Italicized dialogue "like this" denotes the speaker is speaking in Tamrielic.

Witchwood is silent and cold.

A battle happened recently— between someone and a group of mages with a penchant for ice magic. The air hisses with steam rising from pillars of ice, and it smells of loam and rotting things. Trees, thick and ancient, reach toward the sky, their branches forming a latticework of shadows across the forest floor.

Solas' feet are cat-soft as he walks across moss and stone, his breath curling in front of him. He stops to inspect the wounds on the fallen mages; a clean cut to the throat, a stab to the heart. This is not the work of Templars. It's too neat. It appears to be the work of an assassin, but not two feet away a mage has been ripped in half. That is not the work of an assassin — or a human — and yet Lumen and Luka don't spare the mutilated body a second glance.

Varric shakes his head as he walks past what's left of the mage. "Poor bastard."

Ahead of them, Cassandra keeps an eye trained on Luka as he casts a spell. A luminescent smoke forms in the mage's cupped hands. He spreads his fingers, allowing the smoke to pour onto the ground and snake a path into the forest.

A muscle twitches in Cassandra's jaw. "What is the purpose of this spell?"

"It's a clairvoyance spell. I— I'm not very good at them," he sheepishly admits. "But I hope it will give us a path to follow."

Solas would love to tell him how astounding such a spell truly is. He has not seen anyone wield anything of the sort since the days of Arlathan. Anger swells in his chest to see a human call forth such magic. But he takes a breath, and his anger pulls away like the tide reeling from the shore. Now is not the time.

"I sense magical energies ahead," Solas says. "If your friends chased the mages into this forest, it would seem your spell is leading us in the right direction."

"Oh, good." Luka smiles, but he keeps his head down, and he does not meet anyone's gaze, save for Lumen's. The only approval he desires is hers.

Lumen takes the lead, following the path the spell cut through the woods. Luka walks beside her, and Solas is a few steps behind them. Varric and Cassandra are quiet as they make their way through the shadowy forest, but Lumen and Luka are engaged in a hushed conversation— one Solas can hear, thanks to his elven ears.

"Be wary if Arnbjorn has shifted," Lumen murmurs. "If the corpses of those mages are anything to judge by— I'd say he has."

"Wouldn't he recognize us?" Luka asks, his voice tight with unhidden anxiety.

"Maybe. Maybe not. He may not be able to control his curse. This isn't Nirn. The moons are wrong, and our gods are too far away. But, looking at the corpses, I'd say he and Cicero are fighting together, so that's a good sign. Still, we should be on our guard."

Luka nods. "I understand, Listener."

Listener. A strange title if there ever was one, and he is so careful not to use it within earshot of the others. Solas wonders what it could mean.

Lumen stands up straight, her long ears twitching. "There's a battle ahead," she says to the group. "A dozen men, at least. Keep your voices down and follow my lead. There are more of them than us, and we'll have a better chance of success if we attack from the shadows."

"Everyone be still a moment," Luka says lowly, his voice taking on a rare edge. His hands sign the silent commands of a spell, the movements smooth and flowing— and so very foreign. Mages of Thedas are rarely so flashy when casting with their hands. But this strange mage from another place and time casts openly and confidently. He casts like someone who's never felt a day of shame for his gift in all his life.

Static tingles upon Solas' skin, but it is Cassandra who asks, "What is this?" Her voice, although nearby, is dampened, as if they are speaking in a small room, not a vast forest.

"A muffle spell," Luka answers her. "They won't hear us approach."

Lumen and Luka do not need magic to aid them. They move silently, and they kill efficiently. He follows her lead, and she listens to his concerns. They are a team, fighting, moving, and working in unison. The elf and her mage are a formidable pair. But how will things change when they find their missing companions? They must be a devastating force to encounter. Solas almost pities anyone foolish enough to cross their path. Almost.

