Actions

Work Header

Rating:
Archive Warning:
Category:
Fandoms:
Relationships:
Characters:
Additional Tags:
Language:
English
Stats:
Published:
2025-06-01
Updated:
2025-07-25
Words:
127,315
Chapters:
16/?
Comments:
82
Kudos:
83
Bookmarks:
22
Hits:
1,926

The Veil Between

Summary:

After making a deal with a devil, Lilith lands in an unfamiliar world: Thedas. Marked by strange magic and haunted by blood and memory, she joins the Inquisition to close the Breach and outrun her past. But fate has long teeth, and so do the ones she left behind. Hunted by a vampire lord she once loved, she walks a knife's edge between what she was and what she might become - especially in the eyes of a certain apostate whose secrets might be as dangerous as her own.

Updates every few days, or whenever Raphael threatens litigation.

Notes:

Hello!

This is my first fic! I have an outline for where I want this to go but am still in the midst of writing, so please don't expect speedy updates. This idea has implanted itself into my brain, and I haven't seen an abundance of this genre, so I thought I'd just write it myself :)

This story will not be canon-compliant! More tags to be added as we go. Feedback is absolutely welcome, but be kind, please!

TW for this chapter: mention of SA (marked by **) and mention of abuse (marked by ***).

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Chapter 1: Prologue / Chapter One

Chapter Text

Prologue

I was never supposed to be a hero. Not in Faerûn, and certainly not here.

The gods marked her long before she had the chance to become anything else. Lilith was born of shadow and ritual, raised with blood beneath her nails and a hunger not entirely her own. Or maybe it was.

She’s worn more masks than she could remember. Prodigy. Villain. Lover. Saviour. But none of them ever felt right - like they truly belonged to her. Maybe that’s the price of being a Bhaalspawn. Or maybe that’s just the cost of survival.

It’s been a year. One long, aching, bleeding year since she helped him ascend. She remembers the ritual vividly. The circle of death, the spawn, terrified and pleading, and the look in Astarion’s eyes. Not remorse or fear, but hunger. Triumph.

I should have stopped him.

But I didn’t.

She told herself she was helping him take back control. That she was freeing him from Cazador, from the agony and trauma that haunted his every step. He begged her - trusted her - and by the hells, she loved him. Even when she knew it was wrong, even when the others warned her, she still wanted to give him what he wanted. To be the one who stood by his side.

And somewhere inside her… a depraved part of her whispered that maybe she didn’t deserve to be the one who stopped him. What were 7,000 souls compared to the thousands upon thousands she’d killed in Bhaal’s name? She was already damned - what difference did it make?

So, she used the parasite to link their minds. Felt the knife in his hand as if it were her own. Watched in the periphery as he carved into Cazador’s back. Listened to his siblings’ screams as their power flowed into the man she loved.

At first, it was everything he’d wanted - and everything she’d ached for him to have, after centuries of pain. Freedom. Power. Safety. They stayed in Cazador’s manor, his old prison turned sanctuary. Astarion redecorated, of course - no more cages or blood stained floors. Just velvet, wine, and whispered laughter. 

And for a while, it felt like something close to peace. He brought Lilith breakfast in bed. Kissed her forehead after nightmares. Made love to her in the quiet hours of the morning. He told her that she’d saved him. That she was the only person who ever truly cared for him.

But it didn’t last. Nothing ever does.

The obsession came slowly, creeping in at the edges like rot beneath fine wood. He started asking where she went when she left the manor. Then why she’d gone at all. Then he stopped asking. He simply… made her stay. A well-placed suggestion and a compelling tone.

She still remembers the first time - she’d felt a tug at her spine, a glaze over her eyes, and found herself sitting down beside him; smiling, laughing at his jokes, forgetting what she had just been doing. 

A deeper part of her screamed. Something sacred had been taken from her. Something she hadn't even realized she'd lost. 

It was subtle at first, so subtle she almost convinced herself she was imagining it. A shift in the air when he looked at her too long, or a lingering hand on her wrist that felt more like a tether than a touch. She stopped trusting her instincts, started second-guessing her own memories. Was it magic? Or was it just him? She couldn't tell where he ended and she began. Maybe that was the point.

*** The first time he hit her, he cried afterward. The second time, he didn’t. ***

She tried to leave. Gods know she tried. She wrote to Gale, to Shadowheart, even to Lae’zel. None of them answered. She didn’t know if the letters were burned or intercepted or just simply ignored. The world she helped save had turned its back on her - or maybe it had just forgotten.

He never let her forget.

Every day, he reminded her of what she was. Bhaal’s Chosen. A butcher, a murderer, carved from crimson history, baptized in screams and flame.

In the quiet moments of dawn and lonely evenings spent alone, he’d whisper that no one else would ever love her. She was too broken, too damned, too soaked in blood. That only he could understand her. That only he could love her despite it all.

He made her wear a dress when he compelled her into marriage. A white one; mocking, cruel. She remembers the ceremony like a dream she was watching from across a vast chasm. Everything felt slow, as if she were underwater. She studied the way her mouth moved - saying vows she didn’t mean, her hands trembling around his. The guests (his servants) were enthralled, though they didn't have a choice either. Lilith’s doubts any of them remember it. She wishes she didn’t.

** That night, he didn’t even need to compel her into sex. She was too tired, too broken to deny him, her body moving on instinct while her mind floated somewhere far above - detached, numb. Part of her had convinced herself that she deserved it, that this was the punishment she’d earned for everything she’d done. **

** She just let him take what he wanted and prayed it would be over quickly. It was easier to let him think she wanted it, than to endure what happened when she resisted. **

She hated him. 

The final straw was a mirror. Just a simple, gilded thing hanging in the hall. 

*** Walking by, she saw herself in it and didn’t recognize the woman staring back. Hollow eyes and bruised lips. A trembling smile carved into place like it had been stitched there. ***

She left again that night. He caught her, of course. He always did. But someone else found her too.

Raphael.

She ran into him - literally - in an alley, him leaning against the wall like he owned it. Eyes like coals and a grin that promised ruin. “My dear Lilith,” he tsked, “what a shame to see such potential squandered.”

She told him she’d die before making a deal with him. He said that could be arranged.

But he was patient, teetering on kind, even. She saw the manipulation for what it was, of course, but he told her he could get her out. 

There was no place she could escape to that Astarion couldn’t eventually reach. He would never stop hunting her - not while he still believed she belonged to him. But if she vanished completely, if she slipped into some quiet, forgotten fold of Faerûn, far from the eyes of gods and monsters, then maybe, just maybe, she could finally be free.

That was what Raphael had promised her - obscurity. A place so small, so hidden, so steeped in stillness that even Astarion’s ambition couldn’t sniff her out. “A quiet corner of Faerûn, untouched and unbothered ” - the kind of place where no one would ask who she was or what she’d done. Where the weight of her name would never follow.

He’d even smiled, that too-smooth smile of his - like a mask stretching over something sharper beneath - and said, “There are always ways to ensure the right eyes stay closed.”

At the time, it sounded like salvation. Only later would she wonder what quiet corner of the world ever came without a price.

Standing in the Chamber of Egress a week later, Raphael twisted magic and bent the bones of old, forgotten portals to carve a path to a forgotten corner of the world; somewhere no vampire, nor god, nor devil could track Lilith.

Obviously, she didn’t believe for a second that a devil (read: Raphael) couldn’t follow her through - but beggars can’t be choosers.

In return, she’d owe him her soul. But not now. Not even soon. In one hundred years. Long enough for a new start, a fulfilling life. She could be happy. She could breathe again. 

So, she signed. She remembers the smell of the ink - spiced, cloying, like cinnamon over rot. The parchment burned when she touched it, her signature gleaming gold. Raphael smiled. 

He brought her to the House of Hope, told her to wait while things were being prepared for her departure. For the first time in months, she felt… hope. She could almost taste freedom.

Until Astarion came.

He sliced through Raphael’s guards like smoke. His eyes were wild, red, livid. How did he find her? Maybe the bond. Maybe something else. But he knew . He screamed her name - begged her, threatened her.

“I’ll kill them all!” he shouted. “Everyone, Lilith - the fucking city - I’ll burn it to the ground if you leave me!”

Now, standing at the precipice, the edge of the portal shimmered like water, humming with power. Raphael stood behind her, hand hovering over her back, ready to push her through. 

She looked back at Astarion - her husband, the man she had once longed to marry, but no longer the man she loved. She still remembered the good memories: whispered jokes and bottles of wine shared under moonlight, the brush of his hand against hers, nights spent dreaming of a future that never came. But they felt like echoes now, fading beneath the weight of what he’d done. Who he’s become. Their love had rotted into grief, and grief had hardened into something colder. Turning back around, Lilith took the final step forward, one foot moving through the portal.

Astarion lunged.

His hand caught hers, fingertips like claws, digging deep. She screamed, fire erupting from her palm. The portal pulsed; magic suddenly surged, overflowing like water bursting over a dam. Too powerful, too chaotic. Raphael cursed in an ancient tongue as the spell - the portal - cracked and buckled beneath the strain.

And then she fell.

Through worlds, through stars, through screams. She saw the tattered edges of the Weave. She saw gods watching from vast corners. She saw her past, stretching out behind her like a trail of blood.

And then- 

Cold. A stone floor beneath her, damp and dark. Shackles on her wrists. The sharp, unmistakable smell of iron. 

Then, a voice. Low, suspicious. Unfamiliarly accented.

“Tell me why we shouldn’t kill you now .”

Lilith raised her head. Blood dripped into her eye. And she smiled, giggled even. Because death, at least, would mean this was over.

But, she thinks, I didn’t crawl out of one nightmare just to die in another.

 


 

Chapter One 

“The Conclave is destroyed. Everyone who attended is dead. Except for you.”

Lilith blinked slowly, vision swimming in and out of focus, each breath rasping like she’d inhaled smoke. The voice cut through the fog like a blade, slicing through the haze clouding her mind. Her body ached like she’d been trampled by a pack of pissed-off owlbears. Again .

“You think I’m responsible?” she rasped, voice dry and cracked. She barely recognized it.

The woman in front of her grabbed her marked hand with surprising strength. “Explain this.”

A dull pain flared in her left hand - sharp, hot, and completely wrong. She turned her head to look and saw the mark, glowing an eerie, unnatural green against her skin. It pulsed in time with something she couldn’t see, something vast and cold and distant. And she had the sinking, marrow-deep suspicion that she had made a very big mistake.

“I… I can’t,” she said, her gaze dropping to the stone floor.

“What do you mean you can’t?” the woman snapped.

“I don’t know what that is. Or how it got there.”

The woman’s eyes flared. She lunged forward, fury boiling just beneath the surface. “You’re lying!”

“We need her, Cassandra,” said a second voice - calmer, quieter, but no less commanding.

Lilith finally flicked her eyes upward to get a look at her captors. The first woman - Cassandra - stood over her, dark-eyed and grim. With fury carved into every line of her face, her sharp features suggested that she’d only smile when hell froze over. She looked like she was built from sword steel and stubbornness. She wasn’t holding a weapon - but Lilith was deeply confident that she didn’t need one to kill her.

The second woman stood between them, her face mostly hidden beneath a hood, expression unreadable. Where Cassandra was all fire and raw flame, this woman appeared a cool shadow - composed, calculating. She studied Lilith with an intensity that made her wonder if she was praying for her or planning her funeral. The room suddenly felt suffocating - there was a quiet weight to her presence, like a blade you didn’t see until it was already pressed to your throat.

“Where-” Lilith coughed, throat scraping like broken glass. “Where the fuck am I?”

“You’re in Haven. Ferelden,” Cassandra said.

Ferelden. That word was familiar in the way nightmares are - something half-remembered from a book, or a fever dream. She tried to lift her chin to meet Cassandra’s eyes, but nausea hit her like a wave. She dropped back onto the cold stone with a groan.

“Do you remember what happened? How this began?” the hooded woman asked.

She tried. Gods, she tried. But everything was a blur. One moment, she was stepping through Raphael’s portal, Astarion’s scream still echoing behind her, and the next, white-hot magic had swallowed her whole. She remembered nothing after that. Just pain. Cold. And now… this.

The mark on her hand pulsed again, worse this time. She bit back a whimper, bile rising in her throat. “I… I…”

She shut her eyes, willing herself to breathe, to concentrate.

“I remember… running… things were chasing me, and… a woman?”

“A woman?” the hooded one echoed.

“She reached out to me. But then…” Lilith trailed off, shaking her head.

“I wasn’t even supposed to end up here,” she muttered, voice tight. “I was aiming for the other side of Faerûn. Maybe start a quiet life. Farming, hiding - something simple. Not…” She gestured vaguely at the dungeon around her. “This.”

Cassandra’s brow furrowed. “Faerûn?”

Lilith blinked at her, confusion flickering across her face. She looked between them, slowly realizing the problem. “…You’ve never heard of it?”

Cassandra gave her a flat, expectant look.

Lilith leaned back slightly, processing. “Huh,” she said, mostly to herself. “I guess I’m a little farther from home than I thought.” Then, she added, dryly: “Not a common vacation spot for you, I take it?”

Cassandra exhaled sharply - something between a scoff and a sigh. “Can you tell us your name?”

“Lilith.”

“And your allegiance?” the hooded woman asked.

She blinked. “To myself. Is that an option?”

Neither of them looked amused. Figures .

“Go to the forward camp, Leliana. I will take her to the rift,” Cassandra said.

Leliana - so that was the shadow’s name - nodded once before slipping silently from the room.

Cassandra leaned forward and uncuffed the shackles holding Lilith to the stone floor.

“What… did happen?” she asked, her voice low.

She slowly met Lilith’s eyes. “It will be easier to show you,” she replied.


The cold hit Lilith like a slap as Cassandra led her outside, her wrists still bound. She blinked against the sudden light, against the wind that carried the scent of snow and something worse - burned wood, ash, and death.

Then she saw it.

A tear in the sky itself. Green and sickly, pulsating with a foul, magical energy. It looked like the world had been stabbed open, and the wound refused to close. Lightning flickered along its edges; debris floated into it and didn’t come back out.

“We call it the Breach,” Cassandra said grimly. “It’s a massive rift into the world of demons that grows larger with each passing hour. It’s not the only such rift, just the largest. All were caused by the explosion at the Conclave.”

“The… Conclave…” Lilith repeated, the word tasting foreign. She couldn’t make sense of it, of any of this. So she latched onto the one question she could ask without giving too much away.

“An explosion can do that?”

“This one did,” Cassandra said. “Unless we act, the Breach may grow until it swallows the world.”

Her mark flared violently, and pain shooting through her like wildfire. She collapsed to one knee, choking on the scream that tore its way out of her throat.

Cassandra dropped to eye level. “Each time the Breach expands, your mark spreads. And it is killing you. It may be the key to stopping this, but there isn’t much time.”

Doomed. Again. Honestly, this might’ve been funny if I weren’t currently being flayed from the inside out by a divine tattoo I didn’t ask for.

They started walking, her legs still shaky.

“They have decided your guilt,” Cassandra said, her voice hard. “They need it. The people of Haven mourn our most holy, Divine Justinia, head of the Chantry. The Conclave was hers. It was a chance for peace between mages and templars. She brought their leaders together. Now, they are dead.”

She continued, “We lash out like the sky, but we must think beyond ourselves, as she did. Until the Breach is sealed.”

So - Lilith recounted, a thought in her head - Divine Justinia had arranged a peace summit between the warring mages and templars, and someone had blown it sky-high, killing her and everyone else. Now there was a hole in the sky - a literal glowing, swirling, green hole - and I fall out of said sky with a mysterious glowing hand. 

Convenient, that.

She glanced back at Cassandra. Lilith thought she was intense (okay, terrifying) but sincere. Cassandra really believed in this Divine, in peace, in doing what was right.

Lilith didn’t believe in gods. Not anymore. And after Bhaal, after Astarion… no divine being got - no, deserved - the benefit of the doubt. But Cassandra? She might actually want to save the world. And Lilith respected the hell out of that.

“You were found at the Temple ruins,” Cassandra continued. “They say you stepped out of a rift, and fell unconscious. They say a woman was in the rift behind you. No one knows who she was. And the mark on your hand - no one knows what it is, or why you survived when everyone else died.”

A horrible suspicion twisted in Lilith’s stomach. “Raphael,” she muttered, laughing weakly. “That smug bastard might’ve actually sent me somewhere worse.”

Cassandra stepped back, eyeing her like she’d sprouted horns.

“I told you I have no idea how I got here,” she said, and that was technically true. But muttering under her breath about devils and Bhaal and escaping her undead ex was probably not helping. 

“One minute I’m getting a crash course in infernal contract law, the next, I’m face-first on your dungeon floor with a green hand. Trust me, this wasn’t on the itinerary.”

At the word infernal , Cassandra’s eyes narrowed. Her hand twitched near her sword.

Lilith rolled her eyes, sighing. “Oh, relax. I’m not a demon worshipper or anything - I banish devils, thank you very much. Well. Banished. Once. It was more of a mutual… fleeing.”

Her expression sharpened. “You are a mage?” she asked suddenly, ignoring everything else Lilith had said.

“Wizard,” she corrected automatically. Then paused. “Wait, what did you call me?”

“Mage. You… wield magic, yes?”

“Yes,” she replied slowly. “But where I’m from, ‘mage’ is more of a job title. Not a catch-all.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You are not from Ferelden?”

“Definitely not.”

They stared at each other. Snow drifted in lazy spirals, the Breach crackling above them like the sky itself had come undone.

Then Cassandra pulled out a dagger. And turned to face her.

…Great.

Lilith held up her hands again. “Look, if you’re going to sacrifice me to your gods, at least buy me a drink first.”

Now Cassandra rolled her eyes, slicing the ropes binding Lilith’s wrists and letting them fall to the snow. “There will be a trial. I can promise no more.” 

“Come,” she continued. “It is not far.”

Lilith rubbed her wrists, grimacing. “Where are you taking me?”

“Your mark must be tested on something smaller than the Breach.”

Of course it did.


The climb toward the rift was steep and brutal. Lilith’s legs screamed with every step, and the mark throbbed harder the closer they got.

Then, as they reached the crest of the hill, the Breach pulsed - like it was breathing. She fell to the ground again, gasping in pain.

Cassandra dropped beside her and grabbed her arm, pulling her back up. “The pulses are coming faster, now.”

She looked at Lilith like she didn’t expect to see her live to the end of the day.

Lilith coughed. “Great. Love a deadline.”

“The larger the Breach grows, the more rifts appear - and the more demons we face.”

Lilith nodded as she turned back, continuing their climb. “Awesome. Demons . Because today wasn’t hard enough.”

Halfway across another bridge, it suddenly exploded beneath their feet. Lilith hit the ground hard, rolling onto a frozen lake with a crack of ice beneath her.

Then something hissed in the air.

A wraith. Or at least, that’s what Lilith thought it resembled - floating, shrieking, cloaked in shadow. Not unlike the horrors from the Shadow-Cursed Lands, though this one shimmered with the same energy as the Breach.

She scrambled to her feet and thrust her hand forward, willing fire into her palm. A bolt of flame seared through the air, striking the creature dead-on with a shriek. If she’d had her staff, she could’ve ended this quickly - but she’d just have to make do without it.

The ice hissed under her feet as she spun toward another wraith, sending a volley of crackling energy hurtling into its chest. Another closed in behind her - she flung a blast over her shoulder without looking, buying herself seconds. Just enough.

She watched as a third lunged for Cassandra. She threw out her palm, lightning leaving her fingertips, rippling through the air as the spell hit home, leaving the creature a smoldering heap on the frozen lake.

When the last one vanished in a swirl of smoke, Lilith exhaled.

“It’s over,” she said, walking toward Cassandra.

She spun on her, sword raised.

Lilith scoffed, “One of the wraiths attacked me. What was I supposed to do!?” she snapped.

Cassandra narrowed her eyes. “Wraith?”

“Demon, whatever!” she threw up her hands. “What, was I supposed to let it eat me for dramatic effect?”

Cassandra stared at her for a long moment, then sighed.

“You’re right. I cannot protect you. And I cannot expect you to be defenseless. Your life is threatened enough as it is.”

Lilith fidgeted, unsettled by the note of concern. “Okay, but if you start getting mushy on me, I’m turning around. Let’s just… get this over with.”

Cassandra nodded, then turned toward the hill. The light from the Breach lit the path ahead in ghostly green.

And Lilith followed her, hand still burning.


We’re getting close to the rift, you can hear fighting!” Cassandra said as they raced up the hill.

“Who’s fighting?” Lilith asked.

“You’ll see soon. We must help them,” she replied.

They crested the hill to find a small squad locked in battle with creatures from a nightmare: ethereal, screeching things that flickered and shimmered beneath a rift pulsing in the sky. The air stank of smoke and rot; buildings around them lay shattered, as if a wrathful god had struck them down. Splintered beams jutted from the ground, stone scorched black and cracked open.

Without hesitation, Lilith hurled herself into the fray, flame erupting from her fingers in a roaring arc. The fire collided with the demons, forcing them back.

But as she cast, the pain in her marked hand surged sharply - agony blooming up her arm like venom under her skin. Gritting her teeth, she stopped casting. Instead, she grabbed a dagger dropped by one of the fallen soldiers and lunged into melee, slashing at the creatures with grim efficiency.

The fight dragged on, chaotic and brutal, but at last, the last wraith dissipated into nothing.

Then, without warning, an elf was beside her. Tall, pale.

“Quickly, before more come through!” he barked. His hand reached for Lilith - her marked hand - and thrust it upward toward the rift.

The green mark flared, searing hot. Light erupted from her palm and struck the rift, clashing with the pulsing magic. The pain was unbearable, but she kept her arm raised. Her teeth clenched, body trembling.

And then, like a scream snapping off mid-note, the rift sealed shut. The air stilled. She wrenched her hand back, staring at the burning sigil embedded in her flesh.

Turning to the elf, she demanded, “What did you do?”

He met her gaze evenly. “I did nothing. The credit is yours.”

She scoffed, flexing her hand. “At least this is good for something.”

“Whatever magic opened the Breach also placed that mark upon your hand,” he said, tone studious. “I theorized it might allow you to close the rifts it leaves in its wake. And it seems I was correct.”

Cassandra stepped forward. “Meaning it could also close the Breach itself.”

“Possibly.” The elf’s eyes didn’t leave Lilith’s. “It seems you hold the key to our salvation.”

She tried not to roll her eyes. That kind of talk had a way of making people sound stupid. Or dangerous.

“That’s good to know,” another voice cut in - low and amused. “Here I thought we’d be ass-deep in demons forever.”

A dwarf strolled up, shirt open, showcasing his chest hair, and crossbow slung across his back. Wide-shouldered and smug, he looked like someone who’d walked out of a salacious story with a drink in one hand and a wink in the other.

“Varric Tethras,” he said, with a slight bow. “Rogue, storyteller, and occasionally, unwelcome tag-along.”

He winked at Cassandra. She grimaced in response.

Lilith eyed him, already pegging him as trouble, but the useful kind. The kind who could talk his way out of a jail cell and into someone’s pants. He had the air of a man used to danger, but not unfamiliar with loyalty - if you earned it.

“Are you with the Chantry, or…?” she asked, curious.

The elf beside her laughed. “Was that a serious question?”

Varric tried not to smirk. “Technically I’m a prisoner. Just like you.”

Cassandra jumped in. “I brought you to tell your story to the Divine. Clearly that is no longer necessary.”

“Yet here I am,” Varric said, gesturing broadly. “Lucky for you, considering current events.”

Lilith tilted her head toward him. “That’s a nice crossbow you have.”

His smile broadened. “Ah, isn’t she? Bianca and I have been through a lot together.”

She raised a brow. “You named your crossbow Bianca?”

“Of course. And she’ll be great company in the valley.”

Cassandra turned to him, unimpressed. “Absolutely not. Your help is appreciated, Varric, but-”

He cut her off. “Have you been in the valley lately, Seeker? Your soldiers aren’t in control anymore. You need me.”

Cassandra scoffed and turned away.

The elf stepped forward. “My name is Solas, if there are to be introductions. I am pleased to see you still live.”

His phrasing made Lilith quirk a brow - until Varric added helpfully, “He means, ‘I kept that mark from killing you as you slept.’”

She stared at the elf - Solas - for a beat. “You seem to know a great deal about this.”

“Solas is an apostate,” Cassandra said. “Like yourself. He is well-versed in such matters.”

“Technically,” he corrected her as Lilith turned back toward him, “all mages are now apostates, Cassandra.”

He examined Lilith. “My travels have allowed me to learn much of the Fade - far beyond the experience of any Circle mage.”

He continued, more gently, “I came to offer whatever help I can give for the Breach. If it is not closed, we are all doomed - regardless of origin.”

Lilith tried to keep her expression neutral as she scrambled to make sense of half of what he just said.

“And what will you do once this is over?” she asked.

“One hopes those in power remember who helped, and who did not.”

He turned to Cassandra. “You should know: the magic involved here is unlike any I’ve seen. Your prisoner is no mage. Indeed, I find it difficult to imagine any mage having such power.”

Lilith’s heart thudded once, hard. She looked between them quickly.

Cassandra arched an eyebrow. Her suspicion was sharp.

Lilith forced a smile. “Actually, I am a mage. Where I’m from, we employed… unconventional tactics for teaching and using magic.”

Solas tilted his head, unconvinced. “Fascinating.” He studied her again.

In return, Lilith took stock of him more closely now. He was tall and broad-shouldered, with a face carved in patience and pale grey-purple eyes that watched her like she was both a puzzle and the answer to one. His presence set her on edge - not because he was unfriendly, but because he was too calm. Too still. 

She’d seen that kind of stillness before. In herself. In Astarion. In killers who didn’t need to raise their voices to be dangerous.

She held his gaze a moment too long. He finally looked away first.

“We must get to the forward camp,” Cassandra said.

Before they could start moving, Lilith said suddenly, “My name is Lilith.”

Solas glanced back at her. “Pleased to meet you, Lilith.”

Varric gave her a once-over, his eyes flicking to Cassandra and back. “Despite what I’ve been hearing, you don’t look like a world-ending threat.”

Lilith laughed - a real, surprised laugh. “Give it time.”

He grinned. “We’re gonna get along fine.”


“So,” Varric said, strolling beside Lilith, “are you innocent?”

She snorted. “I don’t remember what happened.”

He chuckled. “That’ll get you every time. Should’ve spun a story.”

Cassandra interjected, “That’s what you would have done.”

“It’s more believable,” Varric replied, “and less prone to result in premature execution.”

Then, Solas drifted up beside her. “Where are you from, Lilith?”

“Oh, a far, remote village,” she replied vaguely. “I doubt any of you would’ve heard of it. We’re pretty secluded.”

She realized how sketchy that sounded, so she added, “I was sent to observe the Conclave. My village is primarily wiz- mages. We were trying to stay informed.”

Solas seemed mollified by that and asked nothing more.

They pressed on through the wreckage of the valley, fighting off more demons and sealing rifts. Varric’s earlier comment about execution echoed in the back of her mind. But for now, she was useful - which bought her time.

Eventually, they reached a bridge. Ahead, they saw Leliana beside a man leaning over a map. He looked up at Lilith sharply.

“Ah. Here they come.”

“You made it,” Leliana said. “Chancellor Roderick, this is-”

“I know who she is. As Grand Chancellor of the Chantry, I hereby order you to take this criminal to Val Royeaux for execution.”

Lilith bristled. This prick.

Cassandra bristled faster. “Order me ? You are a glorified clerk. A bureaucrat.”

“And you are a thug, though supposedly in service to the Chantry.”

Leliana stepped in. “We serve the Most Holy, Chancellor, as you well know.”

“She is dead! We must elect her replacement and obey her orders on the matter!”

Lilith’s anger snapped. “Don’t talk about me like I’m not here!”

His eyes shot to hers and he spat, “You shouldn’t even be here!”

She took a step forward, snarling, “Talk to me like that again and I'll show you what else I shouldn't be." 

A hand caught her bicep. Solas’s voice was low by her ear, sending shivers down her spine. “Not here.”

She breathed through her nose and forced herself to step back.

Cassandra rounded on Roderick again.

“Call a retreat, Seeker! Our position is hopeless!” he cried.

“We can stop this,” she said. “Before it’s too late.”

“How?” he demanded.


The climb up the mountain path was grueling. Snow and ice clung to the stone, and jagged rocks jutted like teeth. They passed crumbled statues and broken watchtowers. Varric muttered complaints about the cold. Solas was quiet, though Lilith caught him watching her more than once.

Demons found them again before they reached the temple. Lilith held her ground, flinging spells with one hand, gripping a blade in the other. The mark flared with each cast. The pain was no less sharp, but she was getting used to it.

Once the rift was closed, Solas appeared beside her. “Sealed, as before. You are becoming quite proficient at this.” He sounded impressed. 

Varric nearby, said, “Let’s hope it works on the big one,” patting his crossbow before securing it behind him. 

A blonde man in heavy armour decorated with fur approached, “Lady Cassandra,” he greeted,  “You managed to close the rift? Well done.”

Cassandra replied, “Do not congratulate me, Commander. This is the prisoner’s doing.”

“Is it?” His eyes locked on Lilith’s, cool and stern. “I hope they’re right about you. We’ve lost a lot of people getting you here.”

She watched him for a moment, recognizing the look of a warrior. Distantly, he reminded her of Lae’zel, Karlach. Their determination. Their brutal, unshakable certainty that the fight mattered - no matter how many pieces it left them in. 

Her throat tightened. She missed them - her whole team.

Realizing she’d zoned out, Lilith gave him an amused look, and said, “You're not the only one”. 

The Commander spoke again, “The way to the temple should be clear. Leliana will try to meet you there.”

“Then we’d best move quickly,” Cassandra agreed. “Give us time, Commander.”

“Maker watch over you - for all our sakes.” The Commander then turned to help an injured soldier limp away.

They moved quickly, approaching the Temple of Sacred Ashes. At the summit, the Temple lay in ruins. The Breach pulsed in the sky overhead - huge, radiant, terrifying.

Suddenly, like a thunderclap, the magnitude of this disaster hit Lilith. The temple was destroyed, decimated. Hundreds of people died.

And it’s my fault.

She stared at the wreckage, throat tight. Stone shattered like glass. Ash still drifting on the wind. This was supposed to be sacred ground - a place of peace, of reverence. Now it’s a mass grave.

She didn’t remember what happened in the explosion, but the mark on her hand told her that she was at the center of it. The Breach screamed overhead like a wound in the world, and Lilith felt it humming in her bones. Whatever tore it open, it chose her. Or used her.  And she let it.

Her hands flexed uselessly at her sides. Back in Faerûn, she'd spilled oceans of blood, convinced it was the only way to survive. But this? These deaths weren’t calculated. They weren’t strategic. They were collateral. And somehow, that made them worse. No spell, no clever lie, no bargain with a devil can undo this.

The truth crawled beneath her skin, burrowing itself into the depths of her heart: I am the monster they think I am.

Cassandra suddenly turned to her, pulling her out of her daze. “This is your chance to end this. Are you ready?”

Not trusting her voice at the moment, she nodded her head firmly. It wasn't a hesitation - it was resolve. Words would wobble and break, but her body knew what must be done.

They descended into the Temple, footsteps echoing across broken stone and crumbled arches. The air here felt wrong - thick, humming, charged with something unnatural. Then her hand began to crackle with power; the mark searing her like it was waking up.

“Now is the hour of our victory. Bring forth the sacrifice.”

The voice didn’t echo in the temple - it pierced through it. Cold and triumphant. Lilith’s head snapped up toward the Breach. The sky above was still torn, a gaping maw of green light, but now it spoke.

From beside her, Cassandra said, “What are we hearing?”

Solas replied, calm but grim, “At a guess, the person who created the Breach.”

They continued down the shattered path. Each step felt heavier, like they were sinking deeper into something sacred now spoiled. Lilith’s breath caught when she spotted strange red crystals embedded in the stone walls - jagged, glistening like wet wounds. At a glance, they reminded her of the ones that had bound Orpheus in the Astral Prism. Massive, ominous, watching. Those had pulsed with infernal magic. These hummed with something equally vile.

She drifted closer, reaching toward them almost without thinking. Curious.

Suddenly, a firm grip closed around her wrist. She turned, startled.

Varric stared at her, unusually serious. “Don’t touch it - it’s red lyrium,” he said.

The name meant nothing to her, but his tone did. She let her hand fall. The last time she ignored a warning like that, she lost too much to get it back.

As they moved on, she heard him murmur to Cassandra behind her. “What is it doing here?”

From above, another voice thundered down. “Keep the sacrifice still.”

And then - a woman’s voice, desperate. Pained. Human.

“Someone help me!”

Cassandra’s eyes widened. “That is Divine Justinia’s voice!”

A cold thread winded through Lilith’s spine. The Divine. Alive? Or something worse?

They kept descending, deeper into ruin. The mark pulsed, then flared - so violently Lilith staggered. Agony ripped through her, bright and white and blinding. She grit her teeth, one hand braced against the wall. Her vision wavered.

Again, they heard the voice of Justinia cry out - raw, terrified. “Someone help me!”

The sound tore through the Temple like a knife, and before Lilith could process it, another voice followed, familiar in a way that turned her stomach to ice.

Her own voice. Echoing from above. “What’s going on here?”

Cassandra whirled to look at her, her brow furrowed in confusion and alarm. “That was your voice. Most Holy called out to you. But…”

A burst of white light blinded them for a moment, like the world itself held its breath. Then, shadows coalesced - ghostly, translucent figures forming from the air. A vision. A memory? No, something stranger.

They could see Divine Justinia suspended in place, bound by writhing red energy that snaked around her arms like living chains. She struggled, luminous and terrified, a beacon of desperation in the gloom. And then a figure emerged from the haze - a towering silhouette cloaked in shadow, its eyes glowing with an unnatural red light. It loomed over her like a sentence waiting to be passed.

And then - Lilith saw herself.

She entered the shadowed room, unmistakably her. Same clothes, same gait. Her hand - her real hand, not the one reflected above - began to spark with wild, unstable magic, leaping and crackling with violent intent.

She staggered back a step, breath catching in her throat. The colour drained from her face.

I was there. Or…was I?  Is this an illusion? A memory I’ve lost? Or one planted by something cruel?

The phantom version of her spoke again, her voice echoing unnervingly through the ruins. “What’s going on here?”

Divine Justinia turned to her illusion, eyes wide with urgency. “Run while you can! Warn them!”

Then a dark, guttural voice cut through the vision like a blade. “We have an intruder. Slay the elf!”

The words hit like a physical blow. She tensed instinctively, chest tightening.

Another flash of white light - and the vision was gone. The chamber was silent once more, but the air felt heavier, the truth pressed like a weight on all of them.

Cassandra rounded on her, disbelief and fear tightening her features. “You were there! Who attacked? And the Divine, is she…? Was this vision true? What are we seeing?”

Lilith’s mouth went dry. The words tore from her, “I don’t remember!” The admission ringing out too loud, too raw.

Solas stepped forward, eyes fixed on the gaping rift above them. His voice was steady, but there was something sharp beneath it - curiosity laced with concern.

“Echoes of what happened here. The Fade bleeds into this place.”

He glanced at Lilith, then back to the rift. “This rift is not sealed, but it is closed… albeit temporarily. I believe with the mark, the rift can be opened and then sealed properly and safely. However, opening the rift will likely attract attention from the other side.”

Cassandra nodded grimly, drawing her blade. “That means demons. Stand ready!”

The others steeled themselves, weapons raised. Lilith glanced at them, then at the mark on her hand, now pulsing with energy like a living thing eager to strike.

She gave Cassandra a brief nod of her head - half warning, half promise - and raised her hand toward the rift. The magic surged, and she willed it to open.

The air warped with heat and shrieking force as the rift burst open - demons spilling forth like blood from a wound. Shades screeching and darting in erratic, jerking motions, their malformed limbs slashing at anything in reach.

And then it stepped through.

It was larger than the rest. Towering. Radiating arrogance and malice in equal measure, with a horned, armored body that seems carved from molten pride itself.

From beside her, Solas narrowed his eyes and breathed, “A Pride demon.”

Lilith laughed in disbelief. “Of course it’s a Pride demon. My day just wouldn’t be complete without getting judged by a ten-foot tall magical asshole.”

From beside her, she saw the corner of Solas’ mouth quirk upwards. 

The creature roared, charging forward.

She and Solas peeled off from the others, instinctively flanking it. He raised his hand, conjuring a wall of shimmering magic to block the demon’s lunge, while she ducked low and swept a blast of cold energy across its legs. Ice blossomed over its hide, cracking in jagged, glittering patterns.

Meanwhile, Cassandra, Varric, and the soldiers were holding the swarm at bay. Cassandra’s shield bashed through a cluster of snarling shades, while Varric fired bolts with surgical precision, Bianca humming in his hands.

The Pride demon backhanded Solas, sending him staggering across the stone floor. Before it could strike again, Lilith darted forward, lightning crackling across her fingertips like a brewing storm. She thrust her hand out, sending a bolt straight into the demon’s chest. It roared, smoke curling from the impact as it staggered back a step.

But the demon retaliated fast. Its massive claw lashed out, catching her across the side - not a glancing blow this time. The force lifted her off her feet and hurled her sideways into a pile of broken stone. Pain tore through her ribs and shoulder, sharp and immediate. She hit the ground hard, gasping, vision swimming as blood soaked into the fabric of her tunic.

For a moment, she couldn't move. Her breath caught, shallow and ragged, as adrenaline roared in her ears. And then - just beneath the pain - came a flicker of something colder. Familiar. Terrifying. Like the psychic pull of a mind flayer. Like Bhaal whispering sweet murder into her skull.

No. Not now.

She shoved the darkness down, gritted her teeth, and forced herself upright with a hiss. Her side screamed in protest, but she stood.

“Quickly! Disrupt the rift!” Cassandra’s voice rang out behind her, sharp with urgency.

Lilith stumbled forward, dragging magic to her fingers once more, the crackle of power barely masking the sound of her own ragged breathing.

She spun toward the breach, raising her marked hand. Power surged, unruly and wild, through her veins as she thrust it toward the rift. Green lightning shot out from the mark, slamming into the magical wound in the sky. It shuddered violently.

Cassandra called out, “The demon is vulnerable – now!”

They didn't hesitate. Solas hurled a series of ice shards that exploded against its hide. Cassandra charged, sword gleaming, striking at its exposed flank. Varric planted a bolt right in the demon’s head.

Lilith followed with a fire spell, flames roaring to life around the demon’s legs, licking upwards; charring and twisting the already grotesque form. It screamed - high and furious - and began to falter.

One last coordinated barrage, and it fell with a thunderous crash, dissolving into ash and smoke.

From across the ruins, Cassandra yelled, “Now! Seal the rift!

