"I can help."

A knife shines, glittering as it solidifies in the mossy ground. Carver blinks and then a hand holds the knife. He blinks again and sees a person with a comically large hat pulling the knife out of the moss.

Carver looks around. "Fucking void, this is the Fade again." He sits in a perfect circle of very green moss and outside of the circle, fog crawls over wet rocks but never gets closer.

The man, no the boy, no the spirit? The being that holds the knife looks at him from under the brim of their hat. "I can help."

"You already said that." Carver stretches his back and hisses as his legs burn like fire but don't move. He stares up into the unreal green that isn't a sky. "Why do I always end up in the Fade?"

"There is magic in you," the being with the hat says.

"I'm not a mage, I'm pretty sure about that," Carver says. "Unless this here makes me a mage." He stares at the light in his Herald-hand as it dances upwards, spinning in a column.

"Magic is in everyone."

A loud scream starts somewhere in the distance and stops abruptly.

The being with the hat flinches. "Not close. Not dangerous."

"If you say so." Carver pinches his leg. "Ouch." He still can't move his legs but they sure aren't numbed. The hat-being is moving around him in a circle and he has to strain his neck to look at him. "Hey, you. What are you, a spirit?"

"No. Yes. Sometimes?" The shape of the hat disappears for a moment and the being looks like a young boy. Then the hat is back, hiding his face. "Here I am a spirit. My name is Cole."

"You have a name?" Carver scrapes at his knowledge about spirits and he never heard of a spirit having a name and not just a descriptor. "Aren't you supposed to be called after what... what your job is?"

Cole stops pacing and stares at his hands. His hands may or may not have knives in them, it's hard to see. "Compassion. I am Cole, Compassion is me."

Carver looks up to the floating rocks above him. "Yeah, that makes about as much sense as everything else." He still can't move his legs but looking around, there doesn't seem to be any immediate danger that he has to run away from. "You said you can help. Help with what?"

"I am helping. I'm keeping you safe."

"Safe from what?"

"The demons."

Carver lies back down with a sigh. "Not you too, bloodmagic, demons..." He sits back up, a breath stuck in his throat. "Is Merrill alright?"

"Yes."

Slowly, he lets the breath flow out. "So just the bloodmagic then."

"Not because of the magic with blood."

Carver leans on his elbows. "Bloodmagic isn't the problem?"

"Magic is not a problem." Cole crouches down, rocking back and forth on balls of his feet. "It's the fire in your hand. They smell it."

Carver flexes his Herald-hand. "Somehow that doesn't surprise me. What do you think, should I call it Stinky-hand?"

Cole leans over and sniffs at Carver's hand. "It doesn't stink."

Carver stares at Cole and then takes a sniff at his hand himself. "You know, I never thought about smelling it. It smells of something... it reminds me of..." He takes another whiff, glad that nobody is watching him except for the strange spirit boy. "Like that green fire in the cave."

"Veilfire."

"Yes, like that."

The light changes from bright green to darker green and the edge of the mossy circle sizzles and turns black.

Now Carver starts to get nervous about his unmoving legs. "What's happening?"

"You have to trust."

"Oh, I'm trusting." Carver deliberately lies back and watches the floating rocks above instead of the sizzling edge of his shrinking moss circle. "Some people say I trust way too much."

"Me, you have to trust me." Cole looks at him but his eyes are hidden under the rim of his hat.

"Isn't that what demons say?"

"I'm not a demon."

Carver believes him. It might be a trick of the Fade but looking at the boy, he seems to be truthful. He would have to ask Merrill if spirits are capable of lying. He closes his eyes to the swirling lights and the floating rocks. "I trust you."

"It won't take much longer."

A soft tone rings out that has Carver open his eyes again.

Cole leans over him and looks at his face like one would look at an interesting flower. "You can go back now."

"Already? But I —"

.

.

.

"Vhenan. Carver. Wake up."

Carver's eyes fly open. "Up. I'm up."

"Thank the Maker." Cassandra's voice.

Carver blinks. Merrill's face is blurry in front of him, slowly coming into focus. She looks tired but she has never been more beautiful. "Hey," he says and then starts coughing. His throat feels like dry parchment and his tongue sticks to the roof of his mouth.

"Here, drink this." Merrill holds a cup to his lips, supporting his head with her other hand. He can taste elfroot and embrium in the water and after a few swallows, his throat begins to feel softer.