The clamor of battle reaches them. Spells thunder through the air as mages and Templars fight to the death in the midst of a once quiet forest. Tremors echo through the Veil as spirits press close on the other side, watching. Waiting.

Lumen crouches low and peers around the trunk of an old oak. "Get ready."

At her signal, they leap into the fray.

Solas throws a barrier around himself before calling fire from the Fade and turning it against a nearby mage. His opponent is a circle mage, unaccustomed to fighting, and he is dead before he hits the ground.

Varric fires bolts at the weak points in the Templar's armor. This tactic gives Cassandra and Lumen an extra edge when they face-off against the heavily armored warriors.

Lumen moves through the crush of bodies like a deadly shadow, cutting down Templars and rebel mages alike. The Templars don't bat an eye at the newcomers. They are content to kill them along with the rebel mages. The mages, however, are inexperienced. They hesitate when they see Lumen approach — an elf couldn't possibly align with the Templars — but it is a fatal mistake.

A nearby Templar purges the area of ambient magic, and Solas' barrier gutters like a flame caught in an errant breeze. But his magic is not so easily banished, and his barrier holds.

Luka appears at his side. "Help me with this Templar, will you?"

Solas glances at the mage— his brow is furrowed in concentration, and a bead of sweat trickles down his cheek. "Are you injured?"

"No," he grits out. "I'm testing a theory."

"You're— what?"

"Commander Cullen explained Templar abilities to me. He said they cut off access to the Fade by reinforcing their reality. But his reality isn't mine. This world is not my world. In my world, magic is in everything. In everyone. It's as natural as breathing. I don't care that it's not the same here. It should be. A world without magic is dry and dead."

Solas casts a wall of ice in front of the Templar to buy them time. "This is not an ideal time to engage in a battle of wills," he says. "Perhaps later—"

"You can cast because of my will," Luka says, his voice wavering from exertion. "Now hurry up and kill him!"

The Templar bursts through the wall of ice, his sword raised and his teeth bared in a snarl. But a wave of Solas' staff calls forth lightning from the heavens, and it crashes into the Templar. Tendrils of electricity crawl across his armor as the current arcs through his body, burning him from the inside out. The Templar doesn't have time to scream as he dissolves into a pile of scorched armor and splintered shards of bone.

"Nicely done," Luka says, smiling at the carnage.

"Thank you." Solas rests his staff against his shoulder. "The spell wouldn't have been nearly as strong had you not been counteracting the Templar's abilities." He would've been able to cast regardless. While he is a shadow of his former self, he is still stronger than the average mage. However, he didn't expect to call on his magic with such ease, and he poured more power into the spell than he intended. But Luka doesn't need to know that.

Luka and Solas make their way through the forest clearing, stepping over the bodies littering the ground. The fighting has stopped for now. But they will undoubtedly encounter more Templars and mages as they move deeper into the forest.

It doesn't take them long to find the rest of their small group. The Seeker is cleaning blood and gore from her blade, deliberately ignoring the fact that Varric and Lumen are looting the bodies of the fallen. Luka breaks away from Solas and immediately moves to Lumen's side.

"I expected to find more elves among the mages," Varric says to none of them in particular. "The Templars were always sniffing around the alienage in Kirkwall. I suspect it's the same in other cities. I saw too many elves go to the Circle— but where are they now?"

"Perhaps they wished to join Dalish clans rather than fight with the rebels," Cassandra suggests.

"Something tells me the elves raised in a Circle wouldn't last in the wilds for very long," Varric murmurs. "Would they even know how to find a clan?"

Cassandra heaves a sigh as she sheathes her blade. "What does it matter, Varric?"

"I guess it doesn't. It's just strange."

It is strange. Solas will grant him that. "The rebel mages were granted sanctuary in Redcliffe, yes? Perhaps the elven mages are there."

"I suppose they didn't want to get involved in another stupid human mess." Varric frowns as he looks around at the bodies of the fallen. "Can't say I blame them."

