Ah well, I bet none of you ever expected I'd come back with an update! I am happy to return! I have a short lead on this now, having resumed writing over the last few weeks. In the intervening years (*cringe*) since last being active on this project, I've taken to more detailed planning with my original works rather than my initial preference of flying by the seat of my pants. That might slow this down a bit as I feel compelled to outline more thoroughly than usual...But I am rambling. On with the chapter!

Nineteen

Fuck Crestwood

"Fuck this place," Tal grumbled, spitting as the drenching rain cascaded over his face. "Fuck it right in the ass."

From her spot walking beside Tal, Cassandra heaved a longsuffering sigh, clearly tired of listening to their newly-declared Inquisitor's whinging. Solas couldn't blame her, though he did understand Tal's frustrations better than their other companions. He knew it wasn't the rain that bothered the young Dalish man, or the long, rural road. Or the annoying, difficult to reach rift in the middle of the lake. Or the Grey Wardens they'd met who'd refused to stay and help defend Crestwood village.

No, Tal likely would've weathered all that cheerily enough. But the undead? Not so much. Thankfully, Tal seemed to have remembered to cast the cantrip Solas taught him after Redcliffe, which made sure he wasn't vomiting and gibbering in madness. But he wasn't in a good mood, and everyone was suffering for it.

"Seeker," Solas said, clearing his throat to speak over the constant patter of the rain. "Perhaps we might make camp for the night?"

With the hour growing increasingly late, it seemed unlikely they'd make any real progress slogging on through the rain. The rift was unreachable until they drained the floodwaters, and Hawke's Grey Warden contact was still an hour or two away on foot. And they were on foot, because they couldn't risk an arrow from one of the numerous undead archers rendering any of their horses lame.

Cassandra shot him an irritated look over her shoulder, as if she'd rebuke him for the suggestion—but she merely nodded. "I agree. Some of us clearly need a rest."

"And a drink," Varric muttered from beside Solas.

Cassandra glowered at him. "Absolutely not, Varric." She said his name like it was an insult.

Varric snorted. "I meant me," he said, speaking under his breath.

The wet, weary group left the path for a slightly elevated hilltop and setup camp. With the threat of undead, bandits, and red templars all in the area, they agreed not to make a fire—though it was doubtful they'd be able to start or maintain one in such wretched weather without magical means—and keep a continuous watch. Cassandra volunteered for first watch, Varric took second, Tal third, and Solas claimed the dawn stretch.

Before they bedded down for the night, the four of them ate salted meat rations in dour silence—broken only by Tal's continued griping.

"Seriously," he snarled around the soggy salted meat in his mouth. "This place can fuck right off." His hands opened and closed in his lap, as if Crestwood was a person and he was ready to throw a punch right into its face. "The next motherfucking corpse I see shambling around, I am going to ram its rusty sword so far up its ass it'll be eating steel until the next age."

Varric grunted. "You sure I can't give him a drink?"

Cassandra huffed, glaring venomously through the rain at the snarky dwarf.

Solas kept quiet, aware some of Tal's relentless crankiness might also stem from him. The young Dalish was too clever not to have realized he and Rosa were keeping something from him. And he'd also, likely, realized Solas' volunteering for this mission was meaningful—a chance for them to speak one-on-one with each other without the distraction of Rosa and Eliana. A chance for Solas to come clean and hopefully seal the growing rift between the three of them.

Yet, shamefully, he'd yet to act on that plan. While revealing the truth to Rosa had gone surprisingly well, Solas couldn't trust the same would be true for Tal. Solas had his dark future self's testament that Rosa would accept his identity from the onset, but he had no such assurances regarding Tal. The young, troubled Herald of Andraste could be difficult to read and predict, even for an old veteran of intrigue like Solas. Yet, he was Rosa's brother, and shared the same background knowledge that the elven pantheon was false. That would suggest Solas had little to fear…except that, unlike Rosa, Tal was much closer to Felassan. While the dark future Rosa, and the present one, might one day forgive Solas for killing her father, it was entirely possible Tal would be too blinded by emotion to react rationally.

Nevertheless, Solas had promised he'd confess the truth as soon as he felt Tal could handle it. Unfortunately, since arriving in Crestwood, he'd begun to feel Tal was decidedly not ready yet. His constant complaining, likely stemming from the infestation of undead and his inherited sensitivity to them, set Solas on edge. If he revealed the truth now, while Tal was as cranky as Eliana when denied a much-needed nap, it was sure to be poorly received.