Staggering towards it, Lilith raised her hand again. The mark blazed to life, white-hot with energy. It was like trying to wrestle a tempest into submission - magic searing through her muscles, her bones, her skull.

She screamed through clenched teeth and forced the rift to close.

And, with a final wrenching pull, it did. The rift sealed with a brilliant burst of light - and silence fell.

Her knees buckled. Vision swimming, heart hammering, she swayed-

-and the world tipped sideways.

Darkness took her before she hit the ground.

 

Chapter 2: Chapter Two

Notes:

I couldn't stand the Prologue being labelled as "Chapter One", and Chapter One being labelled as "Chapter Two", so now the Prologue and Ch. 1 are combined!

Anyway, new Dimension 20 season + Wicked trailer today put me in a good-ass mood, so I thought I'd post chapter two! (Side note, can we all agree that No Good Deed is sooooo Solas?)

Tw for dubcon - it's towards the end of the italics section at the start of the chapter. (It's kind of dubcon? Meaning, can you really consent to [implied] sex with your evil, ascended boyfriend? Idk the answer, so dubcon it is!)

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

The market was a hive of sound and scent - roasting meat, overripe fruit, the clang of hammers and bark of merchants shouting over one another. Lilith kept her hood low, more out of habit than need. Just another elf in a city that had seen worse.

Astarion walked beside her, fingers intertwined with hers, too beautiful and too still to be unremarkable. He drew eyes like honey drew flies, and he loved it.

They were halfway past a fruit stall when she felt it - a tug at her belt, quick fingers brushing too close to her hip. She spun, caught the boy by the wrist. He couldn’t have been older than fourteen. Dirty face, too-thin frame. Bold little shit.

He stammered something about being lost, but his eyes darted to her pouch.

“Nice try,” Lilith said, tightening her grip just enough to make him wince. He was young - too young. His eyes wide, panicked breath coming quickly. Then, she let him go.

He staggered back, startled by the mercy. She gave him a flat look, then flicked her eyes past him, as if telling him to run along. The boy didn’t need to be told twice. 

“He’s just a kid,” she said over her shoulder to Astarion. “Didn’t even have a weapon.”

Astarion didn’t answer. He just smiled.

It was faint - barely there. A quiet thing; tight, deliberate. Like the ghost of a private thought. His eyes tracked the boy as he vanished into the crowd. Unblinking. Disturbingly patient. 

The smile didn’t reach his eyes either. There was a stillness to him in that moment - a tension. Like something held carefully in check. 

When his attention finally returned to her, it softened. Almost. But the edge hadn’t fully left - it lingered behind his eyes, coiled and waiting. 

Lilith felt it pass over her like a shadow, a shift in pressure. Too strange to linger on. 

And then he took her hand again, lacing their fingers once more. Perfectly calm, as if nothing at all had passed between them. 

They continued walking, stopping at a few more stalls to browse trinkets, dried herbs, and mismatched odds and ends. Eventually, Lilith drifted away from Astarion, her steps slow and aimless as she lingered alone at a booth selling glass pendants and old books with curling pages. She welcomed the space, brief as it was.

Later that day, as the sun was going down, the alley was a relief - quiet, tucked behind a row of crumbling buildings where the noise of the market faded into flies and dust. Lilith stepped into the shade and ran a hand along the cool stone, enjoying the moment of stillness.

Then, she saw it.

A body, half-hidden behind a broken crate. The same boy - his tunic torn, his neck at a wrong angle, a pool of blood soaking into the dirt beneath him. One shoe gone, the other twisted on his foot.

Her breath caught in her throat.

“You were right,” Astarion’s voice came softly from behind her, almost affectionate. “He didn’t have a weapon.” 

She spun as he stepped closer, his mouth brushing her ear, lips trailing the curve of her neck like a lover.

“You followed him?” she asked, stiff.

“I didn’t need to. He lingered when he should have run.” His eyes gleamed. “Rats often do.”

“He was a child .”

He made a small, amused sound. “He was a thief. And a rather careless one, at that. I did him a favour - saved him the consequences of a life he was clearly too ill-equipped to survive.”

“Astarion, you can’t-” she said, voice sharp, clipped. “You didn’t give him a chance.”

He shrugged, stepping closer. “And you gave him too much of one. Mercy makes you predictable, darling.”

“That wasn’t your choice to make.”

“No,” he said, stopping just in front of her, arms on either side of her body, caging her in against the stone wall. “But I made it anyway.”

She looked back at the body. Then to him.

“I protected you,” he said, quiet, but resolute. He tucked a hair behind her ear. “Or would you rather we let every desperate little urchin rifle through our pockets until one of them slips a knife between your ribs?”

Her jaw clenched. “He didn’t even touch me.”

He smiled. “Yet.”

She scoffed - angry, unthinking - then slapped him. It was instinct, more than anything; her palm cracking across his cheek. Not enough to wound, but just enough to mark something. To draw a line.

He didn’t flinch - he laughed. Low and soft and far too pleased.

His hand caught her wrist, pinning it to the wall. His body pressed into hers, danger and control wrapped in silk. “There you are,” he murmured. “I was wondering how long you’d keep pretending.”

His eyes burned red - possessive and hungry. She should’ve shoved him away. Should’ve yelled. Should’ve done something.

Instead, she let him kiss her.

Let him press her back against the stone. His mouth was rough, claiming, and she opened to it like she always did - like she didn’t know better. She tasted blood and wine and ashes.

Their bodies moved together like something practiced, something sharpened. His hands were unforgiving. Hers, eager.

“You’re mine, darling.” he whispered against her throat, voice low and curling. A purr of triumph. “You always will be.”

The alley echoed with the rustle of cloth, the scrape of boots, breath gasped against stone.

When it ended, she leaned against the wall, skin flushed, heart hammering. Astarion kissed her temple like a man in love.

And neither of them looked at the boy again.


She woke to the scent of crushed herbs, firewood, and something sharp and sterile - antiseptic, maybe? Her fingers twitched against the scratchy wool sheets, tucked snug around her like a cocoon she hadn’t asked for.

Safe. Technically .

But Astarion’s voice still echoed in the back of her skull, oily and sweet and terrible.

“You’re mine, darling. You always will be.”

She sat up, clutching her chest. The mark beneath her palm throbbed - not with pain, but like a second heartbeat.

A warning. Or maybe a promise.

The ceiling above her was low and wooden, thick beams crisscrossing overhead, their surfaces warped with age and soot. Morning light bled through the window, catching dust motes in a soft golden haze. Beyond the four walls, she heard voices - faint and muffled by snow and stone. A fire popped and hissed somewhere to her left. Someone had removed her cloak and boots. The blood had been cleaned from her skin. But the taste of ash still clung to her lips.

The door creaked open, and she looked up, heart skipping. A young elf stood in the doorway with a stack of linens in her arms. She locked eyes with Lilith, startled, and immediately flinched back like she’d seen a monster.

“Oh! I didn’t know you were awake, I swear!” she squeaked.

Lilith blinked. Why was she afraid of me?

She pulled her expression into something neutral - gentle, even. Not a threat. Not a monster. Definitely not whatever this girl thought she was.

“Why are you frightened?”  Lilith asked softly. “What happened?”

Her gaze stayed pinned to the floor. She set the linens down with trembling hands and mumbled, “That’s wrong, isn’t it? I said the wrong thing…”

“I don’t think so-”

She dropped to her knees before Lilith could finish.

“I beg your forgiveness and your blessing. I am but a humble servant.”

The words hit Lilith like a punch to the gut. Bhaal’s temple rose in her mind - dark corridors, the scent of blood and incense, voices chanting her name in reverent terror. Daughter of Murder. Chosen of Bhaal. Dozens kneeling. Dozens worshipping.

She shoved the memory away like it burned.

“You’re back in Haven, my lady,” the elf stammered. “They say you saved us. The Breach stopped growing, just like the mark on your hand. It’s all anyone has talked about for the last three days!”

She inclined her head. Three days?

“Three… days?” Lilith repeated, barely recognizing her own voice.

The girl nodded quickly, nervously. 

“Then… is the danger over?”

“The Breach is still in the sky, but yes, that’s what they say!”

Lilith threw the blankets off and swung her legs over the edge of the bed. Fur carpet met bare feet and the room tilted dangerously. She pressed a hand to her forehead, breathing slowly until the nausea ebbed.

“I’m sure Lady Cassandra will want to know you’ve awakened,” the elf added hastily. “She said ‘at once’!”

“And where is she?” Lilith asked, blinking through the dizziness.

“In the Chantry with the Lord Chancellor. ‘At once,’ she said!”

She turned to leave, already halfway to the door when Lilith called out, “Wait.”

The girl froze mid-step, shoulders tensing like she’d just shouted a curse.

Lilith squinted at her. “Tell me the truth. Did I die?”

The young elf glanced over her shoulder, startled and blinking. “No…?”

She sighed, rubbing at her eyes. “Damn. That would’ve been less complicated.”

The girl didn’t respond - just gave a nervous little nod and scurried out, the door clicking shut behind her like she couldn’t get away fast enough.

Lilith exhaled slowly and dragged her hands down her face, resting her marked hand in her lap. Complicated didn’t begin to cover it.

It pulsed again, as if to remind her that she was still alive. But she wasn’t just alive. She was something more now. Revered. Feared. Either one made her stomach twist.

She hadn’t escaped anything. She’d only traded one nightmare for another.

She stood with a hiss, one hand clutching her side as white-hot pain flared across her ribs, shooting up into her shoulder. The Pride demon had slammed her hard - probably cracked something, if the sharp stab under her lungs was any indication. The mark on her hand continued to glow, an eerie, persistent green pulse in time with her heartbeat. Not currently painful, exactly. Just… wrong. Like her skin remembered something she didn’t.

She flexed her fingers, testing the movement, and immediately regretted it. Nausea punched her in the gut so hard she had to steady herself on the bedpost, swallowing back bile.

Wonderful. Hero of the hour, possibly dying of internal bleeding.

She dressed in silence, fumbling through unfamiliar clothes someone had left neatly folded on a nearby bench - plain, practical, not the kind of thing she ever wore back in Baldur’s Gate. She cinched the belt tighter than necessary, trying to anchor herself to something physical, something real.

Her fingers stopped at her throat. The chain was gone.

Her heart jumped - a rush of panic she knew was ridiculous. The last few days had been a bloody whirlwind, and she was tired. Exhausted. On edge.

Still, losing Kaelen’s necklace felt like losing a part of herself.

She tore through her things - cloak, boots, pouch - until she felt the cold steel pressed against her skin again. She slipped it over her head, letting the pendant settle beneath her shirt.

She pressed a thumb lightly against the metal and scolded herself for the dramatic moment. For the panic. For how much she still cared.

But it was there. That was what mattered.

Bracing herself, she moved to exit the cabin and pushed open the door.

And stopped.

Lining the path from her little cabin into the heart of the village stood two full rows of soldiers - at least twenty of them - each one with their fist pressed solemnly to their chest in salute. Their expressions were unreadable, somewhere between reverence and wary awe.

Lilith blinked, instinctively checking for weapons at their sides. They were armed. All of them.

Scanning the area, she realized it wasn’t just soldiers. Dozens more had gathered outside - villagers, Chantry sisters, even a few wide-eyed children clinging to their mothers’ legs. All of them staring at her like she might start glowing or levitate at any second.

No one spoke to her directly, but the whispers began the moment she stepped onto the path.

“That’s her. That’s the Herald of Andraste. They said when she came out of the Fade, Andraste herself was watching over her.”

“Hush! We shouldn’t disturb her.”

“Why did Lady Cassandra have her in chains? I thought Seekers knew everything.”

“It’s complicated. We were all frightened after the explosion at the Conclave.”

“It isn’t complicated. Andraste herself blessed her.”

“Maker be with you.”

“Blessings upon you, Herald of Andraste.”

The words hit like stones in her gut. Herald of Andraste? Her stomach lurched. What in the Nine Hells did that even mean? Why were they calling her that?

She approached one of the soldiers carefully, trying not to wince with each step. “Which way to the Chantry?” she asked, keeping her voice steady.

He didn’t speak - just pointed silently up the path.

She nodded in return and started walking, swallowing hard against the heat rising in her throat.

The reverence. The whispered awe. The fear. It was all too familiar. Grossly, sickeningly familiar.

Back in Bhaal’s temple, she’d been surrounded by this kind of worship. Devotees had fallen to their knees when she passed, too afraid to meet her eyes. They had kissed her hands, called her divine - a vessel of Bhaal, his Chosen of Murder. At the time, she’d soaked it in like sunlight, never questioning the terror in their eyes - only now does she see the cruelty she once called power.

And now it was happening again. Another name. Another title. Another prophecy she didn’t ask for etched into her skin like a brand.

The Chantry loomed at the end of the path, all stone and solemn elegance. Its thick walls rose with quiet authority, built to impose reverence and restraint. The entrance was marked by a towering wooden door, dark with age and carved with an intricate sunburst - rays flaring outward in sharp, sweeping lines that caught the light like the edges of a blade. It didn’t feel warm or inviting. It felt watchful. As if the building itself was waiting to pass judgment.

She hesitated only a moment before pushing it open.

Inside, the air was cooler, quieter. The main hall was empty, save for the faint flicker of candlelight clustered around tall stone pillars. The scent of beeswax and incense hung in the air, sweet and stifling. A stained-glass window high above let in fractured daylight, casting shards of colour across the floor - reds and golds and bloody blues.

No one greeted her. No one bowed. And for the first time since waking, she was grateful to be alone. Or at least, mostly alone.

She exhaled slowly, letting the door close behind her with a solid thunk. Even here, she could feel it - the weight of expectation, of divinity projected onto her skin like a second cloak.

Herald of Andraste. If this was a blessing, it felt an awful lot like a curse.

As she approached the heavy door at the end of the hallway, the sound of raised voices carried through the stone like distant thunder.

“Have you gone completely mad?” a man barked. “She should be taken to Val Royeaux immediately, to be tried by whomever becomes Divine.”

Chancellor Roderick, she guessed. His voice had the unmistakable edge of authority sharpened by fear. Prick.

“I do not believe she is guilty,” Cassandra responded, her tone calm, but firm.

“The elf failed, Seeker. The Breach is still in the sky. For all you know, she intended it this way.”

“I do not believe that,” Cassandra repeated, steady as ever.

“That is not for you to decide. Your duty is to serve the Chantry,” Roderick snapped.

There was a beat of silence, then Cassandra’s voice cut back, colder. “My duty is to serve the principles on which the Chantry was founded , Chancellor. As is yours.”

That was enough.

Lilith pushed open the door without knocking. The room fell silent as she stepped inside.

Two soldiers flanked the entrance, tense at her arrival. At the table stood Cassandra, Leliana, and a furious Chancellor Roderick. Parchments, books, and half-drunk goblets littered the surface between them, as if the debate had been going on for hours. The air was thick with tension - and incense, faint and cloying.

Roderick’s gaze locked on her, jaw tightening. “Chain her,” he ordered the guards. “I want her prepared for travel to the capital for trial.”

Cassandra didn’t even flinch. She rolled her eyes and turned to the guards. “Disregard that, and leave us.”

The soldiers exchanged glances, then saluted her and marched out without a word.

“You walk a dangerous line, Seeker,” Roderick growled, frustrated and humiliated.

“The Breach is stable, but it is still a threat,” Cassandra said. “I will not ignore it.”

Lilith looked between the two of them, unimpressed. “So, I’m still a suspect? Even after what we just did?”

“You absolutely are,” Roderick snapped.

“No,” Cassandra countered, voice sharp. “She is not.”

Leliana stepped forward from where she’d been leaning against the wall, arms crossed, eyes ever-watchful. “Someone was behind the explosion at the Conclave,” she said. “Someone Most Holy did not expect. Perhaps they died with the others - or have allies who yet live.”

Roderick turned on her. “I am a suspect?”

Leliana’s expression was unreadable, with just a hint of amusement curling at the edges. “You, and many others.”

“But not the prisoner,” Roderick said, his glare returning to Lilith.

Cassandra didn’t budge. “I heard the voices in the temple. The Divine called to her for help.”

Roderick’s face twisted. “So her survival, that thing on her hand - what, all a coincidence?”

“Providence,” Cassandra said, stepping closer to the table. “The Maker sent her to us in our darkest hour.”

Lilith laughed, sharp and bitter. “I am not a Chosen One.”

Cassandra’s gaze softened slightly. “No matter what you are, or what you believe, you are exactly what we needed when we needed it.”

Leliana added, “The Breach remains, and your mark is our only hope of closing it.”

“This is not for you to decide,” Roderick cut in, voice rising-

But before he could continue, Cassandra slammed a thick tome down onto the table with a resounding thud. Dust leapt from its cover, curling in the candlelight like smoke.

“You know what this is, Chancellor?” she said, voice low and dangerous. “A writ from the Divine, granting us authority to act. As of this moment, I declare the Inquisition reborn.”

She stalked toward him, backing him against the wall with surprising speed, jabbing a finger into his chest. “We will close the Breach. We will find those responsible. And we will restore order - with or without your approval.”

Roderick scowled, then turned to Lilith with a sneer. He said nothing as he stormed past, the door slamming shut behind him.

Silence fell.

Leliana stepped closer to the table, glancing between Cassandra and the book. “This is the Divine’s directive,” she said quietly. “Rebuild the Inquisition of old. Find those who will stand against the chaos. We aren’t ready. We have no leader, no numbers, and now no Chantry support.”

“But we have no choice,” Cassandra replied. “We must act now.”

She turned to Lilith.

“With you at our side.”

Their eyes were on her - hopeful, expectant. Lilith felt it pressing into her skin, that old, heavy weight of reverence. It was too close to the way people used to look at her in Bhaal’s temple.

She sighed, long and low, running a hand over her face. “I want to help. I really do…”

She turned away, staring at the wall. Her pulse thudded in her ears.

I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to be a symbol, and I don’t want to be the center of another bloody religion. I don’t even know what the Inquisition is, beyond an ominous name. But… I believe Cassandra. I believe Leliana. And I know what it’s like to stand alone against chaos. If they truly want to bring stability to the world…maybe I could do some good.

She turned back toward them.

“If you’re truly trying to restore order…”

“That is the plan,” Leliana said at once.

She let out a breath through her nose, half a laugh. “You know, when I woke up in that dungeon, this certainly wasn’t the outcome I pictured.”

“Neither did we,” Leliana said, her lips curving into a small, dry smile.

Cassandra stepped forward, extending her hand. “Help us fix this before it’s too late.”

Lilith stared at her hand. At the mark still glowing faintly on her own. At their faces - earnest, tired, unflinching.

She took a deep breath.

And she shook her hand.


Cassandra and Lilith shared a quiet moment in the room now officially dubbed the war room, its name still feeling slightly ironic given the chaos that had christened it. Maps lay sprawled across the war table like open wounds, and the flickering torches along the stone walls cast long shadows, making the space feel both cavernous and close.

The silence was not uncomfortable, but heavy - weighted with exhaustion, uncertainty, and the echoes of lives recently lost. Lilith flexed her fingers absently, and the sickly green glow of the mark pulsed faintly in the dim light. Cassandra’s eyes flicked toward it, her expression unreadable at first - then softening into something between concern and curiosity.

“Does it trouble you?” Cassandra asked, her voice low but steady.

Lilith spared her a glance. “Not really,” she said too quickly, brushing a thumb across her palm like she could scrub the magic off. “Just looks worse than it feels.”

A lie. A flimsy one. But Cassandra didn’t press.

Instead, she nodded once, gaze lingering on the mark. “What’s important is that it’s stable now. As is the Breach. You’ve given us time, and Solas believes a second attempt might succeed - provided the mark gains more power. The same level of power that opened the Breach in the first place. That is not easy to come by.”

Lilith raised a brow. “Now that sounds like fun. What harm could there be in powering up something we barely understand?”

Cassandra let out a dry chuckle - rare, but sincere. “Hold on to that sense of humor,” she said, folding her arms. “You may need it more than you think.”

Lilith smirked. “That’s the plan. Gallows humour’s gotten me this far.”

There was a pause, but it no longer felt strained.

“You hide it well,” Cassandra said eventually, more thoughtful now. “The fear.”

Lilith’s smirk faltered. “You make it sound noble. It’s just habit.”

Cassandra inclined her head. “Still. Strength takes many forms. I’m not certain I would be so composed, were I in your place.”

That caught Lilith off guard. Not the words exactly, but the fact that Cassandra had offered them.

“You’d be surprised,” Lilith said, voice softer. Then added, “But… thanks. Really.”

Another beat of silence passed between them. Then:

“You fight?” Cassandra asked, tilting her head slightly.

Lilith blinked. “With swords? Not usually. I’m more of a point-and-incinerate kind of girl. Flashy spells, minimal cardio.”

A rare smile tugged at the corners of Cassandra’s mouth. “You may not fight with a blade, but you clearly have some combat instincts.”

Lilith tilted her head. “That sounded dangerously close to a compliment.”

“It was meant as one.”

Lilith considered her for a moment, then raised an eyebrow. “Is there a training yard here?”

Cassandra gave her a curious look. “You want to spar with me?”

“I don’t see why not,” Lilith said, feigning nonchalance. “You seem like the type who could teach me a thing or two. Or knock me flat on my ass. Either way, I’m curious.”

Cassandra hesitated, just a moment - caught between propriety and interest - then gave a short nod. “I won’t go easy on you.”

Lilith grinned. “I’d be offended if you did.”

Before Cassandra could reply, the heavy doors of the war room creaked open, Leliana returning, accompanied by two figures. Cassandra stood and gestured toward the man. “May I present Commander Cullen, leader of the Inquisition’s forces.”

The commander gave Lilith a grave look. “Such as they are. We lost many soldiers in the valley, and I fear many more before this is through.”

Cassandra introduced the woman beside him. “This is Lady Josephine Montilyet, our ambassador and chief diplomat.”

Josephine smiled warmly, stepping forward. “Andaran Atish’an.”

Lilith blinked, holding back a frown. She was fluent in Elvish back home, but the words here sounded... off. Like a song slightly out of tune. She guessed it was a greeting - something about peace - but the meaning slipped just out of reach. 

Maybe the fall from the rift had scrambled my mind more than I realized.

“You speak Elven?” Lilith asked politely.

Josephine smiled, almost apologetically. “You’ve just heard the entirety of it, I’m afraid.”

Cassandra motioned toward Leliana. “And of course, you know Sister Leliana.”

Leliana dipped her head with a slight bow. “My position here involves a degree of-”

“She is our spymaster.”

Leliana’s smile was amused, though a little strained. “Yes. Tactfully put, Cassandra.”

Lilith looked around the room, the weight of their gazes settling on her. “Pleased to meet you all.”

Cassandra circled the table, returning focus to the matter at hand. “I mentioned that your mark needs more power to close the Breach for good.”

Leliana added, “Which means we must approach the rebel mages for help.”

Cullen frowned, cutting in, “And I still disagree. The Templars could serve just as well.”

“We need power, Commander,” Cassandra insisted. “Enough magic poured into that mark-”

“Might destroy us all. Templars could suppress the Breach, weaken it so-”

“Pure speculation,” Leliana countered sharply.

“I was a Templar,” Cullen said. “I know what they’re capable of.”

Josephine sighed. “Unfortunately, neither group will even speak to us yet. The Chantry has denounced the Inquisition - and you, specifically.”

Lilith’s eyebrows lifted in amusement. “Well, that didn’t take long.”

Cullen smiled wryly. “Shouldn’t they be busy arguing over who’s going to become Divine?”

Josephine’s expression darkened. “Some are calling you - an elf - the ‘Herald of Andraste.’ That frightens the Chantry.”

She smirked, unamused. “Just how am I the ‘Herald of Andraste’?”

Cassandra explained patiently, “People saw what you did at the temple, how you stopped the Breach from growing. They have also heard about the woman seen in the rift when we first found you. They believe that was Andraste.”

Leliana added, “Even if we tried to stop that view from spreading-”

“Which we have not,” Cassandra interrupted.

“The point is, everyone is talking about you,” Leliana said.

Cullen tilted his head. “It’s quite the title, isn’t it? How do you feel about that?”

The words struck her hard, the bitter irony biting deep. From Bhaalspawn to Herald. I should start a collection of titles no one asked me to wear.

“It’s unsettling. I’m no herald of anything. Particularly Andraste.”

Cullen smirked. “I’m sure the Chantry would agree.”

Leliana’s voice softened, almost wistful. “People are desperate for a sign of hope. For some, you’re that sign.”

Josephine added, “And to others, a symbol of everything that’s gone wrong.”

Lilith nodded, agreeing with Josephine, “Calling me a sign? What happens when they realize I’m not what they want me to be?”

The room fell silent at her words. She pressed on. “Why aren’t they more concerned about the Breach? The real threat?”

Cullen replied grimly, “They do know it’s a threat. They just don’t think we can stop it.”

Josephine’s voice was heavy. “The Chantry is telling everyone that you’ll make it worse.”

Frustration bubbled up. “Oh for fucks-” Lilith turned from the group, running her hands through her hair.

Leliana reached out gently. “There is something you can do. A Chantry Cleric by the name Mother Giselle has asked to speak with you. She’s nearby and knows those involved far better than I do. Her assistance could be invaluable.”

Lilith turned and studied her face. “She’s asked for me? You don’t think that could be an ambush?”

Leliana shook her head firmly. “I doubt it. From what I know of her, she is a kind soul - not one to involve herself in violence.”

That should have been reassuring. And maybe it would’ve been, if it were someone else. Someone who hadn’t been lured into more than one 'harmless' meeting that ended with a knife at their throat - or worse.

Still… this wasn’t Faerûn. And as much as Leliana struck Lilith as a knife hidden in silk, her concern didn’t feel like an act. Not entirely, anyway.

Lilith glanced away, jaw tightening. If it was a trap, I’d deal with it. I always did.

“…Okay,” Lilith said at last. “I’ll see what she has to say.”

“You’ll find Mother Giselle tending to the wounded in the Hinterlands near Redcliffe,” Leliana said.

Cullen added, “Look for other opportunities to expand the Inquisition’s influence while you’re there.”

Josephine nodded. “We need agents to extend our reach beyond this valley, and you’re better suited than anyone to recruit them.”

Cassandra caught Lilith’s eye. “In the meantime, let’s consider other options. I won’t leave this all to the Herald.”

Lilith inhaled slowly, the tightness in her chest loosening just a little. Whatever else she might be - rigid, intimidating - Cassandra wasn’t trying to throw her to the wolves. That was something.

“Thanks, everyone,” Lilith said, glancing between them. “If it’s alright with you, I’m going to find a meal. I can’t remember the last time I ate.”

Josephine’s eyes widened, horror flickering across her otherwise poised face. “Oh dear - yes, of course! Go to the tavern. They’ll know who you are and make sure you’re taken care of.”

Lilith managed a faint smile, nodding in silent thanks before turning on her heel and leaving the war room behind.

The door shut behind her with a soft thunk, muffling the low murmur of continued conversation. Outside the Chantry, the cold air hit her like a slap - bracing and immediate. She paused on the steps, dragging in a breath of crisp mountain air.

Pain bloomed along her ribs - sharp, insistent. She winced, pressing a hand to her side.

Right. First, a healer. Then food. Then maybe a minute to think without someone pointing a title or a weapon at her.

She squared her shoulders and set off in what she hoped was the direction of the tavern, boots crunching over the layer of frost, one aching step at a time. The village paths wound around makeshift barricades and tents, crowded with people who didn’t quite know whether to stare at her or pretend not to.

Lilith didn’t blame them. She wasn’t sure what she was either.

The tavern had to be nearby - or, at least, someone who could point her toward a healer. Her side throbbed with every step, each breath tugging at bruised ribs like a warning.

A few turns later, she found herself in front of a small cabin, its door framed by curling woodwork and a swinging sign etched in unfamiliar lettering. The script didn’t match anything she knew - no Elvish, no Infernal, not even Thayan.

"Of course it’s in another language," she muttered, squinting up at it like it might yield a translation if she glared hard enough.

She took a step forward, reaching to push open the door, when a voice spoke behind her - calm, measured, but unmistakably firm.

“The Chosen of Andraste, a blessed hero sent to save us all.”

Not loud, but clear enough to cut through the morning bustle. Lilith stiffened, instantly regretting that she hadn’t stolen a cloak - or a glamor spell - before stepping outside.

She turned sharply - too sharply. Pain stabbed through her ribs, and she hissed through her teeth, one hand immediately moving to her side.

Solas stood a few paces behind her, hands folded neatly behind his back, watching her with an expression that sat somewhere between curiosity and concern. His gaze lingered not on her eyes, but on the wince she hadn’t hidden fast enough.

She raised an eyebrow. “Am I riding in on a shining steed?”

A ghost of a smirk tugged at his lips. “I would have suggested a griffon, but sadly they’re extinct. Joke as you will - posturing is necessary. People need a symbol in trying times. You, unfortunately, fit the role.”

“I suppose I should be flattered.”

He stepped closer, his tone gentler now. “You should be careful.”

Lilith gave him a sideways glance, trying not to read too much into the soft edge in his voice - or the way her pulse picked up, uninvited, unwelcome. It was probably just the pain. Or the chill. That had to be it.

Hells, she was pathetic. The first man in ages to show her a shred of kindness without some hidden agenda, and her heart had the audacity to flutter. It wasn’t real. Just proximity. Attention. The dangerous sort of relief that came when someone didn’t want to use her, hurt her, or worship her.

Still, she didn’t step away. She quirked a faint, automatic smile. Dry. Deflective.

“I’ll add that to the list.”

Solas began walking, his stride purposeful, as if he simply assumed she’d follow. Of course he did.

“I have journeyed deep into the Fade,” he said, “in ancient ruins and battlefields, to see the dreams of lost civilizations. I’ve watched as hosts of spirits clash to reenact the bloody past of wars both famous and forgotten.”

He glanced back at her then, sharp-eyed. Evaluating.

“Every great war has its heroes,” he continued. “I’m just curious what kind you’ll be.”

A knot formed in her stomach, tightening like a noose. The conversation, once teasing, now felt like a trap - too abstract, too metaphysical. The Fade? She didn’t know what that was. Another plane? A state of mind? A dream realm? How many damn invisible realms could one world have?

She sidestepped the uncertainty. “What do you mean, ruins and battlefields? You study ancient ruins?”

At that, his expression softened. He smiled - not the smug little curl he wore when he thought he was clever, but something real. Warm.

“Any building strong enough to withstand the rigors of time has a history,” he said. “Every battlefield is steeped in death. Both attract spirits. They press against the Veil, weakening the barrier between our worlds. When I dream in such places, I go deep into the Fade. I can find memories no other living being has ever seen.”

Lilith blinked. Shit. Spirits and veils - she barely knew what half of that meant, let alone how to respond without sounding like an idiot.

Still, the way he lit up when he spoke… it was hard not to be charmed. Or at least intrigued.

“That’s… impressive,” she said honestly.

Another smile. That made two. Something light stirred in her chest - faint, flickering, dangerous. The anticipation of wanting to see what it would take to make him smile again.

It’s just proximity. 

“Thank you,” he replied. “It’s not a common field of study, for obvious reasons. Not so flashy as throwing fire or lightning. But the thrill of finding remnants of a thousand-year-old dream?” He exhaled, reverent. “I would not trade it for anything.”

Lilith studied him for a beat longer. She didn't trust him, not yet. But Maker, he was interesting.

And for now, that was enough.

Solas paused at the foot of the path, his expression unreadable in that way she recognized - carefully measured and precise.

“I will stay then,” he said at last, “at least until the Breach has been closed.”

Lilith turned her head slightly, brow furrowed. “Was that in doubt?”

He gave her a knowing look. Not smug, exactly - something subtler. Like he was telling a joke she didn’t quite have the cultural context for.

“I am an apostate mage,” he said, “surrounded by Chantry forces in the middle of a mage rebellion. And, unlike you, I do not have a divine mark protecting me.”

She blinked once. Then again. The meaning settled slowly - less like a weight, more like a shift in gravity. Subtle, disorienting.

He thought they’d turn on him. That once they got what they needed - his insight, his magic - they’d discard him. Worse.

“You came here to help, Solas,” she said, voice quiet but firm. “I won’t let them use that against you.”

He tilted his head, gave her a wry, unconvinced look. “How would you stop them?”

Lilith hesitated. She didn’t know Cassandra well, Leliana either. And Josephine seemed nice, but nice wasn’t the same as principled. She had no footing here - no political knowledge, no allies, not even a map of the damn place.

But if the Inquisition would turn its back on someone who offered help freely, who risked themselves for people who didn’t trust him, then maybe she didn’t want a place here anyway.

“However I had to,” she said.

Just for a moment, that stopped him. Something in his face - behind his eyes - shifted. Surprise, maybe. Caution softened by something unspoken.

It passed quickly. He schooled his features back to neutral, but not before she caught the edge of gratitude.

“Thank you,” he said.

He continued, “For now, we must focus on finding a way to seal the Breach.” He turned then, starting toward his cabin with that same fluid, deliberate grace he always moved with.

Lilith’s arm lifted before she even thought it through, reaching out instinctively as if to stop him. But her hand hung awkwardly in the space between them, uncertainty making it tremble. She didn’t touch him. Couldn’t.

Her mind raced. All the missing knowledge of this world - the endless layers of politics, customs, magic, and unspoken expectations she hadn’t even begun to grasp. The terrifying thought that if they discovered she’d been lying, or simply ignorant, they might act without mercy. Premature execution was no fantasy here.

But then there was Solas. He’d looked genuinely pleased answering her questions, patient in a way few had been. And they were both elves - surely that meant something. Kinship, maybe? A thread to hold onto in a world that felt increasingly alien.

Her chest tightened. Vulnerability mingled with a flicker of hope, and with it, an unexpected flush she tried to hide.

“I-” She faltered, biting back the instinct to retreat. “I was hoping you could… help me with… something.”

He hummed softly, encouraging without pressing. Patient, waiting.

Lilith took a deep breath. “You can probably tell, but I have led a… sheltered life.”

She leaned in, voice dropping just enough to feel like a secret shared. “There are some things I’m expected to know about... that I don’t. And I don’t think the… Advisors would appreciate finding out.”

Solas nodded slowly, eyes narrowing slightly - focused, yet unreadable. He was waiting for her to go on.

She sighed, a little theatrically, tired of dancing around it. “Would you be open to answering some questions for me? When there are things I don’t understand - things maybe I should ?”

Her eyes met his, searching for any hint of refusal. But in the quiet between them, the unspoken offer hung, fragile but real.

The corner of Solas’s lips quirked up in a faint, almost imperceptible smile. “Yes, da’len,” he said softly, the word carrying a measured, thoughtful calm, “I would be happy to.”

Lilith breathed out a long, shaky sigh of relief. For the first time in what felt like days, a small thread of calm wove through her nerves. “Thank you - thank you . I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it. Hells, I can’t tell you how stupid I’ve been feeling. Like-, even just now, what in the Hells is the Fade ? And the Chantry, I mean-”

“The Fade?” Solas repeated, his tone mild but edged with surprise.

She blinked, unsure what mistake she’d just made. “The Fade,” she said again, clearer this time.

His eyebrows lowered, shadowing his eyes. “You… are not familiar?”

Shit. Shit. Shit .

Lilith shrugged, noncommittal, doing her best to purposefully look even more clueless than she felt - which was no small feat. She forced a laugh, trying to keep the mood light. “Where I’m from, ‘fade’ means to die. Or disappear.”

Solas studied her carefully, the faintest flicker of something unreadable in his gaze. She was sure he was cataloguing every nuance, weighing her words, deciding if she was telling the truth - or just fumbling through ignorance. Still, she hoped he was willing to play along in their fragile, unlikely alliance.

Before she could say more, a low whistle came from behind her.

“Already interrogating her, Chuckles?” Varric’s voice was teasing, full of easy camaraderie, like they’d known each other forever.

Solas didn’t flinch, didn’t even acknowledge the nickname.

Varric turned toward Lilith. “You’re not from around here, are you, Scorcher?”

Scorcher?” she repeated, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah, Scorcher,” Varric said with a grin, stepping forward. “You’ve got that look - like your magic might blow half a tavern sky-high if someone bumps your elbow. Thought I’d get ahead of it and give you a nickname before the flames do. I mean, did you see the way you torched that Pride Demon?”

Lilith laughed, the sound lighter than she expected. If only he knew how on the nose that was.

Solas’s lips twitched, amused despite himself.

“Careful, Scorcher,” Varric said, giving her a mock-warnful look. “Around here, nicknames stick faster than a blood stain on a fine shirt.”

Lilith smirked, the tension loosening between them. “Guess I’d better keep the fire in check, then. Wouldn’t want to burn down my welcome party.”

Varric laughed. “Don’t worry, I’ll save you a seat by the hearth - just far enough away to stay safe.”

Solas shook his head, a rare note of dry humor slipping through. “A wise precaution,” he hummed. “She does have a talent for chaos.”

The three of them shared a moment of easy banter - a small island of warmth in a sea of uncertainty.

“Well, thanks, you two, but I’m actually looking for some healing and food, so if you’ll excuse me-” Lilith began, a polite edge to her voice as she started to move.

Solas opened his mouth as if to respond, but Varric cut in smoothly, grinning like he’d been waiting for the moment. “Tavern’s right over there,” he said, nodding toward a nearby door, “and the apothecary’s just down that way. Ask for Adan - he’s the best in these parts.”

Lilith hesitated, shaking her head slightly. “Oh - thank you, really, but- well, do you know anyone here who could heal a-” she gestured toward the hand still pressed against her side, “-well, probably a cracked rib?”

Varric turned toward Solas with an amused smirk, clearly passing the baton. “Ah, I’ll let you take this one, Chuckles.”

Then, grinning back at Lilith, he added, “I’ll be in the tavern, whenever you drop by for your meal.”

Lilith’s mouth opened and shut once or twice, wordless, before she just nodded after him as he sauntered off toward the tavern’s warmth.

She turned back to Solas, eyes expectant, silently waiting for him to elaborate.

Solas smirked, the faintest curve of amusement touching his lips. “You collapsed after stabilizing the Breach. You were unconscious for nearly three days.”

Lilith nodded slowly, the memory of pain, blinding light, and that terrifying explosion of raw, untamed power flooding back in sharp flashes.

He continued, his voice calm and steady, “When we returned to Haven, we - Adan and I - attempted to heal your injuries. Adan tended to the superficial wounds with prepared potions, while I focused on your internal, more severe injuries.”

She nodded again, biting back the urge to snap that his ‘healing’ left much to be desired.

Solas seemed to catch the unspoken critique, his smirk deepening just a touch. “In your… addled state, you resisted any help or healing. Adan managed to provide potions, but any attempt to heal was repeatedly thwarted.”

“Thwarted…?” Lilith echoed, her brow furrowing in confusion.

