Through A Cloudy Looking Glass

by OldDDGuy

What if a group of people found themselves on Thedas, but they knew little or nothing about it. How would they adapt? Would they? What if they were able to defend themselves with modern weapons, but nothing else? Would they be able to make things better or worse? Rough language, some adult situations.

26. Burdens of Command

This chapter takes some liberties with the Inquisition canon.

Thanks too:

CherryJamOnToast,

Shadeslayer113, and

Efion63.

Who initially encouraged and supported my meager efforts.

Special thanks to those who have read and reviewed this story, especially Kora, Judy, and Kanta.

Warning: There is coarse language and sexual situations.

Warning: This is a longer chapter. It builds the background and answers how modern weapons might be useful.

PLEASE COMMENT; it helps me know if you are enjoying the story.

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Burdens of Command

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The dim light of the tavern barely pierced the heavy haze of smoke and stench. I leaned back against the wall, nursing a flagon of ale that did little to warm my bones or dull the ache of age. Shadows and secrets thrived here, amidst the murmur of hushed conversations and the flicker of candlelight. This place was a refuge for the lost and the damned, and tonight, it was my sanctuary.

Scanning the room, I noted the faces, the exits, and the potential threats. My gaze fell on a man sitting alone, ragged and worn—a mirror of the misery that filled this place. He seemed out of place and yet perfectly at home among the other dregs. Three rough-looking thieves approached him, their intentions clear.

"Hand over your coin, old man," the leader demanded, brandishing a rusty knife.

The man didn't flinch. In one swift motion, as he rose to his feet, he smashed his flagon into the leader's face, sending the smug bastard staggering, only to fall to a solid punch.

It was a beautiful move. I straightened, intrigued.

Seeing a false opportunity, the second thief lunged, but the man sidestepped, driving his elbow into the attacker's ribs and following with a knee to the stomach. "That particular move was a bit obvious, moron," he muttered, and he gasping the back of the thief's head, then made his forehead become one with the table.

The third thief hesitated, fear and doubt flickering in his eyes. He had no time for deliberation. The lone fighter charged, disarming the thief with a twist of the wrist and a brutal punch to the jaw, sending him sprawling beside his cohorts.

The fighter gathered what little of value the unconscious men had, took the small hoard to the publican, and retrieved his bartered dagger and a fresh flagon.

The tavern fell silent, eyes fixed on the scene. Emerging from the shadows, my armor clinked softly. "Impressive," I said, my voice calm and authoritative. "Not many could handle three attackers so efficiently."

The man's eyes met mine, hard and wary. "Just doing what I had to," he replied gruffly.

I extended a hand. "I know who you are, what happened, and that you are looking to make amends. I recognized you immediately, though you might not remember me. You commanded a detachment of guards for the Emperor's hunting party. By treaty, I am conscripting you into the Grey Wardens. Perhaps you can begin to make amends with us."

Thom hesitated, then grasped my hand. As our hands clasped, I felt the weight of his past, the burden of his guilt. At that moment, I saw not just a fighter, but a man seeking redemption—much like myself. Little did I know, this meeting would set us both on a path that would forever change our lives. "There are a few things we must do before the Joining…"

From the journals of Gareth Blackwall, Senior Warden of the Grey Wardens of Orlais.

---

In the Inquisitor's chambers, a tea party was about to begin.

The women each glanced from one companion to the next, smiles all around, one or two with jaws clenched, others with teeth gnawing fists as the small group tried desperately to restrain themselves; even Cassandra had her lips pulled between her teeth to keep from bursting out in laughter. They maintained their restraint until the Inquisitor's consort had left with as much dignity as he could preserve, which, given the circumstances, was not very much.

When the door closed behind John Gray, the thump echoed like a weight being lifted off their shoulders, releasing them from an invisible burden. At that moment, the stifled smiles erupted into a chorus of giggles and open laughter, echoing off the stone walls of the quarters and spilling out of doors onto the terraces.

It was as if they were all young girls again, leaping on beds and flinging feathered pillows in a midnight giggle frenzy.

They each settled into their usual spots around the cozy sitting area nearest the crackling fire; a sense of camaraderie enveloped them. The sound of chairs scraping across the wooden floor as Josie tried to move hers, Cassandra covered her ears and then muscled herself past the Antivan to move it the last few feet. Josie flashed a smile at Serrada, and Leliana shared it. Everyone in the room, perhaps including Cass, knew this was the outcome Josie had desired in the first place. Serrada just shook her head. Leliana stood in her usual haunt, back to the stone wall beside the hearth, her gaze fixed on the entrance stairs and door.

"Who is going to pour out?" Josie asked to change the subject or at least allow it to be changed.

"I would be happy to," Serrada shifted herself forward to reach the pot only to wince as she moved in her chair. The unfamiliar ache in her groin was a stark reminder of her recent exertions. Realizing the source of her discomfort, she glanced up to see if anyone noticed, but all eyes were conspicuously turned away.

"Alright, come clean. Should I be twingy and …" Serrada asked, waving vaguely toward the apex of her legs, her cheeks becoming flushed. Josie's reassuring smile was immediate, a gentle reminder of the bond they all shared.

Of course, all those with her had experienced the same discomfort. As alike as their reactions were, they still varied. Josie reached out a hand to touch her knee, smiling reassuringly. Leliana wore a soft smile, sharing a long-ago memory. Cassandra, as usual, seemed the most uncomfortable, shifting from one foot to the other. All were smiling to some degree, all sharing glances that spoke volumes. Serrada knew she was sharing a rite of passage with these women. It made her feel both closer and more distant from them, a strange sort of sharing that made all of them uncomfortable and kindred at once.

"How long does it last?" Serrada asked, feeling her cheeks color, wincing as she moved in her seat, feeling the strange dull ache high up between her legs again. It reminded her of similar soreness from her early horseback riding experiences, but still higher up and deep, well up inside, almost feeling like her hips were angry, making it hard to sit still.

"It will be a few days, but you will … adapt," Leliana responded, actually blushing. Josie nodded in agreement.

"It is best to keep going; do not shy away from … the activity," Cassandra's voice trailed off as she tried to be helpful, which made Serrada blush.

She had no intentions of shying away from the activity; she had worked too hard to participate and found she enjoyed it very much. But one does like to be informed, and she had never been taught. Mother had been less than helpful in that regard; such things were the province of the married couple's chamber, not for the nursery, no matter how old the occupant.

Without these women, Serrada knew she would be completely isolated on such matters, and that was too lonely a place to contemplate.

In some quarters of society, her naiveté would be unimaginable, casting her as an ill-educated bumpkin from a backwater. Worse, it made her feel like everyone knew more about intimacy than she did, which, of course, was true. Serrada's thoughts drifted back to her mother, a familiar ache stirring within her. It was not unusual for her mind to wander back to childhood during quiet times, rare as they were lately. She both longed for and resented her mother in equal measure. Serrada often yearned for maternal guidance, craving the comfort of a loving presence to help navigate the complexities of growing up. Yet, as she grew older, she realized their relationship was strained, built on unspoken expectations and distant affections.

Her mother's absence during pivotal moments etched a sense of abandonment into Serrada's heart. When her first moon arrived—a significant milestone marking her transition into womanhood, one that even the lowest peasant girl would share with her mother—Serrada felt even more profoundly abandoned, even discarded. She sought solace in the arms of Nanny Anna, or Nanna, who filled the void left by her mother. Nanna's guidance, though well-intentioned, was limited by her loyalty to Lady Trevelyan, leaving Serrada feeling adrift in a sea of uncertainty. She saw herself as a young girl again, the sense of isolation deepening as she realized that even her closest friends were of little comfort. Their boastful tales of romantic conquests rang hollow in her ears, their experiences a world apart from hers and her responsibilities. Her childhood friends often bragged about their adventures, though Serrada doubted the veracity of most of their stories. They seemed outrageous and foolhardy; one or two claimed conquests among all manner of younger men and some women. However, they were daughters of minor officials who could afford a liaison with a handsome young man at arms or even a good groomsman as long as no child was produced.

Regardless of their truth, such liberties were unthinkable for Serrada, the daughter of Bann Trevelyan, whose responsibilities left little room for such indulgences. Even such intimacy left her isolated.

Even now, she sat among far more mature, worldly, and vastly wiser companions as a sudden twinge in her left thigh brought her back to the present with a jolt as she suddenly realized the implications. She grasped the arm of the chair, abruptly consumed with fear that she might become pregnant. Her desire for John had clouded her judgement, but in the cold light of morning, she couldn't ignore the potential consequences any longer. Despite longing for a future with John, she knew now was not the time. Maker knew what the Anchor would do to a growing child.

Lost in her thoughts, Serrada barely registered the ebb and flow of the conversation around her; she focused instead on counting the days since her Moon began.

"Fifteen, maker fifteen," She whispered to herself. Then, she noticed all the women were looking directly at her.

"Fourteen, actually, Inquisitor," Mother Giselle answered as she reached the last step. "You are fourteen days since your last Moon cycle began."

Feeling the women's efforts to avoid her gaze, Serrada thought it would be just as embarrassing if they had openly stared.

"Do not concern yourself; you are not likely with child, not yet, at least," Behind Giselle came one of her apothecary aids and a young woman mage named Rhohlan or something; Serrada recognized the girl as a gifted healer.

"We thought it wise to consider options," Josie started gently.

"You can not do what you must if you are as big as a house, Inquisitor," Cassandra broke through the niceties. Where all the women had avoided looking at Serrada, every eye was on the Seeker. "What? She can not, and we all know it."

"The depths of your diplomacy have never been plumbed, have they, Cassandra," Leliana moved away from the wall to scowl at her counterpart. "The girl does not need to be slapped with the truth."

Giselle silenced them both with a look.

"We should first discover if you are or likely will be with child, Inquisitor," Giselle motioned to the bed.

"Must I disrobe or …" Serrada began to stand, then felt a twinge in her hip. Swiftly blushing, which was odd given she felt no embarrassment at being nude when they arrived, but now that her womb was the topic of discussion, she felt unexpectedly shy. She felt like she was twelve and preparing for a public bath.

"That would be helpful but unnecessary," Giselle's arm gestured toward the bed. "This will only take a few moments; you may continue to chat."

Serrada removed her jacket but left her briches and blouse on. She felt they looked nice together, and for some reason, she felt the need to look pretty. She lay on the bed, feeling even more vulnerable and singled out than she was before. Still, she controlled her breathing and waited, staring up at the ceiling and deliberately trying not to make eye contact with anyone. Mother Giselle approached with her two helpers, but the mage came closest.

"She will use her magic to see if you are already with your child. It is doubtful that it usually takes a few days, but not long." Giselle came around to hold Serrada's hand. "I know this is uncomfortable for you, but it is necessary and will not cause discomfort."

The mage girl closed her eyes and took a deep breath, passing her hands over Serrada but never touching her. She mouthed an incantation; Serrada could feel the now familiar tingle of healing magic pass through her. It was familiar but different, more intense, and she thought more probing, like fingers running along the inside of your skin. The woman's hands moved down her body, past her hips, and she felt the discomfort she had discovered earlier leave her body; the woman glanced down, smiling, then closed her eyes again and continued down to her feet.

The mage returned her focus to Serrada's tummy, down below her belly button, and the Herald could feel a sense of fingers deep inside her, multiple sets of fingers massaging something intensely.

"That sensation you are feeling is from your womb; she is searching for signs of new life," Giselle must have known, which caused Serrada to blush and focus on a tiny imperfection in the ceiling high above.

Finally, the ordeal ended, and Giselle and the mage moved away, giving Serrada a chance to dress again in peace.

Giselle moved back to the assembled women, refusing any refreshment. She waited for Serrada to retake her place and her refreshed cup before nodding for the mage to begin giving her findings.

"You are not presently with child, although that might still happen; you are a very healthy young woman and, if I may say, very fertile," that remark brought a new round of nervous laughter, and again, Giselle's look silenced the school girls.

"Would you expect anything else? She is Andraste's Herald, after all," the young apothecary said for the first time, with a hint of righteous indignation.

"Thank you, Trillan, but being the Maker's chosen does not always bring all his gifts," Giselle gently admonished. "Please give the Inquisitor your potion."

Trillan curtsied so low she nearly fell over, "It will help with any discomfort for the next few days. I am sorry it tastes awful, but I could do nothing about that."

"Rholan, please continue to share your findings, but be discrete, please," Giselle reminded, more for Trillan's ears than Rholan's.

"My apologies, Inquisitor, I meant only a compliment," Rholan paused, hoping for forgiveness; Serrada simply smiled and asked her to go on.

"Your body has had some injuries in the past but has recently been very thoroughly healed; I can sense only faint shadows of severe trauma; whoever did the healing has an extraordinary talent. I would love to meet them one day and perhaps study under them…" Rholan seemed as if she were to continue.

"I do not know if that is possible, but perhaps one day now; please continue," Serrada asked, not wanting to continue this line of conversation any further.

"Oh yes, apologies, you recently had some very strenuous exercise;" That comment brought yet more snickers and another glare; poor Rholan looked abashed.

"Ignore the children, please, Rholan," Serrada responded, smiling and giving some looks herself. "Please, ladies, let the poor girl finish, then you may laugh at my expense to your heart's content."

Rholan continued, blushing again, "You had several sets of ligaments with signs of being overstretched as well as a few muscles with slight tears, nothing severe, but still, I mended them; you should not feel further discomfort."

"I can give you some exercises and stretches to help you prevent this in the future; however, if you need healing, please do not hesitate to send for me. Thank you for allowing me to assist you, Inquisitor. It was an honor to serve you and the Inquisition," Rholan curtsied herself.

"If you two will wait down in the Inquisitor's study, I will be along in a moment," Trillan and Rholan hurried down the stairs, with many thank yous for being allowed to serve and at least two of your welcomes.

"I will have a word with them myself; please excuse me," Leliana added, moving to the door.

"Leave them alive, Lel," Serrada said before anyone else could. They were all thinking the same thing. Leliana did not answer but nodded with a smile and followed Giselle's assistants out the door.

Serrada continued to sip her tea as Giselle exchanged minor pleasantries with the assembled women until Leliana's return.

That allowed Serrada to consider each woman who composed her inner circle. Each was there for her reasons; in the end, she was the only one who had no choice in the matter, given what happened at Haven, and then after being chosen Inquisitor, the irony was rich.

They chose, but she didn't. She knew it, and so did they.

Leliana returned, and Serrada noted no blood on her gloves; that was a good sign.

Serrada put down her cup and saucer, then moved in her chair again, keenly aware that she no longer felt pain with every minor movement of her hips.

