers holding the stick. "I'm just saying. The offer is there. She moved on, why shouldn't you? Best way to get over someone is to get under someone else."

He had no intentions of getting over Elyria. Or under someone else for that matter. He pushed out of his seat on the grass, the anger and irritating feeding the veins of silver on his skin.

Thigh high water. At least I think it's mostly water. Please, god, please be mostly water. There are huge spikes of red-orange lyrium sticking out fo the ground, and the water around it is warm. There are more spikes of it in the rafters above us.

I know where we are, I've been down here before but never as a guest. These are the cells under Redcliffe castle, where we freed Jowan. Dorian and I have about ten seconds of looking at each other before the guards come through the open doorway with;

"Blood of the elder one!"

It's a quick fight. Dorian was a badass with a staff and I'm a former merc with her favorite weapons. The blood makes the water reddish from where they've fallen. Doesn't one of these guys have a prison key on him? Sigh. Reaching down to where the one I killed fell, I started dragging him out of the water toward the raised section of floor to pat him down. Bingo! First try.

"Interesting," Dorian on the other hand walked around the room taking everything in. "It's probably not what Alexius intended-"

"A year later." I went for the sack in the corner. "We went forward in time to a year later. Don't ask how I know. I just know."

He hummed at me. "I see. The closest confluence of arcane energy, a year later."

"And in the same place." I told him, "I've been down here before. During the Blight ten years ago. This one at least is a storage area under Redcliffe."

He rubbed his chin. "Ah! Alexius used the amulet as a focus, moving us through time." Dorian sent me an appraising look. "You are quite the character Herald. Answering questions before they're asked of you."

"Elyria." I told him and went for the door the guards pulled closed behind them. "Come on pretty boy, before you start staining those silks with muck and blood."

"Pretty boy?" He questioned me as I unlocked the gate. "I don't think I've ever been called pretty before. At least not by a woman."

Peeking around the corner provided me with confirmation that we were in fact under Redcliffe. There's that chip in the wall where one of Lelianna's arrows once slid through the neck of an undead cretin and chipped the stone. "Well get used to the nicknames. Varric's going to have one for you soon enough, if not already."

The red lyrium was everywhere in almost claustrophobic amounts.

"You know," Dorian said from behind me in an observational, yet anecdotal tone, "Everyone is probably still where, and when, we left them. In some sense, anyway." He hummed to himself again, musing. "It's the same old tune. 'Let's play with magic we don't understand. It will make us incredibly powerful!' Evidently," his tone turned bitter and sarcastic, "it doesn't matter if you ric apart the fabric of time in the process."

I paused at the end of the walkway past the empty cells. "Remind me one day to tell you about how the people where I'm from discovered this thing called gunpowder." Wait a tick. I glanced back over my shoulder at the empty cell closest to the exit. Wasn't there supposed to be someone in that one? Thinking back, I couldn't honestly remember.

The first person we found after dispatching a few other unwelcome irritations in the form of Venatori guards, was Fiona. My best friend's mom leaned heavily on one wall, blocked by the huge outcropping of red lyrium in her cell. Growing out of her. I popped the lock for her, but all she did was look at the two of us with eyes the color of blood oranges.

Involuntarily, I took a step back. Me. The supposedly hardened warrior.

"You…" her voice was a rasp, nearly an echo of her former self, "you're alive. How? I saw you…" she trailed off turning away from us and bowing her forehead against the hand braced against the wall. "I saw you disappear into the rift."

"Can you tell us the year," Dorian pressed, hiding his disgust at the sight of the lyrium growing out her body.

"Harvestmere, 9:42."

"You were right," Dorian told me gently, sounding almost like he hadn't believe it at first, "but how did you know?"

"Fiona…" That empty cell back by where we were nagged at me again. "Do you know where the others are? If they're here?"