“Precisely,” he said, eyes calm but piercing. “You were quite determined to prevent anyone from touching you, even in your sleep.”

Mortification flushed through her. “Did…I hit either of you? Gods, I’ve never- I’m so sorry.”

He shrugged lightly, amusement softening his tone. “It is quite alright. You were in no state to understand your own strength or actions.

He studied her for a moment, the way his gaze flickered over her, measuring and remeasuring. Then, as if wrestling with his own hesitation, he asked the question that clearly weighed on him.

“While in your clouded state, you spoke in unfamiliar tongues. And uttered a number of names.”

Lilith tensed. 

He continued, tone casual but too precise to be anything but deliberate. “You mentioned someone named Astarion a number of times.”

She winced, barely perceptible - but not to him. Of course he caught it. She forced her expression to smooth over before he could read more. Even as she expected it - she knew he would say the name - it still landed like a blade.

“And Bhaal,” he added evenly, “and Raphael.”

The rocks in her gut churned. Her skin was suddenly too tight. Perfect. Excellent. Wonderful. She'd survived gods and monsters, escaped across realms, clawed her way into this world - and within hours, she'd spilled everything to a complete stranger while half-conscious and hallucinating.

She met his eyes again, letting a faint glimmer of curiosity soften her expression. “I don’t remember much from before the explosion, to be honest. I think the fall from the rift rattled something loose. Most of it is a blur.”

It was a careful smokescreen - flippant, airy, all too happy to let him assume she was suffering from partial amnesia rather than unpack the truth. She had no intention of discussing who Astarion was. Or what Bhaal had done to her. Or the deal she'd made with Raphael. Gods, she couldn’t even unpack it for herself.

Solas didn’t respond immediately. He just looked at her. Not coldly, not cruelly - just deeply. Like he was trying to read a cipher without a key.

Then he gave a small nod, the corner of his mouth twitching in a way that was almost kind.

“Memory loss is not uncommon in the wake of a traumatic passage,” he said. “Particularly when magic is involved.”

There was something in his tone, though. Subtle. A polite agreement that didn’t quite reach his eyes. He didn’t believe her, not fully. But he wasn’t going to press.

She had the distinct, uncomfortable feeling that he was filing it away for later. Logging every word. Quietly sharpening his insight like a blade in a drawer.

And still - somehow - she trusted that he wouldn’t say anything.

Yet.

A pause hung between them, then Lilith cleared her throat, eyes meeting his. “So, the healing?”

Solas nodded, his voice steady as he replied, “Yes. Healing.” He gestured toward his cabin, opening the door and holding it open for her. “Please, come in.”

Lilith hesitated, stopped at the threshold. The familiar wariness - her survival instincts - flared up. Following a stranger behind a closed door was never wise, especially a man she barely knew. 

Her pause did not go unnoticed. Solas’s expression softened with understanding. “I can leave the door open, if that would ease your mind.”

She offered a faint, appreciative smile. His offer - simple, thoughtful - paired with the quiet steadiness in his presence eased her discomfort. That - and the unwavering certainty that she could handle herself in a fight if it came to that - nudged her forward. She stepped inside, closing the door behind her.

The cabin was small and unassuming. Rough-hewn wooden walls absorbed the flickering firelight, casting warm amber shadows. A simple bed tucked in the corner, its linen rough but clean. A worn desk cluttered with scattered scrolls and a faint scent of dried herbs and earth hung softly in the air. 

Solas led her toward a sturdy wooden chair by the hearth. He motioned gently for her to sit. Once settled, he knelt before her, hands raised slightly as if asking permission.

Lilith straightened her back and gave a small nod, her skin still prickling under his steady gaze. 

His fingers brushed lightly over her ribs, careful and deliberate. A sharp, involuntary whimper escaped her lips, betraying the pain beneath her calm. The touch was gentle but insistent, like a soft wind coaxing broken branches to heal.

With a soft murmur, Solas’s hands glowed faintly with a cool, shimmering light. The warmth of his magic seeped into her side, soothing and mending, threading together the cracked ribs with quiet precision. She sucked in a breath, surprised at how soothing it felt - a balm to more than just flesh.

When he moved on to her shoulder, pressing healing energy into the sore muscle, the tension visibly eased from her face.

He finished and rose to his feet, stepping back a few paces. Lilith stood as well, stretching carefully - testing the repaired areas. “Thank you,” she said, relief clear in her voice. “That’s much better. You’ll have to teach me that sometime.”

Solas’s lips curved into a small smile. “Of course, da’len. I’m glad I could be of help.”

The nickname hung in the air - da’len. Lilith’s curiosity flickered. It was Elvish, but its meaning was a mystery she didn’t press - at least, not yet. 

Her eyes met his briefly, something unspoken passing between them, before she turned away to compose her breath.

Pulling her from her thoughts, Solas said quietly, “If I may ask…”

She met his gaze steadily.

He studied her in silence before speaking, his tone carefully neutral. “Your techniques in battle were… unfamiliar. But effective. You wield power with precision, and a style I haven’t seen among southern mages. Or northern ones, for that matter.”

He continued, voice still mild but laced with interest. “Most mages - particularly those raised in Circles - are taught to rely on a staff or focus to safely channel their magic. Even then, few can cast without one, and fewer make a habit of it.”

His gaze sharpened, just slightly. “But you have said you were raised… far from such institutions.”

There it was again, another unfamiliar term. Circle . It rang hollow in her head like a song she should know the tune to, but didn’t.

Lilith paused. Well, he had offered to fill in the gaps of her so-called education. Time to take him up on it. “You said ‘Circle’ earlier too. What is that?”

He paused. Just briefly. Like someone turning a page slower than needed to absorb the weight of it.

“You don’t know what the Circles are?” he asked, gently - too gently not to carry some wariness beneath it. 

Lilith shrugged, trying to look unbothered. “I grew up in a small, isolated village, remember? We didn’t exactly have field trips.”

Solas inclined his head slightly, the ghost of a frown passing over his features. “The Circles of Magi were institutions established to train and contain mages. Overseen by templars - knights tasked with keeping magic in check.”

Contain. Not protect. That word choice told her more than he probably meant to.

“Hm.” She nodded slowly, filing that away. A school and a prison, she guessed.

“We didn’t have anything like that where I grew up,” she said aloud. “Magic just… was. You learned, or you didn’t.”

“Hm.” Thoughtful. But behind the sound was the unmistakable edge of someone filing away the inconsistencies.

“Still,” he added, “your control is remarkable. To cast with such force - and without a foci - takes years of structured training and discipline, or a great deal of self-taught experience.” A pause. “Or desperation.” 

Lilith offered a lopsided grin, arms folding loosely over her chest. “You watched me nearly get eaten by a glowing green hole in the sky. Let’s go with desperation.”

Solas didn’t respond right away. The silence stretched - not unkind, but deliberate. His gaze lingered on her, thoughtful in a way that made her feel exposed and seen all at once. It wasn’t the cold scrutiny of someone searching for weakness. It was quieter than that. Like he was trying to understand something about her without prying.

She turned to go, hand brushing the doorframe, then hesitated.

“You should come to the tavern,” she said, looking back over her shoulder. “Let me buy you a drink for healing me.” Her grin returned, playful now. “I’m sure Varric would love it if you joined us. He really wants to make ‘Chuckles’ stick.” 

That pulled something genuine from him - a soft huff of amusement, the corners of his mouth lifting in a smile not entirely hidden.

“I doubt I would enjoy being the subject of Varric’s embellishments,” he said. Then, after a breath, “But… thank you. I will consider it.”

His voice had shifted - still even, still composed, but warmer. Not quite acceptance. Not rejection either. Just… open.

Lilith didn’t press further. She gave a small nod, her smile curving into something quieter. Something grateful.

“All right,” she said. “Just don’t wait too long. If Varric starts singing, I might never forgive you.”

That earned her a low chuckle - so brief it could’ve been imagined, but she’d take the win.

She stepped outside, letting the door fall gently shut behind her, the warmth of the cabin trailing like an afterthought.

For the first time in a long while, she didn’t feel entirely alone.

 

Notes:

Ouuuu who's Kaelen? 👀👀

Be honest, what do we think of Scorcher? I kept going back and forth between Varric-assigned nicknames, but ended up choosing this one, lol.

And Lilith *already* spilling (some) of the beans! Poor girl. Solas totally, *definitely* won't be filing this information away for later.

As always, thanks for reading!!

Chapter 3: Chapter Three

Notes:

DIalogue heavy chapter is dialogue heavy lol

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Leaving Solas’ cabin, the cold hit her like a slap - sharp and biting. Snow crunched beneath her boots as she made her way down the path to the tavern, the scent of woodsmoke and the faint buzz of laughter drawing her onward like a beacon. Winter in Haven had teeth, but she’d grown used to weather with attitude.

From outside, the tavern looked pretty much like every other cabin in Haven - rough-hewn wood and snow piled against the walls, but inside, it was warm and bustling. A long bar stretched across the wall with barrels stacked behind it, and a handful of sturdy tables scattered around the hearth. Firelight danced across mugs and plates, and a bard in the corner plucked a slow, winding tune on a lute, her voice low and pleasant. The scent of roasted meat and mead clung to the air, her stomach giving her a hopeful growl.

Her eyes swept the room and landed on a familiar figure tucked in the corner - boots up on a second chair, drink in hand, grin already cocked.

“Scorcher!” Varric called, raising his mug in greeting.

Lilith groaned theatrically. “That nickname again? I swear, I’m going to find one for you. How do you feel about ‘Lord of the Chest Hair’?”

Varric clutched at his heart. “You wound me, Sparkles.”

“Better,” she said, slipping into the seat across from him. “That one’s got flair.”

He took a sip of his drink, eyes twinkling. “Sure, but I’m already so emotionally invested in Scorcher . It really sings, don’t you think?”

She rolled her eyes in response. 

A plate was already waiting for her - steaming, generous, and smelling like the gods had taken pity on her. “You ordered for me?”

“I figured it was either this or watch you gnaw through the furniture,” he said, sipping his drink. 

Lilith didn’t argue. She dug in with the desperation of someone who’d just remembered she hadn’t eaten all day. Her ribs twinged faintly with the motion - healed, but not forgotten.

“So,” Varric said, “a mysterious elf who fell from a hole in the sky, with a magical brand on her hand and a working knowledge of sarcasm. You really know how to make an entrance.”

“I aim to please,” Lilith said, smiling through the food in her mouth.

“Where you from?”

She grinned. “Baldur’s Gate.”

Varric blinked. “That in Tevinter or something?”

Lilith shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “Something like that.”

As she ate, they talked - half banter, half interrogation. Varric was subtle about it, wrapping his questions in jokes, but Lilith could see the pattern. Where had she trained? What kind of magic was that? Had she ever heard of the Free Marches?

She cocked her head, narrowing her eyes at him. “You’re fishing, Varric.”

“Me?” He gave an exaggerated expression of innocence. “I just enjoy a good story. Yours is shaping up to be epic.”

“Mhm.” She took a long drink. “You’re not the only one who can play the long game.”

He gave her a wink. “That’s why I like you, Scorcher.”

Time passed in warmth and laughter, the tavern slowly filling with the scent of woodsmoke and spiced drink. Somewhere near the hearth, someone struck up a tune on a battered lute - the kind of music meant to blur grief into something bearable.

Then Varric leaned in slightly, his voice lowered. “So, are you holding up alright? I mean, you go from being the most wanted criminal in Thedas to joining the armies of the faithful. Most people would have spread that out over more than one day.”

Lilith gave a breathless laugh. “I can barely keep up.”

“That makes two of us.”

He sat back, running a hand through his hair. “For days now, we’ve been staring at the Breach, watching demons and Maker-knows-what fall out of it. ‘Bad for morale’ would be an understatement. I still can’t believe anyone was in there and lived.”

“If it was that bad,” she asked quietly, “why did you stay? Cassandra said you were free to go.”

Varric sighed. “I like to think I’m as selfish and irresponsible as the next guy,” he said. “But this… Thousands of people died on that mountain. I was almost one of them. And now there’s a hole in the sky. Even I can’t walk away and just leave that to sort itself out.”

Lilith stared into her mug. After a moment, “It’s pure luck that I escaped.”

“Good luck or bad?”

She laughed weakly. “I don't know. I’m still not sure I believe that any of this is really happening.”

“If this is all just the Maker winding us up,” Varric said, “I hope there’s a damn good punchline coming.”

She gave a soft, bitter chuckle.

He tapped a finger on the edge of the table, gaze turning serious again. “You might want to consider running at the first opportunity. I’ve written enough tragedies to recognize where this is going. Heroes are everywhere - I’ve seen that. But the hole in the sky? That’s beyond heroes. We’re going to need a miracle.”

Lilith took a sip from her mug, then set it down with a quiet clink. “If a miracle’s coming,” she said, “it’s taking its sweet time.”

Varric studied her for a beat - something flickering behind his easy expression, the kind of look that said he’d heard that tone before, in too many camps and too many war stories.

“Well,” he said, easing back in his chair, “lucky for us, miracles don’t run on anyone’s schedule.”

That earned a faint smile from her - crooked, tired, but real.

“Thanks, Varric.”

He lifted his tankard in salute. “Anytime, Scorcher. Just don’t die before I get to finish the book.”

Someone opened the door again, letting in a gust of cold air and snow. Cassandra stepped inside, followed by a younger woman - she was small and slight, her auburn hair tied back in a loose braid, an apothecary’s apron still dusted with dried herbs. She hesitated in the entryway, blinking against the shift from darkness to firelight, eyes scanning the room before landing - nervously - on their table.

Cassandra led her over. “Lilith, this is Mira. She works in the apothecary with Adan.”

Lilith stood, brushing her hands on her trousers before extending one. “Nice to meet you.”

Mira took her hand. Her grip was firmer than expected, her palm calloused from mortar and pestle work. “Likewise. I’ve… heard a bit about you already.”

Lilith arched her brow, the corner of her mouth quirking. “All good things, I hope.”

Mira gave a soft huff of a laugh, dry and understated. “Depends on who you ask.”

Lilith chuckled, then nodded toward the bar. “You just stopping in?”

Mira shrugged lightly. “I was dropping off some tinctures for Flissa - Adan’s idea of a favour. Figured I’d thaw out a bit before heading back.”

She made to turn away, clearly expecting to leave them to their drinks and game - but Lilith caught her with a warm, easy smile. “Sit with us for a bit. Have a drink.”

“Oh, I shouldn’t-”

“It’s just one,” Lilith said, already pulling out a chair. “I promise not to make you play cards.”

Varric snorted. “That’s a lie and you know it.”

Mira hesitated a heartbeat longer, then slid into the seat beside Cassandra. “Alright. One drink.”

Varric waved toward the bar. “Flissa! Another round, if you’d be so kind.”

Behind the bar, a tall redhead with sleeves rolled to her elbows gave a brisk nod. “You keep drinking like that, dwarf, I’ll have to start charging double.”

“Flissa owns the place.” Mira said quietly to Lilith, tipping her head toward the barkeep. “She pretends not to like Varric, but I think he’s become her favourite customer.”

Lilith leaned in a little, intrigued. “Oh, do go on. I love gossip.”

Mira offered a lopsided smile. “Well, over there by the fire - see the guy with soot on his face, drinking like his forge is on fire?”

“Charming image,” Lilith said, following her gaze.

“That’s Harritt. He’s the blacksmith. Gruff as a bear with a hangover, but he sharpens a blade like he’s sculpting a damn cathedral.”

“I like him already.”

Mira pointed subtly toward a man hunched over a conversation with a blonde elf in armor. “That’s Seggrit. He’s a merchant - mostly weapons and armor. If you want anything decent, you’ll have to haggle.”

“And the elf?”

“That’s Threnn. Quartermaster - very organized. Has a list for everything.”

Lilith gave a low, appreciative whistle. “I’d be more intimidated if she didn’t look like she could kill someone with a spoon.”

“She probably could.”

Mira’s gaze drifted across the tavern, softening slightly. “And that’s Minaeve, over by the back shelves - see her, with the stack of books and that poor apprentice who looks like he’s about to cry?”

Lilith spotted her - a young elven woman in scholar’s robes, gesturing animatedly with one hand while balancing an overfilled satchel with the other.

“She’s our researcher. Knows more about herbs, runes, and arcane theory than most mages I’ve met. Don’t let the quiet voice fool you - she’ll talk your ear off if you bring up anything remotely magical.”

“Dangerous,” Lilith murmured, eyes glinting. “I like her too.”

“Seems you’ve got a type.”

Lilith grinned. “And Adan?” she asked.

“He’s probably asleep in a pile of half-finished tinctures by now,” Mira said with a wry smile. “But if you smell something burning tomorrow morning, it’s probably best to stay outside the apothecary.”

Lilith laughed - warm and unguarded. It felt strange, like stretching a muscle she hadn’t used in too long. “Gods, it’s been a while since I had a nice drink like this.” 

Mira glanced at her, surprised by the honesty. “Tough couple of days?”

Lilith exhaled through her nose, half a smile lingering. “You have no idea.”

There was a beat of silence, just long enough to edge into something heavier, before Varric clapped his hands. “Alright, enough brooding! Wicked Grace it is. Who’s in?”

Lilith glanced at Mira. “You playing?”

“I’ve… never played before.”

“Perfect,” said Varric. “You’ll fit right in.”

Cassandra groaned, already reaching for the deck. “This game is trouble.”

“And yet, here you are,” Varric said, dealing the cards with a flourish.

Chairs scraped, drinks clinked, and the table filled with laughter again. Cassandra grumbled good-naturedly, Mira looked apprehensive but intrigued, and Lilith was immediately competitive despite having no idea how the game worked.


The cards were passed around, drinks refilled, and conversation drifted between stories and good-natured ribbing. Cassandra was in the middle of a story - something about a chevalier in Orlais who once challenged a wyvern to single combat - when the conversation veered into the specifics of noble titles and heraldry.

Lilith kept her expression even, swirling her drink idly, but her stomach tensed. The titles meant nothing to her - “Marquis,” “Viscount” - they might as well have been positions in a theatre troupe.

She laughed when the others did, nodded thoughtfully at Varric’s sarcastic commentary, but she couldn’t shake the unease creeping up her spine. She didn’t know what a “Divine” actually was, and she wasn’t sure if a “Knight-Enchanter” rode a horse or blew things up with magic.

Then, quietly, Mira leaned over. “She’s the head of the Chantry,” she whispered, close to Lilith’s ear. “The Divine. Kind of like a holy queen. With a silly hat.” 

Lilith stiffened just slightly, her hand freezing mid-sip. She didn’t look at Mira - couldn’t, not right away - but she could feel those eyes on her, soft and careful. Had her confusion been that obvious?

Mira added, slightly louder, “Knight-Enchanters are mages who train like warriors. Very rare. Mostly Orlesian. Cassandra hates them.”

“I do not hate them,” Cassandra snapped from across the table, entirely missing the context. “I simply question the wisdom of putting a sword in a mage’s hand and calling it innovation.”

Lilith let out a surprised laugh, and Mira grinned, sinking back into her chair like she’d done nothing at all.

Lilith risked a glance her way. Mira’s face was innocent, unassuming - just a helpful girl offering a bit of context, not someone who might be unraveling every lie Lilith had been trying to build since Haven.

Still, she felt seen in a way that unsettled her. But Mira only smiled again - genuine and warm - and Lilith found herself relaxing despite the coil of instinct still knotted beneath her ribs.

“Thanks,” she said quietly.

Mira just raised her glass. “Anytime.”

Varric leaned back in his chair with a contented sigh, tapping his cards against the table. “Maker, this group’s got everything. A Seeker, a walking mystery, and a quartermaster with a color-coded vengeance list.”

Lilith grinned. “The cunning, the muscle, the brains - it’s like something out of a novel.”

“Oh, don’t tempt him,” Cassandra muttered, glaring over her drink. “He’ll write it down.”

Lilith’s brow lifted. “Wait - what do you mean? Write it down?”

Varric shrugged, ever casual. “I write stories. Tale of the Champion , Hard in Hightown - a few other masterpieces, depending on how much wine you’ve had.”

“You’re serious?” Lilith blinked. “You’ve actually written books?”

“It’s not exactly something I announce at every tavern,” Varric said, amusement sparkling in his eyes. “But yes, I put quill to parchment every now and then. Some even have page numbers in order.”

“Well, now I have questions. Do you do readings? Signings? Dramatic reenactments by firelight?”

“I could be persuaded,” he said, swirling his drink like a noble. “If asked nicely.”

Lilith leaned her elbow on the table and smirked. “Please, great and noble scribe, tell me everything about Hard in Hightown . I’m desperate to know who thought that was a good title.”

Varric, wounded, put an exaggerated hand to his chest. “It was an instant classic! Ask Cassandra - she’s my number one fan.”

Cassandra groaned into her mug.


Cups clinked. Cards were dealt.

Lilith quickly discovered that Cassandra’s bluffing skills were nonexistent and Mira had the worst luck she’d ever seen - but both were fierce about the rules. Varric, of course, cheated with the kind of flair that made it entertaining.

They were halfway through a second round when the tavern door opened again - and Solas stepped inside.

Lilith blinked, surprised.

He approached the table without fanfare and sat down across from her, beside Varric, smooth and silent. He didn’t explain himself, and she didn’t ask, but there was a flicker in his eyes - something that suggested he’d been curious enough to come, even if he wouldn’t admit it out loud.

“Maker’s breath,” Cassandra muttered. “Now the scholar joins the game.”

Solas’s gaze flicked briefly to Lilith before he said, dry and reserved, “I suppose that means I am the esteemed opponent.”

Lilith grinned, tilting her head. “Baldilocks,” she greeted him with a teasing nod.

Solas gave a mock-disappointed look, lips twitching into a small smirk. “Baldilocks. How… charming .” His voice was dry, almost dismissive, but the faint gleam in his eyes gave away his amusement.

Varric threw back his head and roared with laughter, nearly slapping the table. “Baldilocks! Maker, that’s brilliant! You wear it well, even if you pretend to hate it.” He shook his head, grinning wide, clearly enjoying the moment - and the drink.

They played again. Solas, unsurprisingly, was excellent - measured, strategic, and impossible to read. Lilith began to match his tempo, her grin widening with every trick she picked up. Her final hand was all luck and cunning, and she laid it down with a dramatic flourish that made even Varric whistle.

“Remind me never to play against you for money,” he said.

Lilith leaned back, victorious. “Remind me to start charging for lessons.”

As the tavern began to thin, Cassandra told the group that they’d be heading to the Hinterlands at dawn to speak with Mother Giselle - Lilith, Varric, Solas, and herself.

Lilith nodded, mind already turning toward the road ahead. Another trek. More questions. More danger.

Eventually, the group dispersed - Varric with a clap on the shoulder, Cassandra with a firm goodnight, Mira with a quiet smile and a promise to send along some potions for the journey.

Lilith lingered, and so did Solas. They walked out into the snow-dusted night, breath curling in the cold, the sounds of the tavern fading behind them. The moon hung low over the peaks, casting the village in silver.

Solas’s gaze lingered on her hand a moment before returning to her face. “You don’t seem surprised by any of this.”

Lilith tilted her head, offering a faint smile. “Should I be?”

He gave a soft huff and slid his hands neatly behind his back, a hint of amusement in his posture. “You’re remarkably pragmatic for someone in your situation.”

She let out a dry laugh, more breath than sound. “You’d be surprised what you get used to when dying isn’t the worst thing that’s happened to you.”

His gaze sharpened, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes.

Then, just as quickly, she waved a hand. “I cope with humour. I’m sure you’ll get used to it.”

A beat passed.

“I imagine I will,” he murmured, voice softer now, contemplative.

But he didn’t look away. His eyes lingered - studying her, yes, but not with suspicion anymore. Something gentler. As though he were observing a candle that burned too steadily for how battered the wick appeared, wondering what kind of fire lived inside it - and what storms it had already weathered.

Lilith held his gaze, smiling again - charming, effortless - but something beneath her ribs twisted, a knot beginning to pull tight behind the grin.

Solas’s expression didn’t shift, but a faint glint sparked behind his eyes, like the flicker of kindling catching light.

He smirked suddenly. “Perhaps I should warn you, Scorcher ,” he said, voice low and velvet-smooth, “not all flames are so easily contained.”

Her brow arched and head cocked, heat blooming in her cheeks despite herself. “Is that so? And what do you suggest I do with this… dangerous fire of mine?”

His head tilted ever so slightly, his tone dropping to something conspiratorial, almost amused. “Harness it wisely. Fire can burn, or it can illuminate. The difference lies in intention.”

She tilted her head right back, considering him. “That sounded suspiciously like a compliment wrapped in a lecture.”

His mouth quirked, the barest hint of a smile. “Only if you’re prone to flattery.”

Lilith laughed, genuine this time - light - despite the heaviness in her chest. “Careful, Solas. Keep talking like that and I’ll start thinking you enjoy my company.”

He didn’t answer. Just looked at her for a moment longer, eyes steady, expression cool - but not cold. His smile didn’t widen, but something in his posture eased.

Then he turned slightly, gaze shifting. “You may think what you like.”

And in that quiet non-answer, she heard more than a yes or no could give. Enough to keep her guessing. And, gods help her, enough to make her want to.

She smiled quietly. “Good night, Solas.”

His smile deepened, steady and gentle. “Good night, Lilith.”

Behind her, the tavern’s laughter softened to a distant murmur as she stepped onto the frost-dusted path to her cabin. The buzz in her head had faded, replaced by a quiet ache she couldn’t name. Sleep wouldn’t come easily - but she was too weary to resist it.


The manor was quiet that night - too quiet. The flicker of the hearth cast long shadows that danced like whispers across the walls, gilding the room in golden light. Lilith sat curled near the fire with a book open but forgotten on her lap. Astarion moved silently beside her, the crystal of a wine decanter catching the flames and fracturing them into a kaleidoscope of light.

He poured, slow and deliberate, rich red spilling into two glasses. The calm was a mask - something taut and fragile beneath the surface.

He set the glass down with a soft clink, his eyes sharp and calculating. “I’m bored,” he said, voice low, a silken thread wrapped in something darker. “Let’s play a game.”

Lilith looked up, curiosity flickering. “What sort of game?”

“Simple,” he said, voice coaxing yet commanding. “We each tell a lie. Then the other pretends to believe it. Hard enough - convincingly enough - the lie becomes real. A truth by sheer force of will.”

She blinked, hesitant, but the gleam in his eyes left little room for refusal.

“You go first,” he urged, voice dipped in amusement.

Lilith’s breath caught. She thought for a moment, then chose her lie carefully. “I’ve forgiven myself.”

He smiled - slow, satisfied, like unveiling a secret prize. “Lovely. Now say it again. As if it’s true.”

She repeated it - softly, uncertain.

“No,” he interrupted, voice sharp, “stronger. More… certain.”

She tried again, the words catching in her throat. Her posture stiffened under his gaze.

“Again.” 

And again.

Each time, he shifted her shoulders, adjusted her chin, corrected the tilt of her head, coached the inflection of her voice. His hands were never heavy, but they were everywhere - in the curve of her neck, the line of her jaw - demanding obedience.

When she faltered, his laugh was light, cruel. “No, no. You’re mistaking performance for conviction. This isn’t freedom, my love. It’s choreography. And I’m the one setting the steps.”

Her lips trembled. The room seemed to close in, the fire’s warmth turning sharp and oppressive.

Finally, she whispered the lie with a conviction that wasn’t hers. He leaned back, eyes gleaming triumphantly.

“Now it’s my turn.”

He closed the distance between them, the heat of his breath brushing her ear. 

“I would never hurt you.”

His voice was a promise and a threat tangled together. She stared at him, searching his face.

“Say you believe me,” he demanded.

“Astarion-”

“Say it.”

Her voice cracked as the words slipped free. “I believe you.”

He smiled then - the kind of smile that swallowed light and left only shadow behind.

His lips found hers, slow and possessive, sealing the lie with a kiss. It tasted of control, of ownership, of a truth forced into existence not by trust, but by surrender.

And in that moment, the lines between what was real and what was performance blurred together until they were indistinguishable.


Lilith stirred with a sharp breath, eyes snapping open to the dawn of the morning. For a moment, she didn’t move - she just lay there, chest rising and falling too fast, a cold sweat drying against her skin. The remnants of the nightmare clung to her like fog, all teeth and blood and laughter that wasn’t hers.

Her hand twitched toward her throat before she caught herself.

“Just a dream” she muttered, voice raw. The words were always a lie, but they helped her move.

She swung her legs off the cot, elbows braced against her knees, and pressed her palms into her face. Her fingers felt cold, and the candle she’d forgotten to snuff the night before had burned to a stub, casting only a faint orange glow across the walls of her cabin. She stared out the small frost-kissed window, watching the grey light of morning creep over Haven.

Time to go. She dressed quickly - tightened the straps on her leathers, threw on her coat, and grabbed her pack. Her fingers lingered briefly on the small satchel of potions Mira had tucked into her gear the night before, “just in case,” she’d said.

Lilith paused, just long enough to breathe, then slipped out into the cold.

The gates of Haven were already stirring. Soldiers drilled in the courtyard, their boots crunching in the snow. A Templar was barking instructions near the Chantry. And at the outer edge, just before the gates opened to the winding road below, her companions waited.

Cassandra was already there, seated on a flat stone and sharpening her sword with crisp, practiced strokes. She barely looked up, but the scrape of metal paused when she saw Lilith approaching.

Solas leaned against the gatepost, robes swept around him like windblown smoke. His eyes were distant - watching the frost melt on the fence posts, or maybe something beyond it. He didn’t seem cold.

Varric arrived last, sauntering up with all the urgency of a man who knew better than to rush toward danger. Bianca sat comfortably on his back, polished and ready. 

Cassandra squinted as Lilith drew closer. “You look like you wrestled a demon in your sleep.”

“Close enough,” Lilith said, rubbing the back of her neck. “But the demon lost.”

Varric chuckled. “So, Lilith, ready to lead us into the Hinterlands and find some trouble? Because trouble seems to like you.”

Lilith smirked. “Trouble’s just the appetizer. I’m here for the main course.”

From the side, a voice rang out. “Herald!”

Lilith winced. Every time someone used that title, it scraped against her nerves like broken glass.

She turned to find Harritt approaching with a long wooden staff in hand. He looked more blacksmith than mage-smith, his sleeves still rolled from hammering something into shape.

“I was told you were in need of a proper staff,” he said, offering it forward.

Lilith glanced at the weapon. It wasn’t ornate - smooth oak darkened by fire-oil, polished along the grip, and capped with a dull iron head that flickered with faint enchantment runes. Basic. Honest. A weapon meant for use, not ceremony.

She looked to Cassandra, who had suddenly become very focused on pretending her sword needed more sharpening. Lilith arched her brow. “Subtle.”

But she accepted the staff with a faint smile. “Thank you, Harritt. It’s perfect.”

He nodded once, businesslike. “Make it back in one piece, yeah?”

“We’ll try.”

Harritt turned and made his way back toward his forge, already muttering about some hinge that wouldn’t hold.

Lilith gave the staff a small twirl, feeling the balance. It wasn’t anything like her last one, but it didn’t need to be. That was gone - this would do.

She turned to the others. “Ready?”

Cassandra rose, sliding her sword home with a satisfying shink . “Let’s not waste daylight.”

“Last chance to turn around,” Varric said. “Pretend we’re doing something heroic while drinking in the tavern instead.”

Solas pushed off the gatepost and fell into step beside them. “Some of us prefer a challenge, Master Tethras.”

Lilith adjusted her pack and started walking. “Then let’s go make some poor decisions.”

And with that, they descended into the valley road - toward the Hinterlands, and whatever waited for them in the smoke and fire ahead.


It started as a vibration - low, thrumming, crawling beneath her skin like something alive.

Lilith stood with Cassandra, Varric, and Solas at the edge of a narrow clearing where the forest broke open into grass and scattered stones. Tall trees loomed around them like silent sentinels, their branches brittle. Crows circled overhead, agitated by the unnatural hum splitting the air.

And in the center of it all: the rift.

It hovered fifteen feet above the ground, green and sickly, pulsing like a wounded organ. Lightning cracked outward from its edges, warping the world around it. It made a sound that didn’t belong in the waking world - like a whisper laced with screams, a choir of broken voices speaking in broken tongues.

Lilith’s marked hand twitched. The pull of the thing echoed in her bones.

“Another rift?” she asked, flexing her fingers. Her voice was light, but she could feel the weight in her gut. That cold knot again.

Cassandra, squinting at the tear, said grimly, “Stand ready. It will not go quietly.”

“Gods, I missed optimism,” Lilith muttered, sarcastically.

She lifted her hand and the mark flared to life - green fire erupting along her palm, casting sickly light across her face.

The rift screamed.

A shade burst from the tear like a shot, its claws raking the air, body flickering between smoke and sinew. It landed hard and charged straight for them.

Cassandra didn’t wait. She surged forward with a battle cry, steel flashing as her sword met the thing head-on. Sparks flew.

Varric dropped into a crouch beside a fallen log, raising Bianca. “Let’s not let Seeker steal all the glory.” He fired - once, twice - each bolt thudding into the shade’s writhing form.

Lilith stepped forward, hands already glowing. She pulled fire from the air and let it fly. The blast hit the shade square in the chest and set it ablaze. The creature reeled, shrieking, and then Cassandra ended it with a clean downward swing, slicing it into smoke and ash.

Solas stepped up beside Lilith, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Effective,” he murmured.

Lilith grinned, breath misting in the cold air. “Scorcher. Remember?”

He quirked a brow. “Your flair for dramatics rivals your magic.”

“I contain multitudes.”

The rift pulsed again - and two more demons clawed their way out, spitting and shrieking as they hit the ground. One charged Solas. He spun neatly out of the way, staff raised, summoning a barrier that shimmered blue around him just as claws scraped the surface.

Lilith hurled a fireball at the second, catching it mid-lunge. It howled, flailing as flames engulfed its body, and staggered straight into Cassandra’s waiting blade.

The mark flared again. She nearly dropped to one knee from the sudden jolt.

“The mark!” Solas called, urgency cutting through his usual calm. “It’s reacting - use it now!”

Lilith forced herself upright, planting her feet in the grass. She raised her hand, grit her teeth - and the beam shot out, latching onto the rift like a chain.

It felt like grabbing raw lightning. Pain arced through her body. Her knees buckled slightly and the mark hissed, blazing with unnatural heat. But she held on.

The rift shrieked and thrashed in the air. Its edges buckled inward, warping like stretched skin. With a final, earsplitting crack, the tear collapsed in on itself and vanished, sending a burst of pressure that knocked them all back a step.

Then - silence. No more screaming. No more whispers. Just the wind through the trees and the breath of four people who weren’t dead.

Lilith straightened slowly, flexing her burned hand. “Well. That sucked.”

Varric, dusting ash off his coat, gave a low whistle. “You’ve got a real talent for terrifying explosions, Scorcher.”

“Was that a compliment?” she asked, eyebrow raised.

“I’m still deciding.”

Solas was watching Lilith. Not her hand. Not the rift. Her . “How did it feel?”

“Like being punched in the soul,” she said dryly. “But thanks for asking.”

He hummed, thinking for a moment, then smiled faintly. “You’re adapting.”

She didn’t answer. Just turned toward the path ahead, smoke still clinging to her coat and the mark still smoldering faintly under her glove.

“Let’s keep moving,” she said. “I’m in the mood for a few more near-death experiences.”

“Charming,” Varric muttered.

But they followed her just the same, stepping over scorched earth into the cold, bright morning.


They made camp just before nightfall, tucked into a small hollow between the rolling hills and dense thickets of the Hinterlands’ outskirts. The road behind them was quiet now, the trees whispering with wind and distant crows; the sky a deepening blue streaked with gold and rose. 

Two tents went up - Lilith and Cassandra in one, Solas and Varric in the other. The campfire crackled steadily in the center of their clearing, its glow pushing back the chill. Lilith crouched beside it, stirring a pot slung over the flames. The stew was mostly root vegetables, dried meat, and a few crushed herbs she’d tucked into her pack. Passable, barely. But warm.

Solas organized his satchel nearby, murmuring a faint ward over a circle of glyphs drawn in the dirt. Varric lounged on a log, his boots kicked up and sleeves rolled to his elbows, while Cassandra did what Cassandra always seemed to do: clean and sharpen her sword with a precision that bordered on obsessive.

Eventually, the food was declared “done enough," and they gathered around the fire, their bowls in hand.

Lilith took the first bite and grimaced. “Well. It’s food-shaped.”

Varric coughed a laugh. “That bad, huh?”

“It’s not your cooking,” Cassandra said through a mouthful. “It’s the lack of ingredients.”

“Still,” Lilith replied, poking a chunk of something vaguely tuber-like. “I weep for the spices left behind.”

“It’s better than anything I ever ate in Kirkwall,” Varric offered cheerfully. “Though the rats there were more tender.”

Lilith raised an eyebrow. “That better be a joke.”

“Mostly.”

“Disgusting,” Cassandra muttered, not looking up from her bowl.

They ate in companionable quiet for a few minutes - only the sounds of chewing and the pop of the fire. Once finished, Varric was already rummaging in his pack for a flask. He took a generous swig, wiped his mouth, and launched into a tale.

“So there we were - me, Hawke, and a wheel of Orlesian cheese we’d definitely not stolen - being chased through the Vimmark Mountains by a bear the size of a tavern.”

Lilith leaned back, arms braced behind her, blinking slowly. “And you survived because...?”

“Because I’m irresistible to bears,” Varric said, grinning. “I told it a joke so filthy it passed out from shock.”

Cassandra groaned. “I do not believe a word of this.”

“Hey, I don’t blame you. Truth like this defies belief.”

Lilith deadpanned, “Just so we’re clear - if I get eaten by a bear tonight, I’m haunting the lot of you.”

Cassandra looked up sharply. “Is that likely?”

Lilith blinked at her, then smirked. “Not unless your sword smells like honey.”

Solas cracked a faint smile where he sat off to the side, legs crossed in meditation. His voice was smooth and dry. “If you perish to a bear after surviving the Breach, I’ll be deeply unimpressed.”

Lilith huffed a laugh. “Glad we’ve set a standard.”

She pulled her knees up to her chest, folding into herself against the fire’s warmth. “Still gonna haunt you all, though. Just to make a point.”

“That would be quite fascinating,” Solas murmured. “I would love to study the metaphysics of a haunting firsthand.”

“You’d turn my ghost into a thesis!?”

“I’d cite you properly.”

Varric snorted, reaching over with the flask. “Here. Drink before he starts quoting Fade theory again.”

Lilith took it gratefully. “Thanks. I’ll pass on the lecture, though.”

Solas smirked in response. 

Cassandra shook her head, lips twitching faintly despite herself. She resumed sharpening her blade with renewed vigor. “If we are finished flirting with spirits and wild animals, I suggest we set watches.”