"Giselle," for the first time not using the honorific, her hands clasped over her right knee as it was crossed casually over her left. Serrada smiled up at the Reverand Mother. "What else did she do? Did she make me barren for the good of Thedas?"

"You have become cynical, my child," Giselle sounded genuinely hurt. "I think you would know I would never do such a thing, but given the recent history of the Chantry Mothers, I will forgive you for bundling me up with them, but your intuition was correct; it was more than a simple examination."

"It was not entirely her responsibility, Inquisitor," Josephine leaned in, her hand on Serrada's, gently squeezing. "We meant no disrespect, but Cassandra is not wrong. A child before dealing with Corypheus could be disastrous for your baby, for you, for all of Thades."

"It is not much spoken of," Leliana began. "You see, until only 100 years ago, such magic was technically forbidden but used nonetheless for centuries; there is a way …"

"A spell that prevents pregnancy; there, I said it. Can we move on?" Cassandra was at the end of her patience. "Although not required, it is available, and most of the female recruits have it so that they may focus on their duties. Now, can we move on to important matters? We must do something about the Wardens!"

"Cassandra, one of these days, that mouth of yours is going to get you into trouble," Josephine was surprisingly angry, Serrada noted, since it was unusual.

"You think this is news? It has before and will again. Can we move on?" Cassandra nearly stomped her foot.

"Enough!" Serrada shouted and stomped her boot. "First, Giselle, is this permanent? Will it affect me in any other way? Will it prevent me from bedding my consort? Impact my fighting? What does the potion do? Second, what is this about the Wardens?"

Mother Giselle sighed and answered, "In order, no, no, no, and it will help with the pain, but also prevent you from becoming with child in the next few days. The spell would eventually fade. However, it could take years. Any competent healing mage with any skill that fits women's needs can remove it. And with that, I shall take my leave."

Serrada stood, shamefaced. "I apologize, Mother Giselle. I was rude to you earlier; I ask you for forgiveness."

Giselle's eyes filled with unshed tears, and the other women looked away. "Child, there is nothing to forgive; you have been through a great deal, none of it your own choosing and almost all of it for the protection of others. It is we who should ask your forgiveness and trust you and your wisdom. Fare well, and hold that man tight; he loves you very much."

With that, Giselle left, leaving Serrada to deal with her equally ashamed friends who had been laughing without a care only minutes ago.

"She is right, you know," Rachelle said as she topped the stairs. "We should trust you, and she is also correct. The spell is not permanent; I could remove it if you wish."

"No, leave it; they are right. I can't afford to become pregnant, but John must not hear of this. Does everyone understand?" The steel in Serrada's voice was enough to convince if the logic was not.

"As for keeping him close," Sera, taking an apple from the breakfast tray, walked across the room and flopped down on the bed. "Andraste's hard nipples from the noise you two was making this morning, that ain't a problem."

"Dear Maker, please tell me that not everyone heard?" Serrada's face was absolutely crimson.

"Perhaps it might be best if you closed the terrace doors?" Josephine replied, her face also a bit rosy.

"I was in dueling practice with Samantha outside my quarters; it would have made no difference," Cassandra added with only a touch of a grin. "Perhaps some in the far lake camp nearer the waterfall might not have heard, clearly at least."

Collapsing back into her chair, Serrada buried her face in her hands. "Oh dear Maker, what have I done?"

"Hey, Inky, don't get your knickers all in a twist," Sera came over and hugged her friend. "You remember when we was doing pranks? What did I say about making you real? Well, you definitely did that last night, and this morning, everyone, and I mean everyone, was happy for you, even those who wanted to be your man. Those are just as impressed with him now, so it's all good, right?"

Then she pushed herself up from the chair as Rachelle took her place in Sera's arms. The Inquisitor walked to the window and gazed at the Frostbacks before her, thinking of all who must have been born, lived and died in these walls in ages past. She had been told several babies had been born since their coming; more were on the way, just not hers — at least not now.

Serrada touched her tummy, unstopping the potion. The women behind her watched her in silence; she glanced over her shoulder at their sympathetic eyes, and then she knew they did understand. She felt what she could only describe as sadness and loss before drinking the potion. She could not be pregnant, not now; she knew it. Still, some deep part of her hoped she would one day feel John's arms around her as she carried his child.

Serrada threw the empty potion bottle out over the balcony railing. She tugged her jacket firmly down, tightening her belt, one last touch of her tummy, and then turned back.

"Alright, enough of that; now, what is this about the Wardens?" By asking, she made it clear that the subject of her womb and her sex life was closed — period.

---

Later in the morning, on the Skyhold grounds, below the Inquisitor's tower.

John walked away from Cavendish's laboratory and climbed the stairs to the upper parapet along the outer wall of Skyhold. He always hated doing this; it seemed so intrusive. Once, he had forgotten to knock and walked in on a man and wife trying to conceive a child; what shocked him most was not the sex; he had seen people having sex several times, especially in stressful conditions, but never where the husband was sharing his woman with his three brothers. Thedas was undoubtedly different from Earth. He had excused himself after passing through to get to the next section of the way. All of those involved waved and smiled, and John blushed.

Following this, John suggested that modifications be made, that upper levels of the towers be divided into quarters, that the ladders be replaced by spiral staircases, which John sketched out for the carpenters, and that the pass-through rooms be Common Rooms without locks but with upper floor guest apartments each have a locking door.

Still, despite all these changes, John always stopped and knocked before passing through. The incident was not repeated, but he was always careful.

Finally, after transiting Cullen's office, he got to the repaired tower opposite the Inquisitor's tower.

Until the repairs to the wall were completed, this tower stood empty. It had several gaping holes in the side, and the top floors had been lost to the valley below; the lower portions had been assigned to storage. It was the most exposed to the elements of all the towers and was challenging to keep warm; thus, it was not suitable for quarters. Now that the repairs were complete, it had been given to workshops and space for experiments that did not use magic.

Magical research was done in the tower occupied by mages and templars, and this was almost the furthest from one could get. John found it amusing that one of the few things that the mages and templars shared was a distrust of the science the Newcomers brought. To them, science smelled and tasted of magic, but there was none, which was simply unnatural!

Oddly, they had no problem with Cavendish's work in the cells beneath their feet because that was just another form of alchemy, which was fine and dandy. However, whatever magic Master Sergeant Glenn Knox and Doctor Jack Huang were up to, well, that was clearly demonic. Still, if the Inquisitor approved, that was fine, but it needed to be done as far away from them as possible.

John approached the laboratory, the sharp odor of ozone hitting his nose. A snapping spark leapt out as he reached for the door handle, making him jump back. Eric's laughter echoed through the hall, only to be cut short by his boss's elbow to the ribs. John knocked, a muffled voice from Jack Haung shooting. "Busy! Come in if you must!"

John exchanged glances with Eric, who shrugged as John opened the door. "Hello? Glen, respond."

"Shut the door," Jack snapped while working on some device on a large table in the middle of the room. "Glenn, do we have a signal?"

"Yeah! Well damn, shove a stick up me and call me Pinocheo! It actually works; we have a signal!" Jack Haung was nearly dancing. Then, enthusiastically motioning to John and Eric. "Come here, quick, look and see! Before one of the tubes blows!"

John and Eric stepped closer and saw a white line with a bump near the end, on a greenish-blue haze on a palm-sized glass plate. John moved to the window, looking out over the lake. High in the sky was a kite, and for a tail, shimmering were shiny pieces of what John guessed was metal. "Well, this is promising, John remarked, intrigued.

At almost the exact moment, a small tongue of flame appeared, and then smoke and a strong ozone smell followed.

"Damn!" Heedless of the fire, Huang began batting his hand over the burning bits to extinguish the fire. The screen had gone dark.

Down the ladder slid Glenn Knox, who raced to the opposite Huang across the table, moving papers out of danger, all without even a glance at John or Eric.

"Ahhhh shit, well, the main board is toast, but at least we got a signal this time and that it is progress," Glenn picked up a burnt piece of circuitry and tossed it casually aside. "The relay fried; I was afraid too much current was going through it. Have to come up with something different. But it fucking worked, so we are on the right track."

"This would be so much easier if we could get a decent cavity magnetron," Jack muttered.

John didn't want to know what that was and didn't need to know; he would let them figure it out.

"Is this what I think it is?" John asked, leaning over the boards and wires.

"It's a primitive radio range finder, but it works!" Glenn said excitedly.

"What exactly is that?" Eric asked while yawning in boredom.

"It's the first step to RADAR," John explained. "Radio Detection and Ranging."

"We finished the first generation radios a month ago," Glenn added. "We needed more time to improve the receiver for Skyhold."

Glenn showed John the boxes and opened one of the smaller units. "This simple shortwave can send and receive dots and dashes."

"Dots and dashes? So you are planning to use Morse code then?" John touched a component on the board just as Jack slapped his hand away.

"Look with your eyes, Commander," Jack smiled.

"Yes, mother," John returned the grin.

"We had to extend Morse code for the additional letters in the Common alphabet," Glenn continued, ignoring the exchange.

"How did you manage the electronics?" John asked, eyes wide with interest, poking a capacitor which discharged and zapped his finger, causing him to stick it in his mouth.

"Serves you right," Jack teased.

"Vacuum tubes are old tech, based on light bulbs, and the earliest tubes are a hundred years old. The simple vacuum tube was developed in 1906," Dr Huang replied. "Didn't you take basic electronics?"

"I took it; it didn't take to me," John said with a chuckle. "But I get your point, I remember we built a rudimentary shortwave radio."

"Exactly, these are low power but reach Crestwood and Val Royeaux," Glenn said.

"Do they work in the field, and how do you power them?" John asked.

"One box is a receiver, the other a transmitter. The receiver clicks, and each set has its set frequency," Glenn explained. "We have six sets ready for deployment."

"What about the antenna, and how did you make the tubes?" John asked. "I get the principle that they are simple, but in practice, aren't they like ships in a bottle?"

"As to the antenna, we took some steel wire, insulated it by wrapped with cotton strips and glued them with tree resin, then coiled it around a wood dowel; once the resin dried, poof — mobile antenna," Glenn said, a broad smile on his face, like a proud daddy whose son just made his first three-point shot. "As to the tubes…"

John leaned over the intricate setup on the table, eyes wide with curiosity. Amidst the tangle of wires and components, a vacuum tube stood out, catching the dim light from the window. It was a delicate creation, almost like a ship in a bottle. The glass cylinder was crystal clear, encasing a complex, practically mesmerizing structure within.

Inside, a gold mesh grid was intricately woven, resembling the fine rigging of a miniature ship's sail. The grid seemed to float in the center, held in place by thin metal rods that anchored it to the base. Tiny filaments wound around like the threads of a spider's web, gleaming faintly with a promise of power.

John marveled at the craftsmanship. "Is this what I think it is?" he asked, his voice filled with awe.

Glenn, noticing John's fascination, nodded enthusiastically. "It's a triode … a three-element vacuum tubes, the heart of our radio. The craftsmanship is remarkable, isn't it? Orzammar jewelers made the gold mesh, while Orlesian glass blowers crafted the delicate cylinder. The base is Nevarran porcelain, and of course, we assemble them here at Skyhold."

John gently touched the glass, careful not to disturb the fragile structure inside. "It's beautiful," he murmured, captivated by the intricate design. It was beautiful, and some part of John felt sad, knowing it would soon be a melted mass of useless metal and slag. "It's like a ship in a bottle, so delicate and precise."

Jack, seeing John's amazement, picked up on his thought. "Exactly. Every piece has to be perfectly aligned and sealed, or it won't work. But when it does, it's like capturing lightning in a bottle."

The trio watched as the tube began to glow softly, its internal filaments heating up, bringing the device to life. The once inert components are now pulsed with energy and ready to transmit and receive signals across the vast distances of Thedas. This tiny, elegant piece of technology was more than just a component; it symbolised the merging of worlds and the ingenuity required to bridge them.

"How are you powering them?" Eric asked.

"Dagna, a clever dwarf we met at a bar, created a rune that acts like a battery," Jack started. "We regulated the current and voltages but don't know how long it will last. Dagna claims months or years."

"That still does not answer my question: how did you do this all in a week?" John asked.

"Certainly not; it was most of a year," Glenn added, waving his hands. "We went to the acceleration rooms. I will tell you I won't do it again any time soon; that was brutal. The isolation was harsh, like being in a nuclear submarine. I don't envy those guys going to Mars; I would probably open an airlock."

"So if you are confident these will work, why are we still using birds?" John asked, thinking about Emprise du Lion.

"We tried to send one to Haven, but the wagon was too rough; it was in pieces halfway there; we need something gentler," Jack never finished.

John and Eric looked at each other and said in unison, "Portals."

Before leaving, he stopped at the door, remembering something was bothering him.

"Glenn, we haven't heard from Mamiko or LJ. I'm going to find out what's going on. Do we have radios ready to go?" John asked. Glenn and Jack looked surprised at the question.

"Didn't we tell you? We have been training radio teams from the start, getting them used to the code, practicing with each other on encoding and tapping out messages, then receiving and decoding so that when the sets were ready, they would be too," Glenn looked exceedingly pleased with himself.

"No, you did not tell me, so we are ready to deploy the radios?" John was mentally counting, trying to control his temper. The freewheeling academics were a bad influence on his team; they were great for their creativity but bad for their discipline.

"Sorry, sir," Glenn said, realizing he was not responding as he should. He stood straight, although at ease. "Yes, sir, we can field three, maybe four teams, and another six are getting there."

"Fine, get one team ready immediately, gear them up for an extended stay, and have them ready an hour ago." John moved to the door. "Do the same for the others; have them ready in the morning."

"Yes, sir," Glenn replied before he and Jack set about checking and packing the radio sets. "Commander, could you send a messenger in for us?"

John stopped with his hand on the door. "Surely and good work, gentlemen, good work indeed. I shall tell the Inquisitor, and she will be pleased."

Jack laughed himself; he was as excited as a schoolboy and would not ruin her surprise. "I am excited; we will hurry as fast as possible."

---

Back in the Inquisitor's rooms, the meeting was near its end.

Cassandra and Josie stood, Josie with the tray and Cassandra herding Sera and Rachelle out of the room.

"Leliana, would you please wait a few moments?" Serrada asked while she saw her other guests out. Finally, after several minutes, they were alone.

"Would you like some more tea?" Serrada asked, unsure how to begin the conversation and hoping to think of something.

"Yes, Serrada, I would, thank you," Leliana came and sat beside the Inquisitor for the first time.

