"Still think Grey Wardens are romantic, Seeker?" Bitterness dripped from the last two words.

Cassandra straightened, drawing back her shoulders at the accusation. "Yes," she said, firmly. "It is a noble cause Grey Wardens take up. More so in light of the sacrifices they make. I do not know if I had the strength at her age to make that decision."

The dwarf was grudgingly impressed. "We'll see if you still feel that way in a couple of hours." He would probably be at the Battle of Denerim by then.

His interrogator arched a dark eyebrow. Varric could already see the wheels turning in her mind. Envisioning increasingly dramatic scenarios that fit her preconceived notion of the Hero of Ferelden. Fanciful things like realizing love on the battlefield and promising not to die. Those kinds of stories only existed in the books he wrote.

She knew nothing of the terrible choices Solona had made nor how much the woman sacrificed. The story the rest of the world knew contained only half of what he had come to learn, but Varric held no illusions that Solona had shared every sordid detail.

He could only hope, by the end of this little storytelling session, that the Seeker didn't come to think poorly of her hero. Varric never wanted to be responsible for shattering anyone's inspiration.


26 Haring, 9:30 Dragon

Solona awoke with a headache. A bad one. The kind she hadn't felt since she learned the limits of her magic and how much she could use. The empty feeling that came with magical exhaustion was haunting. Honestly, that should have been enough punishment. A killer headache on top was just overkill.

She threw an arm over still closed eyes. What did she do yesterday? Try as she might, she couldn't remember using any magic. And definitely none on scale to leave her with a burgeoning migraine.

With a groan, she heaved herself into a sitting position. Warily, she allowed one eye to crack open. Alistair was perched on his knees across from her, appearing to meditate.

"Here I was thinking you intended to sleep straight through the battle."

Solona blinked blearily at him. "Huh?"

"There's some water at your beside. Drink, it'll help. I promise."

The mage followed directions, raising the capped canteen to her lips and downing the contents. Alistair's eyes shimmered with amusement as she refilled the container, this time drinking slowly.

"First time drinking?"

Her eyes narrowed on his mouth, as if watching his lips move would help her understand better. If she wanted to be poetic about it, Solona would say it felt like someone cast heavy fog over her brain.

"Yes," she said, dragging the word out. She had never had alcohol before. Certainly, hadn't been lacking in opportunity. The templars' had a hidden cache, but it wasn't hard to convince them to part with a bottle, for the right favor in return. Solona simply hadn't desired it. And now, knowing the effect it had on her, Solona mentally vowed to never touch another bottle.

Alistair merely hummed. "First time's the worst. You'll get used to it. Or not really. Once your abilities kick in, it'll take a lot more to get drunk. Best enjoy it while you can."

The man stood and arched his back, causing every bone in his spine to pop. "Let's get to work, shall we? Daveth has yet to awaken. Still recovering from the Joining. There's plenty of prep to be done before tonight's battle."

A chill shot down Solona's spine. How could she have forgotten about the upcoming battle against the darkspawn?

Alistair didn't notice her distraction, or was kind enough to pretend otherwise. "We'll have to stop by the quartermaster and see if we can't get you some armor that will actually protect you."

"What's wrong with my robes?" she demanded, defensively.

He shot her a disbelieving look. "Aside from cotton offering zero protection against sword and arrows."

"It's enchanted. It increases my magical power."

"But doesn't prevent a Hurlock from cutting you in half," Alistair said wryly.

She was grateful for that disturbing image. Really. What was Duncan thinking when he put this man in charge of the new recruits? "If a Hurlock manages to reach me, it'll be because you're dead. If that's the case, no amount of armor is going to save me, so I may as well keep the robes that make it easier for me to fight."

The blond man looked doubtful, but he let the argument drop.

The duo still spoke with the quartermaster about obtaining a tent for Solona. Alistair swore having a spare would come in handy. Alistair also cleaned the man out of his health poultices and lyrium potions, shrewdly haggling down the cost of the better quality potions. Satisfied with the deal, he paid the required two and a half sovereigns and divided the potions equally.

The mage soundlessly accepted her half, slipping them into the pouch on her waist. She and Alistair returned to their tent. The manic hustle and bustle of the camp rushing around was enough to drive Solona inside their shared quarters. She watched on as he set to sharpening the edges of his sword.