"They are...somewhere." She and Dorian began to talk, and I let them. They went through dialogue as I went over how long it had been. I arrived here in early Harvestmere. It's been weeks since then. From my count, via my cell phone's calendar, it was almost Thanksgiving, or almost Satinalia in Firstfall. Eleven months later, not a full year.

Fiona finished with Dorian, and she leaned heavily against her hand again. That, I supposed, was all she could give us.

We kept going. There were no more guards between us and Solas. Ah, Dread Wolf. How the mighty had fallen. Varric came across lack luster in his attempt to grin at me. I went to hug him and he pushed me off.

"Once it gets into you," Varric told me stiffly, "you can give it to others."

"Like the plague." I let my arms drop and sighed heavily. This was bad. I knew it would be bad, but this. This was worse than bad. I cast around. "Where's Alistair? We've been through a dozen-"

The way the two of them looked down and away from me. I swallowed hard. No. No. No. "Varric where is Alistair?"

He shook his head. "I don't know. They took him a long time ago." He looked up at me with orange-red eyes, "a long, long time ago."

For a second I couldn't breathe. "But...but you don't know if he's dead or alive or shackled somewhere else right?" I almost reached out to grab Varric's shoulder, my hand paused hallway between him and me. "Right?"

"It is possible." Solas told us, or maybe just me. He didn't sound convinced. He didn't sound like he was trying to convince me.

I breathed out hard and we moved on.

"We have to go up," Solas' said as we moved, "I've heard the guards saying that Alexius has barricaded himself in the throne room."

So up we went taking guards and Venatori down as we went.

It might have been the anxiety, but that godforsaken Prayer to the New God stuck in my head even after I lit it on fire. I held it much like I had Aedan's letter over a candle flame. Only this time, instead of being annoyed, I was verging on rage. We still hadn't found Alistair and the gnawing pit of worry in my gut was turning itself into fear.

We reached another hallway and there were voices.

"How did Duke know of the sacrifice in the Temple?" The voice demanded, "answer!"

"Never." Lelianna replied. Someone struck her.

"There's no use to this defiance little bird. There's no one left for you to protect." The voice continued.

"You're wasting your breath." Again with the striking her.

I kicked one foot against the door fully expecting the group of us to have to break it down. It gave easily. The bastard left the door unlocked and open! Unfucking believable.

"Talk!" He said at the same time the door slammed open and I walked in.

She saw me, over his shoulder and he saw her look up. He turned and Lelianna did what Lelianna does with efficiency. Her legs wrapped around his neck and snapped. Down her torturer went.

By the time the others were in the room, I was already searching his body for a key.

"You're alive." She too had that strange echoing rasp to her voice and stared at me like I was the ghost of Christmas future.

"I'm alive." I had to brace against the wall to reach her shackles. "You're stubborn as fuck, you know that?"

Lelianna bowed her head. "I do." Her hand went out and for a moment I thought she was going to take mine in hers. Instead she took the key from me and walked, with a slight wobble, to the cage in the corner.

The cage that was supposed to be empty, but wasn't.

A lone figure curled up and draped in black. She unlocked the cage, reaching in to shake the body. It moved. For the briefest of moments I thought that maybe it was one of our other companions. It was too small and too slight to be Alistair.

Then his hood fell back and oh my god…

Fenris, the green eyes I loved so much a burning orange-red, peered outward, the tattoos along his chin and neck, no longer silver and softly glowing. Instead they were angry red, like welts made by something white hot pressed into his skin.

I was walking forward as he climbed out of the cage before I realized my feet were moving. "Fenris."

"Don't," he snarled at me pulling in on himself. "Don't touch me."

I swallowed hard and withdrew my hand. "Do they hurt? Your scars."

"They always hurt," he snapped in anger. He blinked, it was a slow, pained blink. "Now they burn."

Oh god. No.

I apologized for this chapter in advance. I know, I know. I'm an awful, horrible, terrible person.

Now I'm apologizing for the next chapter too. Possibly the following one in addition.

Thank you to all my reviewers! I love you. I really do. You're lovely, lovely people.