"We discussed a delicate question between we three," Leliana seemed a bit bashful, which shocked Serrada.

"Yes?" Serrada also blushed but felt somehow empowered by Leliana's apparent discomfort.

"It is a delicate question, and perhaps it would best not be asked, but Josie worried," Leliana sipped her tea.

Serrada noticed that Leliana's hand was shaking ever so slightly, which caused Serrada to become concerned; after all, they had not been so bashful with her possible pregnancy, and what question could possibly be more delicate?

"Was he gentle with you?" Leliana seemed to breathe again swiftly; Serrada watched the tension flow away, and the color rose in Leliana's cheeks as she took another sip.

It started in the Inquisitor's eyes, which went wide, and then the corners of her lips twisted upward every so slightly.

At the moment, soldiers were working through drills, and John and Eric were tucked away inside Cavendish's lab, firing the first rounds of new ammunition. All who heard it stopped and listened to the peals of laughter coming from the Inquisitors' tower. It went on for several seconds, then paused for gasps of air, then began again until everyone found they had to work. Most hoped they got to hear whatever joke had been told.

"That is what you were all nervous about!" Serrada's face was red, her eyes filled with tears, and her nose was running. "Oh dear Maker, I needed that!"

"Inquisitor, I realize that you might have thought me unfeeling, especially how we renewed our acquaintance, although the last time I saw you, you wore much more hair and not a bit of clothing," Leliana smiled, leaning back into her chair, with a smirk on her face. "Did you think I would not remember your little protest at our welcome salon in your parent's home?"

It was Serrada's turn to blush; she had hoped that Leliana might have forgotten, but she knew that was not likely. Knowing that Leliana would never have mentioned it if she had not provoked her by laughing at her discomfort.

"Touché," Serrada then smiled though her cheeks were pink. "I had wondered if you might have remembered."

"How could I not? You livened up a particularly dull evening; Ellana spoke of little else for three days. She even considered liberating you from your mother's clutches, but she was stationed at Vigil's Keep, so I dissuaded her." Leliana smiled over her cup, causing Serrada to freeze. A shiver ran down her spine. One thought consumed her: 'The Hero of Ferelden noticed me?' She tripped on nothing, nearly falling.

"You are joking," Serrada said, sure Leliana was teased.

"No, Serrada, I am not," Leliana replied with a broader smile. "Ellana saw something in you—a strength, she said, a fire in your soul that, if tended, could make you a force of nature."

"I must say, I did not see it then," Leliana sipped her tea. "But all of Thedas sees it now. I am pleased your mother did not smother that in you. However, you have not answered my question."

Serrada felt her cheeks heat to a blaze, "Yes, he was very gentle, almost too gentle at times."

She managed a conspiratorial grin, "But I think I have taken care of that … fault."

They glanced at each other and giggled like sisters, hiding under covers and telling secrets.

"I would have to agree," Leliana said, looking into Serrada's eyes. "Certainly, by the sound of it."

Serrada's mouth dropped in shock, a smile forming on her scarlet cheeks before she started laughing again. "You know, Leliana, I have read every book I could find on you and Ellana. One day, I hope you will tell me some of the true stories," Serrada reached out to touch Leliana's hand; instinctively, her spymaster pulled it away, realizing she had; Leliana placed it in Serrada's hands.

"It all seems like a dream. We were together, and we fell in love. I was a child then, a strange mix of innocence and cynicism. Ellana was in such pain from the loss of her family, and then the Joining was eating her alive. The Blight taint was much worse for her than for Alistair. I watched it slowly destroy her," Leliana removed her gloves for the first time to wipe away a tear. It was then that Serrada saw why she wore them.

Others might have seen it as poetic, but Leliana's left hand was scared, crisscrossed with folds of twisted and discolored flesh, the results of horrible burns. Leliana noticed Serrada's shock. The wounds were on Leliana's bow hand; Serrada had seen them in the nightmare future at Redcliff. However, she thought it was only the torture of that horrible place. Now she knew that those scars were from the past.

"The authors of those books don't talk about the marks that fighting an archdemon can leave on you, yes? Do they speak of the loss of Sten's eye or Oghren's leg? How many of the Elves, Dwarves and Humans that were stabbed, stomped or turned to ash?" Leliana knew the answer; she had heard all the edited renditions penned to make a sovereign or two.

"Sera told me how the Hero …," Serrada started to say when the joy in Leliana's face disappeared as her head snapped toward the Inquisitor.

"Don't call her that!" Leliana snapped, her voice firm and would allow no argument, then softened. "She hates it. She did what she had to do, nothing more. Serrada, don't ever call her that if you meet her."

"Duly noted," Serrada wondered at the suddenness, making a mental note on the subject.

"Duty tore us apart; she was named Ferelden's Warden-Commander. I was called by the Divine," Leliana was quiet, and then her scared hand drew out a piece of silk and wiped away tears from her beautiful eyes. "We made promises and met as often as duty allowed, but in her loneliness, the darkness began to take her. When we discovered that Fiona was cured of the blight, she had hope, and for a moment, I saw my beloved again. She promised to find a cure, to remain with me."

Serrada could not help herself; she wrapped her arm around Leliana, who melted into the younger woman's embrace. For several minutes, Leliana quietly wept. Serrada gently rocked her and stroked Leliana's hair. Finally, the Left Hand's breathing returned to some semblance of normal.

"I am sorry I let you see me like that; that is the second time," Leliana calmed herself. "I told you I regretted the first; I no longer do. You are my sister, if only by marriage. If we cannot be truthful with each other, who can? No?"

Leliana blew her nose, causing both women to chuckle.

"It is just that the report you brought back from Stroud filled me with fear that my Ellana would think she had the calling and would go to the Deep Roads," Leliana nearly started sobbing again.

"Did you send the letter I told you to?" Serrada asked, but Leliana nodded.

"But she is so stubborn, she may go regardless," Leliana whispered.

"Well then, it is a good thing that I sent a message to Orzamar that under no circumstances was The Warden or any Warden to enter the Deep Roads, on pain of loss of friendship with the Inquisition, and from what Dagna said, more importantly, the loss of our contracts, from what I understand there are several guards with those orders at every know entrance," Serrada smiled and wiped Leliana's tears away. "Now, my sister and Left Hand, go to the bathroom and wash your face, then come back; we have another letter to write."

---

John leaned against the thick wooden door of the electronics laboratory, and from there, John could see the door of the mage tower. Thinking of all the work being done there, just a few dozen steps, they might as well have been a thousand miles apart.

"We don't talk," John muttered under his breath; although Eric heard it, he knew better than to comment. "They might as well be on the moon."

They left Glenn and Jack to their work; John closed the door quietly as the two men inside argued like an old married couple about packaging and which teams should be fielded.

John was quiet as they walked; Eric let him be. Both men knew each other after countless missions and knew when to crack a joke or just let there be silence.

John was not a man who could be shocked easily, but at this moment, he was shocked, and his head hurt.

Shock might have been an understatement; perhaps reeling was more accurate.

First, dozens of brand new AKs with cases of functional, if not ideal, ammunition. Now? Now, enough fieldable radios to equip all the Inquisition holdings and get real-time reports! It was an unsettling change, to say the least. What was puzzling John at this moment was why it was unsettling?

All this, and no one knew! He could tell these men were so siloed that they had no idea what this implied. Glenn and Jack were so used to their isolation that they did not see what they had done as remarkable and had only a glimpse of its implications.

Cavendish had been so focused on making an Earth-quality rifle that he did not see that on Thedas, what he had already was sufficient — perfection is the enemy of good enough.

A bit dazed, John was walking, almost stumbling, along the wall above the stables. Without warning, as if it bubbled up from his belly, John abruptly stopped and started laughing. Eric halted a few feet behind, not knowing what to do. He had seen his friend happy, sad, even crushed, but this was new, and it felt weird.

John laughed till tears filled his eyes, hard enough that people in the stables and shops looked up concerned; Eric waved and smiled. All the merchants and grooms went about their business thinking: The Newcomers were strange indeed. Some exchanged puzzled glances, whispering, while others just shook their heads and carried on with their tasks.

A stable boy dropped his broom, staring wide-eyed up at John, while a blacksmith paused his hammer mid-swing, eyebrows raised. The baker's wife, carrying a tray of fresh bread, stopped shooing the birds away and stood looking up, a small smile tugging at her lips as she watched the unusual sight.

Even Blackwall came out of the stable barns to look up at the source of all the interest; seeing John and Eric, he waved his smoking pipe, chuckled to himself and went back to cuddle with the serving girl he had been … entertaining until moments before.

Finally, John stopped, catching his breath; he only smiled, looking back over Skyhold, occasionally glancing up to the Inquisitor's windows. Eventually, Eric approached him.

"Boss, wanna let me in on the joke?" Eric asked. John almost started laughing again.

"Can't see it, huh?" John asked, putting his arm around his friend.

"You remember while we were dealing with the Templars, Serrada went to Redcliff and met that asshat Gereon Alexius?" John continued.

"The guy with the bling, right? Yeah, I remember. He's locked up in the mage tower. What of it?" Eric had read the report but didn't give it much mind; the whole magic thing gave him the creeps.

"He isn't locked up; he is nursing his son, Felix. Felix has the Blight, I guess," John tried to correct Eric but realized it was a waste of effort. "Anyway, the plan was to get rid of Serrada by ripping her out of time using this magical necklace."

"Yeah," Eric responded, already bored with the conversation.

"Corypheus wanted to use the amulet through Alexius to kill Serrada and win the war before it began," John just had this grin. "We are using the same amulet to create weapons and tools to win the war against Corypheus. Sort of magical karma, don't you think?" John commented, but he saw that Eric did get it now; his smile and chuckles proved it.

"I try not to; my thinking just pisses off Cassandra," Eric answered, chuckling. "Besides, when I do, blood squirts out of my ears and stains my shirt."

"No, that is just when you are eating; it isn't blood, buddy, it's ketchup," smiling broadly. John put his left arm on his friend's shoulders, his right hand taking the door handle of Cullen's office.

"We have to get the Inquisitor and the Quartet together, but before that, I have to talk to Giselle," John pressed the latch handle on Cullen's office and went in without knocking.

---

John burst through the door to Cullen's office, talking so fast Cullen had a hard time fixing his britches; Cullen just managed to throw a piece of cloth over the piss pot.

"Fuck, I am sorry, Cullen, I had no idea you were still using one of those," John was surprised but then realized how far the nearest restroom was, he had been so focused on putting them in the living quarters that he had utterly forgotten the various offices, but it was not that far after all.

"Cullen, why are you using that?" John's eyes narrowed. Glancing around the room, he noticed several empty tea pots and a few mugs that had been used. Several sets of mugs. "Are you alright? Is there anything …"

"I am fine!" Cullen seemed shocked when he realized he was nearly shouting. "I am fine, Commander. I am sorry. It is personal, and something I have yet to inform the Inquisitor about, and I am not exactly sure how to do that."

"Are you alright? Really?" John asked, with so much sincerity it was almost palpable.

Cullen seemed to melt into his chair with a sigh. "Yes, and no, I am uncomfortable discussing it, but I am not completely myself. If you wish, I will speak with you after I speak with the Inquisitor. It might be necessary to have your assistance if I cannot perform my duties."

John must have looked shocked, and Cullen smiled a little, "It is a long story, Commander Gray and one I don't feel comfortable sharing, but you have my word that I am able to perform my duties at least at the moment. Was there something you required?"

John let it slide and, for the next twenty minutes, informed Commander Cullen of all he had learned that morning.

Cullen was over the moons and didn't ask why things had changed so quickly; he sent runners, and for the fiftieth time, John remembered he should create a telephone system in Skyhold. He made yet another mental note to have a word with Jack and Glenn to get that started on phones.

"That should take a weekend," He chuckled to himself. "Too bad they can't make portable suits to speed things up. Fuck, maybe they can, I will have to ask."

"What was that commander?" Cullen asked, looking up from the map he and Eric had examined.

"Oh, nothing, just something I need to do," John felt like he was forgetting something. John looked quizzical, his brows knit, and he looked up to the roof as if trying to see the sky.

"Your tea?" Eric said, smiling; he had always kept John on time. The man took too much on, so it was something Eric could help with. "Go, it is nearly time."

"Fuck what time is it?" John instinctively looked for a watch he no longer had.

"It is nearly four bells," Cullen replied. "Look, it will take a while to get the meeting together; we could not do it before five bells at the earliest; go do what you need to and meet us in the Quartet meeting hall where we play cards. Alright? We can chat before the evening meal. Go do what you need to."

John left Eric with Cullen to finish setting up the meeting and decide where to have it; they would find him when it was ready. He was halfway across the bridge back to the main hall when four bells struck; he ran like a schoolboy late to class. The nuns would have smiled, but they were half a universe away.

Passing through the main hall and out into the garden, Mother Giselle was sitting in the pavilion with a chair and one of the serving girls setting up. John waited for the servants to leave before he approached.

"Ah, welcome, commander. Will you join me for tea?" Mother Giselle made herself ready to stand.

"No, Mother, please sit. Thank you, I will join you," John said, taking his seat. He almost chuckled when he felt that tightening in his stomach from his parochial school days.

Without a word, Giselle began pouring out. "Do you prefer cream and honey?"

"Black is fine, Mother, thank you, Mother," John sounded nervous, even to himself.

Giselle chuckled, smiled, and handed John a full cup and saucer. "If I did not know better, commander, I would have thought you were raised in the Chantry."

"Is it that obvious?" John chuckled himself and relaxed a little. "No, not Chantry but parochial, well, Catholic school, but probably much the same."

"Ah, yes," Giselle responded. "I have had some discussions with Samantha; the faiths are similar in some ways but in others very different. I suppose that is how you must see all of Thedas, familiar and yet strange," Giselle watched John very intently, and he felt her gaze and returned it.

John momentarily wondered if she was trying to test him or just making conversation — probably both.

"It does take getting used to, especially the magic, that is hard to process, but I think we are … adapting as a whole," John responded, taking a sip. The tea was strong, like most people here drink it, although Sam said it was about what she was used to.

"You did not ask to visit to have tea, did you?" Giselle smiled; her smile was a powerful weapon. "Although I do so enjoy our little chats."

"No. No, I did not, Mother," John took a breath. "I don't know how to say this and don't want to wallow in self-pity. I left things unfinished and unsaid at home, on Earth. I left a daughter, Sarah, without saying goodbye, and Mariah, my wife, well, ex-wife. A part of me wants to let Mariah know I understand why she…. I wish we could have tried and that she had done it differently, but I understand. But most of all, I am afraid."