And so, Solas retired to the tent he shared with Tal to sleep for the night with little more than a handful of words exchanged with their fledgling Inquisitor. He planned to express his concerns to Rosa when they met in the dreaming, but strangely, she wasn't there when he slipped into the Fade.

"She's gotten so big!" Halesta exclaimed, grinning at Eliana. The baby squealed and kicked, reaching for her grandmother. She grasped hold of Halesta's brown hair but it turned to Fade ether and slipped through her chubby little fingers. Both Rosa and Halesta laughed at the look of shock and surprise that leapt onto Eliana's face.

"I know," Rosa murmured when their laughter had died down. "I can hardly believe how fast she's growing. She's frighteningly mobile these days and refuses to sit still for her nappy changes."

"That's normal," Halesta reassured her as she tickled Eliana's plump belly. The baby giggled and squirmed with delight.

After a moment Halesta withdrew, rising to her full height. When she put her hands on her hips in an authoritative stance, Rosa couldn't stop the frown that spread over her lips. She knew that look. Halesta had gone into Keeper mode and was about to impart something they both knew Rosa wouldn't like.

"Your Elvhen lover is still with you?" she asked in a tone that did nothing to hide her disapproval of the aforementioned lover. Rosa couldn't help but grit her teeth to bite back the desire to laugh when she considered how much worse Halesta's censure of Solas would be if she knew the truth about him.

"Yes," Rosa said. "What of it?"

Halesta shot her a weary look. "You should harden your heart. Prepare yourself. It won't last."

Rosa crossed her arms over her chest and tilted her head backward to stare up at the night sky. The Black City hovered off, half-hidden behind the tall pines. Rosa had created this dreamscape out of her memories of the Brecilian Forest, laid down from her childhood there. Green bands of ghostly light coiled through the velvet black sky. The aurora, recreated in the Fade and still somehow not as breathtaking as the real thing. Rosa tried to let the sight of it here calm her.

"I didn't bring you here to lecture me, mamae."

"I know," Halesta said, her voice softer now. "But it's clear to me you need to hear it."

"You don't know Solas," Rosa muttered. "He isn't like lenalin."

"No?" Halesta asked, her tone almost mocking now. "Are you sure about that? Because everything I've heard from you about him sounds exactly like Ivun." She used the name Rosa's father had given when he first woke from uthenera. Felassan, Ivun, lenalin, ghilin. They were all names or terms for the same man who'd been so vital to Rosa's life and wellbeing—but also so absent.

Rosa heaved a longsuffering sigh. "There are things you don't know about him. He's—" She cut herself off with a gasp as she felt the Fade jerk around her. The dreamscape rippled like water. The green bands of the aurora turned into Fade ether and dissipated.

Pain clamped down on Rosa's temples. Cold sweat erupted over her body. A heavy, suffocating presence seemed to tighten the Fade around her, constricting her with it. Halesta frowned, confused, but before she could speak she vanished, torn away from Rosa's consciousness. In almost the same instant Eliana whimpered and then she too disappeared, ripped from the dream and perhaps even the Fade.

The smothering weight of the other, new presence cut at Rosa from every angle. She knew what it was, even though she couldn't yet see where it was hiding.

A demon.

She shut her eyes, willing herself to wake—but the Fade resisted. The demon was with her, holding tight.

"Leaving so soon, da'len?" a smooth, disembodied voice spoke from behind her.

Rosa whipped around, dropping into a defensive stance and lifting her hands to cast. Behind her the dreamscape had been altered into a red desert, full of sand, but the sky was dark as though a terrible storm threatened. A harsh wind sent dirt into her eyes. Rosa spat and willed it away. The grit vanished, as did the pain from her watery eyes.

A large round ball hovered over the sands ahead of her. Its surface was like water, but it was black like tar. It rippled as it spoke. "So good to see you again, child of Dirthamen."

"Raselan," Rosa snarled and spat again, this time at the demon. "Whatever you want the answer is no."

The last time she'd seen this demon she was trapped inside Hasmal Circle and Raselan, the Formless One, used her Harrowing to its advantage to force her into a bargain. It wanted her blood because of her kinship with Dirthamen. Or, alternatively, it asked her to take Solas' blood. At the time Rosa hadn't understood why in the great beyond Raselan wanted Solas' blood. What would it want with one of Mythal's generals?