A pulse ripples through the Fade. "Mages ahead," Solas says. "Be ready."

Witchwood is drenched in the shadows of a violet eventide. The creeping darkness fills Lumen with a sense of urgency. While she is accustomed to working in the dark, she does not know this forest, and the mages will have the advantage by nightfall.

The sounds of battle draw the group of unlikely companions deeper into the forest. The wood is filled with the hiss of spells and the screams of battle. But the shouts morph from angry to panicked when a mage falls in a spray of blood; his screams cut off by a piercing howl.

That is not the howl of a normal wolf.

A giant, white wolf rips through the crowd, scattering blood and viscera across the forest floor. Templars turn their swords on the rampaging animal, determined to fight. But they do not know how to fight a beast with the intelligence of a man— and the skills of an assassin. He is quick and fierce, and the Templars don't stand a chance. The mages try to run, but as Lumen learned long ago, it is not wise to run from one of Hircine's wolves. A hunter cannot resist the allure of fleeing prey.

Nearby, a man cries out in terror— and his screams are met by a familiar, maniacal cackle.

Lumen hadn't let herself imagine the moment when her family would be whole again. Just knowing Cicero and Arnbjorn are nearby is enough to give her a second wind. "Stay near us," she tells the others. "Cicero and Arnbjorn won't know you from the rogue mages and Templars, and I don't want to risk them attacking you— or you attacking them."

"Do they require assistance?" Cassandra squints her eyes, trying to make out friend from foe in the dark forest.

"My friends can handle themselves."

"You know, I can deal with the screaming. But the laughing is— disconcerting." Varric's crossbow is lowered, but his finger remains on the trigger. "Are you sure these are your friends?"

"Yes, I'm sure."

"I can't see anything," Luka complains. "May I cast magelight, Miss Lumen? There's no reason to skulk in the shadows, is there?"

"I was afraid doing so might draw enemies our way but—" A scream of terror fades into a wet, bubbling gasp, followed by a tell-tale crunch of bone. "—I think Cicero and Arnbjorn are taking care of them for us. So go ahead."

A spell flares in Luka's hands, bathing the area in a wash of bright, crystalline light. He guides the orbs into the branches above them. Solas looks up at the magical lights twinkling in the trees, a sad, almost smile playing on his lips. Varric comments on the usefulness of such a spell, while Cassandra expresses her concern at being lit up like a beacon.

Lumen pays them little mind. The fighting has stopped, but she cannot see outside the ring of light. The shadows beyond have grown more stark in contrast to the brilliant magelights. She would listen for the sound of approaching footsteps if she could. But the muffle spells placed on Cicero's boots make finding him by sound alone impossible.

"Cicero?"

"Listener?"

Lumen's heart nearly stops at the sound of his voice. Cicero emerges from the shadows of the forest, his motley stained and torn, but he is healthy and whole. A familiar, crooked smile curls his mouth as his dark eyes meet hers.

His laugh is wild and unhinged. "Listener!" he shrieks, and then tackles her.

In a normal circumstance, she would be annoyed by such a greeting. As it is, this is no normal circumstance, and she is grateful for the weight of his arms around her shoulders and his legs around her waist. Her composure was close to shattering. So trying to stay upright with a wiggling armful of Cicero is a welcome distraction from her overwhelming emotions.

"Oh, Listener! You're alive and well, and just as beautiful as Cicero remembers!" He peppers her face with kisses as he babbles, not letting her get a word in edgewise. "Cicero has missed you so much! Arnbjorn is not terrible company, but he has been more wolf than man and Cicero has never liked dogs because dogs do not like poor Cicero and he has been ever so lonely!"

Varric laughs. "I take it you two know each other?"

The sound of a stranger's voice snaps Cicero out of it, and he releases Lumen. "Who are your friends, sweet Listener?" A subtle threat laces through his voice. It is a dangerous question.