"You? Well, only a fool would not be afraid in battle, and you are no fool," Giselle's look became more serious and contemplative; she took a deep breath and then a sip of tea, then began. "What is there to fear?"

"That if I let her go, there is no going back for any of us," John answered.

Giselle studied him; she could not bring herself to tell him that she sincerely doubted there was any return, likely to their Earth but certainly not to the lives they had lived. "Life changes you; we have changed you. Would you not find leaving here as painful as what you have left behind?"

She took a deep breath; they both knew the answer.

"As to guilt, perhaps I might help you there. I have always found it helpful to write." She went on; it was her turn to stare at the snow-covered mountains around them. "Record fears, your apologies, and say your goodbyes, especially to those who have crossed the veil and can not hear your pleas."

Giselle smiled when she saw his shock. "It seems foolish now, but as a girl, my grandmother told me that once we all cross the veil, those letters will find their way to those for whom they were written."

"Honestly, it doesn't sound foolish at all," John responded, pausing briefly to gaze across the gardens. "Similar traditions exist in some cultures at ho…" he hesitated, then finished, "on Earth."

They watched the butterflies on the flowers and the birds at the feeders for a few minutes, and Giselle gave John time to collect his thoughts.

"At least I might be able to find a way to say what I couldn't then," John replied; the idea allowed his heart to lighten a little.

"If it helps, I have said much the same to all your charges," Giselle added. "Most have found comfort, most."

John caught the emphasis on the word most; John turned to her.

In turn, Giselle faced John now, "All but your Paddy have taken that path; he … well, he is consumed with loss. I fear for him," Giselle's voice tapered to a whisper, thinking more out loud than anything.

John thought much the same; of all of his people, Paddy was the only one with a stable, intact family waiting for him. John did not want to even think about the pain his loss would cause them. John had only brought Paddy because he was the best sniper he had ever worked with. More importantly, Paddy had a wife and two daughters and needed the work desperately. He had not transitioned well and was having difficulty finding his feet. His family needed a bigger house, and the money was not there. The mission paid enough to clear their debts and would have fattened their bank account considerably. John felt good that he had insisted on hefty insurance policies, which was good, but that did not offset the fact that he had promised Kelly he would bring her husband home safely.

'I have not spent enough time with any of my people, too busy thinking about myself.' John flogged himself. 'Never enough time.'

"I will speak with him when I can," John responded.

"Now then, although you are concerned about your people, you did not ask for this chat to discuss them, did you, Commander?" Giselle's soft smile showed the woman knew or guessed much more than she was letting on.

"You know me too well, Mother. I have a whole sack full of concern for her, even more than the obvious of the Anchor and the fighting. She has almost been killed several times, and she was maimed. If it had not been for Rachelle, I don't think she would have recovered…" John was rolling through all his fears.

"Tell me, commander, is her beauty so precious? Would you have abandoned her if she were still so maimed as you so politely put it?" Giselle held him in her gaze. He almost felt naked.

John felt his eyes widen and nostrils flair; he swallowed hard and fought to control his temper. Giselle could not know how far she was from the mark; she might as well have her back to the target. Through clenched teeth, John responded.

"I would be lying if I said I wasn't shocked. I was surprised Serrada didn't die, but no, once I knew she was still inside, she was still the girl I fell in love with," John forced himself to breathe and relax.

"No, her injuries didn't matter to me," John responded, quietly sipping his tea. His eyes drew to Andraste's Grace growing in a small pot, and he wondered who planted it. "I was attracted to her looks, of course, but I would be a liar if I said something different. But, injuries or not, she was still in there, and that was enough."

"So why did you resist her so much, given that she clarified her interest?" Giselle smiled in a teasing manner that made John uncomfortable. He was tempted to say, 'I am not that kind of boy!' but thought better of it.

Giselle just smiled; John sat uncomfortably for several minutes as Mother Giselle considered him. Giselle let him think, signaled for a fresh pot, watched the butterflies, and enjoyed the day.

"Believe me, Mother, I wanted to be with her, but I was worried about the … consequences," he said, meeting her eyes as John finally got to the reason for the visit. "As we discussed."

Almost as soon as they returned to Skyhold, he managed to pigeonhole Giselle—no mean feat. He did not want their conversation to be overheard or observed, and it took a lot of work to make that happen, but as always, he managed.

"How did she take it?" he whispered, eyes fixed on his tea; no one could miss the note of sadness in his voice.

"She is a remarkable young woman; she accepted the logic of her situation even though her heart yearned for something … else," Giselle let the words hang in the air, sipping her tea, keeping her eyes on the commander.

Giselle didn't feel the need to tell him that she and the Quartet had considered how to bring this sensitive subject to the attention of the Inquisitor. She thought it ironic and tragic that John Grey, the very man with whom the Inquisitor so desperately wanted to have as husband and father to her children, was himself the stone that brought forth yet another avalanche to shape the Inquisitor's journey.

Both sipped their tea, lost in their thoughts, when a young messenger came up with messages in her hand. As he took them, he noted how the young elf reminded him of Gliril. One message from Leliana confirmed no news from Emprise du Lion, which deepened his worry; the expedition had missed two reporting times already. The other message was from Sparks; the radio teams were ready. It was then that John's back was itching from shoulders to ass.

---

In the command staff dining room, a debate was raging.

Five bells had come and gone, followed by six, and if nothing was decided, seven would too.

"We have to make a decision!" Cassandra slammed her fist on the table, causing the silverware to bounce. The ale and wine glasses stayed in place this time. Her eyes blazed with frustration.

"We can't have the Inquisitor just wandering off! We have less than a fortnight until the ball!" Josephine's voice was sharp with urgency. "I need measurements of all the attendees. We simply cannot arrive in rags."

"Indeed not; she looks like a chimney sweep most of the time as it is," Madame de Fer purred, a sly smile on her lips. "My darling, I realize we are thrust into combat often enough, but Halamshiral is just as dangerous as any battlefield. Many demons could take lessons from the court members."

"The Red Lyrium must be investigated," Cullen said, pounding the table. Dark circles under his eyes betrayed his exhaustion, but his voice remained firm. All noticed, but John and Serrada were caught up in their thoughts.

"Inquisitor, what must we do?" Leliana asked, her voice flat, almost lifeless. Her ordinarily sharp gaze was dulled by fatigue. "We must do something."

Serrada shifted her gaze to Leliana, holding it with invisible steel bands. Her voice was equally flat and lifeless. "I have no choice; I have to follow the lead Hawke and Stroud discovered. I have to go to the Western Approach before anything else," she said, holding her hand to stop any objections. "With the portals, I can discover what I can and return in a day or two. Then, I will go to Emprise du Lion. As for the lyrium, we need more information, but it is not critical at the moment. Josie, get the seamstresses to your office now for the women's measurements. As for the men, find someplace, and Josie will send someone there. We need a bigger contingent, and frankly, I don't give a damn how many the Empress wants; I am not her servant or her subject. Any objections, John? We can leave tomorrow and get back the day after."

"Serrada, you must deal with the Wardens, but I am going to Emprise du Lion. There has been no word for days, and my back is itching like crazy. Something is very wrong there, and we can't wait to find out what," John said, looking straight at Serrada. Though surprised, she nodded, her brow furrowed with concern.

"What about rifts?" Serrada asked, feeling the weight of their duty. Her voice wavered slightly, betraying her worry.

"They are everywhere; you can only be in one place at a time," John stated what they all knew. "I will leave fire teams near each one; they can deal with any demons."

"Fine, go in force. Stroud and Hawke should be there awaiting me. I will find them, find out what is happening with the Wardens, come back, and follow you to Emprise du Lion. Agreed?" The room was silent, all eyes on John, the tension palpable.

"Agreed. I will take the bulk of the squad, some trained troops, and a radio team. Sparks have teams ready to go at dawn," John said, his tone resolute, his eyes brutal with determination. "Let's go find my daughter."

"I, sir, we will be ready," Sparks spoke with a tone that had been lost with their new situation on Thedas. John thought it was time for it to return to his communications expert.

Unsure what a radio team was, Serrada nodded. She glanced around and saw the others were equally lost. Cassandra met Serrada's eyes, her smirk indicating she would question Eric closely during dinner.

"I think that is enough for tonight, everyone, send your messages. I am starving," Serrada said, moving to her usual spot. Josie sent for the servers, while Leliana and Cullen sent messages to the scouts and soldiers to prepare for the morning. Josie sent her messages to the seamstresses to meet in her office after supper. All was made ready while they ate, a hive of busy bees preparing for the morning.

---

The late spring dawn broke clear and crisp. As John made his final preparations, Serrada did the same in silence. Neither wished to break the spell; it would be their first time apart since becoming lovers. It was harder than either thought it could be, but both knew their duty as hard as it was.

They held each other tight before taking the stairs to greet the rest of their parties. Stopping at the spot that Gliril was intended to occupy, Serrada ran her fingers along the desk she had made expressly for the girl she had come to think of as her daughter, even though both were likely close to the same age.

John watched her, thinking much the same things as Serrada. He promised himself he would bring Gliril home, for John saw himself as the elf's father even though he seldom voiced the notion except to close friends.

Suddenly, she stopped the morning light gleaming on the polished wood of the desk.

"John," Serrada's gloved fingers glided over the silky surface. Looking up, her eyes locked on his, "Bring our girl home, no matter…." Her voice trailed off, face lifted to John. "No matter what you find, bring her home."

"I promise," John responded with strength and determination born in years of hard-earned experience. "Whatever I find, I will bring all our people home."

Serrada nodded and put her hand on the door handle of the Great Hall. Taking a deep breath, she whispered a prayer. Then opened the door.

The Great Hall was always busy, people milling about; it had become the de facto center of the Inquisition, a place to see and be seen.

It was bustling this morning. Two teams milled about, shaking hands and wishing each other luck. Everyone stood apart from two young women holding each other and whispering. Sera's perennially awful haircut identified her as she whispered with Rachelle, who was wiping her nose and failing to hold back tears. When Serrada entered the room, Rachelle's soft sobs echoed through the cavernous hall.

When the door opened, all conversations stopped. The assembled squads quietly greeted the Inquisitor and her consort; the tension in the air was thick, almost electric, every eye on the Inquisitor.

"Attention everyone. Some of us will investigate the threat to the Grey Wardens; others will relieve and bring home our people," Serrada said, glancing at John and then at Rachelle. "We won't be traveling on horseback, which will be a first for some. But I believe in you. Andraste's blessings on you. May we swiftly return to Skyhold."

Serrada glanced at John. "All right, all you glorious bastards—you know your assignments—let's move out."

Josie opened the door to the stairs leading down to the mess hall, which had become the portal room, keeping their movements away from prying eyes.

Serrada stood beside a red-eyed Rachelle and gently hugged her. "Honey, I will bring her home, I promise."

Rachelle nodded, blowing her nose. "We haven't been apart since coming to Skyhold. I'm okay; I'm just being silly."

Serrada glanced at John, who was briefing his men and helping the new scouts familiarize themselves with their gleaming new weapons. She empathized deeply with Rachelle and her feelings, sharing many of them.

"I understand completely, Rachelle," Serrada said, enveloping the mage in a comforting embrace. "You're not alone in this. Let's focus on our next step—getting everyone safely to Emprise du Lion, shall we?"

Serrada had primarily asked to distract the girl from her sadness just as she blew her nose loudly. A blended voice of Wisdom and Rachelle responded, "Well, we were there long ago, and we remember an elven fortress with a beautiful waterfall. We can still see it in our minds. So, we think we can open a portal at the base of a waterfall; there is a lovely little bridge there, and we used to have tea and feed the fish. We don't know what they will find, but we can close it quickly if it is compromised."

Serrada nodded. Wisdom seldom spoke through Rachelle as a separate entity now; it was still unnerving, but even though Serrada worked hard to root those thoughts out, a lifetime of dread for abominations was hard to erase.

"What about the ritual tower? Can you get us to the Western Approach?" Serrada was nervous. This would be a very different situation than they had tried before. Rachelle or Wisdom had been at every location for the previous use of portals, but this would be a first. Neither Rachelle nor Wisdom had any solid vision near the Tevintor ritual tower, which Hawke and Stroud said they needed to investigate. That meant either weeks on horseback or taking a chance. Time was critical, forcing her to take a chance.

"I have this," Rachelle unrolled a piece of heavy paper; on it was an excellent pen and ink drawing of a campsite; in one corner was a plot of all the tents and the locations of important landmarks around the camp, like monuments and markers along a long disused road that likely predated the Second Blight which had laid waste to this area of the continent. "Leliana sent word, and one of the scouts has some talent, which was sent back. Once we have time to build cameras, this will be easy, but until then, this will have to do until someone takes a phone, that is."

Serrada just nodded; she had learned not to ask what cameras and phones or, indeed, stereos, computers, internet, satellite and a hundred other words meant. Although she was rather happy that the word pizza had brought forth a yummy concoction. It was just too confusing; she had resolved that when such things came up in conversation, she might ask Samantha to add it to the list of indecipherable words and accept the rest as part of the colors in her lover's tapestry.

She was told she would learn what radio was today, glancing at the two large straw-packed crates holding the Newcomer creations gently and guarded by heavy troops.

The Herald shrugged, "Well, let's send them to Emprise du Lion." Rachelle began her ritual, and the lyrium runes were now embedded in the wall behind thick steel doors, closed and locked when unused. They were covered by a tapestry of Andraste's triumph over the Tevinter imperium.

The runes glowed, then silver light swirled from rune to rune, quickly forming a circle and crackling lightning lept from that ring to the center, creating a ball of white fire that gave no heat but radiated out until it filled the ring to the border of the runes and clarified into a scene like a window, of ice and snow. A blast of cold flowed into the room as Rachelle nodded to Serrada. Who nodded to John; she mouthed an 'I love you' and forced a smile. Trying not to let him see her tears.

"Eric, you are on point. Move out," John said, giving the orders. Eric saluted and turned to the assembled.

"Alright, you heard the boss! All right, you rat bastards, let's go fuck some shit up!" Eric moved to the portal.

"Say your last goodbyes, grab some ass and kiss its owner goodbye! Let's move!" Those attending to loved ones gave quick final kisses to the Newcomers, all heavily armed with extra rifles and ammunition, ready for bear—or Orlesian Great Bear.