"We've still a few hours. You should sleep off that last of that hangover. Trust me, you do not want to fight with one."

"Is there nothing I can do to help?"

Her companion shook his head. "Rest now. You'll have to watch my back later, and I've been reliably informed it's an amazing backside."

Solona blushed furiously at the innuendo. She rolled over so she was facing the wall of the tent. "Wake me when it's time." Alistair chuckled, and resumed his task, lulling her to sleep with the repetitive striking of the whet stone to his blade.


Lightning danced across the dark sky, arcing and branching in a brilliant line of white before vanishing. A heavy rain fell across the ancient ruin, and yet the flickering torches of the approaching army burned steadily as the creatures advanced.

The king's army waited anxiously in the valley. Up and down the line, Mabari barked warning at the darkspawn.

King Cailan and Commander Duncan paused in the center of the formation to observe the field.

"The plan will work, Your Majesty," the dark-skinned man said, assuredly.

"Of course it will," the king responded. "The Blight ends here."

Their enemy marched from the tree line. They halted at the edge, a shifting mass of pent up energy that snarled its fury. Several men in the king's army balked at the sight, taking steps back in fear. But there was nowhere to retreat.

The darkspawn general, the tallest darkspawn wearing full gold armor and a horned helmet, waved his sword. Signal given, the darkspawn horde sprinted forward.

King Cailan sucked in a breath, ready to call out orders when the darkspawn line was in range. "Archers!" he shouted.

The first three lines of the Ferelden army was composed of archers. Like a wave, they brought up their bows and nocked an arrow into place. When their commander dropped his raised arm, they released. A hail of flaming arrows soared, slicing down to find new homes in darkspawn flesh. However, the horde continued to press forward, trampling those that fell beneath thousands of thundering feet.

"Hounds!"

A hundred Mabari raced ahead, digging in with sharp teeth and dragging darkspawn to the ground where they could continue to tear at their flesh.

King Cailan half turned. "For Ferelden!" he shouted, raising his fist. The army answered back with a battle cry and a charge.

The battle for Ostagar had begun.


The next time Solona was abruptly dragged from her peaceful sleep by Alistair practically hauling her out of her bedroll. She hardly had time to register he was dressed for battle when he began barking at her hurry.

"The darkspawn horde is approaching! We need to reach the Tower of Ishal!"

Solona rushed outside the tent, pausing beside Alistair to watch as a ball of flames crashed into the top of one of the ruin's towers.

"Let's go!"

Together, the two Grey Wardens raced through camp. It was chaos on the bridge. What was already a treacherous journey was made worse as flaming boulders crashed around them, destabilizing the already perilous bridge.

One landed close enough that the force threw her to the ground. Alistair picked her up and pushed her forward.

Thankfully, the Tower of Ishal was just on the other side of the bridge. However, two men in guard uniform ran down the ramp as they approached.

"You. . . you're Grey Wardens, aren't you? The tower . . . it's been taken!"

"What are you talking about, man? Taken how?" Alistair asked harshly.

"The darkspawn came up through the lower chambers! They're everywhere! Most of our men are dead!"

The ex-templar turned to her. "Then we have to get to the Beacon and light it ourselves!"

Solona didn't waste breath to remind him that had been the plan all along. She only hoped they could reach the top of the tower in time.

"Will you come with us? We need all the help we can get?" she asked the two terrified guards.

The men dithered but did crumble to her pleading expression. There were darkspawn aplenty on the grounds immediately outside the tower. Luckily, there were also a few surviving soldiers to fight them. The three warriors jumped in to lend aid. Unable to cast her favorite lightning spells for fear of catching her allies accidentally, Solona hurled ice at the darkspawn. Once, she froze a genlock right before Alistair's shield bashed into it. The frozen darkspawn shattered like glass, only not because it rained frozen fragments of gore.

"Great job, Solona! Can you do that again?" Alistair's voice carried over the sound of battle.

Her responding grin was just a touch manic. It should be easy enough. "Absolutely!"

Slowly but surely, the group of four made their way to the base of the tower. One of their tagalongs was so proud that he killed a darkspawn he actually cheered himself in the middle of battle. Solona made a mental note to tease him when this was over.

