AN: I've said it once, and I'll say it again. My respect, my wholehearted respect, to authors who find writing battle scenes easy.

Part Four

"You have behaved most carelessly of late, lethallan."

The reproof was Solas' greeting as soon as I entered the Fade and it did little for my already frazzled nerves.

I had been called to the southern Dales to sign an accord of mutual support with the local leader, an Orlesian with more honor than sense. Though we had reached the area without significant waste of time, it was all for naught. Fairbanks refused to treat with us until the Inquisition, in a show of good faith, recovered his betrothed from enemy hands.

The men postured, Cassandra promised, and we - a dozen swordsmen, eight archers and a mage - marched into the well-fortified, well-defended mansion Corypheus' agents had taken for themselves and where the aforementioned betrothed, one Lady Odela Desjours, acted the part of hostile hostess and not damsel in distress.

Six of us walked out, tired, bloodied and grim: Cassandra, Ambroise and Remi, their armor dented and scarred; Serge, limping with the help of Loranil and I, speaking to the other elf in short, clipped sentences, still jumpy and jittery even as I kept telling myself that the danger had passed.

We spoke of trivial things and I took comfort in the young archer's presence even though I wasn't sure I deserved it. I had certainly scolded the boy - in public too, though admittedly in elvish - when I had found out that he had run off to join the Inquisition in spite of his hahren's wishes. Looking back, I suppose even Loranil acknowledged that it had been a foolish, ill-thought action; fifteen summers old and with more blood in his hands than many Dalish see in their entire lives.

When Cassandra had informed us that most of our rations had been tainted by the poisonous crystals, Serge finally suggested a shortcut through the woods. The narrow, somewhat hazardous trail would have indeed spared us a three days' walk - if a large band of red-lyrium smugglers hadn't thought the exact same thing and camped right in the middle of our path.

They were caught flat-footed but still outnumbered us four-to-one.

"I can hardly ask our enemies to 'Please let us retreat safely, if you'd be so kind. We hadn't meant to stumble onto your secret camp. And, oh, is that red lyrium. What a pretty, glittering thing.' " I countered somewhat snidely.

Serge had sacrificed himself to buy the rest of us some time. The ground had been precarious though, dusty earth over sliding gravel, and our somewhat organized retreat soon devolved into Cassandra, Remi and Ambroise hurtling through the underbrush while Loranil and I jumped from branch to branch as best as our newly-mended wounds allowed.

Perhaps the smugglers had indulged in some of their accursed cargo because regardless of how we injured them, they still came at us with a vengeance.

It was some time before I realized that five had deftly herded us away from the rest of our party. By then, it was too late. Loranil and I had sprinted up the giant vallasdahlen which was to become our cage for the next eight days.

"Please save your glibness for when you look less like a wraith." Solas demanded, his fingers tracing across sunken cheeks and what must have been some frightfully dark circles around my eyes.

"I was no more careless than usual, Solas. Perhaps with an added dose of bad luck." I defended, burrowing into his embrace. He smelled of cloves, felandaris and sharp, fiery magic - familiar.

The smugglers had slept little and in turns. My spells were enough to drive them off when they wanted to climb or chop down the mighty tree, enough to put out the fires they had started around it but not enough to kill them.

Every new day was an array of murder attempts - on both our sides - until I felt myself grow crazy from the forced vigil. My companion was no better, though crying seemed to soothe him. From morn to dusk and morn again, he sobbed and whimpered and threw the spikes I had whittled whenever the smugglers' hunger earned us a small period of détente.

They ate and laughed, threatened and taunted and I was only thankful that they feared us too much to risk sending even one man to bring more of their companions.

Up in our tree, we drank what little water could be gathered from my elemental spells… held watch and fasted... until, on the eighth day, Cassandra arrived, like a blessed saviour, leading a host of Inquisition soldiers.

She told me later that the fires had given the smugglers away but at the time her coming had seemed to both Loranil and I like a miracle and we must have made quite the spectacle, two starved elves sliding down the ancient tree to kiss and embrace the battle-hardened Seeker.

Back at the lodge we found out that Ambroise hadn't made it, succumbing to his wounds not hours away from our camp. As far as I was concerned, the price of Fairbanks' allegiance had been too high: seventeen dead men for three dozen self-styled protectors of the innocent.

I hid my bitterness as best I could during the signing of the accord and made my excuses to see to my companions. Loranil and Remi were both in the infirmary: one starved, one fighting an infection. I checked their progress then curled on an empty cot and fell asleep.

"Cullen's forces are well aware of their duty and all the perils it entails. If anything, they have failed in said duty by allowing you to be held captive. A good commander would see that they are reprimanded or covertly replaced with people more aware of the responsibilities of their station."

The words were cold, the intent behind them callous and yet he ran his fingers through my hair, gently untangling my braid even as he asserted my comrades' expendability.