With a final kiss goodbye, Cassandra stepped away from Eric. Rodeo, Sanchez, Bullseye, Hollywood, and finally, Paddy followed, taking possession of the space beyond the portal. They moved to cover the following pair as José and Sparks crossed the threshold, rifles sweeping left and right. Serrada watched them move; their fluid and graceful movements were like a ballet, even on the icy stone bridge. She never tired of watching them dance. Through the portal, she could see the stone foundations of a fortress and a narrow, icy walkway near a frozen waterfall. The biting cold air did not affect these men; they were an essay on discipline and training. Serrada watched as they quickly moved off the platform and out of sight. Eric signaled the all clear, and more soldiers followed in a stream until all the Newcomers, Inquisition reinforcements, and scouts were through, along with supplies and equipment. Only Solas and John remained.

"You go ahead, Solas. I will be along," John waved the mage on, staying with Serrada for a moment. Solas hesitated but followed orders, his fingers tightening on his staff.

"I promise I will bring our girl back home," John kissed Serrada; everyone looked elsewhere while he did.

Then he stepped through the portal, the magical energy tingling across his skin. The world blurred and twisted around him, a sensation both exhilarating and disorienting. When his feet hit solid ground again, the icy blast he had felt in Skyhold was nothing compared to the breath-taking cold that nearly took his breath away. Standing in the shadow of the imposing Suledin Keep, he heard the clash of metal on metal and the distinct sounds of AKs.

---

Serrada surveyed the young mage. Rachelle looked fatigued but not exhausted; she had been exerting herself far too much, worrying both Serrada and all the senior mages. Rachelle had said that opening a portal was the most challenging part, but maintaining it was relatively easy. This new wall invocation circle and Dagna's lyrium ring had made even opening more manageable than when she opened the portal back to Skyhold from the Exalted Plains. More straightforward, indeed, but it was still an effort.

"It will take a minute for the runes to recharge," Rachelle slowly sank to a chair on Sera's lap. "And for me, too." Rachelle smiled while Sera held her. Serrada could not help but wonder if the young girl was taking a few final moments alone with Sera. She only briefly considered asking Rachelle to open as soon as possible, but Serrada decided it didn't matter; a minute here or there would not determine their mission, and she let it go.

Serrada had decided that Emprise du Lion was the higher priority for the new forces and weapons; there was not enough material and training time, so she and her companions would have to rely on old-fashioned steel and magic. She had sent Solas with John; Suledin Keep was ancient elven ruins; after all, he could frolic in the fade to his heart's content. Maybe he would stop brooding for a while.

Cassandra would go; she had given Serrada no choice, as would Blackwall, as there was Warden business. He had to go, then Sera. Serrada's skills with locks had improved, but Sera was still by far the best lock cracker Serrada knew.

Then, The Bickering Magisters, the nickname for Vivienne and Dorian, had become popular in the shadows of Skyhold and never used if either was nearby. It was a moniker given to the two as they were seldom seen outside each other's company and usually fighting. Serrada had no idea who had coined the phrase, but given Sera's fondness for nicknames, Inky was sure it was Sera.

Serrada was not altogether happy with the name, but she knew it bothered Vivienne to be called a heathen magister, and besides, if she had complained, the nickname would be fixed forever. Hopefully, it will pass once something better comes along.

For her part, Serrada thought another label would fit better, for they reminded her of a story that John had read while she was convalescing.

'What was it? Oh yes, Romeo and Juliet!' She felt an odd sense of satisfaction that she remembered the play. She thought the comparison perfect as long as Romeo and Juliet debated every topic under the sun and agreed on absolutely nothing.

Standing a few feet away, Serrada could not stop smiling as Vivienne and Dorian argued over the relative value of Tevinter vs. Orlesian winter gear, which was more becoming while being functional.

It would certainly not be a quiet trip; part of her hoped there would be a good bit of combat for them to bond, although she doubted such a bond would hold long. Serrada was glad she brought Sera along to add color to the group. Together, they would meet with Hawke and figure out what in the heavens was going on with the Wardens. Blackwall would be a great help there, or at least she hoped he would; something about the Warden bothered her. What it was, she could not say, but Leliana concurred.

Serrada took a moment to speak to all those who had just wished loved ones well, hugging the newlywed Emalien for the longest time. The elf woman was initially shocked by the gesture but melted into the Inquisitor's arms. Everyone saw the hug; some seemed shocked, but they were the minority, and of those, most thought it was because the elf woman was a commoner; a very few thought it was unseemly for a human noble and the Inquisitor to hug an elf, and those were all new to the Inquisition and quickly learned that Serrada made no distinction be they human or dwarf but especially elf.

"Does she have no sensitivity to her actions? No thought as to how this will be perceived?" Many who heard Vivienne's tone might have mistaken it for derision, but those who knew her well recognized the genuine concern in her voice. After all, as a mistress of the Great Game, she was well aware of the dangers the Inquisitor would soon face.

"She knows exactly what she is doing, Madame de Fer. She is an Inquisitor of the people, and the people follow her; they would storm the Black City for her," Dorian said, leaning on the new staff Serrada had recently given him. He moved closer, whispering to Vivienne. His fingers played up and down the carved wood and lyrium inlaid staff of fire, by far the most potent instrument he had ever seen. "She understands more than you realize, Vivienne. She knows that armies are paid in gold, but the cost of war is blood and bone, a bill seldom paid by the nobles."

Vivienne sniffed, and Dorian smiled; he knew that for all her airs, she was from a peasant background herself. Her rise was remarkable, but Dorian suspected that much of her actions and derision of the lower classes was an attempt to separate herself from her heritage. Ironic, given that he would have loved to swap places; he had no doubt that she would have reveled in all the rubbish that accompanied his childhood and position. He was also familiar enough with Vivienne to hear the Imperial Enchanter's genuine affection for the Inquisitor and how she had tried to hide that fondness.

"I am just worried about her," Vivienne returned the whisper. "We leave for the back of beyond, and in less than a fortnight, we travel to the winter palace in hopes of saving the Empress herself. We barely have had our measurements taken, not so much as a fitting, and I have no idea if the girl can dance a step! I certainly know her consort cannot; my toes have barely recovered from that revelation."

What Dorian could have told Madame de Fer, if Vivienne were willing to listen, that the scene of caring that gave her such pause of the Inquisitor asking after each and every soldier's loved one, the reassuring grace and inexhaustible kindness and unbounded dedication to the Inquisition members formed the very foundations of the devotion of those within the Inquisition to the Inquisitor. It was easily summed up in the whispers he had heard long before and since he joined the Inquisition. 'We are all the same in the Inquisitor's eyes; we are members of the Inquisition.'

Before Dorian could respond with something witty and biting, Rachelle stood and opened the portal to the Western Approach.

A breathtaking blast of dry, hot desert air washed over everyone in the room, sand blowing in, playing and dancing on the smooth-swept floor of the dining hall come portal chamber. The temperature contrast was striking, whereas before, the freezing air of the Frostbacks had them all wearing the usual outer layers of clothing to ward off the chill that lingered even with the Skyhold's new central heating. They felt they needed to strip to their small clothes to keep from roasting alive.

Those preparing to step through the portal quickly removed the unneeded clothing and handed it to waiting servants as the party grew close to the portal, Serrada, Cassandra, Sera, Blackwall, Dorian and Vivienne.

"All right, let's get moving; we have a schedule to keep," Serrada called out to the room and moved to the portal, bow in hand, arrow already nocked, ready for anything. Cassandra and Blackwall, on either side of the Inquisitor, swords gleaming. Then Sera, who kissed Rachelle one last time before stepping through, followed by the keepers of the crate and those sent to help them set up the thing, whatever it was, and finally Dorian and Vivienne, stepped through, followed by the dozen heavy troops and scouts sent to reinforce the Inquisition force the camps already in place and open others.

Both Viv and Dorian cast protection spells in anticipation of some sort of ambush; Dorian glanced back toward the odd sight of the interior of Skyhold and those waving farewell, Rachelle wiping a tear from her face with her sleeve while she closed the portal in a controlled way, Dorian waved, he had become very close with the girl, she had such a burden he felt for her. The portal closed silently, the view of Skyhold's mess hall replaced by an unending view of sand, sand, and more sand.

---

Eric felt the tingling energy of the portal wash over him, like thousands of spiders crawling under his clothes. He did not find it unpleasant, merely irritating.

Once through, his senses were immediately overwhelmed by a barrage of new stimuli. First, he felt as if he had been frozen solid, the biting cold a single pace outside the portal more intense than anything he had experienced in the Frostbacks.

"We're definitely not in Skyhold anymore," Eric muttered.

Then, directly across from the portal, the dazzling brilliance of the sun reflecting off a frozen waterfall assaulted his eyes; the sight was so surreal that, had he not witnessed it himself, he would never have believed it. Yet, for all that it was beautiful, he hoped to get a chance to look at it again once this was all over.

Glancing left, blocked by an ice-covered boulder too high to scale safely. Beyond it was a pedestal supporting a statue.

'No going that way,' they thought. To the right, the path looked a little easier. There was a smaller boulder to get over, but it was much lower, and the ground beyond appeared easier to traverse. With Rodeo and the others waiting behind, Eric flashed a hand signal for single file, then began moving along the walkway to take cover near the bridge abutment, happy to be on firm, if frozen, ground.

Rodeo and the others came behind him, a pace or two separating them. Eric watched and appraised human centipede move off the walkway and then form up a line to advance, the ballet of death, men moving from cover to cover, fields of fire crossing over each other, no area before they left wanting and often a crossfire where all of the rifles were focused on the same spot, the bridge they were approaching.

This was a proper bridge with parapets on either side; when not frozen, water would flow under and empty into the lake a hundred yards off on the left; on the right of the bridge was the frozen waterfall about 20 meters off. With Eric at the tip of the spear, they were advancing up the hill toward the sounds of combat, the area in front of them bathed in a strange crimson glow.

Eric silently signaled the team to spread out along the narrow walkway so that not everyone might be hit should arrows or if magic starts flying; they moved like a great long centipede, one after another but quickly cleaning the dangerous walkway, regrouping on the frozen ground beyond.

With quick hand signals, Rodeo moved right with Hollywood, Sanchez and Bulls Eye moved left, and Eric went up the middle, followed by the rest of the Inquisition forces guarding their flanks. Like a great arrow, the Newcomers formed the deadly tip, the Inquisition soldiers the shaft, and they moved up to the bridge and across it. All glanced at the shimmering back of the portal; from the rear, it was nothing but a shimmer voided. There was nothing to be seen from that way.

Now off the boulder walkway and the lingering sounds of water falling near the frozen falls, Eric could hear the sounds of metal on metal, the easily recognized singing of swords, only punctuated by the resounding thunk of shields clashing with shields, all the background music to the choir of raised voices screaming in combat.

The sound of battle was close, but the only way off the bridge was down the hill, then get to the ground and climb back up the rise again, a pain in the ass, but the rise and debris offered cover, at least.

With rocks and statues blocking his vision, Eric could not see who was fighting whom; he needed to see who he was fighting. Before he could assess his actions, the boss would understand if he had to take sides. John was good about that; he understood and let Eric take the initiative.

Solas came through while Eric was moving up along the path

John Gray emerged from the portal, greeted by the majestic sight of the frozen waterfall. The waterfall's icy tendrils reached down, creating a crystalline curtain that shimmered in the dim light. The air was frigid, but the team pressed on, knowing that the village of Sahrnia lay just beyond this natural wonder.

---

Dorian had seen it done several times, but he still found it unnerving, as much from the dizziness it engendered passing through the shimmering veil but also for the sheer amount of magical power it took to perform the spell itself. He would never admit it, of course, but he doubted any but Rachelle could accomplish it without an ocean of lyrium.

Once the portal closed, his eyes surveyed his new surroundings; they had passed hundreds of leagues west of Skyhold, although not much south. Skyhold stood on the eastern border of Orlias with Ferelden, directly south of the Imperium. He knew he was standing well west of the Orlesian Empire and far west of the western edge of the Tevintor Imperium. These facts still boggled his mind.

He shook his head, smiled, whispering, "It is incredible what she can do."

Turning back to the task at hand, where the portal was, he saw an ancient fortress in the distance. It was clearly occupied with the fresh banners and shade cloth, but by whom was a mystery. He hoped he did not need to find out because, with the Inquisitor's luck of late, they would not be friendly.

Glancing back, he discovered an Inquisition camp; Rachelle had not dropped them right in the middle of the camp but a few feet from it, just a couple of paces from the edge of a fair drop. Then, Dorian realized Rachelle's brilliance; by opening the portal as she did, she minimized the chance of someone being injured, as most people tended to avoid edges and sharp drops. Again, he just shook his head in admiration.

"Inquisitor, may we set up the device?" a sergeant asked, looking eager and boyishly young. Dorian wondered if he had ever looked so openly eager for approval.

'What a silly thought,' Dorian answered himself.

Serrada just nodded while looking about her, looking for something or someone.

"I don't see Hawke or Stroud," She said softly, primarily to herself. "They were supposed to meet us …"

Dorian observed the little group of workers unpacking the device and placing it in a tent that had once been someone's private space but was no longer.

"Inquisitor, beggin' yer pardon, but a young woman in armor an' an old man, I think he was a Gray Warden, well, they said they was headin' to the old tower 'round that rock yonder an' over the edge of the drop," she looked concerned that her answer was not clear. "If ya understand my meanin', beggin' yer pardon, ma'am."

"Thank you …" Serrada answered. "What's your name?"

"Weaver, ma'am," the scout responded, blushing and beaming with pride. 'The rumors are true,' She had never imagined the Inquisitor would care, let alone ask for her name.

"Thank you, Weaver; which direction did you say?" Serrada asked, smiling but wondering why the girl was blushing. If she had been a man, she would have checked her flies. She did anyway.

Looking into the distance along the directions Weaver had suggested.

The Western Approach was a harsh, unforgiving landscape dominated by towering stone cliffs and vast stretches of sand. Around them were fingers of stone jutting out into the sand, all a mix of rusty red and ashen gray, jagged like broken teeth in a skull's jaw, surfaces etched by time and erosion, revealing layers of ancient rock. Their boots would sink into fine golden sand. Sand that was always dancing with the wind.

At that moment, the wind shifted from the east, carrying choking fumes of sulfur that burned their eyes and noses.

Glancing around, Serrada saw her team looking around, bored; all were taking furtive glimpses at her, all ready to go, especially Sera, who wanted the hours to pass as quickly as possible.

Serrada was procrastinating, and she knew it; she had been fascinated with the new device. John had said it would surprise her, and his eyes sparkled with excitement, even as if going so far as to rock onto his toes! She had seldom seen him so much like a child waiting for a gift. 'Alright,' she said, smiling, revelling in his excitement. It had made being parted a little easier. 'I will wait and see.' She was tired of waiting and wanted to see herself, feeling the anticipation was killing her.