Solas had given her a half-lie that made some semblance of sense at the time. But now she knew better. Her blood was not the grand prize Raselan hoped for. It wanted Fen'Harel as much or more than it wanted her and Tal.

"Pride has told you the truth now," the demon said and chuckled. "How amusing."

Rosa took a step back, swallowing to tamp down the nausea curdling her stomach acids. Demons always made her feel sick, a consequence of being a Dreamer. She shut her eyes, willing herself awake. The Fade slipped, giving way to her will. The last thing she heard was Raselan's gurgling laughter, building and warping until it became dry crackling like a fire.

And then she heard Eliana's distressed crying.

Snapping awake, Rosa found herself wheezing for breath. She opened her eyes to orange fire, roaring as it consumed the thick canvas tent beside her cot. The small tent was already brimming with smoke, the fire so close it scorched her skin.

Eyes stinging, Rosa found Eliana at her side by touch more than sight. She swept up the baby and cuddled her close as she hurried out. Bursting through the tent flap, she sucked in deep draughts of clean, fresh air. Skyhold's courtyard, littered with other tents, was already abuzz with night-watch guards and insomniacs alike scrambling for water buckets.

Rosa coughed as she stared at the rising commotion, cradling Eliana tight to her and trying to soothe the baby's frightened crying. The conflagration quickly claimed Rosa's tent and embers, carried in the chill night breeze sweeping through the courtyard, swiftly spread. Soon three other tents were burning and more sleepers rushed in a panic from their tents.

"Mage!" someone shouted. "We need a winter-school mage over here!"

For an instant Rosa started forward, determined to set right this accident. Winter-school was her least favorite, but she had plenty of mana and skill to freeze a fire like this. But Eliana's crying halted her steps as she realized just who was responsible for this mess.

There were no candles in the tent. No open fires that could've started the blaze. There was but one, awful explanation: Eliana started this inferno with a spark of lightning straight to the canvas.

Rosa's chest tightened with dread. What would the humans do if they realized the source? Although Tal seemed confident the Inquisition would never insist Elia be sent to a Circle, Rosa couldn't shake that fear. And Solas' confession only heightened her worries. What if Cassandra or Leliana began to suspect Elia's unusual mana reserves were inherited. How long before suspicion would spill over to Rosa and Eliana? Could Tal's lofty position as Inquisitor really spare his niece if—or when—this kind of accident became commonplace?

Rosa couldn't know the answers to those questions, but she did know one thing with certainty: Infants did not normally develop magic powerful enough to cause such destruction. These humans would, doubtless, wonder about it. And they'd want to control and mitigate the risk, naturally…

Better to delay the inevitable. Better for this fire to burn a little longer, until no one could quite recall where it started. Especially considering Rosa was alone at present, without Tal or Solas to provide backup.

Except for the light cast by the flames, it was dark in the courtyard, with no trace of dawn in sight. Quashing the shame that cut through her, Rosa clutched Elia closer and retreated from the commotion.

With any luck no one would notice them or realize Eliana's connection to the inferno. And, hopefully, none would blame her for not rushing to help because her first concern was always her baby before anything else. It wasn't as though the Inquisition lacked for mages, after all.

In the end, it took about ten minutes before the fire was put out. Overall, it consumed eleven tents and damaged six others. The displaced sleepers took up spots in other tents, or they bedded down in the main hall on any bedding or furs they could find.

Rosa gratefully accepted Josephine's offer to take her and Eliana into her office, providing some relief from the frigid night air. Unfortunately, with the keep in such brutal disrepair, it still proved drafty without her usual bedding of thick furs. Luckily, Eliana stayed warm tucked against her mother's body and soon drifted off to sleep. Rosa covertly cast the tiny dispelling Solas had taught her to ensure the baby didn't cause another fire before she fell asleep again at last.

Tal came awake blearily, shivering and sodden on his cot when Varric woke him for his watch—and almost punched the dwarf in the jaw.

"Whoa, whoa," Varric said, meaty hands upraised. "It's okay, Stoic. It's just me." Varric's breath smelled strongly of whiskey.