“Fine by me,” Lilith said, rising and stretching. “I’ll take the first watch. You all get some rest. I’ll wake you before the bears arrive.”

“I am regretting sharing a tent with you,” Cassandra muttered, gathering her things and retreating to her bedroll.

“Only just now?” Lilith called after her.

The tents rustled. Varric made a show of grumbling as he vanished into his own, and Solas lingered a moment longer, gazing at the fire with something unreadable in his expression before nodding and slipping into the shadows.

Lilith settled onto a nearby rock, flask still in hand, her breath curling in the air. She looked up.

The stars in this world were wrong. Two moons, and no constellations she recognized. Just strange patterns in a stranger sky. It was still beautiful, but in that quiet, it hit her how far she really was from Faerûn. From Baldur’s Gate. From-

Her throat tightened. She swallowed hard and leaned back, forcing her breath steady.

The fire crackled. The wind whispered.

And Lilith watched the stars like they might someday whisper back.

Notes:

I wrote slow burn and they're already being flirty smh (fr literally every Solas/Lilith interaction I've written so far, I've stopped myself and thought, "is this too much too soon?" - but the little gremlin inside my head telling me to write this thinks we're on the right path, so onwards we go!)

Also realized their ship name is just "Solas" with a lisp. Anyway, I hope "baldilocks" made you giggle as it made me giggle lol.

Chapter 4: Chapter Four

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

The manor was quiet that evening - unnaturally so. No footsteps from the servants, no hum of conversation behind closed doors. Just the low crackle of the hearth and the occasional flick of Astarion’s brush against canvas.

Lilith sat near the window, though the curtains were drawn shut tight. She hadn’t asked why. She rarely asked anymore.

The chair beneath her was velvet-lined and far too ornate, as if plucked from a theatre set. It did nothing to ease the tension in her spine.

“You’re slouching,” Astarion murmured.

She stiffened. “I’m tired,” she said, carefully.

Astarion’s brush paused mid-air. “Then be tired beautifully, darling. Chin up.”

Lilith obeyed. She tilted her head just slightly, lifted her gaze toward the candlelight instead of the locked door. Her back ached from holding still.

He resumed painting.

The room smelled of wax and wine, turpentine and dried blood. It was a grand space, all illusion: thick carpets to muffle sound, silk-covered walls to make decay seem romantic. She hated it, but she told herself she didn’t.

Behind the easel, Astarion hummed faintly to himself, utterly focused. He looked content. At peace.

“I don’t see why I have to sit like this,” she muttered after a long stretch of silence.

“Like what?”

“Like I’m waiting to be kissed or killed.”

A breath of laughter escaped him. “Well,” he said, peeking around the easel, “the two are hardly mutually exclusive.”

She rolled her eyes. But her hands clenched in her lap.

Eventually, he stepped back, assessing the canvas with a faint, pleased smile. “Come. Have a look.”

She rose, joints protesting from sitting too long, and crossed the room with reluctant steps.

The painting was exquisite. Astarion’s skill had always unnerved her - he didn’t just recreate her, he interpreted her. Lilith stared at her likeness: reclining like a courtesan, limbs loose, head tilted, lips parted in a way that looked more like invitation than expression. Her eyes were too wide. Her smile too sharp. Her posture submissive in a way she’d never posed.

“That’s… not…” she started, but trailed off.

“It’s how I see you,” he said, almost gently.

She frowned. “You see me like that?”

“Of course.” His voice was soft, unhurried. “Worshipped. Beautiful. Tamed, in the way only I know how. It's not an insult, darling - it's a tribute.”

Lilith blinked. “I don’t look like myself in it.”

Astarion stepped closer, looking at the painting, then back to her. “Because you’ve changed. Because I’ve changed you.”

She turned to look at him, frowning. “Is that what you wanted? To turn me into something else?”

He smiled faintly. “No. Just to show you what you already were. You think this is invention. It’s revelation .”

Then, a beat - his gaze settling on her with the weight of something heavier.

“Do you remember who you were when I met you?” he asked, brushing her hair behind her ear. “Do you forget the way they whispered your name in fear all that time ago? You were a goddess.”

“I was a monster,” she said, quieter.

Astarion’s hand slid to cup her face. “And I loved you for it,” he whispered. “Don’t insult the parts of you I cherish.”

She swallowed. “That wasn’t love,” she said, but even to her own ears, it sounded unsure.

His smile faltered - just for a moment. Then, without warning, he gripped her jaw. Not bruising, but firm enough to make her still. To remind her who had the power here.

“Then why are you still here?” he murmured, tilting her face up to his. His tone was honeyed with mockery, soft and poisonous. “Hm? Tell me, darling - what do you call this, if not love?”

She glared at him, jaw tight in his grasp. She refused to flinch, nor did she answer. 

She didn’t say: I’ve stayed because you don’t let me leave.
Didn’t say: I’ve stayed because some part of me still loves you, even now.
Didn’t say: I’ve stayed because you said you love me too, and I need that to mean something.

For a moment, the tension stretched between them - taut, volatile. Then Astarion released her, stepping back with the smug ease of a man who believed he’d already won. He adjusted his sleeve, composed and satisfied.

“I’m tired,” she said, quieter now.

Astarion nodded, still watching her. “Rest, then. We have another sitting tomorrow.”

Once he left the room, the door clicking softly shut behind him, Lilith stood in silence for a moment, staring at the fire as it died down to glowing embers. 

She walked to the window beside the bed. The heavy curtains were still drawn tight, suffocating the room in false warmth and candlelight. Slipping her fingers beneath the velvet, she tugged them open just enough to let the night in.

Moonlight spilled across the floor in a silver blade, catching the sharp angles of the furniture, the glint of glass, the edge of the ornate frame looming above the bed. It felt like breathing again.

A small act of defiance.

She climbed into bed and pulled the sheets around her, but the portrait was impossible to ignore. Watching. Smiling. Obedient.

She turned away from it, curling toward the moonlight, letting it wash over her face. The cold glow was a balm to the room’s stale heat. She focused on that, on the coolness of it, trying to settle her nerves - but the feeling of being watched didn’t fade.

Just before sleep claimed her, her eyes fluttered open one last time - drawn to the window. Something moved there, just beyond the glass.

A glint. Pale eyes in the dark. A shadow, low and still, shaped unmistakably like a wolf.

Lilith blinked, confused. That wasn’t part of this memory. There hadn’t been a wolf. She would’ve remembered something like that.

Wouldn’t she?

When she looked again, the space beyond the window was empty. Just branches, gently swaying. Just moonlight.

The thought slipped away with the rest of the dream.


The next morning, the group crested a hill and arrived at the Inquisition’s outpost in the Hinterlands. A scattering of tents dotted the ridge, flanked by worn fences and makeshift barriers. Smoke curled from a campfire near the command post, and soldiers bustled about - repairing armor, tending to wounded, and glancing nervously toward the hills.

Lilith stifled a yawn and rolled her shoulders. Her limbs ached like she’d been frozen in one position all night.

“Didn’t sleep well?” Varric asked, tossing her a sidelong glance as he adjusted Bianca on his back.

“Dreamt about bad taste in furniture,” she said dryly. “Very distressing.”

Varric chuckled, but Solas, standing by the supply crates, didn’t smile. His gaze lingered on her for a beat too long - steady, curious, knowing.

Lilith caught it and looked away, busying herself with her satchel.

As they approached, a red-haired dwarf jogged over, grinning wide beneath a well-worn helmet. “The Herald of Andraste! I’ve heard the stories. Everyone has. We know what you did at the Breach.”

Lilith grimaced. “Hells, I’m starting to worry about these ‘stories’ everyone’s heard.”

The dwarf laughed. “Nothing to worry about. They only say you’re the last great hope for Thedas.”

Lilith blinked. “Oh. Wonderful.”

The dwarf stuck out a hand. “Inquisition Scout Harding, at your service. I - all of us here - we’ll do whatever we can to help.”

“The Hinterlands are as good a place as any to start fixing things,” she added brightly. “Everyone’s a little jumpy around mages these days, but you’ll get no back talk from us. That’s a promise.”

Lilith shook her hand, offering a tired smile. “Lilith.”

From behind her, Varric stepped forward with a grin. “Harding, huh? Ever been to Kirkwall’s Hightown?”

She frowned. “Can’t say I have. Why?”

“You’d be Harding in-” He paused, winced. “Ah, forget it.”

Cassandra sighed sharply. “That was not even a proper joke.”

Lilith bit back a snort. “Points for effort, though.”

Harding looked between them, bemused but unfazed. “We should get to business. The situation here’s… rough.”

Lilith folded her arms. “How bad?”

Harding’s cheer dimmed slightly. “We came to secure horses from Redcliffe’s old horsemaster, Dennet. I grew up around here - people always said his herd was the fastest this side of the Frostbacks. But with the mage-templar fighting, we couldn’t reach him. Maker only knows if he’s even still alive.”

She stepped aside, gesturing toward the valley below. “Meanwhile, Mother Giselle’s at the crossroads, tending to the wounded. Our last reports said the fighting’s reached them, too. Corporal Vale and a handful of our men are holding out, but they won’t last long. You’d best get moving.”

Harding gave a sharp nod and turned away, already shouting instructions to a passing scout.

Lilith glanced at the others. Cassandra had already adjusted her grip on her sword. Varric was muttering to Bianca, checking her bolts. Solas stood still, quiet and alert.

They followed the rocky dirt trail downhill, the outpost shrinking behind them. The air was thick with smoke, and damp with the morning’s chill. As they neared the crossroads, shouting broke out ahead - steel clashed against steel, and magic crackled in the air.

Cassandra’s eyes narrowed. “Inquisition forces. They’re protecting the refugees!”

Varric loaded a bolt. “Looks like they could use a hand.”

A skirmish was already underway - three rebel templars in battered armor were closing in on a cluster of wounded and Inquisition scouts.

“Go!” Cassandra barked, and the group charged forward.

Lilith raised her staff and hurled a fireball into the fray, the blast catching one templar in the shoulder. He staggered, howling, as Cassandra met him blade-to-blade, driving him back. Solas conjured a shimmering barrier just in time to deflect a blow from another, while Varric loosed bolt after bolt into exposed joints with deadly efficiency.

Amid the clash, Cassandra shouted, “Hold! We are not apostates!” But the templars didn’t slow. One of them snarled something unintelligible and swung harder.

Solas, ducking under a wild swing, snapped, “I do not believe they care, Seeker!”

Lilith pivoted and sent a shockwave through the last templar’s feet, knocking him flat. Cassandra finished him with a clean strike.

Before they could catch their breath, a second wave surged toward them - this time, rebel mages. Wild-eyed, crackling with chaotic magic, they came screaming down the slope.

Lilith let out a long-suffering sigh. “Great. More uninvited guests.”

Solas stepped forward, palms raised. “We are not templars! We mean you no harm!”

“Don’t think they’re not interested in chatting,” Varric muttered.

The mages unleashed a volley - arcane bolts, frost shards, fire. Lilith threw up a barrier, gritting her teeth as the spells impacted, and retaliated with a column of flame that burst from the ground beneath one attacker’s feet. Varric dropped another with a clean shot to the chest. Solas flanked, casting chilling glyphs to slow the enemies’ charge, while Cassandra engaged a pair of them in brutal, up-close combat.

Eventually, the mages fell. The last one collapsed in a heap, smoke curling from his robes.

Breathing hard, Lilith leaned on her staff, surveying the aftermath. “Well,” she muttered, “that was welcoming.”

Solas brushed ash from his sleeve. “This is what fear makes of people.”

Cassandra knelt briefly beside a fallen scout, checking his pulse before rising with a grim nod. “Then let’s find Mother Giselle. If she’s still alive, she’ll need us.”

Varric slung Bianca over his shoulder. “And maybe, just maybe, someone around here will not try to kill us on sight.”

Lilith started down the path. “Fingers crossed, Varric. But I wouldn’t bet on it.”

The group pressed forward through the smoke-stained crossroads. Refugees huddled near dwindling campfires, Inquisition soldiers moved between the wounded, and the air smelled faintly of burned cloth and fear.

Lilith scanned the area, eyes catching on a robed figure kneeling beside an injured man. The woman’s presence was calm - rooted, like the still point in a storm.

“That her?” Varric asked, following her gaze.

“I think so,” Lilith said.

She turned to the others. “I’ll talk to her. Can you guys help with the wounded?”

Cassandra gave a firm nod. “Of course.”

“Try not to get recruited into any more cults,” Varric added, already walking off toward a soldier groaning near the rubble.

Solas raised a brow but said nothing, following Cassandra to where a healer was calling for more bandages.

Lilith crossed the muddy square alone. As she drew closer, she heard the tail end of a conversation - Mother Giselle’s voice low but clear as she knelt beside a trembling soldier, his hand slick with blood.

“There are mages here who can ease your wounds. Lie still.”

The young man grimaced. “Don’t… don’t let them touch me, Mother. Their magic - it’s unnatural.”

Giselle’s voice remained soft, but firm. “Turned to noble purpose, their magic is no more evil than your blade. Let them help you.”

The soldier hesitated. Then, slowly, he nodded.

Giselle stood, brushing ash from her robes, and turned - her eyes meeting Lilith’s.

“You must be the one they’re calling the Herald of Andraste.”

Lilith winced. “Not by choice.”

“A rare thing, to choose our titles,” Giselle said, a note of sympathy in her voice. “We seldom have much say in our fate, I’m sad to say.”

Lilith tilted her head. “So, you agree with them? The ones calling me chosen?”

Giselle’s smile didn’t waver. “I do not presume to know the Maker’s will for any of us. But I did not ask you here to argue theology.”

“Then why did you ask me here?”

Giselle gestured for her to walk, and together they began a slow circle through the makeshift camp. Children cried in the distance. Smoke rose from a collapsed tent. The wounded were everywhere.

“I know of the Chantry’s denouncement,” Giselle said quietly. “And I know those behind it. Some are opportunists - hoping to increase their chances of becoming Divine. Others are simply afraid. So many lives lost, so suddenly…”

Lilith’s expression tightened. “It was horrible .”

“Fear makes us desperate,” Giselle continued. “But I hope not beyond reason.”

She looked to Lilith. “Go to them. Speak to the remaining clerics. Show them you’re no demon. They’ve heard only tales - grim ones. Give them something else to believe.”

Lilith slowed, surprised. “You think they’ll listen to me?”

“If I thought you were incapable, I wouldn’t suggest it.”

“They want to execute me, and you think I should just stroll in for a chat?”

Giselle’s eyes glinted with dry amusement. “You are no longer alone. You are surrounded by allies. They cannot imprison or attack you.”

Lilith gave her a crooked smirk. “Oh, they could try.”

“That would be unwise of them,” Giselle said gently.

They stopped near a half-collapsed cart. Giselle turned to face her fully now, hands folded before her. “Let me put it this way: you needn’t convince them all. You just need some of them to doubt. Their power is their unified voice. Take that from them, and you receive the time you need.” 

Lilith looked down, then off toward the hills. The sunrise cut through the smoky air, thin and bruised, casting long shadows across the grass. For a moment, she just watched it - silent, still.

She’d known many gods, many would-be gods, all in many forms. Statues carved from obsidian, and voices that whispered from the dark between stars. Smiling mouths promising revelation, atonement, salvation - so long as you bled the right way, bowed low enough, obeyed.

All of them promised power. Divine, redemptive, destructive. A cure for guilt, or a weapon to outrun it. But none had saved her.

That kind of power was poison. It didn't just stain the skin - it soaked into the bones, curdled the thoughts, made you hunger. Not for justice, not for freedom. Just more . More control. More worship. More blood. It rewrote your name and then made you thank it.

And she’d drunk deep from it once. Willingly. 

The gods she knew didn’t lift you from the abyss. They asked you to dig it deeper - and smile while you did it.

Her eyes narrowed against the light. “Sorry,” she muttered at last. “I’m not really a fan of gods. Haven’t had many great experiences.”

Giselle didn’t flinch. She simply offered a kind, quiet look. “You do not need to believe,” she said, “for your actions to have meaning.”

Lilith blinked, caught off guard. She’d braced for a sermon, not softness. “You make it sound simple,” she said finally.

“It’s not,” Giselle replied. “But simple things rarely are.”

A gust of wind stirred Lilith’s cloak. Giselle continued, “I honestly don’t know if you’ve been touched by fate or sent to help us… but I hope. Hope is what we need now.” 

She glanced toward the camp behind them. “The people will listen to your rallying call, as they will listen to no other. You could build the Inquisition into a force that will deliver us… or destroy us.”

Lilith let that hang in the air.

Giselle stepped back then. “I will go to Haven and provide Sister Leliana the names of those in the Chantry that would be amenable to a gathering. It is not much, but I will do whatever I can.” 

Lilith nodded slowly. “That’s more than most - thank you.”

Giselle gave her a warm, solemn smile. “And it may be enough.”

With that, she turned and walked away, robes trailing in the dirt. Lilith watched her go, her thoughts heavy, the “Herald” title clinging like damp cloth to her skin.

She wasn’t used to kindness that asked nothing in return. And she wasn’t sure if it made her feel comforted, or utterly exposed.

As Mother Giselle disappeared into the bustle of the camp, Lilith lingered. The air was still thick with smoke and tension. Soldiers barked orders, healers knelt beside the wounded, and somewhere a child was crying - sharp, short wails like they were trying not to cry but couldn’t quite stop.

Lilith turned to head back toward the group. But as she did, a flicker of movement caught her eye: a wiry figure crouched behind a half-toppled cart, eyes watching her with the quiet calculation of someone used to going unnoticed.

An elven girl - no older than nine or ten, if that - barefoot, dirt-smudged, and half-hidden in shadow. Her eyes were striking: gold-flecked and far too old for her face.

Lilith stopped. Tilted her head slightly. “You planning to rob me?” 

It came out more sharply than she’d meant. Too quick. Reflexive.

The girl didn’t flinch. Just narrowed her eyes. “Not unless you’ve got something worth stealing.”

Lilith let out a dry chuckle. “Fair.”

But her hand had already twitched toward her belt. Muscle memory. She remembered another street, another pair of wide eyes - too young, too hungry. The tug at her hip. The boy’s wrist in hers. Astarion’s silence.

Her fingers curled and relaxed.

She crouched slowly, careful not to startle the girl. “What’s your name?”

A long pause. Then: “Seren.”

“Seren,” Lilith repeated, like testing a flavor on her tongue. “That’s a good name. I’m Lilith.”

Seren’s brow furrowed. “You’re the Herald. The one with the glowing hand.”

Lilith sighed, dropping her gaze to her marked palm. “Unfortunately.”

Seren looked unconvinced. “You don’t look like Andraste.”

Lilith raised an eyebrow. “Good. She probably didn’t curse as much.”

That won her the faintest twitch of a smile.

Lilith reached into her belt pouch and pulled out a small bundle of wrapped and dried provisions - a little stale, but still good. She’d tucked it away that morning, more out of habit than hunger. Breaking the bundle in two, she held out a piece.

Seren eyed it warily, then inched forward and took it without a word.

“You ever cast a spell?” Lilith asked casually.

Seren’s eyes lit up, then dimmed. “I’m not allowed.”

Lilith leaned in slightly, voice low and conspiratorial. “No one ever gave me permission, either. I just did it.”

The girl’s expression shifted - something between awe and suspicion.

Lilith placed two fingers to her palm and drew a quick, glowing rune in the air. A simple light spell - just enough to make her fingers glow faintly gold. Seren gasped.

“Can you show me?” she asked, voice almost a whisper.

Lilith hesitated only a second, then nodded. She moved beside her, drawing the rune again, slower this time. “It’s not fire or lightning. Just a little light. Something to help you see in the dark. Or scare off rats.”

Seren copied the gesture. The first time, nothing happened. The second - just a flicker.

“Good,” Lilith said. “You’ve got the shape. Now think about something warm. Something steady.”

The third time, the rune caught - and Seren’s fingers glowed faintly, golden and trembling like candlelight.

Her eyes went wide. Shit,” she breathed.

Lilith snorted. “That’s my girl.”

A chuckle from behind them made her glance over her shoulder. Solas stood a few feet away, arms crossed, a bemused expression on his face. “I see you’ve found a promising apprentice.”

Lilith shrugged, smiling faintly. “Figured if I’m going to corrupt the youth, might as well start small.”

He nodded toward Seren. “She’s quick. That light spell is not as simple as it seems.”

Seren beamed at the praise, clutching her glowing fingers close like they might vanish if she let go.

Lilith rose to her feet. “I was a bit of a menace at her age, too.”

“I would never have guessed,” Solas said dryly, but his voice was warm.

Seren looked shy suddenly, ducking behind Lilith’s cloak. Lilith ruffled her hair, awkward but affectionate.

“I should get back to the others,” she said. “You going to be alright?”

Seren nodded, serious again. “I’ll practice.”

“You’d better.” Lilith winked. “If I come back and you’ve set yourself on fire, I’m going to pretend I never met you.”

She turned and walked away, Solas falling into step beside her. “She reminds me of you,” he said.

Lilith glanced sideways. “Because of the fire hazard?”

“No,” he said quietly. “Because she endures.”

Lilith didn’t answer. But for a long time, she didn’t look away from the glow on her fingertips.

They’d barely made it halfway back to the others when Solas stopped. “Lilith,” he said, voice soft but purposeful. “Come with me.”

She paused. He wasn’t looking at her - his gaze fixed on a nearby cluster of tents. One of them sagged under the weight of overuse, the canvas stained with blood and ash. Inside, she could hear someone groaning in pain.

“Another fan?” she deadpanned, though her eyes had narrowed.

“A scout,” Solas replied. “He was caught in the fighting earlier. They’ve stabilized him, but…” He hesitated. “The healers are overwhelmed. You said you wanted to learn.”

Lilith blinked. “You’re serious?”

“I’m rarely anything else.”

There was a heartbeat of silence. She shifted her weight, uncertain. “I meant that back in Haven - wanting to learn. But I was thinking theory. Books. Charts. You know. Less… bleeding.”

“Real healing magic is messy,” Solas said, and though he kept his tone gentle, there was no mockery in it. “But if you’d rather wait-”

She squared her shoulders before he could finish. “No. Let’s go.”

They ducked inside the tent. The scout - a young man, only a bit older than Seren - lay pale and sweating on a cot, a deep gash running across his abdomen. Someone had hastily packed it with poultices, but infection had already set in. The air was thick with the scent of herbs and iron.

Solas knelt beside the cot and nodded toward the wound. “You won’t need much. Focus on the tissue - close it from beneath. Do not force it closed. Convince it to knit.”

Lilith swallowed hard. “That sounds like poetry, not instructions.”

“Magic is both.”

He touched her arm gently, guiding her hand to hover above the wound. “Breathe. Let your power respond, not react.”

Lilith inhaled. Her palm glowed - first faintly, then brighter, raw green-white energy spilling through her fingers. 

It surged too fast. The soldier cried out, muscles seizing. The magic hissed and crackled, like it was trying to cauterize the wound by sheer force of will.

Lilith flinched. “Shit-!”

Solas’s hand caught hers. Firm, steady. “Slow,” he said, voice low near her ear. “Not a blaze. A balm.”

She exhaled shakily. Focus . She imagined warmth instead of heat. A steady, gentle pressure instead of fire. Then the power shifted in response. 

Light shimmered over the wound like silk drawn tight over a tear. The angry flesh began to close, the soldier’s breathing easing. When the magic faded, the wound had sealed - ruddy but whole. The soldier had fallen into a heavy, healing sleep.

Lilith stared at her hand, then looked at Solas. “That was - did you see that? I actually did it!”

“I did,” he said. And though his smile was slight, it lit his whole face. “You adapted quickly. That is not easy, especially for someone more used to incineration than restoration.”

Lilith elbowed him, just a little. “I’m not just a walking fireball, you know.”

“I’ve noticed.”

They lingered for a moment, the air between them still and close. He hadn’t moved his hand from her wrist.

Lilith looked at him, really looked. For all his cool detachment, there was something in his expression now - unguarded, maybe even proud. Something warmer than she expected - and it startled her more than the magic had.

And then, like a door slamming shut, it was gone. Solas blinked, withdrawing his hand as if remembering himself. The mask returned - quiet, thoughtful, unreadable.

“I should… speak with Mother Giselle,” he said abruptly, rising to his feet. “She’ll want to know the wounded are stable.”

Lilith straightened, caught off guard. “Right. Of course.”

He gave her a nod - too formal, too sudden - and slipped out of the tent without another word.

Lilith stared after him, confused. Then looked down at her hand again. It still tingled. Warm.

“…Weird elf,” she muttered.

But she was smiling.

She stood, brushing dirt from her hands as she stepped out of the healer’s tent. She scanned the crossroads, eyes landing on Cassandra, who was giving orders to a group of Inquisition scouts near the makeshift barricades.

“Hey,” Lilith called, jogging up. “We need to regroup.”

Cassandra turned, expression tightening with readiness. “Something wrong?”

“No. Just… horses.”

A few minutes later, the four of them were gathered near the edge of the path leading away from the main camp. Lilith gestured toward the eastern hills. “Dennet’s farm is out there. Harding said he’s got the best horses in the region, but he won’t help us unless we go in person.”

Cassandra nodded. “Then we should move quickly.”

“I was thinking we split up,” Lilith continued. “You and I go find Dennet. Solas, Varric - you two stay here, help the soldiers and healers hold the crossroads. It’s not the Breach, but there’s still enough chaos to go around.”

Varric raised an eyebrow. “Splitting the party already, huh? Bold move.”

“Try not to get eaten while we’re gone,” Lilith replied dryly.

“Perish the thought,” Solas murmured, offering a faint smirk.

With nods all around, they parted ways - Cassandra and Lilith heading deeper into the Hinterlands as Solas and Varric turned back toward the wounded.


The path to Dennet’s farm wound through patches of open forest and grassy fields, crossing a narrow stream that glittered in the late morning sun. A sharp-eyed boy with a bow spotted them first, calling for his mother - Elaina - who emerged from the farmhouse with steel in her eyes. Tension quickly faded once Cassandra introduced herself and Lilith offered a polite, if awkward, wave. Dennet himself came stomping down from the barn, all muscle and mud and no time for pleasantries.

He listened as Cassandra outlined the Inquisition’s purpose. Lilith, letting the Seeker take the lead, added only a few quiet observations about the conditions of the roads and the need for safe travel through the region. Her restraint seemed to earn Dennet’s approval more than any show of force.

“Fine,” he said at last, arms crossed over his chest. “You want horses, you help us first. Wolves have been harassing the herds for weeks. They’re not acting right - bold, smart, like they’re being driven. You take care of them, build me a few watchtowers to keep the bandits out, and we’ll talk.”


Lilith and Cassandra made short work of it. The wolves were fast but predictable, and Cassandra moved through them like a blade through parchment. Lilith supported with precise bolts of fire and force magic, careful to avoid hurting the horses that scattered nearby. The watchtowers took more time, but with help from a few locals, they were raised by mid-afternoon - crude, but sturdy. Before sundown, they returned to Dennet, who, impressed by their speed and efficiency, agreed to lend his stables to the Inquisition’s cause.

By the time they returned to the crossroads, the sun was dipping low on the horizon, painting the rocks and tents in warm amber light. Lilith and Cassandra rode side by side, leading a string of sleek, well-trained horses behind them.

Solas looked up from where he knelt beside a wounded scout, raising a brow at their arrival. Varric, seated atop an overturned crate, let out a low whistle.

“Now that’s what I like to see,” he said. “You get us our cavalry, Scorcher?”

Lilith patted her horse’s neck. “We aim to please.”

Solas rose, brushing dust from his robes. He met Lilith’s gaze - warmth flickering behind the cool green of his eyes. “A timely success.”

Lilith smiled, just a little. “Don’t get used to it.”

Cassandra’s gaze sharpened as a messenger approached, handing her a folded parchment sealed with the mark of the Inquisition.

Breaking the seal, she unfolded the letter and read Leliana’s familiar script:

"There’s a potential ally waiting on the Storm Coast - a mercenary group called the Bull’s Chargers. They could prove invaluable. I trust you’ll assess him wisely. Travel swiftly."

Cassandra folded the letter with a resolute nod, tucking it away. She turned to the others, voice steady.

“We’re headed to the Storm Coast. There’s a recruit we need to meet.”

Notes:

Let me know what you're thinking of the memories with Astarion! Too much? Too little?

Thanks for reading!

Chapter 5: Chapter Five

Notes:

Surprise, double feature! Enjoy :)

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

The Storm Coast was doing its level best to drown them.

Rain hammered down in relentless sheets, flattening Lilith’s hood against her head and soaking through every layer she owned. The ground was more mud than dirt, sucking at their boots with every step and spattering their legs with each hoofbeat from the horses.

“How is this much rain even possible?” Lilith called, half-shouting over the downpour. “Surely it can’t always be raining?”

Cassandra, grim as ever, muttered, “This is the Storm Coast. The name is not metaphorical.”

“Well,” Varric chimed in from behind her, “on the bright side, at least none of us can smell how bad we probably stink.”

Lilith snorted, barely ducking a branch. “That’s what you’re going with? The smell ?”

Their trek led them downhill, boots sliding on slick shale, until the trees gave way to rocky coastline. Waves crashed against jagged black rocks below, and through the fog and rain, shouts rang out - metal clashed against metal.

Lilith pulled her staff instinctively. “That our contact?”

They crested the final ridge and saw the beach below in chaos. A group of warriors - likely mercenaries - were engaged in fierce combat with a gang of Tevinter soldiers. A few bodies already lay in the sand, and several men and women were fighting in formation, clearly experienced. Lilith counted at least a dozen, though more moved through the smoke and mist, obscured.

“That’s probably the Chargers,” Varric said. “And if it’s not, well... we’ll find out soon.”

With little fanfare, Lilith joined the fray - bolts of lightning and flame arcing from her staff. Cassandra dove in beside her, shield raised. Solas cast barriers and frost spells with elegant precision. Varric’s crossbow rattled off bolts with mechanical rhythm.

By the time the last Tevinter soldier crumpled to the ground, the rain had slackened to a mist, leaving behind a battlefield slick with blood and seawater.

A massive figure strode toward the Inquisition group, brushing sand from his armored arms. He had the horns of a minotaur, but the smirk of a man far too pleased with himself. 

“Chargers, stand down!” he barked. “Krem! How’d we do?”

A wiry man jogged over, wiping a smear of blood from his cheek. “Five or six wounded, chief. No dead.”

“That’s what I like to hear,” the big man said, grinning. “Let the Throatcutters finish up, then break out the casks.”

He turned toward the newcomers, his golden gaze landing squarely and unabashedly - on Lilith. His eyes raked her from head to toe. Slowly. Deliberately. “So you’re with the Inquisition, huh?” he said, broad smile never faltering. “Glad you could make it. Come on, have a seat. Drinks are coming.”

Lilith arched a brow, soaked and unimpressed. “You must be The Iron Bull, I presume.”

“Yeah,” he said with a low chuckle. “The horns usually give it away.”

She gestured at the remains of the battlefield. “Nicely done. I hear you’re looking for work?”

“I am,” he replied, rolling his broad shoulders. “Not before my drink, though.”

He waved them down the beach toward a cluster of rocks and driftwood where makeshift casks were already being pried open. Another mercenary passed around rough mugs.

“This is my lieutenant, Cremisius Aclassi. Krem, for short.”

Krem nodded, offering a quick but respectful look Lilith’s way. “Good to meet you.” He turned to Bull. “Throatcutters are done, chief.”

“Already? Have ‘em check again. I don’t want any of those Tevinter bastards getting away. No offense, Krem.”

Krem smirked. “None taken. Least a bastard knows who his mother was. Puts him one up on you Qunari, right?”

Lilith’s eyes flicked between the two men. Qunari? He sort of reminded Lilith of a tiefling - like Karlach, but bigger. Perhaps that’s what they called tieflings here? She made a mental note to ask Solas later. Maybe over dry clothes and a fire, if such luxuries still existed.

As Krem wandered off, Bull turned back to the group. “So, you’ve seen us fight. We’re expensive, but we’re worth it… and I’m sure the Inquisition can afford us.”

Lilith let out a breathy scoff. “How much is this going to cost me, exactly?”

“Wouldn’t cost you anything personally,” Bull said, eyeing her with a slow grin. “Unless you wanna buy drinks later. Your ambassador - Josephine? - she’ll sort out the details. The gold takes care of itself. All that matters is, we’re worth it.”

Lilith folded her arms, teasing. “You do seem useful.”

Bull’s grin widened, far too pleased. “We are. But you’re not just getting the boys. You’re getting me .”

“Oh Maker,” Varric muttered behind her. “And here I thought I had an ego.”

“I’m your man,” Bull went on, undeterred. “You need a frontline bodyguard? I’ve got you. Demons, dragons - the bigger, the better. And there’s one other thing. Might be useful. Might piss you off. Ever hear of the Ben-Hassrath?”

The name meant nothing, but it sounded like something she should know. Lilith’s posture stiffened. “Only a little.”

“They’re a Qunari order,” Bull explained, surprisingly casual. “Spies, basically. Loyalty, security, interrogation, that kind of thing. They sent me here to keep an eye on the Breach. Magic like that? Could tear the world apart. So I’m supposed to get close, report on what’s happening. In return, I’ll share my reports with you.”

Lilith blinked. “You’re a spy, and you just… told me?”

“Yeah,” Bull said easily. “Whatever happened at that Conclave thing - it’s bad. Someone needs to fix it. So whatever I am, I’m on your side.”

“You still could’ve hidden what you are,” she said, narrowing her eyes.

“From something called the Inquisition ?” he asked, amused. “I’d’ve been found out sooner or later. Better you hear it up front.”

She watched him carefully. Lilith had known men like him. Big, loud, charming. Swore loyalty until it meant following orders. Then came the pushback. The second-guessing. The danger.

“What would you send home in these little reports of yours?” she asked, voice deliberately patronizing.

“Enough to keep the higher-ups off my back,” Bull replied with no offense taken. “Nothing that’d compromise your ops. I keep them calm, you don’t get a Qunari invasion. Win-win.”

“And these reports you’re offering to share?”

“Enemy movements, suspicious activity, a bit of gossip. Your spymaster will love it. She is good, right?”

Lilith tilted her head. “ She ?”

Bull’s smirk returned. “I did a little research.” He let his gaze linger a second too long, eyes flicking to Lilith’s ginger hair, his tone dropping just slightly. “Plus, I’ve always had a weakness for redheads.”

Lilith rolled her eyes and tugged her hood further down. “Of course you have.”

She straightened. “You run every report through Leliana. Nothing leaves your tent she hasn’t read. And if your reports compromise us - if this is some kind of long game or trap - I will kill you myself.”

Bull looked her over again, but this time, there was something more serious behind the smirk. “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

He turned and shouted, “Krem! Tell the men to finish their drinks on the road. The Chargers just got hired!”

Krem groaned from across the beach. “What about the casks, chief? We just opened them. With axes.”

“Find a way to seal ‘em,” Bull called back. “You’re Tevinter, right? Try blood magic.”

Bull turned back, voice lighter now. “We’ll see you back at Haven, Boss.”

“Boss?” she echoed, dry.

“Well, you did just hire us. Gotta call you something. Think of it as a compliment.”

Lilith shook her head and mounted her horse, rain starting to pick up again.

Varric muttered behind her, “We just signed on a seven-foot horned flirt with spy credentials. Leliana’s gonna love this.”

Lilith sighed. “If she doesn’t kill me, I’ll count it as a win.”


The rain had let up by the time the group trudged into the Inquisition’s camp, nestled between a craggy cliffside and the dark edge of the forest. Damp cloaks dripped by the fire, horses were handed off to stablehands, and Lilith stretched with a groan, rolling out her shoulders.

She spotted the familiar bob of Scout Harding’s braid just ahead, speaking with one of her men near a table of weather-warped maps. Without hesitation, Lilith called out, smirking.

“Harding! Working hard, or hardly working?”

Harding turned, a familiar grin lighting up her face. “You again? I’m starting to think you enjoy trouble, Herald.”

Lilith shrugged, smirking. “What can I say? I follow the chaos - and your reports are always the most detailed.”

Harding laughed, brushing a curl from her face. “Flattery won’t get you out of slogging through mud, you know.”

Varric whistled, eyebrows raised. “Careful, Scout - she’ll charm you into paperwork.”

“I’ve seen her handwriting,” Harding shot back. “I’ll take my chances.”

Lilith chuckled and stepped closer, more serious now. “You called us back for something?”

Harding nodded, frown returning. “Yeah. It’s great you're here, actually. A few of our scouts were sent to open negotiations with a group calling themselves the Blades of Hessarian. Old bandits, but we’d hoped to bring them under our banner. They never reported back.”

Lilith’s smile faded. “How long ago?”

“Three days. I sent a runner but he didn’t come back either. We’ve traced their last known position south of here, near a burnt-out fort. I’d go myself, but… well.” Harding gestured to the few scouts still resting, bandaged or exhausted.

Lilith’s expression sharpened. “We’ll look into it. No one touches our people and gets away with it.”

“Thanks, Herald. Be careful. They’re well-armed and don’t exactly hold tea parties.”


They headed south, trudging through heavy brush and damp forest paths until they reached a clearing dotted with crude barricades. Bandits in mismatched armor lounged by a campfire, weapons within arm’s reach.

Lilith barely had time to speak before the first arrow flew.

“Incoming!” Cassandra shouted, ducking out of the way.

“Why is it never a welcome party?” Varric growled, Bianca drawn.

Solas, calm as ever, lifted his hand and sent a shimmering wall of frost arcing across the battlefield, slowing their enemies.

Lilith darted through the chaos, spells flying, her blood singing with the rhythm of combat. It was fast - gritty but manageable. Soon, the few remaining bandits either fled or lay groaning in the mud.

“That’s the warm-up done,” Lilith said, brushing mud from her robes.

A short climb brought them to the top of a nearby hill, where a run-down shack squatted like a forgotten relic of some long-lost war. The door creaked ominously when Lilith pushed it open.

The smell hit them first - blood, rot, decay. Inside, the bodies of the missing Inquisition scouts were sprawled haphazardly across the floor, their armor stripped, wounds fresh. Someone had made an example of them.

Lilith’s jaw tightened. “Bastards.”

Solas crouched beside one of the corpses. “There are signs of restraint… and torture. They were interrogated before they died.”

“Found a map,” Varric said grimly, pulling a parchment from the blood-smeared table. “Looks like the main camp’s two hills over. Think it’s time we paid them a visit?”

Lilith’s voice was flat. “No more negotiating.”


The Blades of Hessarian camp was larger, guarded, and more organized than they expected. Dozens of bandits milled about, sharpening blades and laughing over stolen ale. At the center stood a massive figure - muscular, scarred, and crowned with a helmet fashioned from a dragon’s jawbone.