"Researcher Huang, how long till your device is ready for testing?" Serrada hoped not long.

"Oh, sorry, yes, well, a couple of hours, I should think, we need to find a good spot for the antenna…" Jack was going to go on at length, but Serrada stopped him.

"Thank you, Jack," she could not keep the note of disappointment out of her voice. "Carry on; hopefully, we will be back, and you can show me what it does." She adjusted her daggers and quiver while moving her bow into her hand.

"Commander Gray has not told you? I can't believe he hasn't," Jack started, and again, Serrada knew he would spoil the surprise if she did not stop him.

"He wanted it to be a surprise," Serrada smiled, putting a gloved hand on Jack Huang's shoulder. "Don't spoil it, Jack."

Jack laughed himself; he was as excited as a schoolboy and would not ruin her surprise. "I am excited; we will hurry as fast as possible."

"Okay, Cass, Viv, Dorian, Blackwall, Sera, let's move out; Sera, take point." Serrada trusted Sera's instincts and knew the girl could hide in plain sight; Sera lept from the height with fantastic grace. The rest decide to walk around and climb down more gingerly.

"One thing you need to know, your worship. There are White Claw mercenaries about. We cleared out a few this morning, but they are like bedroll lice; get one batch out and then next move in." Weaver smiled, trying to be helpful. "Oh! Inquisitor, here is a map of the Approach. It is not great, but it is what we have mapped out. I marked the tower and some other things you might need to watch out for."

"Thank you, Weaver, for the map and the … colorful image. I will be careful," Serrada shivered and remembered to smoke and to air her bedroll, turned to go, then stopped. "Why are there White Claw mercenaries out here? Do you know?"

"Honestly, we don't; they work for gold, not glory; they are here because someone is paying them. We are attempting to capture one or two and see if we can find out, but so far, we have only ended up with bodies," Weaver sounded frustrated and looked pensive, lips pressed together. "If you get so lucky…"

Serrada smiled and waved, "If we find any, I promise to let you have the first crack and get what we need."

The group moved around the little outcropping of rock that supported the camp, then down what might have once been a road but was choked mainly with sand. To their right, in the distance, they could see down the slope what looked like a shear drop and across a narrow gorge; the other side was higher and very sheer, and the bottom was not visible from their position.

Serrada scanned the crude map with Cassandra by her side. They periodically checked their surroundings, trying to get their bearings, then turned the map this way and that until it matched their location.

"Be careful; with this sand, one fall, and we'll roll down this hill and off that cliff," Serrada warned. They all saw the danger but knew she was Mama Serrada, always looking out for them.

"Okay, it looks like the tower is right around this mesa. If we skirt it south, then head east, we should find it. It's right up against the edge of the Great Rift." Serrada scanned the horizon, but for what she was not sure, she just felt something was off.

She moved with the group, the harsh landscape of the Western Approach stretching out around them. Cassandra and Blackwall are on her left and right; their armored forms a reassuring presence. Sera, ahead, flitted from shadow to shadow, her movements barely noticeable. At the same time, Vivienne and Dorian walked with the grace and poise of powerful mages just behind her and, again, on either side.

"Hard to believe this place was once described as a garden," Dorian scanned the scene. Nearly dead, twisted trees were the only signs of life. "Or so the records say; there are several volumes of poetry about it."

"A Blight destroys all it touches, even one as brief as the fifth, has left scars on Ferelden that may never heal," Vivienne replied, and Serrada thought it notable that Viv did not seem to feel the need to add a biting comment about Orlias neighbour to the south. Perhaps the damage about them had curbed her tongue.

The wind shifted as they approached a stone promontory, carrying a faint, almost imperceptible change in the air. Serrada's skin prickled, a sensation like a lover's breath across the back of her neck, delicate yet unmistakable. Her hand tightened around the hilt of her dagger, her steps faltering for the briefest of moments.

Without thinking, Serrada tumbled to her right, her body moving on instinct. The dagger in her hand lashed out fluidly, slicing through the space she had just occupied. A hiss of surprise followed by a soft thud met her ears as a cloaked figure staggered back, clutching at the gushing wound between her breasts. The White Claw assassin glared at Serrada with eyes full of malice, her blood-stained lips cursing her before the woman went still, her eyes clouding over in death.

The White Claw assassin, now visible, lay motionless on the ground. Blood poured from the wound, staining the assassin's dark clothing. Serrada's heart raced, but she stood her ground, the blood-stained Silverite dagger gleaming in her hand. Around her, the group had already sprung into action, weapons drawn and spells crackling with energy.

Vivienne, her cold eyes focused, raised her staff, a shimmering barrier of magic forming around them. Dorian stood beside her, fire sparking at his fingertips, engulfing a White Claw archer before he could lose his arrow at Serrada, leaving only a pile of ash. Cassandra and Blackwall surged forward, their shields and blades ready to clash with the White Claw fighters. At the same time, Sera disappeared into the shadows, reappearing behind a second assassin only to deliver a swift slice across the throat, spraying the sand with blood. It was over as soon as the skirmish began; White Claw mercenaries lay bleeding corpses or smoking ash.

Serrada glanced at the spot she had stood moments before, the realization sinking in. It wasn't just intuition or training but something more profound, an unconscious knowing, that had saved her life. She met the eyes of her comrades, nodding her thanks before focusing back on the situation at hand.

"Well, that was fun; shall we get this done?" She said, checking the would-be assassin. The girl was young, too young. She wondered for a moment why the girl was here at all and what chain of events had led her to this moment and her death.

'I suppose I will see you tonight, little one.' Serrada closed the now lifeless eyes. She sighed again; it had been this way since Haven. Every night she sat on that damned throne and heard all their stories, the line never shorter.

They bound the bodies in their clothing, piled them and their weapons for retrieval and set off again.

This happened twice more; Serrada ambushed the White Claw mercenaries the third time, but the results differed. Vivienne and Dorian, with Sera's assistance, managed to subdue the leaders without a scratch; the foot soldiers were not so lucky. They were not killed, but a shield to the chest from Blackwall or a sword pummel to the forehead from Cass would put you on your ass, no matter who you were.

The prisoners were bound and herded toward a small cave. Dorian and Cass ensured that the cave was unoccupied; Vivienne and Blackwall interrogated the silent merc, well silent until Viv tickled his manhood with a little freezing spell; men were funny about frostbite. He was suddenly very cooperative.

Serrada went through their documents, and Sera ran back to tell the camp there would be more guests for afternoon tea. The guard said that a patrol had been ambushed shortly after the Inquisitor had left but that they had managed to turn them back. Seems that much of the White Claw must have moved off. Sera had not bought into that and told them to be careful and prepare for an attack; Serrada had not believed it either.

"Their records are rather specific, to harass the Inquisition, disrupt supply lines, ambush patrols, and generally be a pain in our asses." Serrada leafed through one set of orders after another.

"They have been doing a damned good job of it from what Lace has said," Blackwall double-checked the bindings on a particularly glaring group leader. "They have been killing our people and making it near impossible for the Inquisition to operate."

"They are being paid by some arse hole named Crassis Servis," Serrada said; when Dorian and Cass returned, the man's head snapped up, hushing Cassandra with his palm.

"What was that you said?" Dorian quickly crossed the distance to Serrada, snatching the letter away from Serrada. "That name, what was it again?"

"Hello Dorian, would you be dear and take a look at this? I can't make out the name," Serrada was happy she had her gloves on, or she would have had one nasty papercut. The others chuckled quietly to themselves; Dorian did not even hear her words; he simply waved his hand toward her.

"I know this man." Dorian looked away from the paper and stared at the blank wall of the cave. "He is a weasel of the worst order. He would sell his mother for copper; now that I say that, I think he did."

Handing the paper back to Serrada without a second thought. "But what in the world is he doing here? He is a worm and a filthy one at that, but he is not the kind to put himself out by leaving his tiny power base in Minrathous. Honestly, I would never have thought him capable of being a member of the Venatori; he was too much coward."

Dorian shook his head back and forth, "I have mentioned that Venatori are sulking about; I hope you will aid me in tracking them down, Inquisitor."

"First things first, Dorian, let's see about Hawke and Stroud," Serrada said, glancing toward the distant fortress. "That fortress, Griffin's Wing, isn't it? They must know what is happening so close by; I guess there will be answers. But first, we find Hawke and Stroud."

The Inquisition troops arrived shortly after; the White Claw leader they caught turned out to be a middle-level lieutenant, a deserter from the Ferelden army who was wanted for petty theft; he readily told them that no more than forty other White Claw were roaming about and that their leaders were trying to find the materials to bate traps to attract the high dragon that was living there. He had no idea why and wanted no part of the whole business. He repeated his denial while crossing his legs and glancing at Vivienne.

"Get them out of here before I do something I doubt I will regret," Serrada ordered while packing up. "Come on, we are wasting daylight."

The rest of the journey was comparatively uneventful; they cleared the last of the rock formations and then made the level ground below, finally crossing a rise to the gateway of the Echoback Fortress; the entrance was little more than an archway from a broken wall and beyond a bridge across a deep ravine.

There waiting as if they were in line at an Orlisian restaurant were Hawke and Stroud.

"Why didn't you meet us at camp?" Serrada asked, but she did so only because she had gotten there first. "What is going on?"

"Because these are Gray Wardens, Inquisitor, I had to know," Stroud responded hotly. "Now, are you ready? I am going now. I have waited long enough."

With that, he moved, crossing the bridge. If there were lookouts, there was no more element of surprise. Crossing the bridge made that impossible; worse, Stroud didn't even try. He strode across it like the guest of honor at a party. Hawke took read guard. Whatever one might say about the Ancient Tevintors, they knew how to build to last. It might be as ugly as sin, but the bridge was solid, as were the remains of the fortress. All with a column of sickly green-looking smoke rising above the outer walls, it fit right in with the Blighted surroundings.

Serrada climbed the stairs to see the last acts of yet another horror; the bodies of dead Wardens lay scattered about with a half dozen mages staring blankly, their eyes filled with an odd light she had seen somewhere before but where she could not recall.

"I know him," Dorian muttered. "Be careful, Inquisitor; he is not only dangerous but deluded, a true Vinatori believer; I thought he was dead, apparently not."

"Shall we rectify that situation, my dear?" Vivienne smiled at Dorian, who returned it.

"Let's," Dorian responded, shifting his staff.

"You two can have all the fun you want once we know what is happening," Serrada whispered.

"Ahhhh, Inquisitor, what an unexpected surprise!" The man standing on the invocation platform. "Lord Livius Erimond of Vyrantium, at your service."

"My sweet arse you are," Dorian shouted in return. "You have that name only because your father was foolish enough to give you his after his legitimate son and daughter mysteriously died. I suspect we all know how that came to be."

"Well, if it isn't the pervert son of Magister Parvus," responded Erimond. "What sniffing around Orlias for young boys."

"Enough, Erimond, keep your tongue civil, or I will cut it out," Serrada's voice was as sharp as her daggers now in her hands. "What are you doing here, and what is all this?"

"Temper, temper, Inquisitor, you sound like a street brat, then again, you are," Erimond tried to sound in control but was failing. "I will answer your question, Dorian Pavus, son of the humiliated Halward Pavus; I killed them. I watched them both die; neither was half the mage I am, yet our father acknowledged them and never me. Once they were dead, I took their place and killed him, too. So there, now you know the truth for all the good it will do you."

"Enough, Erimond, what is the point of all this?" Serrada's dagger points swept through the air, indicating the Warden Mages and their associated demons.

"Oh, this, our little party trick? Well, the Wardens were terrified of the sudden Thedas wide calling and wanted to strike at the old Gods before they all died," Erimond was enjoying his moment of triumph or what he thought was his triumph. "The fools never thought to ask where that calling came from, thinking no one could cause it. My Lord Corypheus is master of the blight; it is not a master of him. He created the calling, and when he knew Clarel was desperate, he sent" with a flourish he bowed.

"Foolish woman would have done anything; I guided, aided, and suggested until she did as we wanted." An absolutely evil smile crossed his lips. "It was delicious to watch her agonize over the decision, and I was there for every moment of her tortured decision."

Serrada saw Stroud tense and glanced at him.

"Ahhhh, you must be the one Clarel let slip, lovely; I wanted one of your kind to witness your demise and the replacement of the heathen Gray Wardens with the true heroes of Thedas, me and my brothers and sisters in the Venitori shall take our rightful places as the rulers of this world once our Lord has returned to the Golden City…." Erimond would have gone on a while longer.

"Yeah, yeah, back to reality; what is the point of all this?" Serrada asked, then turning to Erimond, and she gave her cutting smile. "Let me guess, shall I?"

"…. Ahhh" It was clear that Erimond had been practicing this speech awhile, and now the Inquisitor had ruined it; now he fell silent.

"I shall take it as a yes," Serrada walked forward between the mages, foolish to some but not to those who knew her. "So Coryph-useless has come with yet another hair-brained scheme, has he?"

Erimond's face grew red as he started to splutter, but she continued, "After all, the last dozen have worked out so well; busting into the Golden City certainly gave him a remarkable physique. It looks cobbled together from a dozen others that were lying around. So here you are, using the nobility and bravery of the Gray Wardens to cobble together an army of demons. Well, you can run back to Cory-pitiful, like the disgusting dog spittle you are, and tell him I am coming for him."

"How dare you! You are unworthy to speak his name. He told me how to deal with you!" Erimond raised his hand, casting some blood magic spell.

Serrada felt the explosion of pain around the anchor; she cried out and fell to her knees. The others looked on in fear, but Vivienne and Dorian kept their eyes on the mages, who did not move.

"Hold Cassandra, focus on the real threat, let her master it herself," Dorian whispered, Cassandra and Backwall glancing at both mages; Vivienne had moved to flank, leaving Serrada to fight her own personal battle, Sera was nowhere to be seen, Stroud was transfixed by the scene and Hawke moved to flank.

Serrada felt the agony boiling through her arm, the whispers and words just beyond her hearing, cackling laughter, but also soft, powerful words that gave her some comfort even though she could not understand them; the tone was of a voice she had heard before but could not place, reassuring, encouraging. Pain and fear wared with her self-control; she was nearly overwhelmed by it several times, but just as she was afraid she might surrender, she felt sure John was there with her, holding her, his arms around her. She was suddenly back when she was injured, her bed in Skyhold, his arms around her; he loved her even with her injuries. The wave of pain and an attempt to control her will washed over her, and she was in the cold, lying in the snow, freezing, dying.