"Sorry." Tal grimaced, forcing himself to relax as he remembered where he was. Solas slept in the cot across the small tent, his breathing soft and slow. The moon must've come out since they went to bed, because now Tal could see a lot better.

"Bad Fade trip?" Varric asked. His face was in shadow, but Tal didn't miss the amused tone.

Tal frowned, realizing he hadn't been dreaming. That was…odd. He quickly lied anyway. "Yeah. Demons and shit. The usual."

Varric chuckled. "Makes me glad I can't dream."

Slowly, Tal donned his outerwear again and took up his spot watching over the camp. Varric went to bed in the tent he shared with Cassandra as soon as he was confident Tal was in place and not about to return to sleep. After pissing in a bush, Tal began his watch in earnest by standing slumped against a nearby boulder, huddled and shivering as he overlooked the landscape beyond their hilltop camp.

With the moon peeking through the scudding storm clouds, Tal soon saw the wizened, rotting figures meandering aimlessly in the distance. Corpses. He watched them unblinkingly for a long time, chewing the inside of his cheek.

Dorian had continued dodging most of his questions about necromancy, much to Tal's frustration. But Josephine and Leliana had noted his gathering interest in the subject and sent to Nevarra for a tutor, who had not yet arrived at Skyhold before Tal had to depart for this miserable place. With any luck, the tutor would be more forthcoming than Dorian on whatever secrets humans possessed regarding necromancy.

…but Tal expected to be disappointed. The ways of Lethanavir had died with Arlathan, so secret that not even an Elvhen survivor like Solas knew anything substantial of them.

These shambling corpses were the reason he hadn't been in the Fade just now. Their presence was like a sliver in the back of his brain, niggling and annoying and mildly painful. Dorian insisted corpses like this were mere spirits or demons that'd crossed the Veil. Solas thought the same. Actual souls were not involved.

Tal couldn't help but feel they were wrong, at least some of the time. This place…something about it made him vaguely angry. And sad. The Veil was thin here, Solas would say. Emotions lingered in places like this, perpetuated by the spirits and demons watching from the Fade. That was all it was.

The night was bright with the moon out now, and silent except for the quiet dripping of plants and rocks as the accumulated rainwater rolled off to the ground. The corpses walking about in the distance were soundless but for the squelch of their weight on the soggy earth and the faint hiss of their attempted breathing. The demons animating them were mimicking life in that way too, Dorian would say. Tal wasn't so sure. When had demons ever breathed?

Focusing on the nearest corpse a bit too intently, Tal suddenly felt something pop in his head. The corpse stopped mid-step and its head snapped in his direction. Green light like Veilfire coals illuminated its empty eye sockets as the thing powering it looked at him. Saw him, despite the significant distance between them.

Tal stiffened, mumbling a curse under his breath. "Elgar'nan's fiery hairy ballsack."

The corpse lifted its rusty sword, gleaming in the moonlight, and slowly turned toward him. It did not, however, advance. Instead, it waited. Staring and at attention, like a good soldier awaiting orders from a commander.

Tal narrowed his eyes, feeling over that spot in the back of his mind that had…connected with the corpse. Or with whatever animated it, rather. Anger and despair flowed to him. It wanted to tell him something. It needed him to know.

A wave of cold swept over him. No wonder Dirthamen and Falon'Din worked together back in Arlathan. With their powers combined, the two Evanuris could pry secrets from anyone—alive or dead. How horrible that one's secrets couldn't even be safe in death back then. He hugged himself, trying to rub warmth back into his body. If only he'd known this before his father died. If only his father had told him…

The corpse continued staring, unblinking. Tal frowned, too disturbed to care about whatever this thing wanted from him. Gripping the place in his mind that connected him to it, Tal pushed it away. "Fuck off, shithead."

The green lights in the corpse's eye sockets flickered and vanished. Simultaneously, the connection in Tal's head winked out of existence. The Veil, already thin, brushed against his inner senses like the caress of a silk sheet.

The corpse crumpled, collapsing in a heap of rotten flesh and old bones. The sword tumbled uselessly to the ground with it.

Tal's mouth fell open. "What the…?"

What just happened?

Tentatively, Tal left his spot by the boulder and cautiously walked downhill to investigate the putrid pile of bones. Distantly, he heard the hiss of two other corpses that'd spotted him and then began a creaking, shambling advance to attack him. Paying them little heed, Tal reached the remains of the corpse he'd put down and nudged it with his staff. There was no sign of life. No proof it'd been animated before at all.