“That’s the chief,” Varric murmured. “Big guy. Not stupid.”

Lilith strode forward, fire in her eyes.

Hessarian dogs!” she shouted. “You killed my scouts.”

The camp quieted. The leader turned to face her, unamused. “They came into our land without respect. They died like dogs.”

“You want to be dogs of the Inquisition?” Lilith snapped. “Then submit. Or I’ll put you down myself.”

A low chuckle rolled through the camp. The chief stepped forward. “You? You're barely out of your robes. Challenge me then, girl. You win, we follow. You die… well. I get your pretty head as a trophy.”

“I was hoping you'd say that,” Lilith replied coldly.

“Lilith,” Cassandra warned in a low voice. “You don’t have to do this.”

Varric grinned. “I like her odds.”

She looked at Solas. He regarded her with a slight, knowing tilt of his head, amused. “If this is your way of diplomacy, I am both intrigued and mildly concerned.”

Lilith and the chief stepped into the makeshift ring, bandits cheering and pounding on shields.

The fight was brutal. The Hessarian chief was fast and savage, swinging his battleaxe with deadly precision. But Lilith was faster. Each movement was measured, every spell a precise strike. She ducked low, seared his leg with fire, then struck upward with a blast of force that cracked his ribcage.

He charged, screaming - and she met him with a blade of pure arcane energy.

It pierced his chest. He fell.

Silence. Then, slowly, the bandits dropped their weapons and knelt.

One of them stood, raising a hand. “We follow strength. We follow her .”

Lilith, panting, wiped blood from her lip and looked back at her companions.

Varric let out a low whistle. “Remind me never to piss you off.”

As the sun dipped low behind the ridge, the new recruits began gathering their things, preparing to march. The Inquisition had grown again - bloody, but stronger.

They began the slow journey back to Haven.


Night had fallen by the time the group made camp, settling in the lee of a mossy ridge. The fire crackled low, casting long shadows over the worn leathers and muddied boots strewn haphazardly nearby. Their new Hessarian recruits camped further down the slope, leaving Lilith and her companions with a rare moment of quiet.

Lilith leaned back on her elbows, legs outstretched near the flames. Her red hair was tangled from the day’s travel, boots unlaced and kicked half-off. Varric sat beside her, crossbow balanced across his lap as he cleaned the mechanism with a practiced hand. Cassandra was sharpening her sword with steady, rhythmic strokes. Solas, as always, sat a little apart, fingers tracing faint runes in the dirt beside him like absent-minded sketches.

It was the most relaxed they’d all been in days.

“Well,” Varric said finally, breaking the quiet. “That was one hell of a recruiting drive. You win one bare-knuckle mage duel to the death and suddenly everyone’s loyal. Should try that in Orlais.”

“I would pay good coin to see Lilith challenge a court noble to single combat,” Solas murmured without looking up. “Imagine the scandal.”

“Only if she wears a dress with one of those ridiculous collars,” Cassandra muttered.

“I’ve worn worse,” Lilith replied dryly. “There was a phase back home where everyone was obsessed with feathers. For some reason.”

Varric snorted. “Maker. A fashion statement or a cult ritual?”

Lilith tilted her head thoughtfully. “Bit of both.”

Cassandra sheathed her sword with a soft hiss of steel. “You fought well today. Reckless, but impressive.”

Lilith looked over, blinking. “Is that a compliment, Seeker?”

Cassandra gave her a side-eye. “It is a qualified compliment. Do not let it go to your head.”

“She’s right,” Solas added. “Your command over magic during the duel was… elegant. You’ve trained with discipline. Or someone drilled it into you, at least.”

Lilith’s smile faltered briefly, then recovered. “You’d be amazed what a little trauma and a thousand hours in the forest will do for a girl’s technique.”

A pause.

Then Varric laughed, raising a canteen. “To trauma and technique!”

Cassandra groaned, but raised her waterskin in mock toast. Solas, predictably, lifted a brow but nodded slightly.

They drank.

The fire popped. Crickets murmured in the brush. For a moment, Lilith let herself enjoy the warmth of the fire, the hush of the woods, and the rare quiet that followed a hard-won day. She wasn’t ready to name this feeling, not yet - but it was starting to feel a little like belonging .

“I’m going to the lake before any of you decide to,” she said at last, pushing to her feet with a stretch. “If I spend one more minute caked in bandit blood and mud, I’m going to set my own skin on fire.”

“Ominous,” Varric said. “But fair.”

“Watch out for lake monsters,” Cassandra added, half-teasing.

Lilith turned, walking backwards toward the trees with a lazy smile. “If I go under, avenge me with dramatic poetry.”

And disappeared into the dark.


She found a quiet glade tucked behind a rise, where a narrow lake reflected the unfamiliar stars like scattered glass.

She stripped and waded in, shivering at first, before whispering a simple heat spell into the water. It warmed around her limbs like a sigh. For a moment, she allowed herself to relax. The stars were strange, constellations unknown to her, but the peace felt almost real.

Then came the ripple. Not hers.

She twisted sharply, magic already flaring at her fingertips. Nothing. Just trees, and the low hush of wind through branches, and the faint smell of sulphur. 

Then, from the shore:

“My dear Lilith. You always did have a flair for the dramatic. A moonlit bath? Alone? You make exile look elegant .”

Her heart seized. She turned - and there he was.

Raphael lounged atop a mossy rock like it was a throne, one knee crossed over the other, smile sharp as ever.

“How the fuck are you here?” she spat.

He placed a hand over his chest in mock injury. “Now, now. Is that any way to greet a business partner?”

She suddenly felt naked in more than body. She knew he wasn’t looking at her body, not exactly, but the power imbalance was the point - and he wielded it like a knife; deliberate and suffocating. He was enjoying this.

With a flourish, he conjured a towel from smoke and silk, then held it out like a gentleman offering a rose. She didn’t move.

He dropped it theatrically at his feet. “Come now. Modesty ill suits a woman who’s gutted gods.”

“What do you want?” she bit out.

“To visit an old friend,” he replied lightly. “I’ve a vested interest in your survival, after all. Dead mice make for poor investments.”

“We both know what I signed. Don’t pretend this is a courtesy call.”

He gave her a smile full of teeth. “Oh, I never pretend. Not with you.”

She glared at him. “How did you get here?”

His grin widened, vulpine and void of warmth. “When you owe as many favours as I’m owed, doors tend to open. Some even beg to be walked through.”

Raphael’s gaze lingered on her hand, just above the waterline. The mark shimmered faintly - alive, restless. He smiled, teeth like secrets. “Such a delicate little curse,” he murmured. “Etched with purpose… and something almost like fondness.”

Lilith didn’t move. “You know what it is?”

“Oh, I know what it wants,” he said, tapping a finger to his lips. “What it hungers for. And I know the kind of hand that carves meaning into a soul instead of flesh.”

He tilted his head, voice dipping to something more lyrical. “Marks like that… they’re not made in haste. They’re composed. Like poetry. Like lies. The kind only an old name might pen, when the world’s too loud to speak it aloud.”

Lilith’s eyes narrowed, but she didn’t interrupt. She didn’t have to. Raphael’s grin widened.

“Tell me - does it sing louder when certain voices call to you? When the air bends wrong and the Veil thins like paper?”

She said nothing.

“No matter,” he said lightly. “Just be careful, little mouse. Some symphonies weren’t meant to be finished. And some composers? They never stopped conducting.”

He turned his head then - casual, almost bored, glancing in the direction of the Inquisition’s camp.

“You’ve always performed best with an audience.” he murmured, just loud enough for her to hear.

Lilith stiffened. “Are we finished?”

He looked back at her with a venomous kind of glee. “He misses you, you know. In his own… unwell way.”

Her jaw tightened. The water, though warm, felt suddenly too cold.

“The mask you wear here suits you. Brave. Measured. Penitent.” He leaned forward, voice lowering like the closing of a trap. “But masks always slip, Lilith. What will you do when they see the monster beneath?”

“I’m not-” she started, then exhaled. Her voice dropped. “What do you want , Raphael? I’m not that anymore. I’m trying to fix what I can. I’ve paid enough.”

He tilted his head, as if considering her. “Paid?” he echoed, voice a murmur. “Oh, my dear. Suffering is interest. The debt remains.”

“And you?” he continued, “You were always your own greatest cruelty.”

He said it softly, almost fondly. Then he smiled - wide, wicked, knowing - and snapped his fingers.

The air shimmered. A rush of sulfur and roses. He was gone.

Lilith stood frozen in the echo of his absence, heart pounding. The stillness returned, but it felt different now. Thinner. Watched.

She exhaled a shaky breath and waded to shore. The towel he’d left behind remained, untouched by his vanishing act. Soft, red, and branded with a sigil she didn’t recognize, but knew was his.

She stared at it for a beat, then whispered a word. Flames crawled up the fabric in an instant. She let it burn, just long enough to satisfy something feral in her chest, then hurled it into the lake. It sizzled, sank, and disappeared beneath the surface.

Just like him.

She stood there for a moment before grabbing her towel, water dripping down her arms, jaw clenched so tight it hurt. The stars overhead were unfamiliar, but the silence? That was too familiar. The kind that followed a scream.

Then-

A soft shuffle. Barely audible, but she caught it.

Lilith didn’t turn. “How long have you been watching?”

A pause. Then, quietly-

“Long enough.” His voice was calm. Too calm.

She closed her eyes.

Of course it would be him. Of all the people in this damned world, of course Solas would be the one to find her like this - dripping, exposed, gutted open by a devil.

“Didn’t realize I had an audience,” she said bitterly, trying to keep her voice from shaking.

“I wasn’t… I didn’t mean to intrude.”

Another pause. The air between them thickened, heavy with something unspoken.

“Who was he?”

Lilith let out a humorless breath. “A mistake.”

She bent down, gathering her clothes with hands that didn’t quite stop trembling.

“You said… you weren’t that anymore.” Solas said, not moving. Not leaving.

That hung between them like fog - dense, impossible to ignore.

Lilith didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Not yet.

She pulled her tunic over damp skin, still not looking at him. “You shouldn’t be here,” she murmured.

She finally turned, eyes meeting his. And for a heartbeat, neither of them said a word.

There was too much between them. And yet - not enough had been said.


At first, it is warm.

The manor is quiet, dust motes dancing in late afternoon sunbeams. A breeze filters through the silk curtains, carrying the scent of lilac and honey wine. Her head rests in Astarion’s lap, a book forgotten in her hands, his fingers idly threading through her hair.

“You always relax when I touch your scalp,” he murmurs. “Like a cat in a sunbeam.”

She huffs a quiet laugh, eyes fluttering closed. “I’m not a cat, my love.”

“No,” he agrees, grinning cheekily. “You’re something far more dangerous.”

His voice is low, reverent. There’s no bite in it. Only affection.

She feels safe.

Astarion leans down and presses a kiss to her forehead. “Stay like this forever,” he whispers.

She opens her mouth to respond - but freezes. The timbre of his voice has shifted. Something oily beneath the silk.

His eyes suddenly sharpened. “You’re so much prettier when you’re quiet.”

Lilith opened her eyes.

The room is different. The curtains hang limp and colorless. The air is heavy, sickly. Astarion is no longer stroking her hair - his hand is curled around a lock, pulling, just a little too hard.

“What…?” she breathes.

His eyes are wrong. Too black. Too wide. His smile is stretched, inhuman. “You used to like it when I praised you,” he says, cocking his head. “Or is that another thing you’ve chosen to forget?”

Her skin crawls. She tries to rise, but he shoves her back down. Hard. Her head cracks against the arm of the chaise. She tastes copper.

“No,” she rasps. “This-this isn’t how it happened.”

“Isn’t it?” the creature says, voice deepening into something ancient and wrong. “You remember what you want . You dress up the rot and call it love.”

His body shifts - flesh rippling like melted wax, fangs lengthening, hands twisting into claws. Horns curl from his temples. The mockery of Astarion grins with jagged teeth.

“But I was always honest with you, wasn’t I?” the demon hisses, looming over her. “You were mine.”

It lunges.

She scrambles backward, throwing up a ward with trembling fingers. Magic flares, but it’s clumsy, desperate. It crashes against the demon, but barely slows it. Claws rake across her shoulder. Pain burns, sharp and sudden.

I’m going to die here, she thinks.

She raises her hands again - but the Fade warps, shifts.

A snarl echoes through the air, low and guttural. A massive black wolf bursts into view from the shadows, slamming into the demon mid-strike. It snarls with impossible force, teeth snapping against the creature’s throat. The two figures collide in a blur of claw and magic, light and shadow tearing across the dreamscape.

Lilith watches, stunned, blood dripping down her arm. The demon shrieks once - then vanishes, scattered into smoke.

The wolf turns to her. Its fur is a deep, midnight black, absorbing the light around it like a living shadow. Subtle hints of blue flicker beneath the surface, shifting with each movement. Its eyes - sharp, and unyielding - lock onto hers. She can’t breathe.

“What… are you?” she whispers.

The wolf tilts its head. Not unkind. Almost sad.

Then, with a sound like wind rushing through leaves, it vanishes.

She’s left alone in the ruined parlor. No blood. No torn upholstery. Only silence.

And then-

Lilith jerked awake with a gasp, her hand flying to her neck.

No claws. No blood. Just sweat slicking her skin and the thudding pulse of panic behind her ribs.

She sat there for a long moment, heart racing, waiting for her breathing to slow. One breath. Then another.

It was just a dream.

But she could still feel the ghost of it. The dream hadn’t fully left her. The weight of his hand in her hair. The warmth, turned sour. That voice - his voice - curdling into something else. Her shoulder still ached from where the demon’s claws had raked across her. Phantom pain. It had to be.

The flap of her tent rustled. Cassandra entered without preamble, clad in armor softened by wear and a tired expression.

“Good,” she said quietly. “You’re awake. I’ve just finished my watch. You’re up?”

Lilith nodded. “Yeah. I’m good.” She didn't sound convincing, but Cassandra didn’t press. Another thing she liked about the Seeker - she gave people space unless blood or treason was involved.

Lilith dressed quickly and stepped out into the pale hush of pre-dawn. The camp was still, cloaked in the kind of cold that made your breath curl visibly in the air. She tugged her cloak tighter and settled beside the firepit, coaxing it back to life with a flick of her fingers. Sparks flared, catching on kindling, and the glow slowly spread.

She stared into the flames.

Raphael’s smug voice still echoed in the back of her skull.

Why now? Why show himself again, here? Sure, he had every reason to keep her alive - he’d invested in her survival, after all. But devils never did anything for free. They didn’t drop by just to say hello.

And Solas had overheard.

She grimaced, tucking her hands into her sleeves. She wasn’t angry at him, exactly - it wasn’t like he’d done it on purpose. She was annoyed with herself, for not being more careful. For letting her guard down, even for a moment. He had questions now. Of course he did.

But he hadn’t pressed. Just looked at her with those inscrutable eyes and then walked away.

She shifted on the log, trying to shake off the memory. Her mind drifted back to the dream - no, nightmare.

It had started so gently. A moment of peace she hadn’t let herself remember in months. Astarion’s voice, soft. His touch in her hair. Her guard lowered, utterly.

And then… the rot underneath.

She closed her eyes, teeth gritted. The image of the demon still clung to her thoughts. The way it had twisted Astarion’s face, taken something tender and defiled it. The words still echoed, even if she tried to forget them. You dress up the rot and call it love.

Why had it changed like that? She’d lived worse, survived worse, and yet she’d never dreamed like that. The pain had felt real. The taste of blood, the crack of her head on the chaise-

And the wolf.

Lilith frowned.

This wasn’t the first time she’d seen it. Black, dark as the space between stars. Its fur like a shadow given shape, eyes burning like twin coals. But it hadn't been threatening. Not to her. She could still feel the shape of it - the way it had turned to look at her. The way it had tilted its head. A kind of recognition in its eyes, almost sad. It had protected her. Again. But what was it?

Lilith reached beneath her tunic and touched the pendant she never took off. Two wolves - two sides of the self. Kaelen used to joke that they were both the worst and best things they’d ever killed for. She closed her hand around it tightly, her thoughts drifted, reluctantly, to him. 

Was the nightmare guilt? Some twisted manifestation of her subconscious? That seemed more likely than anything else. Easier to explain than… magic.

Still.

A sound stirred her from her thoughts. Soft footsteps on cold ground. She turned, instinctively tense, but it was only Solas, his silhouette backlit by the faint glow of the campfire.

He paused beside the fire, silhouetted in the shifting light. “May I sit?”

Lilith nodded, her voice hoarse. “Can’t sleep?”

A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Not particularly.”

He settled beside her, and for a few minutes they sat in companionable silence, listening to the wind rustling through the grass and the crackle of the fire. Then:

“Can I ask you something?” she said quietly.

He glanced at her, attentive. “Of course.”

She stared into the flames. “Have you ever had… really vivid dreams? Ones that feel so real it’s like you lived them?”

Solas leaned back slightly, studying her face, eyes thoughtful. “How do you mean?”

She hesitated. “Like... it wasn’t just a dream. I could feel things - hear them. It hurt.” She swallowed. “Something attacked me. Not a metaphor or some shadow of emotion - I actually bled. I woke up and thought... I felt the wounds.”

Solas was quiet for a long moment. Then, gently, “I thought… you said you were unfamiliar with the Fade?”

Lilith’s heart gave a quick, nervous stutter, but didn’t lie. “I did.”

Solas thought for a moment. “You… don’t know what that means for your dreams,” he said slowly, “but, I think you may be more connected to the Fade than you realize.”

She frowned. “You keep saying that word. What does the Fade have to do with this?”

“It is the realm of spirits, of thought, memory, and emotion. Most people only visit it in dreams. But those dreams are rarely more than reflections. Echoes.” He looked at her, brows furrowing slightly. “But what you’re describing… it sounds like more than that.

She hugged her knees, feeling oddly vulnerable. “So what does that mean? That I’m losing it?”

“No,” he said, gently but firmly. “It might mean you’re a somniari. A dreamer.”

Lilith blinked. “A what?”

“A dreamer,” he repeated. “A rare mage who can navigate - and even shape - the Fade consciously. Most people lose themselves there. Dreamers don’t. They control it.”

She met his gaze. “So you’re saying I could be one of these… dream mages?”

“Possibly,” Solas said. “I am one myself.”

Lilith raised an eyebrow. “Of course you are.”

“It is not common. Most who are born with the gift never learn to control it. But those who do…” He trailed off, then met her gaze. “It is powerful. And dangerous.”

Lilith looked away. “Wonderful.”

“So,” she said dryly, “I’m sleepwalking into magical trauma?”

He gave a soft, amused huff. “In a manner of speaking.”

She hesitated. “And the Fade - that’s where magic comes from?”

He nodded. “It’s where spirits dwell, where memories linger like echoes. Sometimes, fears or thoughts take form there, reshaped by something else.”

Lilith shivered. “That explains… some things. But not the wolf.”

Solas’s brows rose slightly. “The wolf?”

She considered telling him everything. Then chose something just shy of it. “Like I said, something attacked me. And something else - a wolf - saved me. I’ve seen it before.”

His expression sharpened, curious yet calm. 

He hummed, thinking, then said quietly, “I can teach you, if you’d like. I could try to enter your dreams and teach you how to defend yourself. How to recognize when something is not of your own mind.”

She looked back at him sharply. “You can do that?”

He smirked. “I told you - I’m a dreamer as well.”

Lilith was silent, cautious. He didn’t know who - or what - she truly was. But there was something genuine in his offer. No games. Just understanding.

“…Alright,” she said at last. “Just don’t expect me to start flying around in there or anything.”

Solas smiled faintly. “I’ll leave the theatrics to you.” He only gave her that slight, unreadable smile - and walked off into the shadows.

Lilith sat a moment longer by the fire, heart steadying.

“Dreamer,” she murmured to herself.

Then she shook her head, and watched the first light of day break over the trees.

 

Notes:

And the plot thickens!! Raphael appearing with maximum drama, Solas offering to dream-coach Lilith, and another Kaelen mention!

Let me know your thoughts - thanks for reading!!

Chapter 6: Chapter Six

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Walking up to the gates of Haven, Lilith considered kissing the ground. The past few weeks had been nothing but mud, blood, and moral ambiguity, and the thought of sleeping in a bed tonight - not on rocks or beneath an overturned cart - made her want to weep with joy.

“Home sweet fortified mountain village,” Varric said dryly, stretching his arms over his head.

“A curious definition of ‘home,’” Solas observed, his gaze lingering on the town. “Shelter, certainly - but home implies belonging. And it seems we are, at best, tolerated.”

“If there’s a roof and no one’s actively trying to kill me, I’ll take it,” Lilith said, brushing a curl from her face. “You disagree, Solas?”

Solas gave her a sidelong glance, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips. “I find it wiser to disagree with you by default. It saves time.”

Lilith grinned. “That’s fair.”

Their light mood soured as they reached the Chantry. A large, angry crowd had gathered outside its doors - mages and templars alike, faces red with fury, their voices raised in accusation.

“You mages killed the Most Holy!” a Templar barked.

A mage shouted back, “Lies! Your kind stood by and let her die!”

“Shut your mouth, mage!”

Lilith stepped in without thinking, slipping between them with her hands raised. “Easy! Screaming at each other solves nothing-”

The Templar reached for his sword, venom in his gaze.

Before Lilith could react, Cullen was there, placing himself firmly between her and the armed man. “Enough!”

The Templar blinked at him. “Knight-Captain?”

“That is not my title,” Cullen said, voice low but furious. “We are not templars any longer. We are all part of the Inquisition.”

That was when Chancellor Roderick slithered up, looking as smug and self-important as ever. He practically oozed sanctimony. “And what does that mean, exactly?” he asked, his tone a sneer.

Cullen scowled. “Back already, Chancellor? Haven’t you done enough damage?”

Roderick spread his hands as if wounded by the accusation. “I merely wonder how your fledgling Inquisition and its ‘Herald’ intend to restore order, as promised.”

Cullen rolled his eyes. “Of course you do.” He then raised his voice. “Everyone - back to your duties.”

As the crowd reluctantly dispersed, Lilith approached the two men, folding her arms in front of her.

Cullen turned to her, voice quieter. “The mages and templars were already at war. Now they’re blaming each other for the Divine’s death.”

Roderick cut in smoothly, “Which is why we require proper authority to guide them back to order.”

Cullen gave him a withering look. “Who, you ? A random cleric not important enough to be invited to the Conclave?”

Lilith choked on a laugh.

Roderick glared at her. “Instead, the rebel Inquisition and its so-called ‘Herald of Andraste’? I think not.”

Lilith returned his stare. “I don’t believe I’m Andraste’s Herald any more than you do, Chancellor.”

“Ah,” Roderick said, voice slick with condescension. “That laudable humility won’t stop the Inquisition from using the misconception when it suits them.”

Cullen cut in sharply. “The Inquisition claims only this: we close the Breach, or we die.”

Roderick sniffed. “You say that now, Commander. We’ll see how long that sentiment lasts.”

Lilith narrowed her eyes. “So far, you’re the only one insisting we can’t work together.”

“We might,” Roderick said with false patience, “if your Inquisition would acknowledge the Chantry’s authority.”

“There is no authority,” Cullen snapped. “Not until another Divine is chosen.”

Roderick gave a sanctimonious nod. “In due time. Andraste will be our guide - not some dazed elf stumbling down a mountainside.”

Lilith’s smile was slow and sharp. “If the ‘proper’ authority hadn’t completely failed, you wouldn’t have needed a Conclave in the first place.”

Roderick’s face flushed. “So you suggest I blame the Chantry and exalt a murderer? What of justice ?”

“Justice won’t restore order,” Cullen said flatly. “Not now.”

“No,” Roderick said coldly, “but allowing this rebellion to fester will ensure chaos.”

Lilith sighed and turned to Cullen. “Remind me again why you’re letting him stay?”

Roderick sneered. “Clearly, your templar knows where to draw the line.”

“He’s toothless,” Cullen said to Lilith with a dismissive shrug. “Turning him into a martyr for being insufferable isn’t worth it. But he is a good indication of what we’ll be facing in Val Royeaux.”

Lilith inhaled slowly, steadying herself. “Then I’ll make sure they see reason.”

Cullen gave a tired chuckle. “I pray you’re right.”

She smirked. “Don’t let anyone set the place on fire while we’re gone.”

He gave her a crooked smile. “The walls will still be standing when you return. I hope.”

As Lilith turned to leave, she called over her shoulder, “Let’s hope we find a solution - and not a cathedral full of chancellors.”

Cullen's dry reply followed her down the path. “The stuff of nightmares.”

She laughed softly, shaking her head, but as her boots crunched down the packed path, the mirth faded. A headache bloomed behind her eyes - sharp, insistent, and entirely unsurprising. She rubbed at her temples, sighing.

Of course, she wasn’t five steps from the Chantry before Cullen’s voice called out behind her again. “Herald - wait.”

She paused, turning with a raised brow. “Forget something?”

“The Advisors will want a debrief. As soon as possible.”

She groaned, not bothering to hide her dismay. “Of course they do. Fine. Let’s go play politics.”

As they made their way to the war room, Cullen glanced over at Lilith with an almost reluctant admiration. “You know, for someone who looks like they’d rather be anywhere else, you have a surprising knack for leading people.”

Lilith shot him a dry look. “That’s because I am usually somewhere else - mentally, at least.”

He chuckled softly. “Fair enough. But people tend to follow someone who doesn’t waste time with nonsense.”

She shrugged. “Or maybe they just don’t know any better.”

Cullen smirked. “You’re lucky I’m on your side. Someone else might have told you that’s a terrible leadership philosophy.”

Lilith arched an eyebrow. “And yet here you are, still sticking around. Must mean I’m doing something right.”

“Or maybe I’m just stubborn.” He shook his head with a faint grin. “I’ve seen plenty try to lead. Most end up with their heads in the dirt.”

Lilith glanced sideways at him. “You planning to give me tips or just keeping score?”

“Maybe a little of both.” He tapped the war room door. “But I’ll admit, I’m curious to see how long you keep it up.”

“Don’t blink,” Lilith teased. “You might miss it.”


A few hours later, Lilith stepped out of the Chantry, blinking in the late afternoon light. Her back ached from leaning over the strategy table for far too long - Hinterlands reports, Storm Coast skirmishes, and the looming diplomatic nightmare that was Val Royeaux. Leliana and Josephine had picked apart every rumor and report with meticulous precision, and Cassandra had argued for increased patrols with the fervor of someone who hadn’t eaten or slept in three days.

Lilith had nodded and nodded until she thought her head might fall off. At least the worst of it was over - for now.

She turned toward the tavern - named the Singing Maiden , she’d recently learned - drawn by the low hum of laughter and the warm glow of firelight. As she pushed open the door, the familiar scent of ale and sweat wrapped around her like a blanket.

Varric sat at his usual table, a half-empty mug in hand and his feet kicked up on a stool. Across from him sat Iron Bull, laughing loudly, while Krem leaned back in his chair nearby. The rest of the Chargers were scattered around the tavern, drinking, arm-wrestling, and playing dice games. It was the most alive the place had felt since she’d arrived in Haven.

“Hey, look who’s back from playing Queen of the War Table,” Varric called, lifting his drink in salute.

Lilith dropped into the empty chair beside him with a groan. “Remind me to fake a fatal illness next time Leliana says ‘briefing.’”

Bull grinned, eyes sweeping over her lazily. “If you wanted a massage, Boss, all you had to do was ask.”

Lilith let out a bark of laughter. “Pretty sure that would involve more horns than I’m comfortable with.”

Krem raised his mug. “You get used to it.”

“I thought you were the reasonable one,” she said, nudging Krem’s boot with hers. “Glad you lot made it to Haven in one piece.”

“We did,” Krem replied with a grin. “Two, if you count Bull’s ego.”

“Damn right,” Bull said, raising his mug. “I don’t like anything getting between me and a drink.”

They all laughed, and Lilith allowed herself to relax, just a little. It was nice, sitting here with people who didn’t expect sermons or strategy. No talk of miracles or Maker-blessed destinies. Just drinks and banter and warm firelight.

She nudged Krem with a grin. “So, how did you end up with the Chargers?”

Krem chuckled, rubbing his chin. “Ran into trouble in Tevinter, got caught by a tribune’s men in a border tavern. They wanted to make an example of me. Bull showed up, killed them all - lost his eye doing it. Then he patched me up and asked if I wanted to work for him. Been stuck with his terrible jokes ever since.”

Lilith raised an eyebrow. “Wait, that’s how Bull lost his eye?”

Krem laughed. “Yep. Took a flail blow meant for me. Big horned idiot didn’t even know me then.”

Lilith smirked. “And what’s he like leading you lot?”

Krem shrugged. “Fair. If you pull your weight, he’s easy. Leads from the front, listens to good ideas, and keeps us alive. We rag on him plenty, but we’d all die for him.”

Bull snorted. “Flattery will get you everywhere, Krem.”

Varric rolled his eyes. Lilith grinned and jabbed Krem lightly. “Got any more heroic tales? Or just the usual ‘Bull saves the day’?”

Krem smirked. “Plenty, but they mostly involve me putting up with his nonsense.”

The group chuckled, the easy camaraderie settling in like a well-worn cloak.

Bull leaned in again, this time with a mischievous gleam in his eye. “So, how about that massage?”

Lilith smirked. “In your dreams, Bull.”

He raised his mug. “Every night.”

Varric let out a cackle, slapping the table. “You know she’s just humoring you, right?”

“Oh, I know,” Bull said, winking at her. “But she flirts like she means it.”

Lilith chuckled, swirling the dregs in her cup. She leaned back, gaze drifting toward the hearth. Things had changed while she’d been away. More tents in the snow. More injured men limping past the smithy. Giselle’s arrival had brought legitimacy to the Inquisition, and with it, an uneasy hope. The refugees had started looking at Lilith differently - some with awe, others with reverence.

“Herald,” they’d whispered when she passed earlier. Like it was a holy word. Like she might burn them to ash if they said it too loud.

She hated it.

Not just because it was false - but because a part of her still felt like the monster they thought she wasn’t. The blood on her hands hadn’t come from some celestial destiny. It had come from Bhaal’s altar, and her own eager smile as she carved.

Lilith blinked, the firelight blurring for a moment. She drew in a quiet breath, pushing the past back into its box. She rose to her feet, stretching. “Alright, gentlemen. I’m calling it. If I don’t get horizontal soon, I’ll start confusing Cullen with a bottle of brandy.”

“Scandalous,” Varric said. “I’d ask for details, but I value my life.”

“Sleep well, Boss,” Bull said with a grin. “Try not to dream of me.”

“No promises,” she called back over her shoulder, grinning.

As the tavern door swung shut behind her, the cold air hit her like a slap. Stars glittered overhead, and her breath steamed in the night. Haven was quieting down, preparing for whatever chaos tomorrow would bring.


The dream began like a memory.

A soft glow spilled across cobbled stone, moonlight catching in puddles. Lilith stood on the banks of the River Chionthar. Baldur’s Gate lay behind her, still for once. No shouting, no blood - just the hush of midnight, the scent of wet stone and old magic.

And the man at her back.

“I missed you,” he murmured, voice silken at her ear. “Did you miss me?”

She didn’t turn. Her fists clenched. “No.”

A chuckle - delighted, familiar. “Liar.”

She turned.

Astarion. Radiant and ruinous. His smile curled sharp, eyes gleaming red and knowing, like he could see through her, through time, distance, guilt.

“You look…” she began.

“Perfect?” he finished, pleased. “Don’t pretend you’re not relieved to see me.”

She shook her head, heart stuttering. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“Why not?” he stepped closer, graceful as ever. “You used to tell me the nights were colder without me. And your bed lonelier. Has that changed?”

“Don’t,” she said sharply. “Don’t pretend it was real.”

“It was real,” he said, voice bruised with something like hurt. Almost . “Every second. The blood. The fire. The way you said my name - like a prayer to something terrible.”

“You once killed a man for looking at me too long,” she whispered. “And you called it love .”

“And wasn’t it?” he breathed. “Possessive. Hungry. Eternal. Isn’t that what you craved?”

“I craved peace.”

“You craved power .” His voice darkened, velvet over steel. “And you had it. With me.”

The world shifted. Gone was the riverbank.

They stood in a cathedral, vast and pulsing like a wound. Candles burned cold and wet. The walls bled shadow, and the floor beneath her bare feet was warm, damp, and glistening. A white gown clung to her skin like silk and smoke, its hem soaked in red. Pew after pew of faceless guests sat silent and motionless. She tried not to look at their hands - some skeletal, some clawed, some unmistakably her own.

“He comes,” a voice murmured - no direction, no source.

Trumpets blared from nowhere. The music was familiar, but warped - something she’d once heard in the Temple of Bhaal, twisted into a mockery of a bridal march. 

Her breath caught as Gortash walked toward her down the aisle. His smile was perfect, razor-sharp. He held a dagger instead of a bouquet.

“You look radiant,” he said as he reached her. “Just as I remember.”

She opened her mouth to protest, to run, to scream - and found herself saying, “I do.”

The crowd erupted into applause made of static. Her throat burnt. Her feet wouldn’t move.

Gortash’s voice poured honey over knives. “Do you remember what you said to me, when we set the city on fire?”

"We deserve to rule the world."

It felt like a punch to the gut. Her knees buckled.

“And look at you now,” he went on. “Begging for penance. Playing at redemption. When you and I both know - your first joy was blood.”

“This isn’t real,” she whispered. “This is a dream. You’re not-”

He took her hand - her palms were wet. He lifted her veil, and the face in front of her shifted. 

Astarion - again. Smiling too wide, “Dream or not, dearest, you keep coming back to me.”

He leaned in, lips close to her ear. “You made me. With every kill, every whisper, every time you looked at me like I was the only thing that mattered.”

She flinched. “That wasn’t- I wasn’t”

“You crowned me, with 7,000 souls.” he said. “You didn’t just allow this - you wanted it. You made me into this because it justified what you already are.”

“Finish the vow,” he hissed. “Name the ones you sacrificed.”

The altar began to rise. Blood ran like wine.

And then-

Kaelen.

No theatrics. No cruelty. Just Kaelen, before her in roughspun clothes. His smile, soft. His eyes, gold and kind. The world stilled.

His face. His warmth. His heartbreak. 

“You looked at me like I was your way out,” he said. “But you were already bound.”

“I tried to save you,” she breathed.

“You got me killed.”

“I came back-”

“You came back too late.”

She reached for him - but her hands passed through.

He looked at her chest. The wolf pendant was gone.

“You were his, you always have been,” he said quietly.

She knew who he meant. Not Kaelen. Not Astarion. Not Gortash.

Him . Bhaal. Her father. The Murder Lord.

Behind Kaelen, laughter spilled into bile.

Orin. Gory and giggling, her blades slick with fresh meat. Her eyes gleamed with madness.

“The bride wears white and bone tonight. All hollowed out, all cleaned up, ready to kneel. The Murder Lord is waiting, and he’s so hungry. Guess who’s on the menu, sweet sister.”

Lilith backed away. “This isn’t real.”

“Of course it is,” Astarion murmured. “You chose all of this.”

“Stop,” she said. “I didn’t choose to be his.”

“But you enjoyed it,” Orin sang. “You carved your name in skin and smiled through the blood. You kissed your little vampire while Kaelen rotted in the dark, still clutching that damned necklace like it meant something.”

“Stop!”

“You could’ve turned back,” Gortash offered, voice low. “But you didn’t. Not when you stole the Crown. Not when the Elder Brain rose. Not even when he begged you not to go.”

Kaelen. Kneeling in blood.
Astarion. Laughing from his throne of corpses.
Gortash. Holding her old blade.
Orin. Spinning in delight.
A wolf. Black-furred, watchful. Its eyes met hers - and knew her.

Wait, a wolf?

Orin giggled. “Shall we count the things you’ve done? Was it for pleasure? Or pride? Or just to see what would happen if you pulled? You giggled while the blood ran down your wrists, don’t pretend you didn’t. There’s nothing clean in you, sister. The dark isn’t just inside you - you are the dark.”

The cathedral cracked. The walls peeled back like skin. The altar vomited smoke.

From it, a creature emerged - too large, too slick, too wrong. It wore her face, then Gortash’s, then Astarion’s, then his - the Urge. The thing she once surrendered to willingly. Its crown was bone. Its mouth was full of her voice.

“You belong to me,” it said. “You belonged to him.”

It lunged. Lilith didn’t scream.

She raised her hands, silvery flame bursting forth in instinct; wrath; survival. A shimmering ward flared around her, pure and blinding.

The demon hit it and shrieked. It slashed at her with visions:

Kaelen dying, reaching for her.
Astarion bathed in red, laughing as he drank.
Gortash holding the Crown, whispering, “You wanted this.”
Her Inquisition companions - Solas, Cassandra, Varric, Bull - strewn in a pool of blood.
Her friends in Faerun - Gale turning to ash, Karlach burning, Shadowheart screaming.
The scent of velvet and rot in Bhaal’s temple.
Her own hands - bloodied, trembling - carving runes into living flesh.

“You chose this,” it hissed.

She shoved back. The ward cracked, then surged.

With a wordless scream, Lilith cast the demon from her mind. The dream shattered, and the cathedral exploded into smoke.

Silence. She stood alone, breathing hard.

Then-

“I see the lesson began without me.”

She whirled.

Solas emerged from the mist of the Fade, brow furrowed, his silhouette half-formed against the dreamscape. He watched her for a moment, taking in the damage, the shimmering ward still in her hands, and the echo of what she’d fought.

“Impressive,” he said after a pause. “You’re adapting faster than most.”

She let out a breathless, bitter laugh. “It came at me swinging memories like a sword.”

He tilted his head, watching her closely. “Of people you knew?”

“Does it matter?” she deflected.

A beat of silence. Then, gently: “Only if they still cut.”

Lilith lowered her hand. The light flickered out. “Not anymore,” she lied.

Solas regarded her for a moment more, then stepped beside her. The dreamscape rippled like oil on water - shadows dissolving, edges softening - as the nightmare bled away. In its place, a new space unfolded: quiet, open, and strange in its stillness.

A grove of trees rose around them, tall and silvered in a light that had no clear source. The air was cool, clean, humming with an almost imperceptible rhythm - like breath, or memory.

“We can use this place now,” he said, voice low and even.

Lilith looked around slowly, arms crossed tight against her chest. Her pulse hadn’t quite slowed yet. “Where are we?”

“A safe corner of the Fade,” he replied. “One of mine.”

She raised a brow. “What, you have property here?”

He gave a faint smile. “Think of it more as a neutral space. A place I know well. Somewhere I can hold the shape of things.” He gestured to the grove. “The Fade is… impressionable. Here, my will is stronger than most.”

“Convenient,” she muttered. She touched the edge of a tree and watched it ripple like cloth under her fingers.