As awareness returns to him, aches make themselves known all over his body. Every single joint hurts, down to the joints on his toes. He tries stretching his neck and it feels like someone hammered an iron ring around his neck.

"How do you feel?" Merrill asks.

"Like someone threw me out of a wagon and down a cliff." He searches for the threads of lyrium-hunger and finds a hollow urge where the hunger used to be but it doesn't feel unbearable. "But I think it worked?"

Someone clears his throat and Carver is surprised to see Solas at the door instead of Cullen. Before he can ask, the door flies open and Cullen fills the doorframe, with several other people trying to look over his shoulders or under his arms.

"He is awake?"

"Is that a surprise?" Carver studies the faces in the room more closely. The word 'haggard' comes to mind, everyone looks like they hadn't slept in days. "How long was I out?"

"Eleven days," Merrill says quietly and sits down on a small chair. She lies her head on Carver's stomach and sighs. "Things didn't quite go like I expected."

"Eleven days?" Carver recalls the short moments in the Fade. "It didn't feel that long."

Solas steps around Merrill and kneels to take the hand with the mark in his. He turns it palm up and dips his finger into a pot of blue balm and then spreads salve along the edges of the cut. "Merrill's method was working well but the mark reacted in strange ways." He looks up to Carver's face. "How does the mark feel now?"

Carver looks at his hand and wills the mark to light up. It burns a little, like pressure behind a wound but nothing like the searing pain he is used to. "Better. It seems to be softer."

Solas and Merrill exchange a look as Solas stands up again. He holds the ceramic pot towards Carver's face and he instantly recognizes the smell.

"That's lyrium!" For a moment the burning hunger is back, pulling at him like an old friend. He recoils, scooting backwards on the bed until his back hits the wall.

"It's alright," Merrill says, stroking over his hand. "This isn't templar lyrium, it's mage lyrium."

Carver eyes the blue glowing paste suspiciously. "How is that better?"

Solas puts the pot back on the table and covers it with a cloth. "When Merrill removed the lyrium from your body, the mark started to react strangely."

"It burned," Merrill says. "And it grew. It covered your whole hand, cracks in your skin..." She looks at him with wide eyes. "I didn't know what to do."

Solas frowns. "The lyrium was a last resort, a risk, but the way the mark reacted to Merrill's magic — we had to try it."

Carver looks at his Herald-hand, seeing the faint lines where his skin must have cracked. "Because it's like veilfire. It's magic at its core."

Solas' head snaps around. "How do you know?"

"A spirit told me, in the Fade. His name is Cole."

"No." Solas stares at him as if he grew two heads.

In contrast to Solas' horrified stare, Merrill laughs excitedly. "You were in the Fade again? How was it?"

"There was moss again, that seems to be a theme. And I couldn't use my legs."

"Oh, that must have been disturbing." Merrill looks down his legs and Carver bends them at the knees and stretches them out again.

"At least they work now." He itches to tell her more of Cole and what he said but the disturbed look on Cassandra's face has him postpone that conversation to later. "So what happens now, with the lyrium and all that?"

"We have to investigate more," Merrill says. "There has to be a difference between templar-lyrium and mage-lyrium. For now, Solas and I have made you this lyrium salve to use on your hand. When we know more... maybe you can take mage potions one day? We don't know enough, not yet."

Cassandra looks like she's in physical pain. "I cannot allow that Herald Carver to be experimented on, it's too dangerous."

Merrill turns to her, her face serious. "I will not risk his life, not ever. But the mark is magical and that changes everything."

"Just..." Cassandra sighs and looks at Carver. "We have come so far, you have done amazing things, you have set changes in motion that Thedas hasn't seen in years. I don't want to see all the good that you started going down with you."

Carver swallows against a bundle of emotions suddenly stuck in his throat. "Thank you for your trust in me, I know this isn't what you originally had in mind."

"My vision was of the old Inquisition, a return to traditions that don't fit our world anymore today," Cassandra says. "But you challenged me with progress. I have learned to trust you," she looks to Merrill and bows her head, "and I will learn to trust you as well. Forgive me that it might take some time."

Merrill smiles up to her and nods.