'Get up, Mistress, get up!' Gliril's voice called to her, the pain flowing, pulsing, throbbing. 'Get up, Mistress, I need you, we all need you, get up!'

Her eyes fixed on the anchor, its green flow, wrapping in whisps of red magic, sickly, twisted, evil, she pushed through to the anchor; it heard her, its mistress, and obeyed.

"… when I bring him your head, his gratitude …." Erimond was still talking when she regained her feet, stretched her left hand out, and commanded her anchor. A bolt of energy, pure force of will, exploded from her hand and struck Erimond square in the chest, sending him flying through the air and slamming into the wall.

The Inquisitor was back, as were her companions, standing ready.

"Kill them," Erimond's parting words as he staggered back into some filthy hole.

The battle that followed was anything but dramatic. Stroud attempted to reason with the Grey Warden mages, but their minds were already lost. There were six, and the experiment demanded a handful of subjects.

Two of those on the right never saw it coming. Sera, cloaked in shadow, slit their throats in a swift, deadly motion, leaving them standing as lifeless statues. On the left, Dorian and Vivienne immobilized two others with a freezing spell, their breaths turning to mist. Cassandra's sword flashed, cleanly slicing under their chins and sending their heads toppling to the ground. Blackwall's massive blade cleaved through the remaining one on the right, splitting him from skull to shoulders in a single, brutal strike. The final mage fell with Sereda's dagger buried deep in his forehead, the hilt now a grotesque horn of steel protruding from his skull.

That just left the demons. Once, six of these monstrosities might have posed a severe threat, but now they were merely an afternoon's warm-up. The Inquisition members moved with practiced ease, swiftly dispatching the demons. None had even broken a sweat by the time the last demon fell.

"Cory-pitiful? Right! I am stealing that; that is a good one, Inky." Sera was smiling as she cleaned up the arrows that were still usable. Serrada smiled back as she retrieved and cleaned her dagger before sheathing it.

"So that went well," Hawke had waited for the Inquisitor's team to come down from the battle before she decided to move on with the situation.

"You were right; thanks to the ritual, the Warden mages are enslaved to Corypheus," Stroud started.

"Cory-useless," Sera shouted while looking for good arrows. Causing all but Stroud and Hawke to smirk.

"As I was saying," Stroud continued. "I believe the enslavement is irreversible; he has taken their minds."

"What of the Warden warriors?" Hawke asked, looking around but seeing only bodies. "Of course, it's not real blood magic unless someone gets sacrificed."

"Human sacrifice, demon summoning," Serrada gazed around at the bodies, those who had been sacrificed and those who had sacrificed themselves. "Who looks at this and thinks it's a good idea?"

"The fearful and the foolish," the anger in Hawke's voice was palpable, but so was the pain.

Serrada knew Hawke's story almost as well as she knew that of the Hero of Ferelden. Don't call her the Hero, she corrected herself, thinking of Leliana's admonition. Hawke's mother had been taken by a blood mage, sacrificed, and turned into an undead creature, only to die in Hawke's arms. Her hate for blood magic was justified in so many ways.

"Hawke, they thought what they were doing was necessary…," Stroud began, but Serrada cut him off.

"Necessary? Necessary! How utterly ridiculous that is, Stroud! How is any of this necessary?" Serrada's voice trembled with a mixture of anger and disbelief. "How is sacrificing innocent lives, tearing apart families, and summoning demons anything but a descent into madness? Look around you. These people—Warden mages and warriors alike—trusted Clarel. They blindly believed in the Grey Wardens' cause, and this is where it led them."

Stroud's face tightened with anger. "You are not a Grey Warden; you do not understand and never will. Without us, the next Blight will destroy Thedas. The Blight—"

"The Blight," Serrada interrupted, her voice dripping with disdain. "The fear of it may be worse than the Blight itself. A future Blight doesn't justify the atrocities committed here and now. The Grey Wardens are supposed to be better than this; we're supposed to be better than this. The Grey Wardens should stand for something more than survival at any cost."

Hawke nodded in agreement, her eyes hard. "Blood magic corrupts everything it touches, Stroud. We can't let this stand."

The Inquisitor stepped toward Stroud, her voice firm and resolute, gloved fists planted firmly on her hips, staring up into Stroud's eyes, unblinking. "We will find another way to protect Thedas. If we can't preserve our humanity, surviving is pointless. The Wardens who died here deserve justice, and those responsible for this must be held accountable. This madness has to be stopped. Otherwise, those demons will sweep over Thedas. I know, I have seen it. The Blight will be the least of our worries."

Stroud bowed his head with a deep, dejected sigh, the weight of their words settling heavily upon him. "You are correct, Inquisitor. I see that now. We must atone for what has been done here and find a path that honors the true spirit of the Grey Wardens."

Serrada's expression softened slightly, but her resolve remained unshaken; she reached out to rest her right hand on the older Warden's shoulder. "I grew up revering, almost worshipping, the Wardens, Stroud. I read every book, every story. I will not let the Wardens fall without fighting for what they should be, even if they are unwilling to fight for themselves."

Hawke's eyes softened momentarily, reflecting a mix of understanding and sorrow. She couldn't help but feel a sense of admiration for Serrada. She thought back to her own journey and did not envy the Inquisitor but knew deep down that this young woman was sent to be who and what she was and that Thedas was in good hands.

Despite his regret, Stroud exhibited a flicker of renewed determination inspired by Serrada's words. He had allowed his sorrow to cloud his judgment, fully aware that his time was limited. The Calling had begun for him before the Conclave, long before any of his Grey Warden comrades.

He argued with Clarel, insisting she was on the wrong path. He had fought the Calling, hoping to find a better way and perhaps convince Clarel. In truth, he was reluctant to leave those he loved—family and friends—to face the Deep Roads and death alone in the dark.

Having met the Inquisitor, he was confident she would lead Thedas through this crisis, no matter the cost, and more effectively than he could. As he regarded Serrada, he admired her strength and conviction. She had persuaded him when no one else could, and he felt a sense of peace knowing that with Serrada at the helm of the Inquisition, Thedas would be in capable hands.

"All right, Inquisitor, where to now? Hawke and I might scout Adament fortress and meet you back at Skyhold," It was odd for Stroud to yield command to someone so young. "Would that do?"

Cassandra watched Serrada with Stroud with a mixture of awe and pride. Serrada was no longer the terrified girl she had almost executed. She had grown into a leader who could inspire others. 'We will make this right. For the Wardens, for Thedas,' Cassandra thought.

Sera, never one to mince words, felt a wicked grin spread across her face. 'Right! Time to knock some heads and fix this mess, Inky,' appreciating Serrada's resolve.

Blackwall's jaw tightened. 'The Wardens have lost their way, but we will guide them back,' he mused, finding hope in Serrada's unwavering stance. 'Maybe I will too.'

Vivienne looked around with a calculating gaze. 'Strength tempered with wisdom will prevail. We shall see to that,' she considered, acknowledging Serrada's wisdom in her words. 'Well done, my dear.'

Dorian adjusted his sleeves, a wry smile playing on his lips. 'She truly is remarkable.'

"Let's not waste any more time, shall we? Onward to Griffon Wing Keep. I do hope they have tea on; it will be time by the time we get there," Dorian said, catching everyone's attention and ready to follow Serrada's lead.

Serrada looked in the direction Stroud indicated. "We will need more forces to deal with that. For now, we need to secure Griffon Wing Keep. You and Hawke go find out what you can and return to Skyhold. When you return to the Inquisition base camp, call and ask for a portal."

Neither Hawke nor Sroud knew what a portal was, but they would not query now. They had their orders, and shortly after, they set out.

With a final nod, the group steeled themselves for the challenges ahead, determined to restore honor to the Grey Wardens and protect Thedas from the encroaching darkness.

---

Serrada lay breast down a hundred paces from the front gate of Griffon Wing Keep. Up close, she discovered it was smaller than she had thought; the distance and lack of landmarks had fooled her eyes.

She had scouted the keep earlier, noticing signs of recent repair but little movement. The stench of foul air had nearly overwhelmed her on the eastern side, but she managed to get around back before returning to their makeshift camp.

The front gate was imposing, constructed of heavy timber reinforced with iron bands, and flanked by weathered stone towers. Though rusty and showing signs of age, the portcullis still looked formidable, its iron grates thick and unyielding. The main gate had seen better days but was reasonably serviceable. She knew that if she could get to the levers, the portcullis could be raised and the keep taken.

She glanced behind her only to see Cassandra and Blackwall preparing to assault the front door, for the Maker's sake. She shook her head; she knew that bloodshed was unavoidable, but she preferred to minimize it if possible.

From out of thin air, Sera flopped beside her as if it was as natural as breathing; Serrada had wanted to take the back of the keep, but instead, Sera had taken the back and the west side. As much as the Inquisitor hated to admit it, Sera was faster and better at hiding than she would likely ever be, so it made sense when the elf girl had suggested:

"Besides, Inky, you will need to measure for the new drapes, so you take the front, eh?" Before Serrada could react, Sera was gone.

Now the girl appeared; she seemed almost giddy, and Serrada knew she had found something but wanted to tease it a little, so she let the girl have her fun; she had worked for it.

Returning to the group, all her team huddled close to hear the news.

Cassandra could not contain herself, finally saying, "Out with it, you two rascals, what did you find!"

"Pretty much as you see it. There are soldiers inside; by the sound, they are Tevintor, probably Venitori. I don't know how many, but I would wager at least a dozen. But there was too much work for so few. My guess is that the Grey Wardens were repairing it for whatever reason, and when they got caught up with Corypheus, they abandoned it, and then the Venatori took it over as a base of operations. But that is just a guess," she replied while peering over the sand through the patch of Felandaris, masking their location.

"Well, that is pretty good, Inky, for a novice, but I found something useful," Sera was enjoying herself. "See, there is a magic barrier around by the back door, and by the smell, there is water; by the stench, I think it is pretty nasty, but I get it is a back way in. Otherwise, why the magic?"

Serrada didn't have to look back to know that her mages were getting ready to prove how superior they were; Serrada was about to tell them to hold back and give her a moment to think when…

"Race you," Dorian said, then promptly disappeared.

"Cheater," Vivienne muttered through her smile, and in a blur was gone two.

"Bloody hell, that just isn't fair," Sera spat. "I mean, how are you supposed to compete with that?"

After a few moments, Dorian and Vivienne reappeared, looking quite pleased.

"Barrier's down," Dorian reported with a flourish. "And Sera, you were spot on. There's water back there, but it's deliberately contaminated with rotting flesh and garbage. Quite the charming deterrent."

Vivienne nodded, a rare hint of genuine warmth in her eyes. "Indeed, they intended to make the keep unusable once they left it. Quite a clever, albeit unpleasant, tactic."

"Ugh, that's disgusting," Sera grimaced. "But hey, I knew there was something fishy about it."

Dorian chuckled. "Maybe, but I must admit, your ability to sniff out a hidden entrance is impressive. For a rogue."

"Yes, quite the valiant effort, my dear," Vivienne added with a smirk. "For someone who relies on, shall we say, less arcane methods?"

"Don't forget, Vivie. I know where your small clothes are, and I have a fresh packet of itching weed."

"Yes, dear Sera, but don't forget I know what is in your small clothes, and we wouldn't want frostbite, would we? Poor Rachelle might be upset."

Viv wiggled her fingers without looking as Sera chirped, grabbing her neathers.

"Points made, girls, now play nice" Serrada did not even look over her shoulder but kept her eyes on the keep. She knew that although they snipped at each other, both would fight to the death for the other.

Serrada took the moment of calm to interject, sliding back down to the hallow to address her companions.

"Alright, listen up. Sera and I will sneak into the well, climb inside the keep, open the gate, and lift the portcullis. Cassandra, Blackwall, Dorian, and Vivienne, you will lay low near the gate until we've opened it. Once it's open, you'll move in quickly and take out any Venatori you encounter. We need to be swift and precise to minimize casualties; I want information, which means prisoners."

Cassandra nodded to Blackwall, who just smiled back, both their expression determined, but Serrada knew they were spoiling for a plain old-fashioned fight. In unison, they confirmed it. "Understood."

Dorian smirked. "Try not to take too long, Inquisitor. Please don't get distracted by Sera's cute little bottom as you follow along; we wouldn't want to get too comfortable waiting."

"Hey," Sera responded, "thank you for the compliment, but I am following her bottom this time. I have to have something to tell Rachelle."

Serrada just sighed, but Vivienne came to her rescue.

Vivienne gave a small smile. "Yes, do be quick. We wouldn't want to miss the grand entrance."

Sera chuckled and rolled her eyes. "Alright, you magic show-offs. We will see you on the inside after we do all the hard work and try not to get lost without your sparkles."

With a final nod from Serrada, the group prepared for their respective tasks, ready to take Griffon Wing Keep by surprise.

---

Serrada moved slowly through the debris, her eyes scanning the bodies and broken weapons scattered across the ground. The smells of blood, sweat, smoke and the unmistakable odors of vomit and piss assailed her nose with every shift of what little breeze there was. As vial as it might be, it was nothing compared to the stench of the stew at the bottom of the well.

Considering how this turned out, her thoughts drifted to John and his words.

John always said, "No plan survives first contact with the enemy."

He was right, of course. Serrada thought of a corollary, "All these meticulous strategies we lay out... they mean nothing once the first arrow flies. The chaos and improvisation in the moment truly test our mettle."

Ironically, it was a discarded plate that caused her earlier stealthy plan to go to shite.

All had been going well. Sera had managed to clamber up and help Serrada climb the slippery well shaft, but both went unnoticed.

The Venitori, expecting nothing, had gone up to have a meal, leaving the outer keep unguarded or patrolled, or so the two rogues thought.

They had made it down the first stair from the small stone courtyard, down the second stair toward the main gate, when Serrada's foot touched a forgotten dinner plate, nothing fancy, a worn and much-washed plate whose tarnished metal blended perfectly with the shadowed stone.

It clanked down the stairs, sounding like an alarm bell at each collision.

"Who goes there?" Shouted a guard, high up on the top-level rampart. He never got an answer, for arrows found their mark, one through his heart and the other through his throat. Unfortunately, he fell with a thump to the stone wall below.

"Alarm, alarm, Venitori, we are under attack!" The shouts followed as many feet started pounding against the stone floors above.

"Open the gate," Serrada whispered to Sera, still in shadow; she moved as Serrada climbed the stairs again, arrow after arrow finding their mark among those who saw her.