He hesitated a breath before continuing. “You were remarkably difficult to find.”

Lilith looked at him sidelong. “What do you mean?”

“I knew you were here,” he said, folding his arms behind his back, the way he always did when his mind was already two steps ahead. “Demons have been circling you since you arrived in Haven. Drawn like moths to a torch. But reaching you… that was another matter entirely.”

She tensed, her voice sharpening. “And you’re just now telling me?”

“You weren’t at risk until recently,” he said.

“Until recently?”

He paused, “It is unusual. Mages typically leave a certain… imprint in the Fade. A resonance. However, yours is muted. Distant. Wrong.”

She bristled. “Wrong?”

“Not in a moral sense,” he added quickly. “But, alien. Close enough to pass unnoticed by most - but not by the Fade. Or myself.”

Lilith looked away. “I didn’t realize I was being studied.”

“I would not call it studying,” he said gently. “More… listening. The Fade speaks, if you know how to hear it. Lately, it has been whispering your name.”

She snorted. “Lovely. Do they also chant it in unison when I sleep?”

His expression didn’t shift, but something in his gaze sharpened. “Lilith, this is not a joke. Demons do not always attack with claws and fire. They seduce. Erode. Convince. And you… you burn too brightly for them to ignore.”

“Brightly,” she echoed. “Even though I’m hard to find.”

“Yes,” he said slowly. “Which is curious. You are both cloaked and luminous. Your presence flickers at the edge of my awareness - like a candle behind glass. I had to slip through the cracks of your nightmare just to find you.”

A chill ran down her spine. “Well, that explains the welcoming committee.”

He stepped closer. “That’s why I’m here. You need to learn how to navigate this place - to know when you are dreaming, and when something is trying to use that dream against you.”

She gave him a skeptical look. “So you’re going to teach me to lucid dream?”

“In a manner of speaking. The first lesson is simple: in the Fade, will is power. If you cannot tell what is real, you become vulnerable to those who can.”

Lilith exhaled through her nose. “Great. So I’m either a mysterious beacon for demon attention or a freakishly well-camouflaged mage.”

“Perhaps both,” he said, and there was something like intrigue in his voice. “But whatever the cause, your defenses must improve.”

She gave him a long look.

Not a glare, not exactly - more the kind of assessing glance she used to give strangers in taverns when they offered her something too generous, too convenient. Solas had reasons to help her, she knew that. She was the one closing rifts, after all. If she fell apart, so did the Inquisition’s best hope at mending the world. Still, there was something about his timing, his certainty, that made her hesitate.

They were friendly - more than that, sometimes. She liked his dry wit, his quiet insight, the way he listened. But he was still a mystery. Still not someone she trusted enough to turn her back on.

And lately, he always had the answer. The moment she flailed, he was there - quiet, steady, impossibly well-informed. He spoke of demons, of the Fade, of dreams and power as if he’d invented them. Like he’d been waiting for her to stumble, just so he could be the one to catch her.

It made her uneasy. She didn’t trust wisdom handed out so freely. Nor the idea that someone like Solas - reserved, aloof, always watching - might have chosen her as some kind of project.

Or - worse - he might actually care. That thought unsettled her more than the others. She was used to manipulation. She wasn’t used to kindness with no visible hooks.

Still, she needed help. And whether Solas was angling for some deeper purpose or just indulging his fascination with the Fade, the reality was simple: she was drowning. If she wanted to survive it, she’d have to swim. Even if the lifeline came from him.

“And what do you get out of playing dream guide?”

His answer came without hesitation. “Fewer corpses. And fewer tears.”

Lilith hesitated, then relented with a small sigh. “Fine. Teach away, oh Fade expert. But if I wake up screaming, I expect hazard pay.”

He allowed himself a rare smirk. “Dreams have their price, da’len. Better to learn its rules now, before the Fade decides them for you.”


The frost-crisp morning broke over the mountains as the group rode out from Haven - Lilith, Varric, Solas, Cassandra, and Iron Bull moving at a steady pace along the narrow path leading down toward the lowlands. A quiet anticipation hummed in the air, mingling with tension none of them quite acknowledged. Val Royeaux loomed ahead like a gilded mirage: beautiful, self-important, and dangerous.

"Tell me there’s a tavern at the end of this parade of bureaucratic hell," Varric groaned, shifting in his saddle like a man who’d just been stabbed - and not in the fun way. "Because if one more velvet-gloved idiot asks if Kirkwall’s paved with corpses, I’m jumping off this damn horse. Andraste’s knickers, at least the corpses were good conversationalists."

“I thought you enjoyed Orlesian drama,” Lilith said, smirking.

“I enjoy it from afar . Preferably with a bottle in one hand and plausible deniability in the other.”

Bull laughed, the sound booming down the trail. “You all worry too much. Nobles love a good party, and I happen to clean up very well.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” Cassandra muttered.

“Oh, you will,” Bull said with a wink. “Sash, cologne, everything.”

“Maker, don’t wear cologne,” Varric groaned.

Lilith chuckled, letting the rhythm of travel lull her. It was the first time in days she didn’t feel anchored to a strategy table or trying to talk a dozen angry people off a metaphorical ledge. Even so, the weight hadn’t fully lifted. Not with the road ahead. Or with the knowledge of her recent visitor at the lake. 

Solas drew his horse closer to hers as they crested a hill, the pair naturally falling into quieter conversation.

“You hide it well,” he said, his voice low enough that the others wouldn’t hear. “But the role unsettles you.”

She arched a brow. “You read minds now?”

“Hardly. However you flinch every time someone calls you ‘Herald.’”

Lilith looked away. “It’s not a title I asked for.”

“Nor one you can easily shed.”

There was a pause as the wind picked up, rustling through the branches around them.

“You think this will work?” she asked, watching the distant silhouette of Val Royeaux form on the horizon. “Diplomacy. Alliances. Talking reason into people who’ve spent decades building walls around their beliefs.”

“It must,” Solas said simply. “The Breach grows with every hour. If left unchecked, it will devour what remains.”

Lilith snorted softly. “Unity built on fear never lasts. Mages fight for freedom. Templars fight for control. The Chantry’s burning at the seams. Everyone’s either bleeding, screaming, or trying to kill each other.”

“A fair assessment,” Solas allowed. “But you paint with a wide brush.”

Lilith hums. “I’ve had reason to.”

He studied her a moment, something unreadable in his gaze. “Then what do you believe in?”

She hesitated, frowning. “I believe in surviving the day. Everything else is just politics.”

After a moment, he asked, more gently, “Do you believe in the potential for good mages?”

She hesitated - then shrugged. “I… I don’t know. Power demands a price. Maybe some people pay it without harming others, but I haven’t met many. Myself included.”

Solas studied her. “That sounds more like guilt than reason.”

“It’s both,” she said flatly.

Another pause. The conversation wasn’t tense, exactly, but there was a charge to it - like flint striking stone. Neither raising their voice, neither looking to win, but both deeply entrenched in the shape of their beliefs.

“If the Circle had better trained its students,” Solas said, “if it had respected them rather than caging them, perhaps you would feel differently.”

“Maybe,” Lilith murmured. “But it appears they didn’t. So here we are.”

Before Solas could respond, Cassandra raised a hand from ahead, signaling the group to stop.

“Rift ahead,” she said. “Small, but active.”

A faint, green shimmer twisted in the air just off the road, its sickly glow seeping through the forest gloom. As they dismounted, the air thickened with pressure - cold, biting, humming with unnatural energy.

“Lovely,” Varric muttered. “We just can’t go anywhere without a welcoming committee.”

Demons began to tear their way into the world - twisted shades first, flickering and half-formed, followed by a larger demon that hit the earth with enough force to rattle teeth.

“Eyes up!” Cassandra shouted, already drawing her sword.

Iron Bull whooped and charged into the fray, hammer smashing down into the nearest shade with a wet crunch. Varric found high ground and let Bianca sing, bolts ripping into any demon that wandered too close. Cassandra moved like a hurricane - disciplined and furious - striking down shade after shade.

Lilith’s hands lit with arcane fire, her magic snapping from her fingertips like a whip. A barrier flared around Solas as he murmured a spell, the air around him shimmering with protective force. She darted to his flank, hurling a fireball into the cluster of shades swarming Bull.

Then the larger demon roared, its attention snapping to her. It charged.

She braced her staff and threw out her palm, the mark on her hand flaring to life. The green light crackled, wild and bright, and the demon staggered, howling.

“Now!” she shouted.

Solas cast a freezing glyph beneath the demon’s feet. Bull crashed into it like a battering ram, knocking it into the path of Cassandra’s blade. The moment its form began to destabilize, Lilith lifted her hand again - reaching for the rift.

The pain was immediate. A surge of agony screamed through her arm as the mark latched onto the Veil and dragged it shut.

The world snapped still. The last echoes of the demon’s wail died in the wind.

And she stood panting, hand smoking faintly, her legs unsteady.

“Damn,” Bull said, eyeing her with new appreciation. “That thing’s like a portable apocalypse.”

Lilith gave a shaky laugh. “Feels more like a bad hangover.”

“Efficient, though,” Varric said, dropping down beside her. “Nice work.”

Solas stepped close, something like concern flickering in his eyes. “You’re pushing yourself too hard. That reaction - it grows stronger.”

She forced a smile. “So does everything else.”

They didn’t speak again for a while.

But as they rode on, Lilith couldn’t help glancing down at the mark still burning faintly on her palm. The more rifts she closed, the more it seemed to claim her. And somewhere behind all the banter, the arguing, the fighting - was a quiet question she didn’t want to answer.

What happens when it wants something she can’t give?


The gates of Val Royeaux rose before them, tall and imposing, and carved with Maker-centric iconography, guarded by heavy-set statues of Andraste in gleaming gold. Sunlight caught the stone and made it shine like it was untouched by chaos, but the city felt cold beneath its grandeur.

Cassandra pulled her horse to a halt, eyes scanning the skyline. “The city still mourns.”

As the party proceeded inside, they passed a couple walking arm in arm near a vendor’s stall. The pair caught sight of Lilith’s face - her elven features unmistakable beneath her hood - and bolted, eyes wide with fear.

“Well,” Varric said dryly, “just a guess, Seeker, but I think they know who we are.”

Cassandra didn’t even turn her head. “Your skills of observation never fail to impress me, Varric.”

They were met at the outer courtyard by a young scout, clad in Inquisition livery, who gave a hurried bow. “Herald.”

Cassandra stepped forward. “You’re one of Leliana’s people. What have you found?”

The scout glanced nervously over his shoulder, lowering his voice. “The Chantry mothers await you, but… so do a great many templars.”

Cassandra’s brows knit. “Templars? Here?”

The scout nodded. “People seem to think the templars will protect them… from the Inquisition. They’re gathered on the far end of the market. I think that’s where they intend to confront you.”

“Of course they are,” Varric muttered. “Because that’s what this morning was missing - armed zealots.”

Cassandra’s jaw tightened. “Only one thing to do, then.”

They moved into the capital proper, footsteps echoing along the pristine stone walkways, flanked by solemn statues of long-dead saints. Though the Chantry bells tolled in the distance, the market ahead was eerily quiet. Not empty - just hushed. Watching.

“They wish to protect the people,” Cassandra said under her breath, voice tight. “From us .”

“We knew there would be a reaction,” Lilith replied. Her tone was measured, but her shoulders were tense beneath her cloak. “We just didn’t know how loud it would be.”

“I didn’t expect the templars,” Cassandra admitted.

“They haven’t declared anything officially,” the scout offered. “The people may just be assuming what they’ll do.”

“Do you think the Order’s come crawling back to the fold?” Varric asked. “Righteous swords, ready to defend the flock from us upstarts?”

“I know Lord Seeker Lucius,” Cassandra said. “I can’t imagine him rallying to the Chantry’s side. Not after everything.”

Lilith’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Then I suppose I’ve got a bigger audience to convince.”

Cassandra gave her a sidelong glance. “Perhaps.”

Turning to the scout, she added, “Return to Haven. Someone will need to inform them if we are… delayed.”

The scout gave a shaky bow. “As you say, my lady.”

They continued forward through the walkway, emerging into the open square. The Chantry loomed ahead, flanked by a low platform. A crowd had gathered, and three Chantry mothers stood atop the stage, surrounded by armored templars. Tension rippled through the air like lightning waiting for a strike.

One of the mothers stepped forward - Revered Mother Hevara, her robes pristine, her voice sharp.

“Good people of Val Royeaux, hear me!” she cried. “Together, we mourn our Divine. Her naive and beautiful heart, silenced by treachery!”

Lilith exhaled, bracing herself.

“You wonder what will become of her murderer? Well, wonder no more! Behold - the so-called Herald of Andraste!” Hevara’s voice grew shrill. “Claiming to rise where our beloved fell. We say this is a false prophet!”

The crowd murmured and shifted, some gasping, others nodding with fervent agreement.

“The Maker would send no elf mage in our hour of need!”

Lilith stepped forward, voice steady despite the lump rising in her throat. “I make no such claim. I wasn’t sent by the Maker or Andraste. I- we are just trying to close the Breach. It threatens all of us. We came here in peace - only to talk.”

She gestured to the stage, to the crowd. “Let us sit down, together, and deal with the real threat.”

Cassandra added, “It’s true. The Inquisition seeks only to end this madness before it’s too late.”

“It is already too late!” Hevara shouted.

She turned and pointed toward a group of templars marching through the square, armor clanking like a war drum.

“The templars have returned to the Chantry! They will face this ‘Inquisition,’ and the people will be safe once more!”

Before she could say more, one of the templars - face cold and unflinching - struck her across the jaw with a mailed fist. The crack of impact echoed off the stone, silencing the crowd. She collapsed with a cry, blood smearing her chin.

“Revered Mother!” Barris exclaimed, surging forward.

Lucius raised a hand, stopping him. “Still yourself. She is beneath us.”

Lilith flinched, not from fear - but fury. “What the hell are you doing?!” she snapped. 

Lucius regarded her with barely veiled contempt. “Her claim to authority is an insult. Much like your own.”

She moved before thinking, stepping toward Hevara to help, dropping to a knee. Then, the cold bite of steel pressed against her throat. A templar’s sword gleamed in the sun, its point pressed flush to her neck. It bit in just enough to sting, blood welling in a thin line across her skin.

Lilith didn’t flinch. Her gaze snapped up to the templar holding the sword, eyes narrowed to slits, her voice deadly quiet. “Move,” she said, low and dangerous. “She needs healing.”

“Don’t,” the templar growled, dripping with venom. “ Mage .”

Her body tensed under the threat, caught in a half-crouch, her weight uneven. One leg spasmed slightly with the strain, her muscles burning as she held still. If she shifted, even a breath too far, the blade would slide deeper.

The others froze, weapons half-drawn. Varric’s fingers tightened on Bianca. Iron Bull’s knuckles cracked. Solas shifted forward, barely contained magic thrumming around him like a stormcloud.

Lilith decided to give the templar a dry, crooked smile despite the sharp pain at her throat. “Maker’s breath… do all your first dates end like this?”

Nothing. The templar didn’t even blink.

“Tough crowd.”

Varric muttered behind her, voice tight. “Not the time, Scorcher.”

Cassandra stepped forward, jaw tense. “Lord Seeker Lucius, it’s imperative that we speak with-”

“You will not address me,” Lucius snapped, turning his back on her.

“Lord Seeker?” Cassandra called again, disbelief bleeding through.

Lucius raised his voice, letting it echo across the stunned square. “You shame yourselves. Creating a heretical movement, raising a puppet as Andraste’s prophet. The Templars failed no one when we left the Chantry to purge the mages. You are the failures! You who’d leash our righteous swords with doubt and fear!”

Lilith gritted her teeth. The position was killing her. Her back ached from holding still, her legs starting to shake. The sword hadn’t moved. Neither had she.

She forced her voice through the tension in her body. “If you’re not here to help the Chantry,” she rasped through gritted teeth, “then, what? You just came to make speeches? You’ve got the drama down - next time bring a choir.”

Solas exhaled sharply. “Perhaps sarcasm is best saved for when you’re not one breath from decapitation, Lilith.”

The sword remained fixed against her throat, and Lilith’s bravado frayed at the edges. Her skin crawled beneath the pressure, a memory suddenly flaring - Astarion’s breath at her neck, cold hands pinning her down, the puncture of fangs always sudden, always inevitable. Back then, she'd learned how to keep still or bleed more. 

Even now, the threat of a blade to her throat made her pulse spike in that same old rhythm - fear dressed up as obedience. Her fingers twitched toward her staff, but she stopped herself. One wrong move and she’d be right back in that cage - different man, same sharp edge. She swallowed hard, the movement dragging the blade closer, and tasted copper on her tongue.

Lucius sneered. “You certainly have no power to do anything about the Breach.”

“But Lord Seeker…” Barris stepped forward, hesitating. “What if she was sent by the Maker? What if-”

“You are called to a higher purpose,” a templar officer barked. “Do not question!”

Lucius turned his back on the entire affair. “The Breach is a threat, yes. But the Inquisition? Less than nothing.”

He turned toward his templars. “We will make the Order a power that stands alone against the Void. We deserve recognition. Independence.”

He raised his voice. “Templars! Val Royeaux is unworthy of our protection. We march!”

The templar holding Lilith paused - his sword still pressed to her skin. For a long moment, he said nothing. Then, with a disgusted huff, he lifted the blade and walked away.

Lucius and the templars exited the square, leaving only silence behind them.

Lilith fell to her knees, her legs finally giving out after holding the crouch too long, her breath catching as the tension ebbed from her chest. She pressed a hand to the ground to steady herself, inhaling slow, shaking gulps of air as the phantom pressure of the Templar’s blade lingered like a bruise on her throat. Footsteps approached - quick, concerned - and then Solas was at her side, one hand gently cupping her elbow. Varric hovered close, eyes sharp, while Cassandra and Bull flanked them, weapons still drawn. “You all right?” Varric asked, his voice unusually soft. Lilith nodded, barely, and allowed Solas to help her up.

“Charming fellow, isn’t he,” Varric muttered.

“Has Lord Seeker Lucius gone mad ?” Cassandra demanded.

Lilith rubbed her neck where the blade had been, crimson staining her fingers. “How well did you know him?”

“He took over the Seekers two years ago,” Cassandra replied, shaken. “After Lord Seeker Lambert’s death. He was… decent. Disciplined. Never a man for theatrics.”

“Can he be reasoned with?”

“I hope so. If not him, then there must be others in the Order who see what he’s become.”

Lilith glanced toward the crowd, already dispersing, the Chantry mothers huddled on the stage. “Either way, the templars aren’t our only option.”

“Perhaps,” Cassandra said, though her tone lacked conviction. “But I wouldn’t write them off so quickly.”

Lilith exhaled. “Then we find another way.”

The crowd dispersed slowly, whispers trailing in the Templars’ wake like smoke on a battlefield. Lilith remained on the platform, jaw tight, hands balled into fists at her sides. She could still feel the phantom press of a blade at her throat, the sting of shame prickling beneath her skin like a rash.

She exhaled through her nose and turned to follow the others, only to pause as a soft voice called out behind them.

“If I might have a moment of your time?”

An elven woman stood just beyond the departing crowd, her Circle robes unmistakable even in their travel-worn state.

Cassandra stepped forward, ever on alert. “Grand Enchanter Fiona?”

Solas’ eyes narrowed slightly. “Leader of the mage rebellion. I would think it unwise for you to appear here, of all places.”

Fiona offered a smile - polite, but thin. “I heard of this gathering. I wanted to see the fabled Herald of Andraste for myself.”

Her gaze settled on Lilith, assessing and speculative, like she was inspecting a newly-discovered artifact. Lilith straightened under the scrutiny, her expression unreadable.

“If it’s aid with the Breach you’re after,” Fiona continued, “you may find it wiser to look among your fellow mages.”

Lilith tilted her head. “Does that mean the mages would help us?”

“We’re willing to discuss the possibility,” Fiona said smoothly.

Cassandra frowned. “You’ve refused talks with the Inquisition before. Why now?”

Fiona’s smile sharpened, just slightly. “Because now I’ve seen what the Chantry truly is. And I’ve seen what you are.” Her eyes flicked once more to Lilith. “The world is changing. Best we not cling to crumbling institutions out of habit.”

Lilith raised an eyebrow. “What do you want in return?”

“Oh, I haven’t promised our help,” Fiona said, almost coy. “Consider this an invitation. Come to Redcliffe. Speak with our people. Perhaps an alliance would serve us both.”

She inclined her head with courtly precision. “I hope to see you there, my lady Herald.”

Without waiting for a reply, Fiona turned and disappeared into the crowd.

A beat of silence followed.

“Let’s find somewhere to rest,” Cassandra said at last, her voice taut. “We may not have secured allies yet, but we’ve certainly made an impression.”

Iron Bull chuckled. “Yeah. The ‘don’t mess with us or we’ll dropkick your clergy’ kind of impression.”

No one argued.

They moved on from the Chantry’s platform into the bustling heart of Val Royeaux. Market stalls spilled over with silks, sweetmeats, and outrageously shaped soaps. Carved arches shaded them from the summer heat, and flower petals floated down from balconies like a romantic comedy gone wrong. Musicians played something upbeat nearby, but the melody clashed with the tension still gnawing at Lilith’s ribs.

She caught the scent of rosewater and baking bread. Her stomach grumbled - stubbornly alive - but the rest of her was still reeling. Lucius and that templar’s sword had touched something primal. The memory of blood at her throat, the wrongness of it, still lingered like a bruise on her soul.

They ended up finding an inn tucked between two overgrown courtyards, just clean enough for Cassandra and just anonymous enough for Varric. Cassandra and Lilith in one room, and Solas, Varric, and Bull in the other. They had agreed to regroup in half an hour.

Lilith had just managed to pry her boots off and was about to collapse on the bed when something sliced through the window.

Thunk .

She blinked. There, buried halfway into the wooden beam beside her head, was an arrow.

“Oh, for fu—”

Cassandra turned, sword half-drawn. “Herald?”

“I’m fine,” she said, crossing to the arrow. It had a note tied to the shaft with red ribbon.

Varric pushed open the door, peering around the doorframe. “Either someone’s really bad at sending love letters, or you’ve got a secret admirer with poor impulse control.”

Lilith unrolled the parchment. The handwriting was a mess, all slant and chaos.

People say you’re special. I want to help, and I can bring everyone.

There’s a baddie in Val Royeaux. I hear he wants to hurt you.

Have a search for red things in the market, the docks, and 'round the cafe, and maybe you’ll meet him first. Bring swords.

– Friends of Red Jenny

Lilith looked up, incredulous. “Who the hell writes an assassination warning like this?”

“Someone with a flair for murder and the arts,” Varric said. “Honestly? Respect.”

“I hate this city,” Cassandra muttered again.


Their scavenger hunt was swift and baffling.

In the market, they found a red silk glove nailed to the back of a stall. At the café, a crate of tomatoes bore a note pinned beneath one with “NOSEY” scrawled across it. And at the docks, Bull located a red-painted key hidden in the mouth of a statue of Andraste, which felt extremely sacrilegious and also extremely on brand.

All together, the items revealed a time - midnight - and a location: Rue de l’Ombre.

“Could be a trap,” Cassandra said.

“Or dinner and a show,” Varric offered.

They went anyway.


Making their way to the meeting spot, Lilith fell into step beside Solas. They walked in silence for a few steps. 

“I didn’t mean to sound like I hated mages earlier,” she said eventually. “I don’t. I just-” Her voice caught for a moment, more emotion behind it than she intended. “I’ve seen what power turns people into. I’ve been what it turns people into.”

Solas didn’t look at her when he spoke. “Then you understand its weight.”

“I understand the mess people make when they think the weight makes them special.” Her voice was flat. “That’s different.”

“Is it?”

She shot him a sidelong glance. “You tell me.”

He was quiet for a moment, thoughtful. “Power is not inherently corrupting. It is merely honest. It reveals what was already there - ambition, cruelty, mercy, restraint. Or lack thereof.”

Lilith scoffed. “You say that like people are either monsters or saints waiting to be tested.”

“No,” Solas said. “I say it like we are all capable of becoming either.”

She considered that. Her breath clouded in the cold of the night. “That’s comforting.”

He smiled faintly. “It’s meant to be cautionary.”

Lilith kicked a stone from their path. “What about you?”

Solas raised an eyebrow. “What about me?”

“You speak like someone who’s seen power up close,” she said.

“I have.” He didn’t elaborate.

Lilith gave him a sideways look. “Yours, or someone else’s?”

Solas only said, “Both.” He studied her, thoughtful. “And you?”

She didn’t answer. Instead, she looked up at the stars, then away. “There was a time - a short time, mind you - I thought power would make me free. That if I had enough of it, I could finally breathe without looking over my shoulder.”

Solas was watching her now, the moonlight catching the sharpness in his profile.

“And did it?” he asked gently.

She gave a humorless smile. “For a while. Right up until it didn’t.”

A breeze stirred the trees, brittle branches clattering softly overhead.

He said nothing, only matched her pace, his silence the kind that invited truth rather than suffocated it.

“Still don’t know if I believe in good mages,” she said after a while. “But I think I believe in trying to be one. That’s something, isn’t it?”

Solas glanced at her sidelong, eyes bright in the dark. “It is.”

The group finally arrived at the courtyard - shadowed and quiet, hemmed in by ivy-covered walls. As Lilith stepped through the iron gates, someone shouted above them.

“At last !” a man cried, dropping down from a balcony with all the finesse of a cat that’d misjudged the jump. He staggered upright, robes billowing, and flourished a staff.

“You have arrived - just as I planned!”

Before anyone could speak, he launched a fireball.

Lilith rolled her eyes and deflected it midair, the flames fizzing out like a damp candle. She crossed her arms.

“Was that supposed to impress me?”

The man faltered. “You…,” he cleared his throat. “You followed my clues. Took the bait. And now the Herald of Andraste stands before me! My destiny - my revenge - begins!”

Lilith glanced at the others.

“I thought we were following Red Jenny clues?” Varric said, frowning.

“We were,” Cassandra confirmed.

Iron Bull scratched his head. “Did this guy leave a tomato note too?”

Lilith looked back at the would-be mastermind. “Sorry, I genuinely have no idea who you are.”

He gaped. “But… the clues? The messages!”

“Wasn’t you,” she said flatly.

“I don’t- this… this is my moment!”

“Is it though?” Varric offered helpfully. “Because from where I’m standing, it feels like you’re crashing someone else’s plotline.”

The man’s face twisted. “You don’t fool me ! I am too important for this to be chance!”

“Oh, Maker,” Cassandra sighed.

“Ten silver says he’s the cousin of a noble we pissed off last week,” Varric muttered.

“Twenty says he monologues again,” Bull added.

“Oh! Maybe he’s the 'baddie' from that note-” Lilith exclaimed.

“Just say what.” A girl’s voice rang clear from the shadows. They turned to see a wiry young elf perched on a crate, bow drawn, expression somewhere between amused and bored.

The man turned, already indignant. “What is the-”

Squelch.

An arrow sank into his face. He toppled like a puppet with its strings cut.

“Eugh,” said the girl, wrinkling her nose. “Squishy one.”

She hopped down and approached, muttering as she bent to yank the arrow out of the man’s skull. “‘Obey me! Arrow in my face!’ Blah blah blah. Drama, drama, codpiece.”

She turned to Lilith, giving her a once-over. “So, you followed the notes well enough. Glad to see you’re… ah, aaaand, you’re an elf. Well, hope you’re not too elfy .”

Lilith snorted. “I’ll tone it down, I guess .”

“It’s all good, innit? The important thing is: you glow? You’re the Herald thingy?”

Lilith shrugged. “Sure, why not? I glow. What’s going on?”

“No idea. Don’t know this idiot from manners. My people just said the Inquisition should look at him.”

“Your people? Elves?”

Sera laughed. “Ha! No. People people.” She gestured to the crates. “Name’s Sera. This is cover. Get round it. For the reinforcements. Don’t worry. Someone tipped me their equipment shed. They’ve got no breeches.

Shouting echoed down the alley. More guards.

Lilith raised her staff as blades flashed in the darkness. “Why didn’t you take their weapons?”

“Because no breeches !” Sera cackled.


After the fight, Lilith wiped sweat from her brow. Bodies lay scattered across the cobbles.

Sera looked delighted. “Friends really came through with that tip. No breaches !”

Lilith eyed her. “You’re dangerously cheerful.”

Sera grinned. “So, Herald of Andraste. You’re a strange one. I’d like to join.”

Lilith tilted her head. “And how would you… contribute?”

“One name. No, wait, two. It’s… well, it’s like this.”

She began to pace. “I sent you a note to look for hidden stuff by my friends. The Friends of Red Jenny. That’s me. Well, I’m one. So is a fence in Montfort, some woman in Kirkwall. There were three in Starkhaven. Brothers or something. It’s just a name, yeah? It lets little people, ‘Friends,’ be part of something while they stick it to nobles they hate. So here, in your face, I’m Sera. ‘The Friends of Red Jenny’ are sort of out there. I used them to help you. Plus arrows.”

Lilith crossed her arms, intrigued. “You’ve got flair. I’ll give you that.”

Sera grinned wider. “Here’s how it is. You ‘important’ people are up here, shoving your cods around. ‘Blah, blah, I’ll crush you. I’ll crush you!’” She pantomimed a kiss. “‘Oh, crush you .’ Ahem.”

She jabbed a finger at the noble corpse.

“Step down, and you’ve got big lords with big purses like him . Or one of the arselickers. Doesn’t matter. His grand plan got ruined by some desk scraps and a red sock. From someone who couldn’t read it.”

She stood taller.

“So no, I’m not Lord Poncyfart, all ruffled. But if you don’t listen down here too, you risk your breeches. Like those guards. I stole their- look, do you need people or not? I want to get everything back to normal. Like you?”

Lilith hesitated, then smiled. “All right, Sera. I can use you and your ‘Friends.’”

Sera fist-pumped. “ Yes ! Get in good before you’re too big to like. That’ll keep your breeches where they should be. Plus extra breeches , because I have all these… you have merchants who buy that pish, yeah?”

She winked.

“Anyway - Haven. See you there, Inquisitor. This’ll be grand .”

Notes:

The templar sword-to-the-throat moment was inspired by "The Last Guardian" by DanikaIvashkof - it's so good, go check it out if you haven't!!

Hope you enjoyed this chapter, thanks for reading!!

Chapter 7: Chapter Seven

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

The tavern they found in Val Royeaux wasn’t much - low beams, scarred wooden tables, and a bar that smelled like old wine and newer regret - but it was quiet, and the food was hot. Varric declared it “tolerable,” which, for him, meant it was practically a palace.

They pushed two tables together near the hearth. Plates clattered with roasted pheasant, fresh bread, and greasy Orlesian cheese rolls that Iron Bull devoured with alarming speed. A bottle of Antivan red was passed around, chased by stronger spirits Bull had somehow convinced the barkeep to part with.

Lilith leaned back in her chair, swirling her wine and watching her companions unwind. Cassandra was still half-tense, but even she allowed herself a small smile at something Varric said. Solas sipped from a tin cup, eyes half-lidded, his fingers tapping absently against the rim. For once, his silence didn’t feel like judgment. Just quiet company.

“So,” Varric said, pointing his fork toward Lilith. “What’s your take on the new girl? Arrows in faces, obsession with breeches, unsolicited murders - I think she fits right in.”

“She’s chaotic,” Lilith said, biting into a piece of bread. “But competent. And apparently resourced. I’m not about to turn down free arrows.”

“She reminds me of some of the Chargers,” Bull said, licking oil from his fingers. “If the Chargers were raised by prank demons.”

“She is... unconventional,” Cassandra muttered into her cup.

“A trait that tends to attract both trouble and brilliance,” Solas said mildly, getting up to leave the table. “Which, from what I have seen, is rather consistent with this group.”

Varric grinned and called after him. “Spoken like a man who’s never had prank demons turn his boots into soup pots.”

Lilith snorted. “Give it time.”

A few minutes later, Varric slammed his mug down onto the table, leaning over to Lilith. In a mock-whisper, “Two coppers says Cassandra tries to arrest the musician before the night is over.”

“I heard that,” came Cassandra’s voice from across the table. With an air of long-suffering patience, she set down a cup of something dark, “I am not going to arrest anyone. Though if he insists on singing off-key…”

“See?” Varric grinned and raised his mug. “The Seeker’s got standards.”

Lilith gave a faint smile and swirled her wine. “I like him. He reminds me of someone I knew. Terrible taste in melody, good heart. Probably ends up stabbed in an alley.”

“You really know how to inspire cheer,” Varric said, but he was watching her more closely now. He leaned in again, lowering his voice, “You doing all right?”

Lilith nodded without looking at him. “I’m fine. Just… tired.”

Before Varric could say anything else, Solas appeared with a tray and a curious look. He set down a steaming cup of something herbal in front of Lilith. “You are shivering,” he said simply.

She blinked. “I didn’t say anything.”

“I noticed,” he replied, seating himself back down at their table.

Cassandra lifted an eyebrow but said nothing, sipping her drink with a disapproving sort of grace. Iron Bull, meanwhile, looked between the two of them like he was watching a slow-moving chess match.

“Maker’s balls,” Varric muttered. “You’re all brooding so hard I’m developing secondhand angst.”

Lilith smirked, finally letting out a small laugh. “We’re in Val Royeaux. I thought brooding was part of the fashion.”

“Not wrong,” Varric admitted, glancing at a noble nearby with a ruffled collar the size of a dinner plate. “Still. I was hoping for one night without any soul-searching.”

“I have no soul,” Lilith said dryly, “so you are safe from me.”

That earned a proper laugh from the whole table - even Solas, who shook his head with a wry smile. Lilith leaned back in her chair, cradling the warm mug he’d brought her, and allowed herself to relax for the first time that day. 


They were just finishing the last of the meal when Lilith’s gaze drifted across the tavern. The candlelight flickered strangely - gold and red shadows stretching long over the wooden walls. Then, she caught movement - a tall figure in the far corner. His posture, the pale skin, the sharp cheekbones… Her heart stopped, breath catching in her chest. 

The others talked on, laughter rising and falling around her, muffled now as if underwater. Lilith’s eyes locked on the man. The angle of his jaw. The way he smirked - not kindly. Like he knew her.

Her blood turned to ice.

She stood abruptly, the legs of her chair scraping harshly against the floor. The conversation paused, four heads turning toward her.

“Scorcher?” Varric asked.

But she was already moving. She pushed through the crowd, past the sticky bar counter and the smoke-curled hearth, and burst out into the night air. The street was colder than she expected. Her breath came fast and shallow as she ducked into the shadowed alley beside the tavern, one hand pressed flat to the stone wall.

It wasn’t him. It wasn’t. He doesn’t know where you are. He can’t follow you. He can’t follow you here.

It couldn’t be him. But what if it was?

The night pulsed too loud around her - drunken laughter, distant horseshoes, the crack of barrels being unloaded. None of it drowned the echo of that old voice in her head, the way his gaze had once followed her through shadows like silk. She clenched her jaw, forcing her body to still.

A hand brushed her shoulder.

She spun, breath caught sharp in her throat. She grabbed the stranger’s wrist while magic flickered to life in her other palm, only to find it was Bull. He stepped back immediately, his hands up.

“Hey, whoa. Easy. It’s just me.”

She forced herself to exhale, unclenching her jaw. “I’m fine,” she lied, but the phantom weight of another hand still lingered - cool fingers against her neck, a voice like silk behind her ear:

“Careful, darling. One of these days, I might not be so gentle.”

She remembered how he used to appear without a sound, like fog rolling in, always a breath too close. The only one who could ever catch her unaware.

Now, for her, surprise always felt like danger.

She turned quickly, hoping Bull didn’t notice the tremble in her hands. She leaned against the stone wall, eyes closed. Focus. Breathe. One. Two. Three.

When she looked again, Bull was still there, arms folded loosely across his chest. He wasn’t crowding her, just keeping an eye out. Casual, but alert.

“Didn’t mean to sneak up on you,” he said. “You bolted outta there pretty fast.”

“I needed air,” she said.

Bull nodded, not pressing. “Yeah, I get that. Taverns can get stuffy.”

She gave a faint, humorless smile. “Not exactly the part that bothered me.”

He shrugged one massive shoulder. “Didn’t think so. You want me to deck someone, or just stand here and be large?”

That coaxed a breath of laughter from her, thin but real. “I’ll let you know.”

“Good. I’m told I’m very reassuring in dim alleys.”

They stood in silence for a moment, the noise of the city still humming at their backs. Then Bull added, more gently, “You don’t have to say what it was, Boss. Just... if you need someone around, I’ve got time.”

Her throat tightened, but she nodded. “Thanks, Bull.”

Behind him, the others had stepped out into the street. Bull glanced back over his shoulder, then looked at her again.

“C’mon,” he said gently. “We’ll take it slow. Give you a second.”

She didn’t reply, just fell into step beside him, her breathing starting to steady.

They caught up with the others and began the walk back to the inn. Lilith trailed a few steps behind, glancing over her shoulder more than once to scan the thinning crowd outside the tavern, but she couldn't find the man she saw. Varric watched her out of the corner of his eye, then moved a little closer.

“You alright?”

Lilith opened her mouth, but no sound came. Her fingers twitched at her sides.

Walking a pace behind the group now, Varric lowered his voice. “You looked like you saw a ghost. Or something worse.”

She exhaled shakily. “I thought I saw someone,” she murmured. “Someone I left behind.”

Varric’s expression didn’t change, but his voice softened further. “Someone you don’t want to find you?”

She debated lying. It would be so easy - just a shrug, a dismissive “It’s nothing” - and he’d let it drop. Varric was good like that. Or she could say nothing at all, let the silence stretch until it became its own answer. But the weight of it, coiled tight in her chest for so long, ached like a bruise. Maybe it was the way the moonlight caught the lines of concern on his face, or the way her own resolve had worn thin from carrying this alone.

Instead, she gave a shallow nod, the barest dip of her chin, as if admitting it too loudly might summon the past right to her doorstep.

“Alright,” he said. “Well, good news is, you’ve got at least three heavily armed lunatics on your side and a mage who thinks he's smarter than everyone in Orlais combined.”

That coaxed a small, dry laugh from her. “Four lunatics, if you count me.”

Varric grinned. “Nah. You’re our charmingly unstable mascot.”

The group returned to the inn in a hush, the last of their laughter forgotten. And in the quiet that followed, Lilith couldn’t shake the feeling that something had watched her walk away.


The manor’s music room was quiet save for the rain. It tapped the tall windows in restless rhythm, each droplet punctuated by the occasional low growl of thunder overhead. Candlelight trembled across the dark wood panels and velvet drapes, casting long shadows over the grand piano at the centre of the room.

