This time, as Ten sat on her ass in the Fade, she was not troubled by the ghosts of her own guilty conscience. She was aware, of course, that she was dreaming, but instead of the spongy brown canyons she had seen the last several times she had wound up there, she was somewhere in the ass end of the nation, a campfire before her. Every so often, she absently stirred the embers with a stick that her mind had produced. She was not certain how long she had been there - time did not really work in that half-realm as it did in waking life, after all, when she saw a familiar figure sit down across from her.

"Well this is certainly a mess."

"I'm not sure what you expected, Duncan," she said, not looking up, "Or demon who sounds like him. I'm really not sure how to tell the difference at this point. Duncan's probably moved on by now. So how about you fuck off and leave me be, my soul's spoken for for a bit, you can have it later."

"No, no," he - it- whatever - said, "I just saw a lovely fire and wanted to sit for a bit."

"Well I can't stop you," she said.

"Do you think this experience will harden you further?" he asked. Well it's certainly not Duncan. He would never ask such a thing. He had that uncanny ability to see right into your head. So, a spirit then, good evil or otherwise I wouldn't hazard to guess. Taking the form of someone I trusted.

"Friend, I am steel quenched in ice at this point, I don't know what more hardening you think I need," she said.

"Your throat is still a bit squishy, though, innit," The voice that the entity used had changed, from Duncan's lilting Highever baritone to the familiar Hinterlands pacing and tenor of Daveth the pickpocket. She looked up, smiled faintly at the face of a friend she had not known for long, but had been true to her during a time when she needed one.

"Yes, well, I am but a wee elfin maiden, at the end of the day."

"Why did you do that? Put your neck on the line for that girl?"

"Because if I let my people be ground under the boots of their neighbors, this is not a nation worth saving," she said, "So how about you scamper back off to whatever dark corner of my mind conjured you and I'll wake up and see just how badly I'm hurt."

"You'll recover," the spirit that looked like Daveth said, "Why was it you and not me?"

"Well it wasn't you. You're not Daveth are you."

"Aren't I?"

"Daveth is getting roaringly drunk off the best ethereal whiskey at the side of the Maker or whatever god he preferred," said Ten, "And unless you're about to take me to do the same…"

"Alas, that is not within my power. I was merely curious. Is that what you would prefer?"

"No," she said, "I have a few things I need to do first."

"Well then. I suppose you'll need to wake up then. If you can take it."

"I suppose there's but one way to find out."

She opened her eyes to bright sunlight filtering through a hole in the roof of the place she was lying. She cast about. It was a circular hut, looking to be constructed out of green saplings, bent in towards each other to form a dome, and woven through with rushes. A fire roared in the center, the smoke reaching up to the hole she had first seen. She tried to sit up, and cringed. Broken ribs truly hurt far more than they have any right to. Steeling herself, she fought through the pain and brought herself to a sitting position. Her left arm was in a sling, but probing her head with her right hand revealed swelling on both sides of her head.

"She lives yet!" exclaimed Zevran's voice. She turned her head too quickly, which made her dizzy, and saw that he had been sitting at the foot of the cot she was lying on.

"Yeah, well, needs must," she grumbled, "How long have I been out?"

"We're on day three. You kept trying to get up and tear your bandages off, so they had to sedate you," he said. He rose from the foot and sat himself beside her on the cot. "How many fingers am I holding up."

"None," she said.

"How about now?"

"Two, and you're stealing my jokes. That's a high offense in Ferelden," she said, pushing his hands out of the way, "What happened? Where are we?"

"Well, our friends from the trees decided they would rather die heroes' deaths than freeze overnight. Between the smell and the sheer ferocity of men who know they are about to meet the Maker, they killed or scared off the rest of the riders."

"And did they? Die?"

"Two did. The last is here. Some watchmen from the village heard the noise and came to investigate. We got you on a mule and brought you up here."

"Have you just been watching me sleep?"

"Can you blame me? I did not trust you would not stop breathing, and then I would have to flee…"

"Yeah," she said, "I didn't think my arm was fucked up, what happened?"

"It is not, you kept reaching out with it, which hurt your ribs," he said.

She took her arm out of the sling. Reached out straight. Winced as her ribs punished her. Closed her hand. Opened it back up. Satisfied that it was in fairly good condition, all things considered, she put it back down by her side. "So I'm guessing they don't have any pet apostates staying here who could patch me up."

"They're not Dalish," said Zevran, "At least not all of them. There is a healer, he's not a mage, though, more like you just… puts different things together and hopes they work. Can you stand?"

"Was just about to try," she said. Bracing herself on the cot, she managed to turn around, and get to her feet, with no small amount of protest from her broken ribs and banged-up head. She swayed a little, but caught herself, and Zev got an arm around her and helped her out of the door of the help and into the blossoming light of early morning.

Within the tall fence of Hathenor Pen, the village actually looked fairly normal. There were twenty or so of the round huts like the one Ten had awakened in, and five longhouses in the center of the village.