"Introductions will be made easier if we can understand each other," Luka says, slipping into Tamrielic. "We have a potion that will help with tha—"

"Brother!" Cicero pounces on Luka, knocking the skinny mage to the ground with the force of his enthusiastic greeting. "Oh, Cicero missed you as well! He will have to thank you profusely for keeping his sweet Lumen safe! Yes, he will!"

Luka yelps as his legs give out, and he crumples to the mossy, forest floor with Cicero on top of him. "Cicero," he wheezes. "You're— heavy."

"What?" Cicero gasps, feigning insult. "Cicero is not! He is lithe and light! He is— ack!"

Arnbjorn, now transformed and clothed, grabs Cicero by his collar and pulls him from Luka. But— he doesn't look good. There are dark circles under his eyes, and his nails are still tapered into sharp tips, as if he is on the cusp of another transformation. "What's this about a potion?" he growls, keeping a wary eye trained on Cassandra— who has her hand resting on the pommel of her sword.

Luka knows better than to test him when he's in such a state, and he hands Arnbjorn and Cicero each a vial of thick, crimson liquid. "Solas and I mixed these up before we left Haven. I'm not sure about the half-life of the potion or the spell used to ferment it, but they should still work. If not, we'll make more."

Arnbjorn isn't listening (and that's assuming he ever was in the first place.) He swallows the contents of the vial with a grimace. The Nord isn't the slightest bit mystified that he can understand another language with little to no effort. Cicero, however, choked the potion down and immediately began sounding out his favorite words.

"Exsanguination. Dismemberment. Asphyxia. Decapitation. Emasculation. Evisceration…"

"Someone needs to explain what's going on," Arnbjorn says, his voice deceptively calm. "Now."

"We should head back to camp. You have injuries that need tending, and we have all earned a rest." Cassandra speaks in a tone brooks no argument. "In the meantime, Lumen can fill you in on all the details. She is better equipped to tell this story than I."

"I'm not sure where to begin," Lumen admits. She's only been here a short time, but so much has happened. It feels like a lifetime. "What's the last thing you remember? From before?"

"I remember you doing something idiotic," Arnbjorn snaps. "And then I was stuck in a swamp with your toy jester."

Lumen winces. "I guess I'll start from the beginning, then…"

They reach the camp just as Lumen wraps up her tale. She began with what happened right after her epic fuck-up in Winterhold (no need to dwell on the past) and finished with finding Arnbjorn and Cicero in Witchwood. Cicero has shown remarkable self-control for someone who's bursting with curiosity. He managed to remain quiet throughout Lumen's tale— which is a small miracle for a man who holds full conversations with himself.

"May I speak now?"

"Go ahead."

"Let Cicero get this straight. Someone — a very powerful someone — ripped a hole in Oblivion and that is how we all ended up here?"

Lumen shrugs. "Basically."

"And this someone is the reason you have a key to Oblivion on your hand?"

"Seems like it."

"Great!" He claps his hands together. "You can use your magical Oblivion-key to open a portal and send us home! No need to linger here. This world's problems are not Cicero's problems. We should go. Soon. Today. Right now. "

"It's not that simple." She runs a hand through her hair, frustrated with her very existence. "The person who caused the Breach tried to kill me! I'm not going to let that stand!"

"Sweet Lumen. Now is not the time to coddle your wounded pride."

"It's not about pride!" she shouts, not caring that she has an audience. At least Cassandra had the good sense to send the scouts and soldiers away when they began watching the group with unhidden interest. "The Breach in this world caused the Rifts in our world! Even if I could get us home, it would still affect us! At least here I can do something about it!"

"Why?" Cicero growls, deadly serious. The guise of the jester has fallen away, revealing the real, very concerned man beneath. "How many times can you be expected to do this? Is it not enough that you saved our world? Why do you have to save this one, too?"

"What is he talking about?" Cassandra asks.