They found a Hurlock Alpha, according to Alistair, guarding the entrance to the tower. The Alpha was magically resistant. Her Winter's Grasp spell never held him in place for more than a few seconds, so Solona switched her focus to her party's weapons. She temporarily enhanced them with ice so they would have the same effect. With all four of them wielding ice-imbued weapons, the darkspawn Alpha was swiftly dealt with.

They entered the tower and were met with a barrier of flames. Between the pillars, the darkspawn had lit several fires, blocking their way forward. There was only one opening.

Alistair stopped them from simply moving through it. He knelt, running his fingers along a thin wire.

"A trap."

Solona watched as he cut the wire, triggering the trap. How long were the darkspawn in the tower if they had time to establish traps and manipulate how they would be able to move through the room? How did they even manage such a feat? According to Duncan, only the archdemon possessed a modicum of intelligence. The grunt forces shouldn't have been capable of organizing an ambush.

Alistair charged forward, gunning for the short darkspawn hiding in the doorway. The surrounding Hurlocks prevented the other two soldiers from following. Solona cast a force field on herself. The telekinetic barrier may have kept her from moving, but that was fine. She didn't need to be able to move to fight.

Lightning crashed into the pair of darkspawn on the right side of the room, dealing extra damage as it arced between their metal armor. She shouted for the two men to take care of them while they were incapacitated and shifted her focus to the third Hurlock.

From the corner of her eye, she noticed bright orange. It came from the staff the darkspawn Alistair was fighting wielded. It explained why the ex-templar had shot straight for that particular darkspawn. He must have realized it was an emissary, and Alistair had warned them in the forest to take out emissaries first because they were capable of casting magic.

The mage dropped her barrier, thankful that the force field spell was a quick cast, and used it on Alistair. The telekinetic barrier went up right before the emissary unleashed a fireball. At that close of range, the other Grey Warden would have been severely wounded. As it was, the fire slid around the barrier.

Solona released the spell as soon as the flames died out.

The other two members of their party rushed forward to help him, having dealt with their enemies. That left Solona to take care of the last Hurlock.

She turned back to face it, only to not find it. Solona whirled, purple eyes scanning the room. All the dancing fires cast long shadows, making it impossible for her to relocate her target.

The Hurlock leapt from behind a barrel. She shouted in alarm and attempted to move backwards, only to stumble when she caught the hem of her robe underfoot. The darkspawn's grin was savage as it bore down on her. Pointed teeth dripped with black blood.

One second, Solona was certain she was going to die. The short dagger it was thrusting at her would certainly stab her heart or her lungs, and the mage was woefully under qualified at healing organs. She blinked, and Alistair was standing over her, having slammed his shield into the darkspawn hard enough to send it sprawling.

Solona's heart was beating rapidly. That had been too close. She had almost died. Thankfully, Alistair said nothing about her shaking hands as he hefted the mage to her feet.

He held out a health poultice for her. "It works faster if you drink it. Tastes horrible though." She stared at him blankly. "The blade grazed you."

She glanced down, startled. Across her upper arm was a thin line of red that bled sluggishly. She raised her right hand to the cut. Small injuries like this she could manage. The green aura of creation enveloped her hand.

Alistair's hand clamped down on her wrist. "Don't. It might be poisoned. You'd seal it in if you close the wound."

He held up the red bottle once more. Solona tossed it back with a grimace. It had tasted as horrible as the man promised.

"Right," coughed Alistair. "Let's hurry and get to the top of the tower."

Alistair ordered them to wait in the second chamber. He could sense darkspawn in the next room, and he'd much rather draw them back to a room they commanded than walk into another trap. Using his tactics, defeating the darkspawn was rather easy. Alistair opened a door and ran back to stand with them, and the darkspawn, mindless as they were, pushed through where they thought they would find a Grey Warden.

The reverse ambush worked like a charm. Solona would freeze the first monster through the door with Winter's Grasp and the boys would shatter the uniquely grotesque ice statue. Once, when the tower guard was about to get an ax in the back, she had flung a force field at him. Only, she missed the man. The force field sprung to life around the Hurlock instead. It was a happy accident, since it prevented the darkspawn from following through on his swing. The soldier ducked out of the trajectory, appropriately grateful for the save.

Apparently, they had dragged out all but two darkspawn, and the remainder were quickly dispatched.