Cassandra straightens. "Take your rest, Carver, and when you feel strong enough, I'll see you both at the council. I'll inform the others that you are getting better." She pushes out of the door, dragging Cullen and the rest of the people with her and closes the door behind her, leaving Carver, Merrill, and Solas alone in the room.

Carver leans back against the wall. "I'm hungry. Like real hunger, for food, not lyrium."

Solas turns to the drawer chest and picks up a tray covered with cloth. He puts the tray on Carver's lap, takes the cloth away and twists his fingers over the bowl of stew as he mumbles a spell. Instantly steam rises from the stew and the smell makes Carver's mouth water.

"Slowly," Merrill reminds him and Carver forces himself savour the food. But still, the stew is gone in no time and with the sense of hunger subdued, he feels the aches of the rest of his body again.

"You need to sleep some more, vehnan," Merrill says.

"Only if you stay here with me," Carver says with a jawn. He scoots down until his head rests on the pillow and curls up on his side.

Merrill crawls up on the bed and lies down beside him, fitting herself in the embrace of his body. "Of course I'm here."

Solas smiles at them and settles down on a chair. "I fear I can't quite leave you alone, I have to watch the mark some more. But you should both rest."

Carver tries to say something clever but sleep takes him before he can open his mouth.

"Herald Carver, Merrill, Solas," Cassandra greets them. "I'm glad to say that you're all looking much better today."

Cullen nods at that as he straightens out the map on the wartable.

Josephine enters with a dazzling smile, followed by Leliana, who closes the door behind her. Josephine holds a pile of expensive looking paper in one hand and waves it around. "I have here several well wishes by orlesian nobles, a few letters from Ferelden and even cards from Nevarra and Antiva." She picks a sealed scroll from a box and hands it to Carver. "This is a letter by King Alistair, addressed personally to you."

Carver takes the scroll and breaks the wax seal to unroll it. The handwriting is uneven and therefore most probably by the king himself as no scribe would keep their job with scribbles like these. It takes him a while to decipher the letter, which seems to be one long running sentence. "King Alistair searched further in the dungeon under Redcliffe castle," he summarizes, "and found an entrance to the Deep Roads."

"Darkspawn?" Cullen asks.

"He doesn't mention them but there's red lyrium everywhere."

"The Deep Roads connect through all of Thedas," Cassandra says breathlessly.

Merrill puts her fingertip on the marker for Redcliffe and spreads her hand. Light crawls out from her fingers, flowing over the map like rivers. "It infects everything."

Carver turns the letter around. "He says the lyrium expert is already on her way, apparently Varric contacted her as well."

"I have so many questions —," Merrill begins to say when a knock on the door interrupts her. The door opens and Clemence, the tranquil that came with them from Redcliffe, enters with another scroll in his hand.

"My apologies," he says with his unnerving calm voice. "A raven just arrived with this letter for Serah Merrill." He steps over to Merrill and hands her the scroll but he stares at Carver the whole time and doesn't leave after handing the scroll over.

"Are you alright, Clemence?" Merrill asks carefully.

"Everything is normal." He looks at Carver, his face still calm and impassive.

Merrill puts her hand on his arm. "I'm sorry."

He turns to her, something like confusion showing on his face. "But it was different, I remember."

"Yes, it was," Merrill says softly. "We'll find out what happened, I promise."

"Thank you." He bows to Carver and turns to leave. When the door closes behind him, Carver looks at Merrill, who stares at the closed door, gnawing on her knuckles.

"What was that about?"

"When you were in your Fade sleep," Merrill explains, "Clemence came in to bring you the stew and fresh water. When he stood next to you, something happened. He felt something."

"Like what?"

"He laughed. Just for a moment it spilled out of him, like someone had opened a window to his mind. And then he sobbed once and then it was over and he stepped back, and was like before."

"For a moment he wasn't tranquil anymore?"

"Yes, and he remembers it." Merrill sighs. "I think he hoped that it would happen again if he stood next to you just now."

Carver turns to Cassandra. "Have you ever heard of anything like that happening?"

Cassandra opens her mouth to answer when the door flies open again, crashing against the wall. Solas leans in, gesturing to Carver.

"Come, quickly."

Cassandra and Carver run after him, followed by the rest of the group.

"What is it?" Cassandra asks.

"We're running out of time." Solas steps out of the chantry and points to the rotating maw in the sky. "The Breach. It's getting unstable again."