"Their 'station', lethallin, was that of members of the rescue party for the Lady Desjours. As was my own."

"Mere proximity does not confer the same status, as much as some may wish it. This society would have long ago fallen into chaos had it been so."

"I can't look at the people I fight beside and decide they're dispensable, lethallin."

"Yet many are." he stated, blunt and emotionless, and I pretended I didn't find his casual disregard unsettling.

"We must agree to disagree, Solas. What happened in the Emerald Graves… ours was a hollow victory and I'd much rather focus on happier things. Tell me, how is the research going?"

The spell, it appeared, was complete and I was giddy throughout the journey back to Haven. Though I noted that there were no travelers on the road, no caravans or Inquisition patrols, it was an idle thought, given an instant's attention and just as soon forgotten.

Loranil and I kept up a constant stream of chatter - mere gossip and frivolous observations - and though none of the party understood our fast-paced elvish it looked as if the Herald's cheerfulness was morale booster by itself.

Only as we crested the final rise did the horrible truth become apparent: Corypheus had decided to deal with the Inquisition before we could undo his work and close the Breach. Haven was under attack!

"Aid your fellows!" I yelled and fade stepped past the soldiers.

"Corypheus was here. He wasn't supposed to be here." That was the only thought in my mind as I charged down the steep incline, only marginally aware of the way my knees jerked between spells, straining, struggling to keep the same augmented rhythm with only mortal speed. He wasn't supposed to be here but I needed to find the mages. I needed to contact Dorian. I needed to reach Solas.

When the hysteria left me, I found myself in the thick of the battle, surrounded by chaos. Cloaked mages bearing the stigma of red-lyrium had managed to commandeer one of the bluffs next to the eastern guard tower and were using the vantage point to create chokeholds for the Inquisition's foot soldiers, casting fires and toxic pools from which the tainted crystals crept across the ground as from a festering, oozing wound.

Our men had countered by loading a couple of ballistae with volatile concoctions.

"Turn it more to the left! You've hit three less than last time." someone was saying gruffly - ah, Rocky - even as they helped adjust the aim.

"I'm trying, chief! Shot right in the middle. They must have put up a barrier or something - it just didn't fly straight."

"They're flasks, soldier. Not bolts. Adjust for it!" the sapper was by turns shouting orders and muttering insults, handing the soldiers increasingly odd-looking flasks. "Blighted nug-humper… fucking elementary knowledge..."

The second salvo sent the casters into a frenzy, fingers clawing frantically at the poisoned patches where the skin was quickly giving way to raw, darkening flesh - an extravagant waste of lifestone fillings had matters not been so dire.

"Now that's what I'm talking about! Ah, Inquisitor!"

"Rocky. You seem to have our men well in hand. Is there anything I can do to help?" I offered, my eyes already drawn to another part of the field.

"Not unless you can get me something that blows up."

"Would bottles… or barrels of spirits do?" I asked haltingly, fretting when I noticed Cassandra surrounded by a group of mutated warriors. "I've known the Iron Bull... to leave some of his... supplies with Master Harritt."

They were testing her reflexes, attacking in ones and two, made wary by their comrades' corpses, pushed aside like so much trash to allow unhindered footwork.

The dwarf scratched his chin, considering.

"That might just work, if any of these kids could find their own arses without help..."

"I'll go myself and take two of the men with me. Come along, soldiers. The smithy, as you should all know, is just to the right of the main gate." the words were sharp and I paid the men little attention, eyes riveted on my companion.

But I needn't have worried. The Seeker was… extraordinary. The heavy armor's weight seemed no hindrance as she ducked and weaved under the enemies' sloppy thrusts, meeting their hasty slashes with a ready shield and an even readier riposte. A circle of groaning, bleeding bodies was growing around her, the Venatori's fallen numbers adding to her own defense.

We were almost at the cottage when a few demons broke through our western flank. The shades rushed towards us and while the soldiers moved to intercept the attack, I wove protections around us and tried to edge out of sight.

A trio of wraiths hovered worryingly at the forest's edge - though not for long. Poisoned bolts and flaming arrows rained onto the angry spirits, piercing through their barriers and disrupting the magic's temporary shape.

Leliana and Varric it seemed, had scaled the scaffolding outside one of the watchtowers and were engaged in a friendly archery contest... also known as the time-honored tradition of culling the enemy's ranks.

"That's eighteen for me, Nightingale."

"They don't count unless they're dead, Varric."

The crossbow thwanged as it released three times in quick succession and Leliana gave a falsely mournful sigh. "Eighteen to my own… Inquisitor, you're here!"

"Soldiers, get that door open. Break it down if you must. Secure the cargo and report back to Rocky. Leliana, Varric. Have either of you seen Solas or Dorian?"

"Or course! How could anyone not have… they're over there." she said, anxiously pointing to a couple of shapes in the distance, far by the lake, bearing the brunt of Corypheus' anger.