It was over fairly quickly; the fools who lept from the walls outside the gate never knew what hit them, frozen, immolated, or just cleaved in half, and sometimes all three; they were not even a minor hindrance as first Cassandra, then Blackwall roared through, followed by the more sedate and certainly graceful mages.

The most profound irony is it may well have been the same plate that ended the battle it had started as Sera used one she found along the way; it made a satisfying clunk of the back of the skull of Prelate Macrinus, effectively 'subduing' Prelate Macrinus.

All that was left to do was send word back to the camp; now Serrada was aiding in the cleanup.

She knelt beside a fallen Venatori soldier, noting his handsome, young face. He was probably her age, with all his life before him. His blonde hair was matted with blood, and his beautiful blue eyes, eyes that would see no more, were clouded in death, with her dagger in his chest. Serrada felt a pang of regret as she removed the dagger, cleaning it on her tunic before closing his eyes with a gentle touch.

'What was your name? What brought you here?' she wondered silently, kneeling in prayer. 'What convinced you to fight and die so far from home? Was it worth it? Is it worth it for any of us?'

Her kneeling and prayer did not go unnoticed. Even some of the Venatori who were less steeped in the cults of Corypheus took note, which loosened many tongues. The Inquisition soldiers also took note, and word of the kindness of the Inquisitor would surely spread further.

A distance off, Cassandra and Blackwall watched, speaking in hushed tones.

"She is too good for this struggle," Cassandra whispered, her voice tinged with concern. "She has a kind heart. I worry she will break in the end, even with John and all of us to aid her."

Blackwall nodded, his expression grim. "We must do everything we can to support her. This war takes a toll on the best of us, and Serrada carries more weight than most. She's our leader, but she's also our friend."

Around her, the Inquisition forces were busy securing the area, tending to the wounded, and preparing to move into Griffin Wing Keep. Miraculously, none of the Inquisition members were seriously injured, save for a few scrapes and close calls.

She remembered climbing up the well, the fetid water soaking her boots, and the slimy ichor slickening the walls. The Venatori hadn't expected an attack from within, and their surprise had been their downfall. Still, the sight of the young soldier haunted her, as all such wasted lives did.

"We planned and planned, but when the battle started, it all came down to quick thinking and instinct. Is that all that keeps us alive? Instinct and luck? No, that plays a role, but in the end, it is the ability to adapt and change tactics on the fly. That's what John meant. I need to remember that." She mused as a young Inquisition soldier brought up a canvas bag.

"Begin your pardon, ma'am, but I need to prepare the body, ma'am." The young man seemed almost ashamed to bother her.

"It is quite alright," Serrada paused, waiting and looking at him expectantly.

"Ahh, Gareth from Gwaren, that's on the coast of Ferelden, Ma'am," Gareth sputtered, almost ashamed to answer her.

Serrada smiled; she knew he must have to explain his birthplace and its location reasonably often since it was clearly a habit.

"Well, Gareth, let's see if this poor soul can tell us in death what I could learn in life," She bent to search the body, carefully removing the dead boy's armor, which was of fine make and fitted him well.

"Please, Ma'am, let me do this; you should not soil yourself with the chore, please," Gareth almost tried to stop her, but she was having none of it.

She stopped and looked him in the eye for a moment, then back to the body and then to Gareth.

"Gareth, since waking in the cells of Haven, I have been required to perform many unpleasant tasks, including taking this boy's life. I did them not by choice but by necessity, and honestly, preparing this boy's body was not the most unpleasant. Now, please help me or find another duty while I finish."

Gareth only nodded and said nothing more than the occasional soft, thank you.

She knew he was only trying to be kind to her; after all, this was not a pleasant chore by any means, but it could be worse; someone, probably several someones, would have to clean the well and purify the waters as it was a critical resource that could not be allowed to remain contaminated.

Soon, the body was stripped and washed; he had been a fit young man and well formed; now he was dead, would be wrapped and burned, his ashes scattered.

Later, taking a break in the heat, the group sat under a makeshift shade cloth high above the desert below; the breeze welcomes. The group sat silently sipping chilled wine, another of Vivienne's miracles, and apparently, the Tevintors were well-provisioned.

Serrada watched as Jack and the rest of his crew were busy restating what every Maker he had been preparing. Somehow, Serrada was less interested, given the revelations of the day.

The sun was now low in the sky when she first spoke, breaking the silence. Soon, it would be time for supper, but she was not hungry.

"His name was Lucius, Lucius Valerian," She finished her glass and poured more. "Youngest son of Magiers Caius and Octavia Valerian."

"Are you sure? I did not know Octavia even had a son," Dorian spoke, surprise almost dripping from his face. "I knew they had daughters; I trained with the oldest, Aurelia, Cassia and Livia. I never met the younger two; they were still studying at home. Are you certain?"

Serrada tossed the folded letter to Dorian, which was written on heavy, quality parchment.

"Well, unless he was begging someone else's parents to let him come home, I have to assume yes," Serrada drank more wine than usual. "He hated being here, hated the whole Venitori business, and begged them to let him come home!"

She threw the goblet, which crashed against a stone pillar, spraying wine and bending it beyond repair.

"Hey, what's the matter! I had a long day today," Sera woke to the noise, then rolled over off the thin mat she was on; she was still cuddling the empty wine bottle.

"Inquisitor, with your permission, I would like to gather his ashes and take them home to his parents; they are not wealthy, and …" Dorian asked, still looking at the letter, till he folded it carefully, put it back into the oiled skin envelope and tucked it into his shirt. Serrada only nodded.

No one said anything; they knew there was nothing to say, a split-second decision made in the heat of battle, whether the boy might have surrendered or fought regardless would never be known, and it was just best to let Serrada move through her emotions at the moment.

It was then that Jack came to their mutual rescue.

"Inquisitor, might I have a moment?" Jack asked; he had heard the exchange and seen more of the like before; although Jack was not a soldier, he was an observer and watched both the Newcomers and the Inquisition soldiers deal with grief and guilt. He recognized the signs.

"What can I do for you, Jack?" Serrada asked, not even looking up but just grabbing a bottle of chilled wine and starting to drink from the bottle.

"The radio, it's ready," Jack knew this was a delicate time, but he hoped the revelation might derail her downward spiral.

Serrada took a deep breath and sighed a long, slow sigh before answering. "Jack, what is in the Maker's balls? Is there a radio?"

"John didn't tell you? Fuck, I can't explain it easily, so let's just say we can communicate directly with Skyhold now." Jack waited for her to process it.

"What?" Cassandra was the first to respond, almost jumping to her feet.

"Okay, don't get too excited. It is not like HDTV, but we can send messages to Skyhold," Jack answered, happy to have his invention be so popular.

"Like a raven?" Sera asked after a yawn, and Dorian nodded without the yawn in agreement, both sharing the same quizzical look.

"Similar, but not quite," Jack answered, clearly enjoying teasing.

"Show me," Serrada answered, forgetting about the wine bottle and handing it to Blackwall, who wiped the mouth of the bottle and poured the dregs into his goblet.

Serrada followed Jack into the evening sun; the rest, although not explicitly invited, followed anyway. They crossed to where a hastily erected tent was stationed near the flag pole, and thin wires hanging from the pole between porcelain fixtures to the wall below then leading into the tent.

Serrada noted the new home for this device was much larger than the small tent in which it had been initially installed. She was sure the Inquisition tent's owner would be happy to sleep inside the keep and have their tent back.

It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the sudden darkness, but once they did, she saw the boxes had been unpacked with packing straw strewn about. A large box sitting on a thick beamed table with a stool in front and one of Leliana's young scouts with headgear on either side of her head looking at glass beads as if she expected something to happen.

Jack took control. "Inquisitor, would you care to do the honors?"

Serrada hesitated and looked at the young scout for assistance. She just pointed at a silver lever on the side of the box. Below it, where the lever was set now, was an O, and above it was a 1. Serrada tentatively reached out and flipped the lever up to 1. Instantly, a whine started—not loud but annoying and definitely unfamiliar.

"So far so good," Jack said. It was then that Serrada noticed he had pale sand in his hands. That was not a promising sign.

As if on cue, a light started flashing, and the woman sitting with the odd headdress covering her ears pressed them to her head and then started writing. Serrada was about to say something, but Jack held his hand to hush her. The light flashed, the girl wrote, then she waited and tapped a lever. It ticked, and another red light flashed, followed several seconds later by the white light flashing. This continued until Serrada was on the verge of becoming impatient. Just about the time she was going to insist on some answers, the girl doing the writing pulled the things off her head and handed the message to Jack, who read it.

"Are you certain?" Jack asked the girl who spoke for the first time.

"Yes, sir. Requested confirmation and rebroadcast; it is 100% confirmed." The turn went back to monitoring the device.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," was all Jack said, then handed the paper to Serrada.

"Emprise Du Lion is a complete disaster; they have lost contact with the Chargers, LJ, Bull … everyone," Serrada read, hands shaking. Serrada was on the edge of tears. "John and the troops came under almost immediate heavy attack; after leaving the portal, the village was under siege, and they needed immediate help … Jack, we need to get back now; send a message …."

Like a small clap of thunder, the snap echoed through the parapet's upper stone and the keep's tents. All eyes turned to the sound of the swirling vortex of magic now forming above a raised platform on the southwest corner of the outer wall, a protected but empty space.

The portal opened, and Inquisition soldiers began exiting, most carrying the new weapons; they seemed surprised by the sudden drop. One went back through and returned with Rachelle, causing Sera to scream and race to the ladder. She grabbed Rachelle by the waist, hoisting the mage up in her arms, and both tumbled back through the portal.

A chuckle rolled through all the Inquisition soldiers. More Inquisition soldiers and provisions came through, climbing down the portal ladders; more were quickly brought forward.

"Maker, you would have thought they were apart for a year!" Cassandra stood there, hands on her hips, shaking her head. Then she stomped over to check with the quartermaster.

"Two sovereigns says she does worse when she sees Eric," Blackwall rubbed the two gold pieces together.

"Sucker's bet," Dorian replied, and all agreed.

As quickly as it came, the parapet portal closed. All were surprised, but everyone kept clear. A radio message stated that the portal would be opened again soon, but this time on the upper bailey against the parapet.

"We have got to find a better way to do this," Serrada said to herself.

"Agreed. One of these days, there will be a disaster," Cassandra was suddenly beside her leader.

To emphasize the point, the portal suddenly opened just halfway through the ladder, which allowed access to the parapet in that corner of the upper bailey. The portal appeared; half of the ladder was no longer attached to the wall and simply fell backwards as if the attachments had never existed. The portal had sliced the wood from bottom to top as cleanly as any sword might.

"That is going to be someone soon; this must stop, Inquisitor," Vivienne whispered.

"Really? So what must we do with those who freeze people? Shall we lock them up?" Dorian responded after appearing on Serrada's other side. "Oh wait, you do!"

Serrada could not help but smirk. Dorian had a gift for making the right point at the right time.

Sera and Rachelle stepped out first, then a group of Inquisition soldiers, workers, and others carrying or pulling carts through. Soon, the top level of the Keep was crowded and a hive of activity as dwarf stone masons and carpenters set about immediately reviewing the Keep's condition.

If she had tried to keep up, Serrada would have been forced to turn around and around until she was dizzy. Luckily, that was not required as

Eventually, a tall soldier moved toward her; she had watched him give orders and set about, and she and her group sat away and let the activity wash around them. The man approaching was taller than she was. Serrada guessed him as half a hand shorter than John but at least a hand taller than herself. He was broadly built, and his uniform was worn, not from long service but from heavy use. This man did things himself, not just ordered others to work hard.

As he approached, Serrada could just make out intense blue eyes, which constantly checked the activity about him; although he seldom spoke harshly, he was still in command, and his, her people, people listened.

"Forgive me, Inquisitor, I was detained with my duties and did not present myself properly," He bowed as was proper, but as one soldier would another, not as a fawning supplicant trying desperately to curry favor as a lackey might, no this man recognized Serrada's authority, respected it, and acknowledge his place. "The portal can not remain open much longer, and I needed to get things in order before the supplies were stranded and we could not get them."

As if on cue, the portal snapped shut with his and the sound of a small thunderclap.

"I am Captain Rylen; Lady Montilyet and Commander Cullen asked me to take over the keep so you may return to Skyhold." Rylen presented the sealed envelope. Serrada broke the seal and read the letter within, as well as the hidden coded authentication message confirming his story.

"Excellent, Captain, carry on. Will you please send Rachelle and Sera to me as well?" Serrada asked, saluting the Captain, who nodded and left.

"This place will shape up nice, don't you think, Inky?" Sera asked, walking up and holding Rachelle's hand as if she would never let go.

"Rachelle, why are you here? I thought we agreed you would use Skyhold as a base until we had a better solution," Serrada did not take the bait Sera was offering. With Rachelle there, in the Western Approach, how was John and his party at Emprise De Lion supposed to return?

"We considered it, but if we did as you suggest, I would be too knackered to open another portal for hours; as it stands, I can open one to Emprise immediately, and we shall get there much soon," Rachelle responded, Serrada could hear the fatigue in the girl's voice.

"You sound like you will drop any moment," Serrada put her arms around Rachelle, glancing at Sera, who seemed like she wanted in the hug; she held Rachelle tight and whispered. "I don't want you killing yourself by doing too much."

"We have no choice, Serrada; you know that I will rest when you are in Emprise De Lion. They need you now, not tomorrow, now please, you have to — you have to go now," Rachelle pulled herself up, then looked directly into Serrada's eyes, her voice firm. "Tomorrow will be too late."

Without even the movement of an eyelash, the familiar snap and tangly metallic scent Serrada had grown to know rolled across the stone pavers, followed by the now very unfamiliar blast of ice-cold air and the scene of frozen water on the other side.

"You must go now," Rachelle said, again sounding exhausted. Rachelle glanced over to her lover and smiled. "Take Sera with you, I will rest here. I promise."

The cold air was so refreshing that several of the Inquisition gathered around the opening to guard against intruders and enjoy the respite from the heat. Some held warm cloaks for those who would be leaving.

Serrada returned Rachelle's gaze. "Get some rest. I will send word when everything is secured. Do not open another portal or light a campfire till you have rested." Rachelle nodded and moved away to Sera.

"All right, let's go, we are needed in Emprise De Lion," Serrada gathered some fresh arrows, potions, a supply sachelle, and a cloak, then walked through the new opening without looking back.

One by one, each of the others did much the same, Blackwall, Cassandra, Dorian, Vivienne, and finally, very reluctantly went Sera, holding a long goodbye kiss with Rachelle, then stepped through.

As soon as all were through, Rachelle closed the portal and collapsed in a heap.