As the other two corpses drew nearer, Tal finally lifted his gaze to them and, brow furrowing with effort, tried to pull off the same trick. Again, he felt their…consciousness? Well, whatever it was, the corpses both froze in place, halting to stare through their eyeless orbits at him. The same anger and despair combo hit him anew. He pushed past it, uninterested still in whatever grievances motivated these demons to act, and willed them away.

Both corpses toppled over as the Veil flexed again.

Tal stared at the bone heaps for a long moment before a wave of dizziness passed through him. But he still barked with delighted laughter. Well, finally, this Lethanavir thing had a useful side. It seemed that if he didn't want to engage with the dead, be they demons harboring the memory and knowledge of the departed or the remnants of actual souls, he possessed the power to banish them. Waft them away like annoying gnats.

He returned to the hilltop to continue his watch, shaken, but in a much better mood.

Daylight revealed an ugly, scorched mess in the already half-ruined courtyard. Drowsy from her interrupted night, and gloomy with guilt, Rosa helped with the cleanup effort as much as she could while also tending Eliana alone, full-time. Josephine and others volunteered to watch the baby, but Rosa dared not allow her out of sight after the disaster of last night.

As people despondently picked over the remains of tents, supplies, bedrolls, and scrolls, they occasionally asked one another what started the blaze. No one seemed to have a ready answer, thankfully. A dwarf produced a half-melted candle as evidence at one point, but an Inquisition scout cast doubt on the theory when she pointed out nearly every tent had candles inside it. Finding one half-melted in the mess meant next to nothing.

Rosa said nothing.

The Inquisition's leadership toured through the courtyard around midday. Josephine and Leliana both talked with scouts and workers alike, frowning unhappily as they toured through everything, tallying losses. Commander Cullen, however, began interviewing people. Rosa took the chance then to sneak away for lunch, hoping to escape notice yet again. She tried not to feel the stab of shame at her cowardice, avoiding her tangential responsibility to this mess. But she had to put aside her own feelings and think about Elia first, foremost, and always.

Sitting in the drafty kitchen after snagging a late bowl of soup, she offered to help the chefs with dinner, but the humans dismissed her with barely concealed sneers directed at both her and Eliana in her sling. They had little patience for a knife-eared savage with a slobbering infant getting underfoot or pilfering food before the communal meals. The servants aiding them, however, were marginally friendlier and put Rosa to work washing dishes.

That was where she was when one of Leliana's scouts found her, against all odds, and politely asked her to follow him. Rosa forced a smile onto her face and bundled Eliana up from her spot playing with dishes on the floor. The baby squalled in protest as Rosa pried a long-handled ladle out of her pudgy little hand, earning grimaces from everyone in the kitchen. Rosa comforted her annoyed daughter as she followed the scout to the tavern and up to the battlements. The glacial wind plucked at her hair and made her huddle protectively over Eliana, but she didn't hesitate and tried not to reveal the growing knot of apprehension building inside her. Why had Leliana called her up here?

The scout brought her to a tower, recently cleared of rubble so that it could be functional. Inside, Rosa saw a crude desk, chair, and bookshelves—signs someone was indeed using this space as an office. Sitting behind that desk was Commander Cullen's imposing figure, grim-faced and a bit disheveled as he bent over a parchment, writing something. He didn't look up as the scout entered, leading Rosa. Lingering near a hole in the stone wall, the spymaster, however, did take note.

"Ah," she said, smiling with what appeared to be genuine warmth. "Mistress Lavellan." She nodded to the scout. "Thank you for bringing her."

The scout nodded, offering her a formal salute. He turned on his heel, stepping outside the office.

Rosa patted Eliana in her sling, swaying from foot to foot as she looked between the commander and the spymaster. "Was there something you needed?" she asked, as innocently as she could.

"Yes," Leliana said, turning toward her, hands tucked behind her back in a posture that disturbingly reminded Rosa of Solas when he was in one of his erudite, lecturing moods. In Solas it was mostly benign, albeit a touch irritating because it often meant he was feeling superior, cool and confident, in Rosa's view. But in the spymaster it seemed more like couched menace.