She heard a happy bark, and Pigeon came barreling up to her. She was grateful her companion had her around the shoulders, because the dog was so happy to see her mistress up and about, she stood on her hind legs and put both enormous paws on her shoulders, licking her face, something which certainly would have send her tumbling to earth if she had not been supported.

"Down girl. Relax. I'm fine," she said. Pigeon obeyed and sat back on her haunches, though her tail was still going a mile a minute. She looked around to see that apparently every dog in the village had followed her, mostly mutts, looking to be equal parts wolf, Mabari, and herding dog. They all circled the strangers, sniffing them, and each other. Pigeon gave another announcing bark.

At the noise, the dozen or so elves seated in the village center, each working on something - one fashioning a bow out of a sapling pine, one scraping skins, one popping dried corn kernels from cobs into a large bucket - looked up. The eldest of them, who had been doing nothing but gazing into the flames of a large communal fire, rose. He bore tattoos in black Dalish ink, in a vine motif that went from his snow-white hairline down his neck.

"You're awake," he said. His speech, like his tattoos, were distinctly Dalish.

"You sound surprised," said Ten.

"I am not," he said, "Your wounds would not have taken you. You can walk?"

"A bit," she said, "What happened?"

"You picked a fight with a band of ruffians who have been harassing us for months," the elder said, "And, despite the cost, you have won. You have also brought my granddaughter back to me in one piece. For that, I am eternally grateful."

"I apologize," said Ten, "I imagine one of them told you my name, but I do not know yours."

"Eimaril," he said.

"Are you in charge here?"

"So long as they want me to be."

"You're Dalish," she said, "My friend here said this isn't a Dalish village."

"It's not," Eimaril said, "I was raised among the Dalish, as were some others. As, I imagine, some residents of your Alienage were."

"They don't tend to stay," said Ten, "But yes there have been some."

"Oh thank the gods!"

Ten turned slowly to see Nayara, her blond hair down and hanging around her waist, rushing up to her.

"Please don't hug me," she said.

"No, of course not," the maid said, "I can't believe I dragged you into that. I'm so sorry."

"If I hadn't been there, who knows what they would have done with you," said Ten, "Don't apologize. But I hope you will forgive me if I'd like to be on my way well before sunset. I can't imagine I'll be moving very quickly."

"Well, thanks to you we have several new horses," said Nayara. She pointed over to a pen at the west end of the village where a very tall elfin man was stroking the nose of a bay pony, "I think we could spare a couple to get you back to town."

"I didn't mean to hurt them," said Ten, looking over at them.

"No, apparently whatever you put in that vial was only poisonous to the humans," Nayara said, "The worst injuries the horses had were lash marks the shem put on them. you just scared the absolute shit out of them."

"Which was in fact my intention," Ten said. She ran her right hand over her wounded scalp again, "Speaking of shem. The men who stepped in. The…"

"The walking dead," said Eimaril.

"One is still walking, yes?" asked Ten, "Where is he?"

"By the fire. He has a dreadful fear of the cold," said Nayara.

Ten picked her way towards the center of the village where, on the far side of the fire, the one she'd nicknamed 'Twitch' was sitting, contemplating the center of the fire. His head jerked to the side every so often, but he looked calmer and more at ease than when she had first seen him exiting the copse he trees where he had intended to die.

"Ah, you're among us, Grey Warden," he said, feeling her eyes on him. He rose clumsily, as though his limbs were unaccustomed to obeying his brain.

"I feel like I owe you calling you something other than 'Twitch,'" she said, "You have a name?"

"Cillian Fain," he said, "I'd shake your hand, but to be quite honest I'm in a bit of a state."

"Teneira Tabris, and no offense taken, so am I," she said, "Did your companions fall?"

"As they wished to," he said, "These shaky hands could still command a bow when asked nicely. The riders were dead or scattered by the time I reached you."

"Why'd you do that?"

"It's not in my nature to lay down and die," he said, "We saw an opening to do one more kindness, and we took it. After all, you are the last Grey Warden. Without you, this land will fall to that which took our home off the map. If that's my last act in this world, then so be it."

"We returned their bodies to the grove," said Nayara, "So their families will find them."

"Is that what you want, Cillian?" asked Ten.

"I don't have a family to look for me. Not anymore," he said, his head bobbing with each word, "But something you said before... I think I should like to see the ocean."

"We can take the coast road back to Denerim."

"You're taking me with you?" Cillian asked.

"Well unless you'd like to stay here," said Ten, "I can see you've had a bath, but we can have a mage look at you. There may be more life in you than you think."

"Lass, I've given my wife and four little ones to the flames," he said, the left corner of his mouth jerking downwards spasmodically, "I don't know how much more life I care to have."

"It's really up to you," said Ten.

"I think I should like to see the ocean," he said again.

"We'll make it happen," Ten said, "But you'll forgive me if I want to be far, far away from these roads well before sundown."