I might have said something in reply but all I recall is rushing through the ranks, fade jumping as soon as the magical residue dispersed from the previous spell. On the very edge of the lake, supported by roughly two dozen swordsmen, the mages were holding an impressive barrier while carving flaming runes into the frozen earth.

"We need to get that orb away from him!" Solas was shouting, partly to be heard above the din and partly, it seemed, out of desperation.

"So you keep telling me! And I say we'll get it just as well after we cast the spell!" Dorian countered furiously.

"We cannot risk losing it to an alternate timeline. The Breach..."

"The Breach is the least of our concerns! There's a man with delusions of godhood beating on our shields… with a dragon!"

"I… I might go..." I remember offering, deathly scared of both facing the magister and allowing him continued possession of the dangerous artifact.

"Lethallan!" My friend turned around, shocked and hopeful.

He seemed to be struggling for words. Perhaps he felt torn between achieving his goal and risking my safety. Or he may have simply been hesitant to show that, at this point, I had become one of the dispensable many.

I didn't want to know either way… so I put on my bravest face and waved my arm in the dragon's general direction.

"What do I need to do?"

"Are you certain.."

"Yes, yes. But it seems we don't have much time, so what do I need to do?" My mask already felt brittle and thin and I could hardly stop my teeth from chattering. I didn't need to waste any more time on this.

"You will have to grab hold of the orb with the same hand bearing the anchor then push yourself as far away as possible. Dorian and I will wait for that moment to activate the spell."

"I heard my name… Just what are you two saying?" I heard Dorian ask as I turned away.

I took stock of myself… "Low power, low skills… wits it is then." I concluded, and tried not to let the thought depress me even further. "Alright." I huffed out. "It's alright." and stepped out of the barrier. The dragon reared back, head tilted in slight surprise that its meal would come to it of its own accord.

"Corypheus!" I called out, walking towards the magister. "Too much death has been wrought here tonight! I'm here to surrender my mark in exchange for my men's lives."

"At last, she shows herself. The usurper… come to return what she has stolen." A signal to the dragon and it was drawing back, making room for the abomination to step forward.

"I accept your terms… elf." he said with a greedy leer, wrenching my arm forward.

I grabbed the orb and allowed the anchor's power to settle into it… it refused, rebelled, angry at the forced confinement… but its counterpart had already drawn away from Corypheus, clinging to the familiar magic. The Elder One screamed as we both realized the very instant he lost control the orb's power.

"Deceitful snake!" he hissed, lunging after me as I stumbled back.

The magic hit a moment later. It was ...magnificent.

There are no words to describe looking into another time. We mages come close through our explorations of the Fade, but it still does not compare to the exhilarating - and agonizing - rush of peeling apart the folds of time, bending them crooked and then smoothing them back; and I had been caught at the very edge of this wrinkle in time, sundered by the here and not-here, by the familiar now and a foreign, frightening present that my mind rejected. There was no relief, no recourse but screams - the most basic, primal manifestation of fear.

And then the forcefully knotted string unwound and the tear spat out the magister and his high-dragon. Corpses.

"Your prize, Dread Wolf." I rasped and held out the orb. He took it slowly, almost reverently.

"So it is done. It truly is."

He smiled then - a proud, triumphant smile, wide and sharp and showing too many teeth.

"What a gift you bring me. Priceless beyond imagining."

I remember shrugging and looking away, uncomfortable with his assertion. "You slew Corypheus yourself… Your victory, your spoils."

A hand came to rest on my shoulder, warm and heavy. "Your aid then, lethallan, will not be forgotten. I will see to it." A whisper of magic brushed against my back and he was gone.

The celebrations were still in full swing when I retired to my chambers, claiming fatigue. My companion's absence hadn't sunk in yet. I was dazed, confused by his abrupt departure, but unsurprised. Sleep came easily enough, dreamless and deep.

I couldn't say exactly what woke me. Even with the windows open, my room was silent as a grave... the curtains fluttered and there he stood, silhouetted against the sky, leaning on the narrow sill.

He seemed to be staring at the Breach - the selfsame Breach which could now be closed only by the orb in his possession. I should have felt worried, perhaps; instead, there was only relief. Whether he closed it or not, the matter was finally out of my hands. The 'Mark of Andraste' would become little more than a myth - as it should.

The blankets must have rustled as I tried to sit because he looked over his shoulder and gave me a soft, languid smile before turning away.

"Solas."

"Go back to sleep, my heart. I will be here when you wake."

THE END

AN: First off, my thanks to everyone who took an interest in this story. I hope it's been at least half as fun to read as it's been to write (and nowhere near as painful XD).

Second, yes, it's supposed to be somewhat unclear if the Dread Wolf is good or evil or something in between. The only certain thing is that he hasn't abandoned Lavellan. Whether his plans will doom or save the world is another matter entirely. :)