Alistair set about searching the corpses, pocketing whatever useful items he found, whether they were practical or not. Solona turned her attention to searching the room. It was in such disarray. There were plenty of wooden chests dotted around the room. She tried to open one only to discover it was locked.

She pouted at it momentarily. Her fellow Grey Warden was rubbing off on her, because she disliked the idea of leaving anything that could be of use behind. She summoned over the crossbow wielding soldier, knowing that rogues had a preference for bows and daggers, hoping he could pick the lock.

Unfortunately, the man had no lock-picking talent.

"Can't you just melt the lock?" he asked when the mage frowned.

Solona felt like slapping herself in the face. How could she have forgotten? She still carried the Rod of Fire from the tower. At least this time, the locks wouldn't be protected by magic and she could actually melt them.

They moved quickly through the first floor, giving a wide berth to the dark hole in the ground. There was a final squad of Genlock guarding the stairs to the next level. Solona didn't hesitate to trap the two archers so they could deal with their brethren without getting peppered by arrows.

"Maker's breath!" Alistair cursed, his sword sliding out of a corpse with a wet squelch. "What are these darkspawn doing ahead of the rest of the horde? There wasn't supposed to be any resistance here!"

"You could try telling them they're in the wrong place," Solona quipped. She promptly bit her tongue. The witty reply was instinctive and would have been funny if it was any other situation.

"Right. Because clearly this is just all a misunderstanding. We'll laugh about this later." She shrugged. She deserved that. "At any rate, we need to hurry! We need to get to the top of the tower and light the signal fire in time! Teyrn Loghain will be waiting for the signal!"

There were significantly more darkspawn on the second level. They had only just stepped into the large semi-circular room when the creatures charged. Half a dozen darkspawn at least, if not more. The battle was too chaotic for Solona to keep track. She narrowly avoided another fatal injury, using the restricted movements of the force field spell to her advantage.

She drank one of her lesser lyrium potions when the skirmish ended, starting to feel the drain of continuous magic use.

It seemed that there were darkspawn awaiting around every corner and behind every door. She began to despair reaching the top of the tower. She knew Alistair felt the pressure as well, for he fought with urgency. The warrior was taking unnecessary hits in order to take down darkspawn faster.

For the first time, Solona regretted being a mage. All she could do was immobilize the enemy. In such close quarters, her offensive spells were useless. She was just as likely to hit her party with a lightning strike or a fireball as she was the darkspawn. Her bolts of basic spirit energy didn't seem to do more than aggravate the darkspawn.

Solona was unamused when she discovered a book title the History of the Chantry as they searched the second level. It was just like the Chantry to remind her that magic was a curse at the most inopportune time. Although, she was a little curious to know what a book on the Chantry's history was doing in a long-abandoned tower in the middle of no man's land. She almost laughed at the idea of darkspawn wanting to read that drivel.

"Darkspawn. They just crop up everywhere, don't they?"

Surprise, there were even more darkspawn guarding the flight of stairs to the third level.

"Loghain had better be ready to charge as soon as we light the signal," Alistair muttered, thrusting his shield arm between herself and an attacking Hurlock.

With no time to rest, they climbed to the third floor, bursting into a room filled with Genlocks. In a surprise move, the Genlocks forced them to fight them in two rooms. Unfortunately for them, the divide and conquer strategy didn't work.

The entrance and the first room were cleared of darkspawn and then raided. They proceeded into the next room. It was large. It needed to be to house the cages of Mabari.

Alistair's voice carried over the sounds of clashing metal. "Release the hounds! There's a lever on the ground."

She was done questioning the weird things she had come across. At least the Mabari presence was more plausible than a book about the Chantry.

Solona had to throw her entire body weight behind it. The gear was old and stuck, but with a second shove of her shoulder the mechanism lurched. The hounds barreled out of their prisons as soon as the cage doors raised, leaping upon the darkspawn.

Their only difficulty came in the form of a heavily armored Genlock Alpha. But with the extra dog power on their side, the armor was ripped to shreds in a matter of seconds.

The progressed down the hallway lined with rooms. Their doors flew open when they got in range.

Surrounded by darkspawn on all sides, Solona panicked. She released a concussive blast of telekinetic waves. It dazed the darkspawn, but it also caused her party to stumble. Alistair was surprisingly good natured about her blunder, considering he had cautioned her about friendly fire initially, and it helped her ignore the soldiers' aggravation.