For the first time, Rosa realized Solas and Leliana were probably more alike than she'd ever thought possible. Fen'Harel was certainly a well-known trickster and manipulator, both skills the spymaster likely prized for her benefit. Her skin prickled with unease, but she tried to hide it by fussing over Eliana.

"We've spoken with everyone else about last night's unfortunate fire," Cullen said, unexpectedly taking up where Leliana left off. Rosa's head swiveled fast to look at him, startled for an instant. "But not you." He tilted his head in her direction. "I'm sorry to call you away from…" He floundered, eyes flicking to Leliana searchingly. "…whatever it is you were doing."

"Washing dishes," Rosa supplied, glad she didn't have to invent something. "I wanted to get Elia away from the debris and the chill of the courtyard."

Cullen nodded to her. "I see." He cleared his throat and again glanced to Leliana. He seemed noticeably uncomfortable, unsure how to proceed. Rosa could have sympathized or cracked a joke to ease his tension, but she was too tightly-wound with her own anxiety. His behavior suggested they had somehow ascertained the source of the fire…or at least suspected it.

Her stomach sank with dread and her arms wound tighter around Eliana. "You wanted to talk with me about the fire?" she asked, twisting to gaze back at Leliana. The spymaster was watching her with a touch of something gentle in her otherwise disarming blue eyes. The sight of it slackened Rosa's spine…just a little.

"Yes," Leliana said, stepping closer to the desk as she smoothly took over from the commander. "The Commander and I need to know how the fire began. An examination of the burned material hasn't turned anything up and no one's admitted to leaving a candle lit." Her lips twisted downward with a regretful, sympathetic expression. "I hate to have to ask, Mistress Lavellan—"

"Rosa," she croaked, interrupting thee spymaster. "Please, call me Rosa." She tried to smile, desperate to hide the way her heart pounded. The office was drafty and chilly, like all of Skyhold, but she felt suddenly hot. She knew what they would ask, and she wasn't certain how best to respond.

"Rosa," Leliana said, still offering that confoundingly genuine-looking sympathy. "Do you know what started the fire?"

Rosa shrugged one shoulder and drew up as much nonchalance as she could. "I'm sorry, but no. I was dead asleep when the fire started." She shuddered for dramatic effect. "I was lucky the shouting awoke me in time that I was able to get out with Elia before we were burnt."

Leliana nodded, but her eyes narrowed. It was Cullen who, stiltedly, asked, "And…you're certain you or…the baby…didn't…?"

They know about Elia, Rosa thought. It took great effort not to flinch and yank her mind back to rationality. Yes, Cassandra, Varric, and others had noticed Elia possessed magic, but only the barest hint. Josephine had witnessed Elia cast a few sparks back in Haven and it was entirely plausible she would remark on it to others. In fact, Rosa was certain that haughty Orlesian Circle Mage Enchanter, Vivienne, had heard of it and appointed herself lead investigator on the matter. Perhaps Josephine, or Leliana or Cullen, had asked her to get involved. But, simultaneously, Rosa knew her own worry as a mother might overblow this scenario and make her paranoid. It was entirely possible these humans hadn't really taken note of Elia being unusual in any way and Rosa was spooking at shadows.

Even if they did know, perhaps they wouldn't react as negatively as she feared? Her position in the Inquisition was tenuous and undefined, but everyone who recognized she was the Herald's sister also knew she was instrumental in curbing his tendency to drink himself into a stupor. Tal's advisors knew she was a positive influence, and their "Fade expert's" partner. But did those connections offer her enough protection that they wouldn't try to lock Elia away in a Circle if they determined she was a substantial threat? How confident would they be in Rosa and Solas' abilities to protect the baby from demons or more accidental nighttime fires?

Recovering as swiftly as she could, Rosa frowned at him. "If you think that we Dalish have less control over our powers than one of the Circle Mages…" She scoffed. "You're gravely mistaken."

Cullen, already pale, blanched even further. "No, that's not what I…" He huffed and thumped his gloved hands softly on his desk. "Maker."

"What the Commander means to say," Leliana cut in, "is that children of all races have little or no control of their magic when it first manifests." She inclined her head, indicating Eliana in her sling. "I know the little one has cast sparks before. Might she have begun the inferno?"