Lilith stood near it, spine straight, jaw tight. The silence in the hall behind her had settled into something colder the moment the guest had left - a merchant from Athkatla, all smug assumptions and honeyed flattery. Easy prey.

Astarion had been in rare form, his velvet charm and carefully placed innuendo, dangling the promise of favour like a lure. And Lilith - tired, irritable, and already bristling from the merchant’s gaze lingering where it shouldn’t - had let a single comment slip.

“He must be very successful,” she’d said, voice dry as old parchment. “Given how quickly he’s willing to debase himself for a discount.”

A pause had followed, just long enough to be noticed. The merchant had laughed, uncertain. Astarion had smoothed over the moment with a chuckle and a deft change of subject, but the damage had been done. The spell had cracked.

She hadn’t insulted Astarion, but she'd made him look less in control. Less worshipped. And that, for him, was enough.

The door clicked shut behind them.

“You made quite the scene,” Astarion said softly. His tone was light, like a hand brushing across silk - but it held the glint of a blade beneath. “Tell me, was it intentional? Or are you simply forgetting how to behave?”

Lilith didn’t look at him. Her arms folded across her chest, more to contain the heat crawling up her throat than anything else.

“I didn’t mean to-”

“Ah, so it was just carelessness,” he murmured, as if that were somehow worse. “That’s so much better.”

He moved past her, slow and theatrical, like a cat circling prey. One pale hand extended toward the piano.

“Sit.”

Her stomach twisted. She didn’t move.

Astarion’s head tilted. “I said, sit .”

She obeyed. The bench creaked faintly as she lowered herself onto it. Her posture straightened by instinct - an old defense masquerading as grace. Her hands folded in her lap, fingers curled into themselves.

He circled behind her, the brush of his fingers on her shoulders like frost. “You’re going to perform,” he said. “A song of your choosing. Something lovely. Something sad .”

“Why?” she asked before she could stop herself.

“Because I want to see if you can still be beautiful when you’re ashamed.”

The breath caught in her chest, sharp and cold. But she said nothing. Astarion moved to the chaise opposite her, crossing one leg over the other. His eyes gleamed red in the candlelight, fixed on her with unsettling patience.

“And afterward,” he said, lips curling, “you’ll apologize.”

Lilith’s hands rose toward the keys as if remembering the motion from a dream. She hadn’t played in a while. Once, music had been hers - a refuge, a voice. Now it felt like a test. A weapon handed back to her with the blade turned inward.

The first notes were hesitant, fragile. Her fingers stumbled, but she kept going. Astarion didn’t speak. He didn’t have to. His gaze was weight enough.

The melody found its rhythm midway through - something haunting from her childhood in Baldur’s Gate, full of narrow alleys and window light. Her mind slipped backward with it, away from velvet walls and vampires and courtly pretense. Somewhere simpler. Somewhere freer.

But the last note faded, and the silence snapped like a tether.

Astarion clapped. Once. Sharp and solitary. “Good girl,” he said, rising. “Now. The apology.”

Her mouth was dry. Her tongue felt too large behind her teeth. “I’m sorry,” she said.

“No, no,” he said, stepping close. “ Look at me when you say it.”

She lifted her eyes. It felt like peeling off armor. “I’m sorry I embarrassed you.”

“And?”

“It won’t happen again.”

He leaned down, brushing a kiss against her temple. Cold. Possessive. “Of course it won’t.”

He offered her his hand. She took it.

But something shifted. A ripple. A prickle at the base of her spine - she felt someone else’s magic, soft and familiar, like ink spreading through parchment.

Solas.

Lilith drew in a sharp breath, eyes widening. The dream was unraveling. She reached into herself, into that quiet place he’d shown her during their last Fade lesson - where her will lived, sharp and bright. She seized the dream’s edges, and cut .

The manor dissolved. Shadows pulled inward like a reverse bloom. Suddenly, she was alone.

The music room remained only in outline - stone replaced velvet, candlelight replaced by the shimmering grey-blue haze of the Fade. She sat at the piano still, but it was ghostly now, unrooted from any specific memory. Her hands hovered over its keys like they belonged to someone else.

A sound - soft footfalls over nothing - drew her attention. Solas stepped into view, his expression unreadable. She noticed how he always seemed to walk in dreams like he’d never learned to doubt his presence - as if the Fade had simply been waiting for him.

He glanced at the piano, then at her. “Do you play?”

Lilith blinked. “I used to.”

His eyes lingered on her hands, then her face. “Would you play something now?”

She hesitated. Her fingers hovered again - but nothing came. The desire was there, somewhere, flickering faintly like a candle in the wind. But the music itself… felt stolen. Not hers, not anymore.

She deflected, pulling her hands into her lap. “It’s been a long time.” 

Solas nodded slowly. There was no judgment in it, just observation. “May I?”

She nodded and slid to the side. He sat beside her, his body carefully angled so they weren’t quite touching. His fingers lowered onto the keys with quiet reverence.

The song that emerged wasn’t elven, not quite - and yet it felt like him. Cool, clean, melancholy. Like snowfall over ruins. Like a language that had once been sacred.

Lilith watched him, quietly transfixed. The way his brow furrowed slightly in concentration. The scar above his eyebrow. The softness in his touch. How he didn’t play to perform, but to remember. As if music, to him, was a form of truth. 

It made something twist inside her.

Her adopted mother had taught her how to play. Short lessons in the evening after supper, her mother’s hands guiding hers with patient warmth. Back then, music had been a comfort. A place to retreat, to feel something that wasn’t sharp or weaponized. It had been joy.

And then it hadn’t.

She couldn’t remember the last time she’d played for pleasure. Over the years, music had become something distant - frivolous. A softness she couldn’t afford. Every time she sat at the keys, her hands felt like they belonged to someone else. Someone who hadn’t done the things she’d done.

Watching Solas now - how calm he looked, how lost in it he was - she felt a flash of something awful and small rise in her throat.

Jealousy.

He looked almost peaceful. Like he hadn’t been hollowed out in the same way. Like music still lived in his bones, unbroken. And some part of her hated that. Hated that he could still have this - this closeness to beauty, to memory - when it had been stolen from her.

The feeling curled tight in her gut, sharp with shame. She swallowed it down, tucked it somewhere deep. Not now.

She hadn’t realized she was still watching him - really watching him - until she noticed the silence, and the way his gaze had shifted to her. He wasn’t just looking. He was studying her. Quietly. As though trying to map the place her mind had gone.

Solas tilted his head, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You are staring.”

“You’re not exactly making it easy to look away,” she said, before she could stop herself.

He blinked, then gave a soft, surprised huff of laughter. “Careful. That almost sounded like a compliment.”

Lilith arched a brow. “Almost?”

“Mm,” he said, glancing back at the keys. “I’ll reserve judgment until I hear how you play.”

She made a show of scoffing. “You’re assuming I can’t.”

“I’m assuming nothing,” he said smoothly. “Only that if you were about to impress me, you likely would not have stalled this long.”

A spark of challenge lit in her eyes. “I was being polite. Letting you have your moment.”

“Ah. Generous and modest.”

She grinned, pushing back the faint flush rising in her cheeks. “We should probably start the lesson before your ego expands any further.”

He gestured to the keys with mock solemnity. “By all means, impress me.”

And just like that, the tension softened - but it lingered still, tucked between their words like a shared secret neither of them had quite named yet.


The invitation had arrived on a square of thick, cream-colored parchment - an ornate thing sealed in deep red wax and penned in exquisite calligraphy:

You are cordially invited to attend my salon held at the château of Duke Bastien de Ghislain.

Yours,

Vivienne de Fer

First Enchanter of Montsimmard

Enchanter to the Imperial Court

Now, standing outside the gilded gates of the Duke’s sprawling estate, Lilith muttered under her breath, “Terrible idea.” Orlesians made her itch. Everything they did reeked of artifice - of poisoned smiles and conversation sharpened into weapons. She hated nobles. 

But she'd come anyway.

Inside, the chateau glittered like a jewelry box overturned. Gilded moldings caught the candlelight, silk dresses swept across polished floors, and conversations drifted on laughter that felt far too rehearsed.

Lilith stood just beyond the threshold, spine straight, expression composed. She could feel the weight of eyes already beginning to turn.

A steward in elegant livery cleared his throat and raised his voice. “Presenting Lady Stormshadow, on behalf of the Inquisition.”

Stormshadow .

The name rang out through the golden hall like something stolen from a cheap bard’s tale. A name that didn’t belong to her - not really.

She hadn’t been given a last name in the temple. Bhaal had no use for lineage. She was his creation, his blade, his voice in the dark. That had been identity enough.

But the Inquisition required forms. Records. Something to fill the line after “Lilith.” So she gave them the name her adopted parents once used, half-remembered from a childhood blurred by blood and time. It was fake, in its way. A name built for someone she never truly got to be.

Most Bhaalspawn didn’t bother with surnames, she thought distantly. Why claim a family when you were born from a god’s shadow?

She swallowed hard, forcing her expression blank again. She didn’t want to think about Bhaal right now, and regardless, none of that mattered here. Not in a place full of silk and candlelight, where names were more costumes than truths. Let them think her some noble exile, some minor lady cloaked in mystery. It was easier that way.

She stepped forward into the glittering hall, the name echoing after her like the sound of distant thunder. Heads turned, conversations paused mid-sentence. The sea of powdered faces parted just enough to make room for curious stares and not-so-subtle whispers.

An older man with a trimmed silver beard approached first, grinning as if delighted by his own charm. “What a pleasure to meet you, my lady,” he said smoothly. “Seeing the same faces at every affair becomes dreadfully dull. You are…refreshing.”

Lilith gave a polite nod, resisting the urge to roll her eyes.

“So,” the man continued, “are you here as a guest of Madame de Fer? Or do we owe your visit to the good Duke Bastien himself?”

Before she could reply, a woman in violet lace leaned in, her perfume floral and cloying. “Or are you here on business?” she asked. “I’ve heard the most curious tales about you. I can hardly believe half of them.”

Lilith raised an eyebrow. “Only half?”

The woman laughed delicately, delighted.

“They say Andraste herself plucked you from the Fade to fight the Old Gods,” another Comtess chimed in.

“They say you stormed the Templar stronghold and dragged them back to faith by the scruff of their necks,” added a third, fanning herself with anticipation.

“They say when the Veil tore open, Andraste placed her mark on your hand and cast you back to save us all,” finished the first.

Lilith blinked, deadpan. “Everything you’ve heard? Completely true.”

The Comtesses exchanged thrilled gasps and approving giggles, utterly oblivious to the sarcasm dripping from her tone.

“Better and better,” one said. “The Inquisition should come to more of these parties.”

The illusion shattered with the sound of slurred derision from across the room.

“The Inquisition?” a man barked. “What a load of pig shit!”

A Marquis - judging by the fine tailoring and poorly concealed drunkenness - stumbled forward, sneering. Wine sloshed dangerously in his goblet. “Washed-up sisters and crazed Seekers,” he scoffed. “No one takes them seriously. It’s just an excuse for political exiles to claw back power.”

Lilith’s smile vanished. “The Inquisition is working to restore peace and order to Thedas.”

“Ah, yes. The outsider speaks,” the Marquis said with mock grandeur. “Restoring peace with an army behind her. That’s rich.”

He took another step forward, swaying slightly. “We know what your Inquisition really is. If you had a shred of honor, you’d step outside and answer for it.”

Before Lilith could speak, the air shifted. Cold bloomed in the room like a phantom breeze, and a sudden crack of ice silenced the hall.

The Marquis froze mid-stride - literally. Frost bloomed across his cuffs and collar, locking his limbs in place as his glass shattered to the floor.

Above, descending the grand staircase with the poise of a queen, stood Vivienne de Fer. “My dear Marquis,” she said coolly, “how unkind of you to use such language in my house… and to my guests. You know I cannot abide rudeness.”

The Marquis’s face paled beneath the frost. “Madame Vivienne, I- I beg your pardon!”

She regarded him like one might a particularly disappointing sculpture. “You should ,” she said. “Whatever am I to do with you?”

Her gaze turned to Lilith, and a smile played at the corners of her mouth. “My lady, you are the wounded party in this unfortunate affair,” she said. “What would you have me do with this foolish, foolish man?”

Lilith tilted her head in mock consideration. “I think the Marquis has seen the error of his ways.”

Vivienne’s smile widened. “By the grace of Andraste, you have your life, my dear. Do be more careful with it.”

The spell dissipated. The Marquis collapsed to his knees, coughing and humiliated as guests politely turned away to give him the dignity of not watching.

Vivienne extended an arm. “Shall we?”

Lilith followed her through an arched corridor and onto a private balcony, where the noise of the salon softened beneath stars and quiet.

“I’m delighted you could attend,” Vivienne said, offering a goblet of wine. “I’ve so wanted to meet you.”

Lilith declined the drink with a slight shake of her head. “You have an… interesting definition of a gathering.”

Vivienne laughed lightly. “I do like to entertain. But I’ve heard so much about you. Only one rebel survived the explosion that killed the Divine. One hardly knows what to think.”

She extended a hand, formal and precise. “Vivienne. First Enchanter of Montsimmard. Enchantress to the Imperial Court.”

Lilith clasped it. “Charmed, Lady Vivienne.”

“But I didn’t invite you here for pleasantries,” Vivienne said, her eyes sharp despite her easy smile.

Lilith leaned one elbow against the balcony railing. “Your salon has certainly exceeded my expectations.”

“I’m glad to keep you entertained.”

“So, what did you invite me here for?”

Vivienne’s gaze flicked toward the parlor beyond the balcony, then back. “To see you for myself. It’s important to choose one’s allies with care.”

Lilith’s expression darkened slightly. “That Marquis - he going to be a problem?”

“Alphonse?” Vivienne made a sound of disdain. “His aunt is the Vicomtesse of Mont-de-Glace. Not powerful, but respected - and devout. He’ll be disowned for tonight. Likely he’ll scurry off to the Dales to redeem himself in the Empress’s war. Or die trying.”

Vivienne’s eyes swept over Lilith with the precision of a jeweler inspecting a flawed gem. “I was told you were a mage.”

Lilith inclined her head. “I am.”

“How curious,” Vivienne said, folding her gloved hands. “I can usually feel the presence of a fellow practitioner. You, however, are remarkably… quiet.”

Lilith offered a polite, unreadable smile. “I’ve been called worse.”

Inside, her mind ticked over the familiar observation. Solas had remarked on it when they first met, and - though more tactfully - had admitted there was something odd about her magical presence. Mages in Thedas seemed to recognize one another by a subtle resonance in the Fade, like notes in a shared harmony. But Lilith didn’t draw from the Fade, she drew from the Weave - and though the result looked the same on the surface, it felt different. A few others in Haven had noticed too, casting her strange looks, as if they were trying to place something that wasn’t quite there. 

She could only hope no one looked too closely. Sooner or later, someone would stop writing it off as an oddity and start asking the wrong questions.

Vivienne’s gaze narrowed, just slightly. “How unusual .”

"Unusual seems to be the standard these days," Lilith replied, tone smooth but cool. "I'm sure you'll get used to me."

A pause passed between them.

Vivienne continued, content to let it go, “With Divine Justinia dead, the Chantry is in shambles. People are frightened, angry. No leadership. No vision.”

She turned to Lilith with a practiced intensity. “Only the Inquisition has a chance to restore sanity and order.”

“And you want to help,” Lilith said.

“I intend to.”

Lilith studied her. “What exactly do you bring to the table?”

Vivienne’s chin lifted a fraction. “I know the Imperial Court - every whisper, every scheme. I have the Circle’s remaining resources at my command. And I am, as you’ve seen, a mage of no small talent.”

She tilted her head. “Will that do?”

Lilith exhaled slowly, then nodded. “The Inquisition would be glad to have you, Lady Vivienne.”

Vivienne’s lips curled upward. “Excellent. Great things are beginning, my dear.” Her voice was velvet and steel. “I can promise you that.”


The gates of Haven creaked open under a grey sky. Snow flurried gently in the air, clinging to the eaves and the shoulders of returning riders. Lilith dismounted in silence, ignoring the ache in her thighs from days in the saddle. Behind her, Cassandra swung down with practiced grace, already turning toward the Chantry steps without waiting for the others.

Lilith lingered a moment, casting a glance over the village. It looked smaller after the road - quieter. And yet, it was home now. Or the closest thing she had to it.

She made her way back to her cabin first, stripping off her travel leathers and washing up in her basin. The small mirror nearby caught her reflection: tired eyes, windburned cheeks, a mouth set too tightly. Not the face of a Herald. Just a girl playing dress-up in someone else's war.

Still, she pulled on a clean tunic, belted her sash, and made her way uphill to the Chantry.

She was halfway up the path when she heard someone call her name.

“Lilith!”

She turned. Mira stood a few paces back, cheeks pink from the cold, a bundled satchel tucked under one arm.

“You’re back,” Mira said, hurrying to catch up, breath puffing in the chill. “I mean - I heard you were. I was just on my way to Adan, but - how did it go?”

Lilith exhaled, slow. “About as well as you’d expect.”

Mira blinked. “So... not great.”

“Not great,” Lilith agreed, a wry smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.

Mira huffed a laugh, then hesitated. “Are you heading to the advisors?”

Lilith nodded. “Apparently there's much to discuss and little time to breathe.”

“I figured.” Mira dug into her satchel and pulled out a small glass vial, its contents a cloudy lavender. “Here. Just in case. For stress. Or headaches. Or... people.”

Lilith took it with a raised brow. “You prescribe potions for people now?”

“Only the especially difficult ones.” Mira gave her a lopsided smile. “No charge.”

Lilith turned the vial in her fingers, expression softening. “Thanks, Mira. You don’t have to keep doing this, you know?”

“I know,” Mira said simply. “But I want to.”

Their eyes met - brief, steady.

Lilith gave a tired nod. “Well, thank you. Really.”

Mira smiled faintly. “If you need anything - sleep draught, burn salve, a reason to hide in the apothecary for an hour - just come find me.”

“I might take you up on that,” Lilith said, and though her voice was quiet, the edge of exhaustion softened.

Mira gave her a small wave and turned back toward the apothecary. Lilith watched her go, the warmth of the offered kindness lingering longer than the wind’s bite.

Then she squared her shoulders and made for the Chantry.

The heavy wooden doors were open when she arrived, voices echoing faintly inside. Cassandra stood just outside, arms crossed in her usual grim pose. Beside her was Josephine, posture straight despite the chill, as if diplomacy alone might ward off the wind.

Josephine’s eyes lit up as they saw her approach. “It’s good you’ve returned. We heard of your encounter. Are you alright?” 

Lilith blinked. “You heard ?”

“I always hear,” came Leliana’s voice as she stepped into view, all hood and calm menace.

Cullen trailed behind her, arms clasped behind his back, brow already furrowed with disapproval.

“My agents in the city sent word ahead, of course,” Leliana continued, as if it were obvious.

Cullen grunted. “It’s a shame the templars abandoned their senses as well as the capital.”

“They weren’t exactly lining up for diplomacy,” Lilith said, falling into step beside them as the group moved toward the war room. “But it was worth the risk. We had to do something . And now we have an opportunity.”

“Yes,” Josephine agreed. “And that opportunity may be enough for us to approach either faction - the templars or the rebel mages.”

Cassandra’s expression was dark. “Do we? Lord Seeker Lucius is not the man I remember.”

“True,” Leliana said. “He’s taken the Order somewhere - but to what end? My reports have been… strange.”

“They always are,” Cullen muttered, then more clearly: “We must investigate. Not everyone in the Order will support the Lord Seeker’s actions.”

“Or,” Josephine countered, voice sharp with restrained tact, “the Herald could simply go to meet the mages in Redcliffe instead.”

Cullen stopped. His boots scuffed against the stone floor as he turned. “You think the mage rebellion is more united?” His brow arched. “That could be ten times worse. We don’t even know who leads them now.”

Lilith exhaled, the beginnings of a headache curling behind her eyes. The back-and-forth was exhausting, a loop of hypotheticals and second-guessing.

“We need to stop bickering and make a decision,” she said, folding her arms. “Time isn’t something we have an abundance of.”

“I agree,” Cassandra said.

“We shouldn’t discount Redcliffe,” Josephine insisted. “The mages may be worth the risk.”

“They are powerful, yes,” Cassandra replied. “But more desperate than you realize.”

Lilith felt the familiar flicker of danger - of politics cloaked as reason. She kept her voice even. “So it’ll be dangerous,” she said. “I’ve been in danger since I walked out of the Fade. After the Divine’s death, the rebel mages are probably scrambling for allies. We may be the only ones left who’ll listen.”

Cassandra’s mouth tightened. “If some among them are responsible for what happened at the Conclave…”

“The same could be said for the templars,” Josephine cut in, her tone still polite, but clipped.

Cullen gave a reluctant nod. “True enough. But I’m not sure we have the influence to approach the Order safely. Not yet.”

“Then the Inquisition needs more agents,” Cassandra said, glancing at Lilith. “People we can trust. That’s something you can help with.”

She didn’t specify how - and Lilith didn’t ask. She suspected she’d find out soon enough.

“In the meantime,” Josephine added, smoothing her skirts, “we should prepare for both options. Secure routes. Quiet inquiries. We’ll reconvene once more information arrives.”

One by one, they peeled away - Cullen toward the training yard, Cassandra to oversee patrols, Josephine likely back to her tower of parchment and polite refusals.

Only Leliana remained. Her silence lingered like incense.

“There’s one other matter,” she said quietly, gaze fixed ahead. “Several months ago, the Grey Wardens of Ferelden vanished.”

Lilith tilted her head. “The Grey Wardens?” She made sure the question was curious, not too pointed. She’d learned the trick from Astarion: ask like you know more than you do. People fill in the blanks for you.

“They are an ancient order,” Leliana said. “Founded to battle the darkspawn. Since the First Blight, thousands of years ago. Fewer now than there once were, but still a presence.”

“Darkspawn,” Lilith repeated, with a mild, purposeful blankness. Another name for monsters. Probably.

“They’re not usually political,” Leliana continued, “but they have a habit of appearing in strange places. And now they’ve disappeared entirely - not just in Ferelden, but in Orlais as well. I don’t believe in coincidence.”

Lilith nodded slowly. “That does sound odd. I agree.”

“The others dismiss it,” Leliana said, her gaze sharp and assessing. “But I cannot ignore the timing. Two days ago, one of my agents in the Hinterlands reported spotting a lone Grey Warden - a man named Blackwall.”

The name meant nothing to her, but she committed it to memory anyway.

“If you find him, speak to him,” Leliana continued. “He may be able to ease my suspicions.”

Lilith glanced at her. “And if he doesn’t?”

A pause. Leliana’s voice dropped to a near whisper. “Then there may be more going on than any of us realize.”

The flicker in her eye was familiar. Lilith had seen it in the mirror too often: suspicion sharpened into certainty. The quiet dread that you weren’t just being paranoid - you were right.

She nodded. “I’ll keep an eye out.”

“Good.” Leliana’s smile was faint, barely a curve at the corners of her lips. 

Lilith kept her eyes on the map, fingers idly tracing the edge of Orlais. She could feel Leliana’s gaze on her - sharp, unwavering, like the pull of a hidden blade.

“I’m sorry to hear about what happened in Val Royeaux,” Leliana said at last, her voice soft, but not gentle. “The Templar. The sword.”

Lilith didn’t look up. “It’s already been handled.”

“Mm.” A pause. “Still. I imagine that kind of moment… lingers.”

Something about her tone made Lilith glance up. Leliana’s expression was calm, unreadable - but her eyes were calculating, the way one might study a lock before picking it.

“I’m fine,” Lilith said, too quickly.

Leliana smiled, just barely. “So you’ve said. But forgive me if I find it strange. Most people - even most soldiers - flinch after a blade at their throat. I heard you barely reacted.”

Lilith held her gaze. “Experience, I suppose.”

“Of course.” Leliana’s voice was light, but there was steel beneath it. She stepped back from the table, shadow trailing behind her like a second cloak. “You’ll let me know if you remember anything… relevant.”

Lilith watched her go, the war table between them now feeling more like a chessboard.

She exhaled. Then turned toward the exit.


Lilith shut her cabin door behind her and let the quiet settle, blinking against the dim, snow-lit interior. The fire in the hearth had gone out, and the air bit at her fingers as she tugged off her gloves and set them on the table.

Hells. The last couple of weeks had been brutal.

She moved on instinct, relighting the hearth and coaxing the fire back to life. When warmth began to chase away the cabin’s chill, she finally sat - knees pulled up to her chest, arms wrapped loosely around them. Not collapsed, exactly. But close.

Everything had happened so fast.

The Storm Coast - the air sharp with salt and wet stone. Raphael’s voice, smooth as ever, curling out of the shadows by that lake. He hadn’t asked for anything. That was the worst part. He’d only reminded her - softly, smugly - that he still could. All wrapped in cryptic rhymes about the mark on her hand.

And then Solas, appearing just as Raphael vanished. His gaze narrowing, but his mouth silent. He hadn’t asked questions, either. Not really. She still didn’t know if that was better or worse.

Then back to Haven, just long enough to breathe before leaving again for Val Royeaux. She couldn’t stop thinking about the templar, his blade cold and close against her throat. She’d tasted iron. Fury. Restraint.

And after? Fiona’s offer. Sera’s cackling irreverence. Vivienne’s velvet-edged judgment.

And that tavern. She rubbed her temples, fingers pressing deep. She hadn’t seen Astarion. She was sure of it. Mostly. It was too dark, too brief - just a flicker of a face, that impossible grin. Her mind playing tricks. That was all. Had to be.

“Because that’s what I need right now,” she muttered, “delusions and devils.”

She pushed off the bed and began pacing. The movement helped her think.

She hated how untethered she felt. How reactive. Like the world had knocked her off balance and every decision was a coin toss. Even the people she trusted - or, at least wanted to - weren't easy to read. Or she was out of practice.

Like Solas.

She stopped pacing at the thought of him, arms crossed loosely, one brow arching in frustration or fascination. She hadn’t decided which.

There was something about him. Not just the usual mystery every mage liked to drape around themselves like a theatrical cloak. Solas felt careful. Like an ever-shifting library that kept moving the one book she needed. He spoke in riddles, offered almost-answers, and never quite gave away what he was thinking. 

And he was frustratingly hard to rattle. She’d tried sarcasm. Dry humor. Earnest questions. Nothing cracked.

Well, not nothing. There’d been moments. Fleeting. A twitch of his mouth when she’d rolled her eyes. The way he lingered after everyone else had gone. A sidelong glance when she teased him about the Fade. Not enough to trust him - but enough to notice.

Lilith let out a breath, half a laugh. Honesty hadn’t gotten her far, and she didn’t like how uneven it all felt. She was vulnerable, asking questions she should know the answers to, and she knew almost nothing about him in return.

She didn’t want to manipulate him, not really. But she wasn’t above a little playful misdirection. 

And he was attractive. In that carved-from-stone, unknowable way. It made her want to get under his skin - just to see what he’d do.

A little flirting couldn’t hurt. Probably.

Maybe she was tired of being alone in her own head. Maybe part of her wanted someone - anyone - to see her and not flinch.

She looked down at her hands. They’d done terrible things. They still shook sometimes. Not from fear. From memory. But they were steady now.

She smirked to herself, faintly. If she couldn’t sleep tonight - which she knew she wouldn’t - she might as well make herself useful.

She crossed the room, tugged on her coat, and paused by the door. Fingers hovering at the handle.

A quick glance back toward the fire. And then she stepped into the cold.


Lilith knocked once on the wooden door, then let herself in without waiting.

“You always leave your door unlocked,” she said, holding up a wrapped bundle of cloth. “That’s dangerous.”

Solas didn’t look up from his desk. “I am not often in danger.”

“Bold assumption,” she said, stepping into the warm glow of the fire. “You haven’t met me on a bad day yet.”

That earned her a glance - dry, assessing. “Have I not?”

She grinned and placed the cloth bundle down on the table near his ink pots. “Peace offering.”

He raised a brow. “Peace for what offense?”

“For what I’m about to do.”

At that, he turned fully, eyes narrowing - not unkind, but suspicious in the same way a cat might be when handed a cucumber. He eyed the bundle, then unwrapped it. A honeyed biscuit, lightly dusted with sugar, sat inside.

Solas blinked.

“Everyone loves sweets,” Lilith said, matter-of-factly. “So. Consider it a bribe.”

His lips twitched. “Payment before the request. Clever.”

“I’m told that’s how you avoid owing- well. Let’s just say favours .”

He huffed a laugh. “And what precisely am I being sweet-talked into?”

She pulled a notebook from her satchel and dropped into the chair across from him, flipping it open to a page littered with messy scrawl and ink smudges. “I have questions,” she said, solemn as a judge. “So, so many questions.”

He stared. “That is... quite a list.”

Mister Elvhen Lore Expert ,” she said, wiggling her brows. “Don’t act surprised.”

Solas picked up the biscuit like it might vanish. “Very well. Begin the interrogation.”

Lilith clicked her tongue, scanning her notes. “Alright. First: why do the Templars keep glaring at me like I owe them money?”

“They likely believe you are a mage.”

“I am a mage.”

“Yes. That is the problem.”

She scribbled something. “ Fascists . Noted.”

Solas took a bite of the biscuit and paused, eyes fluttering shut for half a second before he forced himself back into composure. Lilith didn’t notice - she was too busy rifling through pages.

“Okay, next. Why is Orlais obsessed with masks?”

“Because their nobility thrives on artifice and deception.”

“Ugh. So do-” She caught herself. “So do... other people I’ve known. Must be a cultural thing.”

Another bite of the biscuit.

“Why does everyone act like Andraste is personally watching them poop?”

Solas choked.

Lilith didn’t look up. “That’s not a joke. I said ‘shit’ near the Chantry and some old lady gasped so hard I thought she was about to drop dead.”

“They hold her as a divine figure,” Solas managed, brushing crumbs from his robe. “Some believe she ascended bodily into the Fade.”

Lilith tilted her head. “You don’t?”

“I believe... less than most.”

She glanced at him then, more closely. “We’ll circle back to that.”

Solas nodded solemnly, finishing the biscuit. “Please. Continue.”

Lilith grinned. “What’s a 'Grand Enchanter'?”

Solas gave her a look of gentle exasperation. “We met Grand Enchanter Fiona days ago.”

She blinked. “Oh. Right. She had the cloak and the... attitude.”

Solas looked skyward, as though appealing to a higher power. “Yes. That one.”

They shared a brief, rare laugh.

She flipped another page. “Alright, here’s a weird one: what does da’len mean?”

Solas blinked. “It is... Elven. You should know that, no?”

“I know Elvish,” she said, frowning. “But it sounds different than from back home. Warped. Softer, maybe.”

Solas tilted his head, studying her now in a way that made her shift in her seat. “ Da’len means ‘little child.’ It’s a term of endearment.”

She raised a brow. “So when you called me that at the gate the other day, you were being nice?”

He cleared his throat. “I was being... familiar. There’s a difference.”

“Oh,” she said, pretending to write it down. “ Familiar . Adding that to the flirt column.”

Solas froze mid-movement. His brows knit slightly. “There’s a... column?”

She looked up with mock innocence. “You didn’t realize we were flirting?”

His expression shifted - surprise, uncertainty, something unreadable in the mix. “I wasn’t aware that’s what we were doing.”

Lilith smirked. “Tragic. Now I’ll have to start over.”

“I-” He stopped himself, then exhaled sharply through his nose and looked away. “Please continue your list.”

Lilith looked entirely too pleased with herself.

“Okay, this one sounds made up: what are darkspawn ? Someone mentioned them in a meeting and everyone looked grim.”

Solas sobered. “They are not made up. They were once men and women - twisted by a corruption known as the Blight. They dwell beneath the earth, and when they rise... they bring death, madness, and war.”

Lilith blinked. “So - infected demons, minus the charm.”

“A crude summary,” he said. “But not inaccurate.”

She shivered slightly. “Right. So, avoid murder tunnels.”

“Always wise,” he said dryly.

Silence stretched between them then - not tense, not awkward. Just quiet. The fire crackled. Wind howled somewhere beyond the walls. Solas, finally, spoke.

“You’re adapting quickly.”

Lilith shrugged. “I’ve had practice. You learn fast or you die confused.”

Solas regarded her over the rim of his cup, his expression unreadable. The firelight caught on the sharp lines of his face, softened only slightly by the quiet between them.

“You are clearly sharp, da’len ,” he said at last, his voice low. “Quick to learn. Keen of mind. But so much of this - names, places, history - it surprises you.” He paused, tilting his head, as if studying a puzzle he hadn't quite pieced together. “Will you ever tell me why?”

He didn’t ask it like an accusation. There was no edge, no demand - just the careful curiosity of someone who’d noticed something strange and was waiting, patiently, for the story beneath it.

Lilith stilled, pen hovering above her page. For a moment, she didn’t answer - didn’t breathe. Then she smiled, slow and practiced, and tapped her notes lightly.

“Maybe when I run out of questions.”

Solas let out a soft huff, not quite a laugh. “Then I suspect I’ll be waiting a very long time.”

Then, softly, “I appreciate the gift. And the company.”

Lilith paused. The words were simple, but something in the way he said them made her hesitate. Not because they were cold - on the contrary, they felt… warm. Maybe even genuine. And that was the problem.

In her world, praise was bait. Kindness, currency. She searched his face for a tell, an angle - mockery at the corners of his mouth, calculation in his eyes - but found only the soft gleam of firelight and the unreadable calm he wore like armor.

Maybe he meant it. Maybe he didn’t. Maybe this was another kind of game she hadn’t yet learned the rules for.

She didn’t answer right away. Just watched him.

And Solas, to his credit, noticed.

His gaze flicked to her hands - still, silent on her notes - then back to her face. Something thoughtful passed over his expression, too brief to name. But he said nothing. He didn’t push, didn’t question, didn’t call attention to her delay. Only waited, the way he always did. With too much patience to be innocent.

So, she smiled, crooked and careless, like she hadn’t just turned that single sentence over in her mind a dozen ways.

“Don’t get used to it,” she said lightly. “I might start charging.”

He smiled back. “You already are.”


The next morning, Lilith found Cassandra in the training yard, the sun just beginning to slip out from behind the mountains. The Seeker was hacking away at a training dummy with all the fury of someone who would rather be fighting something that could scream.

The dummy’s straw-stuffed form gave way under the relentless strikes, bits of it littering the stone around her like snow. Lilith approached slowly, arms crossed, keeping just enough distance to not be in the way of a blade gone wild.

“I think you need dummies made of sturdier stuff,” she said lightly.

Cassandra grunted, delivered one last blow, and sent the dummy’s head toppling to the ground.

“That would be nice,” she muttered, sheathing her sword with a practiced motion.

“Maybe iron next time,” Lilith added. “Or dragonbone. Something that fights back.”

That earned a faint sound - almost a laugh, though not quite. Cassandra stepped away from the wreckage, her breath still sharp, shoulders still tense. She fell into step beside Lilith, the two of them walking without a clear destination.

After a moment, Cassandra spoke. “Did I do the right thing? What I’ve set in motion… it could destroy everything I’ve spent my life protecting. The Chantry, the Seekers, the Order. One day, they might write about me as a traitor. A madwoman. A fool.” She paused. “And they may be right.”

Lilith glanced at her. “What does your faith tell you?”

Cassandra let out a breath. “I believe you’re innocent. I believe there’s more at play here than we can see. And I believe no one else is willing to do anything about it. Most people would rather stand in the fire and complain that it’s hot. But whether any of this is the Maker’s will…” She shook her head. “I can only guess.”

Lilith looked toward the mountains, where the scar of the Breach split the sky wide open.  “You don’t think I’m the Herald of Andraste,” she said.

Cassandra didn’t deny it. “I think you were sent to help us. I hope you were. But the Maker’s help takes many forms. Sometimes it’s hard to say who it’s meant to help - or why.”

“What happens now?” Lilith asked.

Cassandra’s answer was immediate. “Now we manage the Chantry’s panic before they make things worse. Then we close the Breach. We’re the only ones who can. After that, we find out who’s behind all of this and end them.”

Her voice was iron. But after a pause, it softened.

“And if there are consequences for what I’ve done… I’ll face them. I only pray the price isn’t too high.”

Lilith tilted her head. “You didn’t have much choice.”

Cassandra stopped walking, looking down at her boots for a long moment. “Didn’t I?”

She straightened again, the fire in her eyes returning. “My trainers used to say, ‘Cassandra, you’re too brash. You must think before you act.’ But I’ve always done what I thought needed doing. I don’t see the point in running around in circles like a dog chasing its tail. I see what must be done - and I do it.”

She met Lilith’s gaze. “I misjudged you in the beginning. I thought the answer was clear as day. I cannot afford to be so careless again.”

Lilith offered a faint smile. “Well, I can’t say I’m not glad to hear it. But it’s not like you had no reason to be suspicious.”

Cassandra exhaled. “I was determined to have someone to blame. Anyone.”

There was a silence between them then, and when Cassandra next spoke, her voice was quieter.

“You said before that you don’t believe you’re chosen. Does that mean you don’t believe in the Maker at all?”

Lilith hesitated. She felt it then, the edge of something old and bitter rising in her throat. It would be easy to speak plainly - too easy. But she wasn’t ready for that. Not here. Not with Cassandra, who still believed the world had a structure, a pattern, a divine will guiding it forward.

“I’m not sure it’s a question I have the right to answer,” Lilith said softly. “Not with any certainty.”

Cassandra looked at her sideways. “That sounds like a no.”

“I’ve seen… different gods,” Lilith murmured. “In different forms. Some kinder than others. Some who demand blood, and call it devotion. It makes it hard to know what to believe. But I know people find comfort in their faith. I don’t want to take that from anyone.”

Cassandra considered her for a moment, then nodded slowly.

“It must be comforting, to be so certain of your doubt.”

Lilith gave a small shrug. “Or just the only thing left when certainty’s burned out.”

Cassandra looked ahead again. “I have to believe we’re on this path for a reason. Even if you do not.”

Lilith didn’t answer right away. The wind had picked up, stirring the broken straw behind them. The air smelled like steel and ash and something faintly green - magic, restless and sharp.

“Then I suppose,” she said at last, “we’ll see where it leads.”

Cassandra nodded. “Yes. We will.”

The weight of their conversation still lingered in the cool afternoon air, but some of the tension had bled from Cassandra’s frame. She stood taller now, shoulders squared, purpose reclaiming its place in her posture.

Lilith, walking just beside her, let the quiet stretch a little longer before breaking it. “I was thinking,” she said, tone light, “about something you said to me. Back when I was still your favourite prisoner.”

Cassandra arched a brow. “You’ll have to be more specific.”

“You mentioned I had some combat instincts,” Lilith replied. “Which, thank you - rare praise from a Seeker. But more importantly, you agreed to spar with me… if I survived.”

Cassandra gave her a sidelong glance. “I remember.”