Alistair knocked his shoulder against hers, further validation that he did not mind her mistake. "We fight well together."

Following his gaze to the shattered pieces of a Genlock, Solona had to agree. And the praise felt good. It was nice to finally have someone see how useful magic could be. The fact that it was a once templar in training that was endorsing magic was a wonderful bit of irony.

The blond man tilted his head towards the final door, which undoubtedly hid more darkspawn. "Even more darkspawn. I'm sensing a theme."

Solona couldn't help but share in his amusement. "Is it just me, or do they really think they have a chance? They should save us the effort and jump out a window."

Alistair doubled over, snorting, which saved him from an arrow to the neck. There had been a darkspawn archer standing just behind the door. It seemed a poor place to position someone with a ranged weapon, but the effectiveness of a weapon shot at point blank could not be denied.

Having completely cleared out the tower, they didn't expect to find any more resistance. At least, Solona didn't. Naïvely, she thought once they reached the top that was it. They'd light the beacon and be done. They certainly earned a good rest, considering they weren't expecting to fight at all.

So, of course, there was a darkspawn waiting for them.

Solona froze, terrified. What was it? She had never seen a darkspawn so massive and . . . monstrous. All darkspawn were, but the one that stood before her was another level. The only thing she could compare it to size wise was Mouse the Pride demon. At full height, it towered well over Alistair, the tallest member of their party. What little armor it wore was covered in spikes. It had massive horns that grew out of its skull and curled backwards. Saliva and blood flew as it turned and roared at them.

Red blood. Human blood. From the soldier it had been eating.

The monster charged, and she didn't move. She couldn't. Her legs weren't listening.

Alistair gave her a hard shove, pushing her out of the ogre's range. He braced himself behind his shield, but even with that protection, the ogre's momentum sent him flying back. He hit the wall and crumpled.

The two soldiers looked just as scared as her. The one with the crossbow retreated to cover Alistair, steadily firing. Arrows dotted the ogre's skin, but he seemed vastly unbothered. Like he didn't even notice he was being shot.

The ogre only had eyes for Alistair. Instead of going after Solona, whom still half laid upon the floor, or the other tower guard standing in the center of the room, it lowered its head so that its massive, and pointed, horns were aimed at the man still struggling to regain his feet.

The soldier moved to intercept the darkspawn, an action as foolish at it was brave. The ogre batted him aside with ease. He hit the floor at an angle. The sound of bones cracking echoed.

The rest of the world ceased to exist. Solona didn't see Alistair stand, stabbing his sword into the ogre's side. She didn't hear the ogre's roar of pain, nor her fellow Grey Warden's yell for her to get up. All she could see was the soldier. Neck bent at an unnatural angle. Glassy eyes that stared right at her.

The ogre ducked its head down once more, with one fist pressed to the stone.

Solona flung out her hand. Desperate, she cast a spell she knew only in theory. The purple blast hit the ogre full on, but nothing happened.

All three of them scrambled out of the beast's warpath. Solona scooping up her staff as she did so. She hit it with a blast of ice. However, the ogre had unfrozen before Alistair even lifted his sword.

The ogre slammed both its fists into the tower floor. And Solona actually meant into. It cracked the stone, giant fingers digging in and removing an immense chunk of the floor. With nary a second to aim, the creature hurled its new projectile, once more targeting Alistair.

There wasn't enough time for him to dodge. Solona cast a Force Field, putting all her magical power into it. She surprised herself when it stopped the stone in mid-air.

For the longest moment, both they and the gargantuan darkspawn stared agog at the rock that continued to defy gravity. Then the ogre exploded.

Literally.

As if there had been a bomb, the ogre was blown to pieces. Bits of ogre flesh and organs and blood rained.

Solona blinked and tried to wipe away the essence de ogre, only to smear it around her face. "What . . . what was that?" Her words were echoed. "Alistair?"

The blond dragged a hand through his hair, sloughing off a thick coat of black blood. "That was an ogre. They're formidable darkspawn. Immense strength and surprising speed for their size. Exceptional cruelty. They regenerate from non-fatal injuries in minutes. They're really rare. Even in the Deep Roads. What did you do to it?"