"Nothing," Lumen snaps, glaring at Cicero. "He's just dramatic."

"Cicero is never dramatic!" he shouts, waving his hands in the air. "He is traumatized! He's been lost in a strange land full of monsters and mad mages, and he had no way of knowing if his sweet Lumen was alive and well! He— I have only just found you, and now I find out that you have been—" He takes a breath, struggling with his words in the wake of his anger. "—branded by someone who is powerful enough to rend a hole between our worlds, and you wish to meet him in battle?"

There's so much she wants to say. She wants to comfort her loyal Keeper who remained by her side through so many trials. But rather than complicate matters with feelings, she merely says, "yes."

"Of course you do," he says, utterly exasperated. "And people say Cicero is the crazy one."

Arnbjorn growls. "If you don't shut up, I swear to Sithis, I'll—" He clutches at his stomach and groans. "Damn it."

"Do you have further injuries?" Solas asks.

"No. I—" Arnbjorn settles on a log near the campfire, and looks to his Listener for guidance. "There's no way around this, is there?"

Arnbjorn's condition isn't a big secret. But Lumen isn't certain how her new companions will take the news. Still, it's better than admitting they're all members of a corpse-worshipping death-cult. So there's that. "Arnbjorn is a werewolf," she explains. "Back home, his lycanthropy is a blessing. The lunar cycle does affect it. But he can control it and use it to his advantage. Here, though..." He words trail off as she looks up into the light of a full moon.

Solas follows her gaze. "Fascinating."

"I'm glad you're enjoying yourself," Arnbjorn snaps.

Cassandra's hand twitches instinctively closer to her sword, but she does not grasp it. "I have heard tales of werewolves. Leliana and Warden Tabris encountered a pack of werewolves during the Blight. The story Leliana told me does not favor your kind. She said many were mindless beasts. But there were a few who still retained their humanity."

"I am still myself when I am the wolf. I am a danger to our enemies and no one else." Arnbjorn considers Cassandra for a moment. Ever the pragmatist, he adds, "If you wish to lock me up during the full moon, I will not object. I know myself. I can control my urges. But I would rather not test my limits, either."

The frown eases from Cassandra's brow. "Thank you," she says. "I will inform Commander Cullen and Leliana of your condition when we return to Haven. It would be wise to not speak of this within earshot of the scouts or soldiers. We are fighting enough rumors as it is."

Cicero's lips curl into a malicious grin. "You just need to keep a chart so you know when your moonsies will happen."

"What are you babbling about?"

"Instead of menses, it's moonsies!" Cicero sits down beside him. "Get it?"

Arnbjorn's jaw tightens. "I hate you."

"That is a wise suggestion," Solas says, nodding to Cicero. "When we return to Haven I can provide a chart of the lunar cycle. That way you will know when the change is approaching and you won't be caught unawares."

"Thanks." Arnbjorn never takes his eyes off of Solas, even as he elbows Cicero in the chest and knocks him off the log— which sends Cicero into a fit of laughter.

"You're human now," Lumen says, ignoring the cackling Keeper. "Any idea why?"

"No idea. Probably because I've been hunting all day. But I can't be certain."

"This doesn't make sense," Luka says as he begins to pace. "You were able to control your transformations just fine in Sovngarde. But why not here? The fact that you're in a different realm shouldn't matter! If Hircine's influence could reach you in Sovngarde, then it stands to reason that it could reach you anywhere—" he gasps. "It's the Veil! It's like a dam. It blocks the flow of magic, and therefore it's blocking Hircine!"

"Great. What is it and how do we get rid of it?"

"Get rid of it?" Cassandra hisses between her teeth. "The Veil is a barrier between this world and the world of demons—"

"Seeker, that is a gross oversimplification," Solas snaps, cutting her off. "And quite wrong—"

Solas and Cassandra begin bickering about what sounds like complete nonsense to Lumen's ears. Varric excuses himself, claiming he's heard more about the Fade than he can stand, and disappears inside his tent.