It did take another hour or so, until the sun was high in the sky, before they were packed onto two of the commandeered horses and set off down the switchback path which led from the fortified village of Hathenor Pen to the main road. The bodies of the men who had accosted them had been collected and burned, but their remains stayed in a pyramid at the crossroads where the battle had occurred. Ten sat behind Zev, who apparently knew how such creatures worked, her good arm around his waist in a way she hoped he would not misinterpret, while Cillian rode another, and they set out to the east. The coast road ran along the height of the ridge which cut up the southeastern coast of Fereldan, separating it from the pale blue of the Amaranthine Ocean. It was another series of switchbacks to get onto the road itself, an ancient construction which Ten could not believe was still sturdy enough to be traversed, a white stone causeway built up atop the ridge with supports meaning it would not dip or rise with the topography, and could be traversed easily by a host of men. She wasn't sure if the columns on either side had a function or were simply yet another Tevinter affectation, but they did look quite majestic in the morning sun. There had likely been stairs at some point, but the locals, having neither the energy nor the inclination to reconstruct them, had simply carved a path right into the ridge upon which it was situated. They climbed, turn by turn, until they reached the road, and headed to the north, where the walls of Denerim were visible, but nearly swallowed in the early morning fog.

The hills along the roadside were heavily wooded with birch and fir, none standing as high as the columns along the road, but tall enough that their branches grew through and twined around then, obscuring the view down to the moors to the west and the ocean to the east. Traveling the road itself was like moving through the branches of trees growing into each other overhead. About twenty minutes after they got onto the road, though the trees opened up, and to the east of the road was a small drop over which two elves and a man more dead than alive could clamber down and make their way to the edge of a cliff, high over the pounding surf.

"There it is," said Ten. Zev dismounted ahead of her, and she let him help her down out of the saddle, cringing as her ribs reminded her of the abuse she'd subjected them to. He helped her, too, down the two and a half foot drop from the road to the ground, and towards the cliff. The horses, who appeared generally used to the nonsense of people, stood obediently, waiting for their riders to return.

"Well shit," Cillian said as he took in the vast gray-blue expanse, twitching and bobbing towards the east, "They weren't kidding. Even at the widest point of Lake Calenhad, you can see the other side." He stood there a moment, the stiff breeze off the water billowing his cloak behind him, as still as Ten had ever seen him, taking it all in. "So… that's the end of the world there, isn't it." He raised a shaky hand to point at the horizon, "How close is it?"

"I wouldn't know," said Ten. She'd gazed at that same horizon from points north for her entire life. It had never once occurred to her to ask how close it was, or whether it was the edge of the world, or if anything might exist beyond that hazy strip of gray.

"Or does it just go on forever," Cillian said, "And it's our eyes that can't comprehend it."

"I suppose it does," Zevran said. He turned and put his mouth closer to Ten's ear than was really necessary, "Maker's breath, it is freezing up here. I regret all my complaints, this is actually the coldest I have ever been."

In a good mood, despite the aches in her head and side, Ten took his hands in hers to warm them, rubbing them briskly to get the blood flowing.

"I like that," said Cillian softly, walking slowly towards the sea, "It just… goes on, doesn't it. It moves around a bit, beats at the land… but it just keeps going."

"Yeah, it does," said Ten, wondering if she ought to stay closer by the man. She didn't want to walk too far out. The uneven ground made her compensate in ways that aggravated each and every bruise she'd managed to get.

They stood there, the three of them, in silence for awhile. Given the chill of the seabreeze and altitude, Ten was grateful for her dog and, for once, Zev's very Antivan sense of personal space.

"I think… I think I should like one more thing," Cillian said finally. She could see him twitching, spasming, jerking as he moved forward.

"What's that?" asked Ten, "Your bow saved my life. I'll grant it if it's in my power."

He turned his eyes to her from the roiling sea, and she thought she saw the ghost of a smile on his face as he said, "I've always wanted to fly."

She had no chance of catching him. Even if she'd been fully intact with and raced after him with all her power, she would not have caught him. She was too far back, and she was injured, and so when he sprinted with all his might towards the edge of the cliff, his cloak blowing out behind him like the wings of a magnificent bird, she could do nothing but limp and call out. Of course, this did nothing, and before she was halfway to him, he leapt and, for one singular moment, he flew.

She half ran, doggedly, towards the edge, and Zev dashed out in front of her, and got both arms around her, keeping her from moving and blocking her view. "Do not go and look," he said softly, pulling her head into his shoulder so she would not try to see over it, "He has departed on his own terms. Seeing what the rocks and waves make of the body will do you no good."

"Well shit," she said, looking up at him, "Why's it always got to be sad?"

"I wouldn't know," he said, his dark eyes placid, "I imagine for the same reason you are always reckless, and I am always pushing everyone's boundaries. It is our nature, and it is the world's nature to tell one sad story after another. Come on, let's get back to the city. Things make a little more sense there."