Here, the mage hesitated. Would Alistair fear her when he learned of her talent for magic? As a templar, he would have been trained to recognize certain spells. Ones like Walking Bomb or Horror or Curse of Mortality and pretty much everything in the entropy tree. The templars viewed those spells as a sign that a mage was likely to turn to blood magic or fall prey to a demon. They paid extra close attention to those they suspected possessed a disposition to the unfavorable school of magic. Solona imagined that was the reason Cullen had interacted with her as much as he did. As a general rule, the templars weren't supposed to get close to the mages they guarded. Emotional ties might prevent them from acting when duty demanded. Although Solona had never actually performed any of the entropic spells, she had spent several months pouring over tomes that detailed their mechanics. Enough to warrant the caution of her jail guards.

However, Alistair sounded more curious than frightened, judging by his tone.

"Walking Bomb," she decided to respond. "I forgot there was a time delay for it to detonate."

"The beacon is over here." He changed the topic. "Surely we've missed the signal. Let's light it quickly before it's too late."

Solona didn't imagine the conversation was over. No one, but especially templars, was comfortable with a mage capable of making monsters, and people, explode, but she didn't argue. Alistair had a point. It took way longer than they anticipated to reach the top of the tower. She shot a ball of fire into the fireplace. A column of flames shot up, alighting the entire roof and rising several feet into the air.

She crossed over to the window, needing to see how the battle was unfolding. With disbelieving eyes, she watched Loghain's small army march away.


Loghain was long practiced in standing still. Patience, not brashness, won wars. Cailan's insistence upon trusting the Grey Wardens would be his doom. As they had nearly been his father's. The order boasted of an apolitical code which they did not follow. Maric should have never let them return to Ferelden. Not after that debacle when they conspired with Orlesians to take over Kinloch Hold.

His son-in-law was vain. Cared only for the glory. Cailan had no understanding of battle and war. The ugly truths and sacrifices were concealed from him. Each of the bedtime stories he had been told as a child had been doctored in some manner to better suit a young boy's mind. Maric wanted his son to have a childhood that didn't revolve around oppression, bloodshed, and wounds that wouldn't heal.

Loghain knew otherwise. There was nothing he wouldn't do for his homeland.

Cailan couldn't be the king Ferelden needed. He wished to fight darkspawn, exaggerating the threat to make treaties with Orlais. Orlais' Chevaliers would bolster their numbers, and when the darkspawn were taken care of, Ferelden would be faced with another invasion. He would not watch idly as Cailan aligned himself with that Orlesian strumpet they called an Empress. He would not hand Ferelden over to another Orlesian occupation!

Much too late, the signal fire blazed over the Tower of Ishal.

"Sound . . . the retreat." He ordered.

Ser Cauthrien, his second in command, turned startled eyes on him. "But . . . what about the king? Should we not—"

His fingers gripped punishingly at her gauntlet. "Do as I command."

The stern woman wrenched her arm back but dutifully turned to give his army the order to pull out. As bidden, his men marched away from the battle.

Loghain spared a moment, gaze returning to the burning tower, before joining his army. He held no regret in his heart. He was doing what was best for Ferelden.


Chaos reigned on the battlefield the general abandoned.

Duncan tried to keep close to the king. His golden armor made him easy to spot, which made his task easier. But it also designated him as a prize target for the darkspawn. He wondered where Loghain and his men were. Surely, his recruits had lit the beacon. Alistair and Solona were incredibly talented individuals.

His sword cut through darkspawn in droves. One got a lucky hit, sending the commander sprawling to the earth. Too late, he sensed the presence of an Ogre Alpha. The enormous darkspawn had come up behind King Cailan. It lifted the man to head level and, with a deafening roar, fisted its hand.

Nausea swelled in Duncan's throat at the all too audible sound of the man's spine being crushed.

The ogre tossed aside the corpse. The king's body crashed into two soldiers before landing like a rag doll near his position.

Duncan closed the distance to the ogre, unsheathing a dagger so he had two weapons in hand. He launched himself at the darkspawn, sinking both sword and dagger into the thing's chest. He tore out the dagger, stabbing it in higher. Then the sword. He climbed the ogre until he could stab the dagger into its heart, where he twisted it viciously.

The ogre fell backwards, dead. Duncan sat astride its chest, panting from exhaustion. The additional blood seeping from its wound went unnoticed. He wore too much blood. Human and darkspawn alike. He clutched at his midsection as his own wound flared with pain.