"Just so you know, a madman blew up a temple, killing hundreds in the process, just to punch a hole in the Veil," Lumen explains. "It's a sensitive subject."

"I see." Arnbjorn doesn't look the least bit contrite. "I didn't say it before, but it's good to see you, tidbit. Although, I wish you hadn't fallen headfirst into trouble. We were apart for— what? A week? And you end up with some magical bullshit stuck to your hand."

"I didn't mean for this to happen," she says softly, almost absentmindedly, as she looks at the palm of her hand. There is no magic thrashing beneath her skin. The mark is quiet. Thanks, in part, to calming the Breach, and to Solas' intrinsic knowledge of all things weird and magical. But there is an ever-present vibration beneath her skin that reminds her of what lies within. "I know you all wish to return home." The words come easier now. Louder. Her brothers are with her, and the Listener must guide them. "But the creature that created the Breach is a danger to this world, and others. Namely, our own. I will do all I can to protect our world— our Brotherhood and our Mother. So we're going to stay. We're going to seal the Breach and kill whoever caused it. After that, we can find our way home."

"I told you long ago that I would follow you anywhere," Arnbjorn says, the hard edges of his face growing softer. "That has not changed."

Cicero heaves a long-suffering sigh, but despite his general annoyance with their current situation, he smiles all the same. "Even though you have caused poor Cicero no small amount of worry, and he has new wrinkles and gray hairs thanks to you, he will remain by your side. Always and forever."

"Well—" Lumen swallows around the lump in her throat. She turns her attention to Luka because she's fairly certain she'll start bawling if she keeps looking at Cicero and Arnbjorn. They are loyal. She's always known this. But knowing it and hearing it are two different things. "What do you think, Luka?"

"To be honest, I am enjoying this." A wry smile tugs at his lips. "This is the weirdest thing that's ever happened to me. Sort of. It's definitely at the top. Maybe it's the second weirdest thing."

"We are in another world, and you're saying this is the second weirdest thing that's ever happened?" Lumen asks, intrigued.

"It's not like we haven't done this before, Miss Lumen. So, yes, it's the second weirdest thing. It's almost as weird as that time Onmund and I summoned a Dremora for— well— I probably shouldn't tell you about the strange things we got up to in my time at the College. But know that it was an exciting, albeit strange, night."

"Cicero wants details."

"Arnbjorn does not."

Luka coughs and looks to Lumen for help.

"I don't know about you, but I'm exhausted." Lumen looks over her shoulder, noting that Solas and Cassandra are still discussing the Veil— although the conversation looks friendlier than it did when it began. "We should retire for the evening," she says, grabbing their attention. "We'll set out at first light and make contact with the horse master. I don't imagine Mother Giselle wants to travel to Haven on foot."

"Of course, Herald." If Cassandra is surprised at Lumen's sudden interest in taking the lead, she doesn't let it show. "I'll take first watch."

Notes: Oh my goodness. Juggling this many characters was a bit of a chore. But the gang's back together!

Obviously, I am toying with the lore a little bit here and there, and so things won't be perfectly aligned with how it is in the games. But this is a crossover so it's allowed. XD I'm going with the idea that Thedas is simply another realm, much like The Hunting Grounds, the Deadlands, or Sovngarde. But Thedas is different because of the Veil, which creates issues for the magically cursed/gifted. Oops!

The lore states Thedas has two moons, but we only ever see one moon in the game and it is HUGE. So my headcanon is that it's a binary planet system. Two planets that orbit each other, and perhaps the second moon is a small satellite that isn't easy to see thanks to the light of the other planet/moon. :)

Thank you so much to those of you who have left reviews or bookmarked this fic! I've never done a crossover before, but since Dragon Age and Skyrim are my favorite games... I had to? But it warms my heart that people are interested in this story. So thank you! :)