So, Josephine had remarked on it. Rosa stared, torn between admitting the truth and lying in a different way—taking responsibility for the fire onto herself. It would be easy to shamefacedly confess she'd fallen asleep with a candle lit. A tired mother, alone in her tent, late at night…it was an easy lie to believe. And personal carelessness on her part was likely less concerning—and unusual—to these Andrastians than an infant with uncontrolled magic.

Rosa shook her head at Leliana, as though the spymaster had spoken nonsense. "Elia isn't even a year old just yet. She's not even walking and you're already afraid of her magic?" She rolled her eyes. "I expect neither of you has been around babies much, let alone a mage with a baby." Sensing Cullen's uncertainty, Rosa turned her ire on him. "After all, Circles separate families. Can't have mages breeding or living with their families, can you?"

Cullen grimaced. As a former templar, he had likely separated related mages in a Circle before. Did he realize the pain that surely caused? Had he noticed at all? Considering the expression on his face, she felt sure he had and carried a deep shame for what the templar order had forced him to do.

"So," Rosa went on, driving home the point. "How would any of you know how ridiculous it is to suggest an infant could've started that fire? But I know. The youngest mage I've seen capable of starting a fire like this one was an older toddler. A four-year old. Elia is too young." Her blood whooshed in her ears and her face burned at this bold lie. Granted, none of Elia's accidental castings had been enough that Rosa would've feared fire before last night. And the four-year-old she mentioned was herself. Considering she already knew Elia was more powerful than that, she would have to be doubly, triply careful to keep dispelling the baby at all times now.

"We don't mean to frighten you, Rosa," Leliana supplied. "Truly. If the little one did somehow start the fire, we are not looking to punish her. Or you." She offered a tight smile. "I would never dream of sending the Inquisitor's niece to a Circle. My personal belief is that the Chantry has been too hard on mages. We have only ourselves to blame for the rebellion."

The spymaster's words soothed Rosa's fear, but only slightly. She let herself visibly relax, but avoided meeting both humans' gazes as she checked on Eliana, who was nursing inside the sling and half-asleep. "I appreciate that reassurance," she admitted. "But Elia is too young." Sensing they wouldn't be convinced until they could solve this mystery, Rosa sighed. "I'm the one who started the fire."

"You?" Cullen blurted, brown eyes widening.

"Yes, me," Rosa said, scowling as she continued evading their eyes. "I was writing a letter and I dozed off. The candle must've tipped over and ignited the canvas." She huffed out a breath, her face burning with what they would see as humiliation. All the better to sell her lie. "I'm deeply sorry. It won't happen again."

"I see," Leliana said, lips pinching together.

Cullen seemed relieved. His shoulders slumped. "Well then." He half-chuckled, half-grunted. "That's settled."

"Yes," Leliana agreed, but Rosa felt certain the spymaster wasn't convinced. Still she quickly plastered a friendly smile on her face and dismissed Rosa from the office.

Slinking away over the exposed battlements, Rosa gritted her teeth and cradled her daughter even tighter to her. It wasn't merely the cold she wanted to protect her from. The whole world, material and Fade alike, seemed out to rip her precious child away.

God or no, harellan or misunderstood trickster, Rosa couldn't dispel the thought that she needed to cleave to Solas more than ever. Whatever the risks on the road, she promised herself she would fight never to be left behind without either her lover or her brother for Elia's protection.

Next Chapter:

"I didn't poison the Inquisitor," Varric rejoined. "Stop worrying, Sparkler."

"I'm fine," Tal snapped, backing up the dwarf, but his eyes were having difficulty focusing now. He saw double. Two Varrics and two Dorians. Two tables, two stacks of books…with a jolt of alarm, he realized he couldn't read the book spines anymore. His vision was too blurry and his brain too muddled.

"You can both thank me later," Dorian said and hurried away, carrying the smaller, stained bag.

"Okay," Varric said, sounding as nervous as he looked, swaying back and forth. But then again, Tal couldn't be sure that wasn't a visual hallucination. "Focus on the sound of my voice, Stoic. Close your eyes and…uh…go back to Redcliffe. Gloomy stonework. Dog-obsessed…"

Hopefully I don't seme out of practice. In my original projects I have adopted the popular first person present tense used in so many current YA projects and I was so worried I would slide between tenses when I returned to this. Surprisingly, I didn't have too much trouble, but I'm still nervous about it. Anyway, drop me a line with what you thought! I will try to update again within the next two weeks.