He staggered over to Cailan's side, dropping to his knees on blood-sodden grass.

They would lose this battle. The darkspawn were overtaking the king's army. Duncan himself was on his last leg. To be honest, he had not expected to survive this battle. The Calling . . . the taint in his blood sang to him. But Duncan could not lose himself in the Deep Roads with a Blight on the horizon. So, he ignored the Calling. Ignored the growing pain, how his limbs would tremble uncontrollably. Covered up the slow crawl of deadened skin that grew larger every time he looked away. Determinedly did not think about the first and last time he witnessed the heinous transformation in Kell, Utha and Genevieve.

Unable to hold himself up any longer, Duncan listed to the side. Through darkening vision, he caught sight of the Tower of Ishal, the top most windows bathed in a bright orange glow.

So they had succeeded after all.

Despite everything, Duncan felt peaceful. He had spared two young souls from dying before their time. Alistair would know to contact Weisshaupt. It was unfortunate that they could not break the Blight here, before it could truly spread. But Duncan knew it would not last forever. The Grey Wardens outside of Ferelden would rally when news of their loss reached their ears.

So, when a Hurlock wielding a two-headed ax came toward him, Duncan died content. It would not fall to Solona nor Alistair to slay the Archdemon.


"Th—they're leaving!" she stuttered. "Loghain's men are marching away from the battle!"

"What?" Alistair snapped. "That can't be right! Teyrn Loghain would never—"

He was cut off by the door breaking apart. A wave of darkspawn poured in. Neither she nor Alistair had time to react. Their rogue companion was cut to pieces. Solona felt two arrows slam into the meat of her shoulders. Unused to pain, she fell unconscious, her world fading to green.


"You cannot stop there!"

Varric couldn't resist teasing the black-haired woman. "Sorry, Seeker, but I need something to drink. Throat's parched. I've been talking for an hour now."

A glass of water was brought with expediency. The dwarf stared at the clear liquid mournfully. "You don't have anything stronger? I'm pretty sure Hawke's wine cellar is still untouched."

"You have your drink. Continue," ordered Cassandra.

Because contrary was his middle name, Varric sipped slowly at his water, exaggerating each swallow as he slaked his nonexistent thirst.

"Right, where were we?"

"The Hero of Ferelden fell to darkspawn arrows atop the Tower of Ishal."

If this woman wasn't trying to pry every secret and some truths that Varric had kept close to his chest, he would have admired her enthusiasm.

"You already know both she and the boy survive."

Cassandra's golden eyes glittered. "But I do not know how."

"You're probably not going to believe me, but I promise I'm not lying. I'm about to tell you exactly what Champion told me."


Solona blinked, mentally unbalanced by the sudden change in scenery.

The crumbling ruins of the Tower of Ishal had been replaced with dark rock and lyrium veins. The sky burned a sickly green, casting shadows that defied reality. In the distance, she could see a city on a floating island; a shadowy metropolis with twisting spires.

The view of the Black City was frightening. It was always present whenever she entered the Fade, but never so close that she could make out the separate towers. However, Solona was honestly more perturbed by the Fade's realism.

Places in the Fade were supposed to be imperfect copies of the physical world. Twisting, distorting and fluctuating. But the ground beneath her felt like rock. Her hand came away with a layer of dust. There was a statue of a horned woman, with a pair of wings where her arms should meet her shoulder, at the base of a set of stairs carved into the rock. And the color palette. Colors in the Fade had a pale, washed-out quality to them. This place was vibrant, but in all the wrong ways. Dark, craggy, eerie luminescence, putrid air. The list was unending.

Solona had never experienced the Fade like this. For all the dangers the realm of spirits held for mages, no one had ever spoken of the terrifying part she had found herself in.

The lack of control was getting to her. Not even in her nightmares could she imagine the landscape currently before her. She imagined her staff in hand, hoping she'd feel less panicky once armed, but her weapon didn't materialize.

Solona's heart was beating a staccato in her chest. Why wasn't it responding to her will? The spirit of Valor she had met during her Harrowing had said that everything that existed in the Fade did so because of thought. So why was she somewhere she didn't recognize? Why couldn't she will a staff into existence?

And Maker's balls, why did her collarbone feel like it was on fire?

"I was shot." Fingers pressed against unblemished flesh. Shouldn't there be arrows? Or at least a hole in her shoulder?

Solona vaguely recalled being shot. The tower was supposed to be clear. She and Alistair had slain all the darkspawn within as they made their climb to the beacon. Where had the rest come from? The tower wasn't supposed to be attacked. The battle was down in the valley, so what reason did the darkspawn have to be in the tower?

Nails broke skin. The mage hissed in pain, drawing away blood-tipped fingers.

Was she dead?

It would explain the Fade's drastic change in appearance. Even subconsciously, a mage's mind influenced the Fade, giving their perceptions physical form in the dream realm. But if Solona had died, then this raw version of the Fade she stood in was natural.

Her breath hitched as she was overcome with body-wracking sobs.

What had she done to deserve this . . . this mockery? According to the Chantry's teachings, Solona's soul should have gone to the Maker's side.

She had never held much stock in the Chantry. It was an institution created in the name of a dead woman more than a century after her demise. Nor did she ascribe to the message the Chantry spread. Undoubtedly, things had been lost in translation and were misconstrued or taken out of context. And to be honest, the Chantry's hymns were mostly about human sin (the biggest being magic) and pride and how they needed to repent for their sins. The reverence of Andraste was practically an afterthought.

But the Maker. Despite everything the Chantry spouted about magic being a curse, Solona did believe in the Maker. Was not singing the Chant of Light every day enough to damn her soul to wander the Fade for eternity, she wondered bitterly. Or was the Chantry right about magic's inherent evil, and anyone who had that power in their veins was doomed to this nightmarish wasteland?

Solona lost herself in her misery.

The last week of her life had been absolute hell. Jowan had used her, turning out to be a blood mage. In turn, she had lured him into a trap. At the time, it felt like she had no choice. She had thought Irving would listen to her concerns, convince Jowan that his fear and anxiety was getting the better of him. Instead, she had trapped herself in the middle of a maze with only one way out. If she hadn't gone along with Irving's plan, Solona would have been made Tranquil alongside Jowan.

Becoming a Grey Warden was nothing like the history books told. The mage didn't care about forcibly drinking darkspawn blood. She had thought, foolishly it seemed, that she would earn respect as a member of the fabled order. That her status as a mage wouldn't be a cause of fear. But every being in the camp, from the lowly elf runner to the teyrn had looked first at the staff she carried on her back before meeting her eyes.

What good was using her magic to fight evil if everyone she fought beside and every person Solona saved still saw her as a thing to be feared?

Perhaps it was a good thing. Her dying. Solona's ambitions probably would have resulted in making things worse for mages. Maybe it was for the best that the mages' situation remained as it was.

After all, who was she to think she knew better than the Maker and his bride? Surely if Andraste condemned magic, then it truly was a curse. Mages didn't deserve to be treated like normal people. That's why they had magic. And apparently why they were abandoned to a desolate rock in the shadow of the Black City when they died.

What better reminder that they deserved to be punished than to gaze upon the city their kind had tarnished in their arrogance a millennium ago?


Trapped in her steadily darkening thoughts, Urthemiel's presence above her on a rock outcropping went unnoticed. The once god of beauty was a mockery of itself, scales blackened and decaying, revealing red musculature that gleamed wetly.

The Fade was the only place where his mind felt like his own. The song still pulled at his consciousness, but it was easier to ignore.

Urthemiel had awoken to the song. He knew there had been a time before it, but could not recall it. The song's power commanded him, took his will for its own, calling out for other Tainted beings. Urthemiel had tried ordering the darkspawn to slay him. The weak-minded beings were slave to the song that cried for the eradication of humans. They would not do as he requested because the song forbade it.

But now there was a human before him, ignorant of the god that contemplated how it could be of use to him. Urthemiel could hear the song from it. Faint, no more than a whisper, but present nonetheless.

Was it as mindless as the darkspawn? Could it grant him freedom?

The dragon exhaled, smoke furling from its nostrils. The pathetic human could not even save itself. This area of the Fade was the most dangerous. Home to a Fear demon of unparalleled size and power. It would die before it realized it was not truly dead.

Killing it would be a mercy.

Golden flames spewed from his mouth, quickly engulfing the human. When they burned out, there was no sign of the human. Even the ashes had burned away.