“Well,” Lilith drawled, spreading her hands. “Here I am. Alive. Singed around the edges, maybe, but technically intact. I thought I might collect.”

Cassandra gave a soft huff, almost a laugh, and shook her head. “You are relentless.”

Lilith smiled. “Only when I want something.”

“I can’t promise I’ll last more than a few minutes,” Lilith continued. “But I figure if anyone can teach me to hold my own in close quarters, it’s you.”

Cassandra studied her for a moment. Then, without a word, she began walking towards the training yard. 

Lilith’s grin returned, quick and bright. “That’s a yes, then.”

Cassandra turned slightly, motioning her forward. “Try not to die.”

“I’ll do my best,” Lilith said, rolling her shoulders. “But no promises.”

Notes:

lilith: hey can you help me with something? i'll give you a sweet treat in return.
solas, providing a polite, reasonable answer: yeah for sure. and hey, thanks for the sweet treat.
lilith: .......why are you thanking me? you're being sus. what's your angle?

Chapter 8: Chapter Eight

Notes:

brain go zoom so two chapters for ya!

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Haven’s training ring was buzzing - armor clinked, swords clashed, and the scent of sweat and frost filled the air. Lilith tossed her staff into a snowbank with a satisfying thunk , tugging her sleeves up to her elbows, preparing for her spar with Cassandra. 

"I'm starting to think people believe I can only set things on fire ," she muttered.

Cassandra shot her a sidelong look. "Because you often set things on fire ."

Lilith planted her hands on her hips, indignant. “Once. Twice . A week.”

“Three times yesterday,” Varric called from his perch on a barrel, flipping a coin. “Andraste’s ass, you're basically a fireplace with legs.”

A soft laugh to Lilith’s left made her glance over. Mira stood by the fence, arms wrapped tightly around a mug of tea that was probably half her body temperature by now. Her cheeks were pink from the cold, but she hadn’t moved since Lilith arrived. Just watching.

Lilith grinned. “You know what? Five silver says I beat Cassandra. No magic. Weapons only.”

Varric perked up immediately. “You’re betting on yourself?”

“Damn right I am.”

Cassandra’s sword paused mid-arc. “What?”

“I said no fire, no spells. Let’s see what else I’m good at.” Lilith was already striding into the sparring ring, the knife she’d borrowed from the armory spinning lazily between her fingers.

Mira blinked. “Wait, you’re fighting Cassandra?”

Lilith winked. “Hell yeah I am. She’s got the sword, I’ve got flair.”

Cassandra exhaled through her nose, rolling her shoulders. “As I said, don’t expect mercy.”

A few soldiers nearby slowed their drills, murmuring as they turned to watch. Varric stood up for a better view. Mira inched closer, eyes darting nervously between the Seeker and the grinning elf in the ring.

Round One

Lilith moved like a whisper - fast, precise, far more graceful than the stomping, shoulder-bashing style common to Haven’s yard. Cassandra’s opening strikes were heavy and sure, aimed to overwhelm. But Lilith ducked beneath one, slid to the side of another, her feet light on the snow-packed ground.

She wasn’t fighting like a soldier. She was fighting like something else - something older, blood-bound, and born to kill. Her movements were too precise, too ruthless. This wasn’t the training of a guard or a knight. This was the hand of Bhaal, sharpened on the screams of his victims and raised in the dark to slit throats before she learned how to write her name.

A flick of her wrist reversed the grip on her dagger. Cassandra overreached on a downward swing - and Lilith stepped inside the arc, batted the sword away, pivoting behind her in a blink.

The knife’s edge pressed to the back of Cassandra’s neck.

“Yield,” Lilith said sweetly.

The silence that followed was immediate, broken only by the faint clink of Varric’s coin as it dropped to the ground.

Cassandra straightened slowly. Her nostrils flared; her brows twitched just once. Then - grudgingly - she nodded. “You’ve had training.”

Lilith flashed teeth. “Please. I’ve killed people for less than bad ale.”

Varric whooped. “Alright, now who had ‘Cranky Seeker gets bested in under two minutes’? Payout’s ten to one!”

A couple of soldiers groaned and reached for their coin pouches. Even Mira let out a stunned laugh - quiet and startled, like she couldn’t believe what she’d just seen.

Cassandra turned her gaze to Lilith, sharper now. “Again.”

Lilith tilted her head. “Really?”

“You caught me off guard.”

“Mm,” Lilith said, stepping back. “Sure. Let’s call it that.”

Round Two

This time, Cassandra didn’t hold back.

She opened with a feint, then spun into a broad arc meant to knock Lilith clean off her feet. Lilith dodged, but just barely - already the tempo had changed. Cassandra’s strikes were relentless, and the ring suddenly felt much smaller.

Lilith adjusted fast. She slipped under a thrust, slid behind Cassandra again, tried the same maneuver - and found herself blocked by a swift back elbow and a low sweep of the leg that nearly sent her flying.

Cassandra smiled thinly. “You’re not the only one who adapts.”

“Oh, good,” Lilith panted. “It’s more fun when I have to try.”

She darted in with a flurry of quick strikes meant to disorient. The dagger flashed in the light, Cassandra blocked three, dodged the fourth - but not the fifth. Lilith caught the fabric just beneath her pauldron and pivoted hard.

The Seeker staggered, recovered - and then Lilith was behind her again, blade against her ribs.

A sharp intake of breath. Cassandra looked down, her sword halfway through a counter that hadn’t landed.

“Yield,” Lilith said again, quieter this time.

Cassandra held still for a beat. Then, with the barest edge of amusement - wounded pride beneath it - she nodded.

“Twice,” she muttered. “That’s twice.”

Lilith smiled and offered her hand. “You’re getting slower, Seeker.”

Cassandra took it with a snort. “Or you’re not just a mage.”

“Never said I was.”

From the edge of the ring, Varric applauded. “We have to start training days like this more often.”

Mira clapped her hands once, then immediately looked guilty for doing it. “That was... impressive.”

Lilith caught her eye and gave a two-finger salute. “Five silver well earned.”

“You still owe me tea,” Mira said, holding up her empty cup.

“Right. First I set things on fire, then I make tea. That’s the natural order of things.”

Round Three

Before Lilith could fully catch her breath, two cocky soldier recruits sauntered into the ring, blades drawn and grinning like idiots.

“Two on one’s hardly fair,” one said.

Lilith rolled her neck. “You’re absolutely right,” she said, voice dry. “I’ll try not to cry.”

A light ring of onlookers began to gather - Cullen, Bull, and Solas among them. Gasps and laughter rippled through the crowd.

They moved fast, but Lilith moved faster - and smarter. She baited the first into lunging, sidestepped, and kicked his knee inward with a brutal crack. While he was down, the second came from behind.

She let him grab her - then slammed her elbow into his ribs and headbutted him with a satisfying crack.

Both soldiers collapsed into the snow, wheezing and groaning.

Varric clutched his chest. “She’s feral! I love it!”

Lilith bowed deeply. “Was that fair enough for you?”

Mira clapped, startled. “That was incredible.”

Lilith winked at her, giving a mock bow. “Thank you, I try.”

“Nice footwork,” Cassandra called from the sideline, arms crossed.

Lilith offered her a quick salute. “Thanks. You weren’t exactly gentle with the warm-up.”

“She never is,” Varric muttered. “Remind me not to insult your mother in earshot again.”

Round 4

Then, before Lilith could respond, a voice piped up from the edge of the training yard.

“You’ve still got some fight in you.” Krem stepped forward, arms folded and eyes gleaming. “Feel like making it four for four?”

Lilith turned, brows lifting. “You volunteering?”

“I am,” he said, flashing a grin. “Think of it as charity. Or maybe community engagement.”

Behind him, Bull snorted. “More like pride management. He’s been dying to test you since you knocked him on his ass a few weeks ago.”

“I tripped,” Krem protested, not looking away from Lilith. “That’s different.”

Lilith tilted her head, arms folded across her chest, dagger swinging lazily in her fingertips. “Alright. I’ll bite. But don’t go crying to Bull when you’re eating dirt.”

Krem grinned as they squared off. “Don’t worry, I already warned him I’d be insufferable when I win.”

Lilith and Krem began to circle. He feinted left, then darted right, quick as a whip. Lilith caught the move in time, steel clashing with steel as their blades met. He was fast, clever - definitely not brute force like Bull. She had to give him credit: he knew how to dance.

Krem grinned through gritted teeth. “What, no snark? You’re starting to worry me.”

Lilith ducked beneath a sweeping arc and tried to get behind him. “I like to let the dagger do the talking.”

“Aw, and here I thought we had a rapport.”

Their blades clashed again, loud and bright in the open air. The rhythm of the fight sped up - strike, dodge, counter, twist. Krem tried to sweep her legs; she jumped it and pivoted, catching him lightly on the side with the flat of her blade.

“Point,” she said.

“Cheap shot,” he muttered, rubbing his ribs. “I was distracted by your charm.”

“Next time, try blinking less.”

Laughter rippled from the sidelines. Varric gave a low whistle. “I’m gonna need a pen. This is gold.”

“You’re both showboating,” Cassandra said, arms crossed but mouth twitching.

Krem adjusted his stance, not quite winded, but sweating now. “Alright,” he said, exhaling. “No more Mr. Nice Me.”

“Wait,” Lilith mock gasped. “That was you being nice?”

He lunged, feinted high, and went low - but Lilith twisted mid-step and swept behind him, slapping the flat of her blade against the back of his thigh. Krem staggered forward and turned, breathless, laughing.

“Damn, you’re quick.”

“I’ve been told.”

He swung again, and this time Lilith let him get closer. The clash rang through the air, and they locked blades, bracing against each other.

“You’re not bad,” she admitted, breath warm between them.

Krem’s grin widened. “Is that a compliment?”

“Don’t get used to it.”

With a twist, she unbalanced him just enough to knock his blade from his hand. It landed in the dirt with a dull thunk.

“Shit.”

Lilith stepped back, panting lightly, dagger pointed low. “That’s three.”

The crowd clapped, scattered cheers rising as Krem held up his hands in mock surrender.

“Remind me to never pick a fight with you,” he said, grinning as he retrieved his weapon.

“I’ll make a list,” Lilith offered. “You won’t be lonely.”

Bull ambled forward as the onlookers dispersed, a smirk tugging at his mouth.

“So let me get this straight,” he said. “Krem gets a round. Two of the soldiers get a round. Cassandra got two rounds. But me? Nothing.”

Lilith arched a brow. “I like having working ribs.”

“Aw, you wound me,” Bull said, placing a hand dramatically over his heart. “What, no trust?”

“No, just good instincts.”

Krem leaned on his sword and grinned. “She’s just smart, Chief.”

Lilith laughed and kept walking. Bull fell into step beside her, his bulk casting a long shadow over them.

“You were holding back,” he said.

She arched a brow. “With who?”

Bull snorted. “All of them. Cassandra, those soldiers, even Krem - and he was trying .”

“He slipped,” Lilith said with a shrug. “Bad footing.”

Bull gave her a look. “Cassandra’s a war-hardened Seeker, and you still landed clean hits under her guard. Those soldiers? You sized them up in seconds. And Krem - he’s no slouch, but you had him chasing shadows by the end.”

“Maybe I’m just naturally gifted,” she said lightly, feigning interest in a sparring dummy as they passed.

“Uh-huh. That double-feint you used to throw the first soldier? The bait-and-switch on Krem? That’s not instinct. That’s fieldwork. Improvisation. Dirty tricks. Quick kills.”

Lilith’s smile twitched - just a little too tight around the edges. “You always this flattering?”

“Only when someone’s trying to lie with their whole body,” Bull said mildly.

They walked a few more steps in silence. Wind tugged at her hair. Bull’s expression didn’t change much, but she could feel him watching her, weighing something.

“I’m just saying,” he added eventually, tone softer now. “If you ever want to talk shop - not the pretty noble duels, but the real stuff - we’ve got a bottle of something awful stashed away for that.”

Lilith didn’t answer right away. Then, “I’ll think about it.”

He grinned. “You do that. But next time, maybe don’t mop the floor with everyone if you’re trying to look average.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” she said primly.

“Sure you don’t,” he said, and clapped her on the back hard enough to make her stumble a step. “Just remember who’s watching when you show your teeth.”

Lilith laughed it off, tossing him a mock salute as they parted ways, but the echo of his words lingered. A little less trained. She kept her expression neutral as she made her way down the path, but inwardly, her thoughts spun. Bull wasn’t just making a joke. He’d seen something - read something - in her stance, her footwork, the way she moved like a predator playing at patience. Most people looked at her and just saw the Herald. He saw the mask slipping. And if he was starting to suspect there was more to her than robes and sarcasm… how long before someone else did too?


The sun was high when the road forked. Lilith squinted toward the farmland ahead - what was left of it, at least. Crumbling fences, scorched earth, and the hollow shells of homes lined the edge of the crossroads. She dismounted first, cloak flaring behind her, and approached the nearest living soul - a wiry man stacking stones beside a cart.

“I’m looking for someone,” she said. “A Grey Warden. Might’ve passed through.”

The farmer straightened, brushing his hands on his trousers. “Ah, you mean Blackwall. A good man. Helped us when the demons came through.”

Lilith arched a brow. “During the Breach?”

“That what you’re calling it?” the man said, glancing toward the sky as if afraid it might rip open again. “All I know is things got bad, real bad. Blackwall showed up right after - kept the demons off us while we ran. Would’ve all died otherwise.”

“What happened after?”

“Well, we tried to scrape together what we could from the farms. Then the bandits came, stripped us bare. That seemed to be the last straw for him. He gathered up a few of the others and went after them.” He pointed down a dirt trail veering east. “That way. Haven’t seen them since.”

“I’ll find him,” Lilith said. “Thank you.”

“If you do, tell him we’re grateful,” the man said, a little wistful. “If I were younger, I’d have gone with him. No question.”

She nodded and turned, motioning for the others - Cassandra, Varric, Solas, and Bull - to follow.

They found the hut not far from the treeline, nestled in a grove of wind-warped trees. From a distance, it looked abandoned. But as they approached, the ring of shouted orders made it clear someone had made it a training ground.

“Line there!” a voice barked. “No gaps. Focus. They’ll know what that means!”

A broad-shouldered man paced in front of a small group of ragtag farmers holding worn shields and dulled weapons. His dark beard was flecked with grey, and his presence carried the kind of weight that didn’t come from rank alone.

“Remember how to carry your shields! You’re not hiding, you’re holding!”

Lilith stepped forward. “Warden Blackwall?”

He turned fast, eyes narrowing. “You’re not - how do you know my name? Who sent-?”

An arrow whistled from the trees. Lilith caught the movement just in time, lunging for a discarded shield and raising it in front of her. The arrow thunked into the wood with a solid crack.

Blackwall didn’t hesitate. “That’s it. You’re in or out - bandits are here. Conscripts! Form up!”

They came in fast - bandits in tattered leather and rage - but they weren’t prepared for a trained Warden or an Inquisition squad. Steel met flesh. Magic scorched the ground. The fight was brief but brutal.

When the last bandit fell, Blackwall drove his sword into the earth and knelt beside a corpse. “Sorry bastards,” he muttered, then rose and addressed the stunned farmers.

“Good work. You held. You did more than most would’ve. Take what they stole. Go home. You saved yourselves.”

They shuffled off, murmuring thanks, still clutching their shields like lifelines.

Lilith approached again, this time slower. Blackwall turned, watching her with guarded eyes.

“You’re no farmer,” he said. “Why do you know my name? Who are you?”

She offered a tired smile. “I’ve been called a lot of things lately.”

“Don’t dodge,” he snapped. “I asked you a question.”

Cassandra stepped in, voice clipped. “We’re with the Inquisition. We’re investigating why the Wardens disappeared. And whether that’s connected to the Divine’s murder.”

Lilith nodded. “You’re the first Warden I’ve been able to find. So far, you’re all that’s left.”

Blackwall’s brow furrowed. “The Wardens… vanished?” He shook his head. “Maker’s balls. I didn’t know. But I suppose I wouldn’t. We disappear all the time. Job done, Blight ended - no one remembers us. But no Warden would kill the Divine. We don’t play at politics.”

“I’m not accusing you,” Lilith said. “Not yet. But something’s happening. And it’s hard to ignore.”

“I haven’t seen another Warden in months,” he said. “I travel alone. Recruit where I can. Not many are interested - the Archdemon’s dead, and there’s no sign of another Blight. The treaties give us the right to conscript, so I used it. Those bandits had already taken too much. I told their victims to stand and fight. Now they won’t need me next time.”

“Do you know where the others might’ve gone?” Lilith asked.

“Maybe back to Weisshaupt,” Blackwall said. “It’s our fortress, in the Anderfels. Long way from here. But all of them vanishing? Doesn’t make sense.”

“Then why haven’t you?” she pressed. “If something’s drawing them away, why not you?”

Blackwall hesitated, then shrugged. “Maybe I was supposed to. Maybe there’s an order I never got. I’ve been on my own a while. Was planning to stay that way.”

Lilith exhaled. “So I’ve found you. And you don’t know anything.”

He watched her a moment, expression unreadable. Then: “Hold on. You said you’re trying to fix things. The Divine is dead. The sky is torn open. The Wardens should be here. If they’re not - maybe you need one who is .”

Lilith tilted her head. “The Inquisition needs help, yes. But what can one Grey Warden do?”

Blackwall’s voice turned grim. “Save the world, if pressed. I’ve done worse. This may not be a Blight, but it’s a bloody disaster. And if you’re invoking the treaties - maybe it’s time someone honored them.”

She looked him over. There was steel in him, sure, and something like purpose burning beneath the weariness. But there was also something else. A shadow, maybe.

“Welcome to the Inquisition, Warden Blackwall,” she said at last.

His shoulders straightened, and for a moment, he looked almost proud. “Good to hear. Maybe it’s time I stopped skulking through the woods. This Warden walks with the Inquisition.”

As he turned to gather his things, Lilith lingered still. Something about him itched at the back of her mind - not quite wrong, but not right either. She’d met her share of liars, manipulators, men who wore stories like armor. Blackwall didn’t feel false. But he felt... unfinished .

She narrowed her eyes slightly. But she said nothing. Not yet.


The heavy doors groaned open under Lilith’s push, the familiar scent of parchment and polish greeting her like an old friend - or perhaps a wary ally. Inside, the advisors stood gathered around the long, carved table marked with pins and banners. A map of southern Thedas was stretched across it, candlelight casting shadows that danced over the disputed lines of war.

Cassandra was already mid-argument, arms crossed, jaw set. “The templars are organized, disciplined. We know their command structure. If we are to stabilize the region, we need order. The mages have been fractured since the rebellion.”

Leliana, standing just to the side with her hood lowered, gave a small, skeptical smile. “Order that comes with shackles, perhaps. I’ve seen the reports from Ferelden - villages scorched, refugees terrified. The mages are desperate, yes, but that makes them reachable. If we don’t offer an alliance, someone else will.”

Cullen shifted, his posture tight with uncertainty. “The templars could provide a military advantage. Our forces are limited, and they’re trained for battle. But…” He hesitated, then added, “Since leaving the Chantry, they've changed. They're not answering to any central authority. If we reach out, we don’t know what we’ll find.”

“Which is why you speak to the mages first,” Josephine said, voice calm and even. “If we approach them respectfully - as equals - there’s a chance for peace. A chance to gain allies without creating more enemies.”

Lilith lingered by the edge of the map, her fingers brushing the border of Ferelden. Her eyes caught on the tiny mark of Redcliffe - small, almost unremarkable next to the painted wound of the Breach.

“They’re not going to like it,” Cassandra muttered. “The Chantry, I mean. Siding openly with apostates.”

“They’re not going to like anything we do,” Leliana replied. “But the Chantry isn’t the one standing between us and the end of the world.”

Lilith looked up. “Redcliffe,” she said.

All heads turned toward her.

She straightened. “That’s where we go. To the mages. They’ve already organized something, enough to hold a place like that. If there’s even a chance we can reason with them, we need to try. The Breach doesn’t care who started what war. It just swallows everything.”

Cassandra’s jaw tightened, but she gave a short nod. “If that is your decision.”

“We’ll make preparations immediately,” Josephine said, already reaching for a stack of reports.

Cullen hesitated. “We should be ready in case it turns hostile.”

“Hopefully it won't,” Lilith said quietly. “We’re not going for a fight.”

Leliana tilted her head. “You sound certain.”

Lilith’s voice softened. “Let’s just say… I know what desperation looks like.”

There was a beat of silence before Leliana gave a knowing nod, and Cassandra turned back to the table, already studying the approach routes to Redcliffe.

The room shifted into motion - scrolls unrolled, quills scratched, and messengers were summoned. Lilith stood at the edge, watching the flickering candlelight over the map. For now, the decision was made. And the path forward, however uncertain, had a direction.

Toward Redcliffe. Toward the mages. And toward whatever waited for them there.


The tavern was loud, hot, and far too full of people - which was precisely why it felt like a gift.

Lilith leaned against the edge of the table, a half-finished drink in one hand and a crooked smile on her lips as she watched Sera try - and fail spectacularly - to land a knife in the dead center of the target on the opposite wall. The blade clattered to the floor, at least a foot wide of the mark. Bull let out a roar of laughter beside her.

“Were you even aiming?” he called, raising his tankard.

Sera shot him a rude gesture. “Shut your trap, ox-man. That wall moved.”

“I believe,” Varric said, lounging nearby with his boots propped on another chair, “that walls are generally known for their stubborn stillness.”

“Y’know what’s not still?” Sera retorted, grabbing another knife from the table. “Your face, once I-”

“All right, all right,” Lilith cut in with a grin. “Let’s keep the games knife-free for now. Hells, we’re not even out of Haven yet.”

She chuckled and took another sip, the burn of the liquor warm and biting. The Singing Maiden was crowded with Inquisition soldiers and companions, all grasping at a final breath of levity before the road to Redcliffe. Laughter rang through the rafters. Someone had dragged in a battered lute and was strumming off-key in the corner. The whole place had the faint scent of spilled ale, sweat, and woodsmoke.

“You look like you’re actually having fun,” Varric said, elbowing her gently. “It suits you.”

“I’m working on it,” she replied, voice wry. “Joy is... a muscle. You have to train it.”

“Careful,” he warned. “If you get too comfortable around us, you might start smiling unironically.”

“Perish the thought.”

He tilted his head, eyeing her with something between curiosity and affection. “Speaking of muscle memory… You and Chuckles have been spending a lot of time together.”

Lilith arched a brow. “Are you trying to gossip with me, Varric?”

“I’m just saying, I saw you duck into his cabin the other night.” He gave a sage nod. “Could be innocent. Could be dramatically brooding with shared trauma. I respect either.”

She snorted. “It’s nothing like that.”

“No waterfall kiss yet?”

She gave him a flat look. “You’re such a writer. Why is there always a waterfall in these scenarios?”

“Atmosphere,” Varric said, gesturing broadly. “Misty lighting. Emotional subtext. Perfect setup for unspoken longing.”

“Tragic,” she murmured, shaking her head. “But no. Just friends, is all.”

Varric nodded, and for a moment, his usual irreverence faded.

“Well, for what it’s worth, Chuckles isn’t the worst company. Bit broody, but he’s got that whole ‘mysterious loner with depth’ thing going. Real crowd-pleaser in the right lighting.”

Lilith glanced across the tavern. Solas sat at the corner of the long table, a cup of wine untouched before him, watching the chaos with faint amusement. 

He caught her eye - and for a moment, something passed between them. Wordless. Subtle. Like a current beneath the surface.

“Looks like you’ve got an admirer,” Bull said, sliding into the seat beside her with the self-assurance of a man twice his already considerable size. “And not just the moody elf. I saw the way one of the scouts was looking at you.”

Lilith turned back, amused. “Which scout?”

“The one who nearly tripped over his own boots when you walked in. Cute, bit scrawny. Definitely not your type.”

“Good to know you’re keeping tabs on my love life.”

“I like to be informed,” Bull said with a wink. “But if you’re ever looking for something a little more… high-impact.” He flexed one enormous bicep.

Lilith laughed. “Bull, you flirt with anything that breathes.”

“Gotta keep morale up. It’s part of my job.”

“And modesty,” she said dryly. “Can’t forget that.”

“Modesty’s for the dead,” he said, lifting his mug in toast. “Or the boring.”

She was about to toss another retort when Bull suddenly nodded toward the back of the tavern. “Walk with me?”

She blinked, caught off guard. A flicker of hesitation passed through her - then she nodded.

They slipped out the side door, into the crisp night air. The tavern’s noise dulled behind them, swallowed by the wind rustling through the trees and the distant crackle of torches. Bull walked beside her, easy and quiet, hands hooked loosely into his belt.

“You’ve got that look about you, boss. You carry yourself like someone who’s used to being hunted.” he said at last, his voice low and even.

She glanced over, her pulse quickening, and huffed out a breath - almost a laugh, attempting to feign nonchalonce. “That obvious?”

“Nah. Not to most.” He cast her a sidelong glance. “Ben-Hassrath, remember? I’m trained to notice the tension under the smile. You laugh, sure, but your eyes are always moving. Still counting the exits.”

Lilith didn’t answer right away. The silence between them was thick, but not uncomfortable.

“I’ve known a lot of dangerous people,” he went on. “Spies, mercs… You- you're something else. Not just dangerous. Disciplined. That kind of control doesn’t come from talent. That’s lived-in. Earned.”

Her jaw tightened as her gaze drifted toward the tree line. She weighed him in silence. It had been so long - over a year - since she’d let herself trust anyone fully. Since she hadn’t been constantly looking over her shoulder. 

She’d been learning about the Qun lately. Idle questions, throwaway lines from Solas, the things Bull said when he wasn’t thinking too hard. A rigid system, brutally efficient. A kind of order built from obedience and erasure.

Not so different from what she’d known.

Maybe she couldn’t trust Bull - not completely. He was Ben-Hassrath, after all. But she was tired of doubting everyone around her. If she wanted to build something real with this strange, stubborn, mismatched group, she had to give a little, too.

“Back where I came from…” She hesitated, choosing each word with care. “I was supposed to be something. Chosen, even. I didn’t really have a choice - I followed every order like it was law. Let them shape me into whatever they wanted. And I believed in it. I thought that made me strong.”

“And now?” Bull asked quietly.

“Now I think it just made me hollow.” She let out a slow breath. “But I got out. Sort of. And I don’t even know who that makes me anymore.”

Bull was quiet for a few beats, his expression unreadable in the torchlight. Then he said, “The Qun teaches that purpose gives clarity. That when you know your place, the rest follows.”

She looked at him, curious.

“But even under the Qun,” he continued, “some questions don’t go away. You still have to live with yourself. Still have to ask who you are when the mission ends and the armor comes off.”

Lilith’s voice was soft. “Does it ever get easier?”

He gave a dry laugh. “No. But you get stronger. You get people who watch your back. And on the good days, you even laugh a little.”

She smiled, faint but genuine. “I want to be someone they can count on. Not just the Herald who fell out of the sky.”

He bumped her shoulder gently. “You’re off to a good start. Just don’t mop the floor with the entire barracks next time if you’re trying to fly under the radar.”

“No promises,” she said, a smirk tugging at her mouth.

They stood together for a moment, watching the wind tug at the torches and the moonlight spilling silver over the snow.

Then Bull clapped a hand lightly on her shoulder. “Alright, enough feelings. You owe me a card game. And I’m absolutely cheating.”

Lilith laughed, and this time it sounded like it belonged to her. “Lead the way.”

Back inside, Mira had joined their table, nursing a small glass of wine and hovering like she wasn’t sure if she was invited.

“Mira,” Lilith said warmly, gesturing to the empty chair beside her. “You joining us?”

“If that’s all right. I don’t want to intrude.”

“You’re not,” Lilith said. “Sit. You’ve more than earned a drink.”

Mira smiled shyly and settled in just as Sera yelled from the other end of the room, holding up a deck of cards like a prize.

“Oi! Lilith! You in or what?”

Lilith glanced toward the gathering group - Sera, Varric, Bull, Krem, even Cassandra trying to look disinterested in a way that fooled absolutely no one.

“What are we playing?”

“Wicked Grace!” Sera declared. “Loser drinks. Winner gloats. Try not to lose your shirt.”

Lilith gave her an exaggerated salute, then glanced once more toward the far corner of the room. Solas still sat alone. Quiet, observing.

She crossed the tavern to him. “You’re not really a tavern person, are you?” she asked.

“I prefer quiet. Books. A fire, perhaps.”

“Of course you do.” She smiled. “But you came anyway.”

“There is value,” he said, “in observing the people one fights alongside.”

She studied him a moment, then offered her hand.

“Come on.”

He looked from her hand to her face. “To what end?”

“Cards. Laughter. Possibly losing your dignity.”

“I do not possess any dignity I cannot afford to part with.”

“Now that,” she said, “sounded suspiciously like fun.”

He hesitated just long enough to make her wonder if he’d refuse - then took her hand.

His fingers were warmer than she expected.

As they rejoined the group, Sera whooped. “Oi, Fancy’s playing? Maker’s saggy left - this’ll be good.”

They made room around the large table, clearing space as Varric claimed dealer rights with the dramatic flourish of a man who lived for the spotlight.

Mira sat on Lilith’s other side, still a little tense, but Lilith bumped her knee gently.

“Don’t worry,” she whispered. “They’re only terrifying if you let them win.”

The game began.

Varric bluffed boldly with a garbage hand. Sera called him immediately and threw down a straight with a crow of triumph.

Cassandra caught Krem cheating and slapped his hand hard enough to make him drop two extra cards. Bull lost the first round despite loudly claiming he’d never lost a game in his life.

“Luck,” he grumbled.

“Hubris,” Varric corrected.

Solas played with unnerving calm, his face unreadable, which only made Sera more determined to crack him.

“Do you even know how to have fun?” she asked, squinting at him.

“Fun,” he replied, “is a matter of perspective.”

Lilith leaned in. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

He didn’t smile - but the corner of his mouth twitched. “Perhaps.”

Mira surprised everyone by winning a hand, whispering her strategy to Lilith under her breath.

“You’re all just loud,” she added, eyes glinting.

Lilith burst out laughing. “Maker, I think she just insulted all of us.”

“It's always the quiet ones!” Bull said cheerfully.

When Lilith finally won a round, Sera threw a peanut at her.

“Witch!” she declared.

“You wound me.”

“Oh, she’s definitely a witch,” Bull said. “The good kind. Cursed my heart the moment she walked in.”

“Bull.”

“I regret nothing.”

The game continued, easy and reckless, edged in drink and light and the comfort of camaraderie. Glances lingered. Jokes hit a little too close to truth. But no one seemed to mind.

Lilith’s knee brushed Solas’. He didn’t move away.

Mira leaned close again. “Think I should go all in?”

Lilith smirked. “Absolutely.”

She did. And won.

“I’m never playing against her again,” Varric declared. “She’s clearly some kind of ringer.”

“Just quiet,” Mira said softly, victorious.

Lilith looked around the table, heart lighter than it had been in weeks. Her people. For now, for this moment, it was enough.

Solas was watching her again. Not as a threat. But as someone trying - genuinely - to understand her.

She tossed another coin into the pot.

“Another hand?”

Sera slapped her cards down. “Always.”

And the game went on.


The dream always began in the same place.

A circle of stone, slick with blood. Walls too dark, too vast to see. Candles flickered at the edges like the eyes of watching beasts. And in the center, a ritual table - familiar. Drenched in memory.

Lilith stood barefoot on the cold floor. Her hands dripped red. Her breath came fast and shallow. 

They were all there.

Karlach knelt at the edge of the circle, bound and bleeding, her fire guttered to smoke. Shadowheart stood beside her, silent, glassy-eyed, reciting a prayer Lilith didn’t recognize in a voice that wasn’t her own. Gale was slumped to the side, half-conscious, mouth twitching as if working through a spell that wouldn't come.

And Astarion, of course, stood nearest her. Not pale - not anymore. His skin glowed with a sickly sheen, like moonlight reflected on bone. His eyes shone red, deep and full of mirth.

"You always were so good at this,” he said, circling her slowly. “You remember the way, don’t you? The blade, the heart, the name. In that order.”

Lilith’s jaw clenched. Her body moved without her will - reaching for the knife laid out before her.

“Don’t disappoint me, darling,” he whispered into her ear. “They all think you’re better now. Brighter. But I know you. I remember who you are when the world stops watching.”

She turned to him, voice flat. “I’m not yours anymore.”

His smile widened. “But you were. And oh, how you shone.”

The knife was in her hand. Her fingers wouldn’t let it go.

Karlach tried to speak. “Lilith, don’t-”

“Shhh,” Astarion crooned. “Let her work.”

Lilith looked down at her hands, at the edge of the blade, and blinked. Once. Twice. No weight. No heat. No scent of blood. Just… illusion. Familiar. Manipulated.

She exhaled sharply. “This isn’t real.”

Astarion tilted his head, mockingly. “Isn’t it?”

“No,” she snarled. With a sudden, fierce surge of will - sharp, brutal, unrelenting - she thrust back against the nightmare.

The blood circle shattered like jagged glass exploding underfoot, and Astarion’s face twisted grotesquely, melting into something boneless and grinning, before dissolving entirely.

The dreamscape buckled-

-and Lilith slammed into the floating stone floor, palms skidding across its cool, polished surface. Jasmine and static filled her lungs. The air was soft and thick, like the moment before a summer storm.

She groaned, breath ragged, and pushed herself upright. The stars below pulsed in a slow rhythm. Her fingers trembled.

And of course, he was already waiting.

Solas sat on a chaise atop a raised platform just ahead, reading a book. This time, he looked up.

“Rough dream?” he asked.

She gave a hollow laugh. “What gave it away? The entrance or the face full of floor?”

He studied her, expression unreadable. “Was it the same dream as before?”

Lilith rose slowly, brushing her hands off on her thighs. “Oh, you know. The classics. Blades. Arrogance.” She made a vague spiral with one hand. “Whimsy.”

Solas tilted his head. “And you dispelled it yourself.”

“Didn’t feel like I had a choice,” she said, exhaling. “But I’m getting better at breaking the spell.”

That earned a faint smirk. “Progress, then.”

She stepped closer, humming. “Or just survival.”

“Perhaps both.”

The Fade shimmered around them - soft, silver light rippling across a dreamscape that resembled a half-forgotten library. Towering shelves curled impossibly into the sky, and the scent of parchment hung thick in the air.

Lilith stood beside a long-forgotten window, the glass warped and starlit. “Do you think we’re making the right call?” she asked quietly, not turning.

Solas glanced up again from his book, one brow lifting. “You mean approaching the mages.”

She nodded, arms folded. “They’re angry. Scared. And not exactly thrilled with the Inquisition. I just… I don’t know if showing up with open hands is wisdom or suicide.”

Solas closed the book gently, dust motes curling around the motion like mist. “Mages are not a monolith,” he said. “Some will listen. Others may not. But they deserve the chance to choose.”

Lilith’s mouth quirked. “You sound idealistic.”

“I am many things,” Solas said, stepping towards her, “but idealism is rarely one of them. I believe in consequence. And in leverage.”

She turned to face him then, searching his expression. “So we bring them a choice. Not a command.”

He inclined his head. “Exactly. That alone may make the difference.”

Lilith exhaled slowly, glancing once more at the unreal stars above. “Still feels like a gamble.”

“All meaningful choices are,” he murmured.

She met his gaze and held it. “And what would you bet on?”

Solas paused. Then, with quiet certainty: “You.”

The Fade rustled around them like breath.

Lilith looked away first, a little too quickly. “Then let’s hope you’re right.”

Solas didn’t answer - but his silence, as always, said plenty.

“So,” she murmured, tone playful but eyes steady, “what’s it like, being the most insufferable scholar in the Fade?”

That earned a rare smile - genuine, crinkling at the corners of his eyes. “Fortunately, I have a high tolerance for the insufferable.”

She arched a brow. “You mean me, don’t you?”

He leaned in, voice low and careful, as if weighing each word. “Tolerance is often the quietest beginning.”

She smirked, but didn’t look away - like she’d heard more than he’d said and meant to make him wonder.

They sat in that stillness a moment longer, stars wheeling above them. Eventually, Lilith drew a slow breath. “Do you ever wonder who you’d be, if you hadn’t…” She let the thought trail off. “If things had turned out different?”

Solas’s gaze flicked to her. “Often. Though wondering does not change the road behind us.”

She tilted her head, studying him. “You sound like someone who took a wrong turn.”

He offered the ghost of a smile. “Or someone who reached the end of a path and found it wasn’t a destination.”

She huffed softly. “Do you always talk like that?”

“Only when words must serve more than meaning.”

That startled a laugh from her. “And here I thought you were just mysterious by nature.”

He smirked, looking away from her. 

Lilith sat back down and leaned back on her hands, tilting her head up. “When I was little, I used to pretend I came from the stars. I’d make up names for the constellations, stories for how I got stuck down here. Cursed princess. Lost spirit. That sort of thing.”

Solas sat down too, looking at her for a long moment. “What did you decide in the end?”

She smiled faintly. “That I was a monster someone tried to make into a girl.”

A pause. There was a tenderness in the air now, the kind that followed honesty - unguarded, dangerous.

“I don’t see a monster,” Solas said quietly. “Only someone trying to determine what shape her spirit will take.”

She looked over, startled despite herself. “Poetic.”

“I speak the language of the Fade,” he said, as if that explained it. And perhaps it did.

There was something gentle in the quiet that followed, like breath before a question.

“I saw you,” she said, “when I broke the nightmare. Just for a second. Before the floor hit me in the face.”

He chuckled softly. “You are welcome.”

She grinned, leaning a little closer. “You always wait until I’ve done the hard part before showing up?”

“I find people are less inclined to trust what comes too easily.”

Lilith squinted. “Is that a riddle or a confession?”

“Yes.”

That made her laugh again, low and warm. “You’re lucky you’re pretty when you’re cryptic.”

Solas blinked, then gave her a look both startled and amused. “Pretty?”

Lilith gave a faux-thoughtful nod. “Painfully so. Tragic, really. All that brooding. Such a waste.”

He tilted his head, bemused. “And here I believed you merely endured my company out of necessity.”

“Oh, I tolerate you,” she said, inching closer. “But I never said it wasn’t fun.”

He tilted his head, eyes alight with quiet mischief. “Careful. Flattery is a dangerous game in the Fade.”

“I like dangerous games.” Her voice dipped lower, not teasing exactly - just honest.

He didn’t answer at first. Just looked at her. Really looked.

“You’re not what I expected,” he said softly.

“Good,” she murmured. “I’m tired of being predictable.”

The silence that followed felt different this time - charged, liminal. Like standing on the edge of something neither of them had quite named.

Then Lilith stood, brushing dust from her hands like shaking off the spell. “Come on. If I stay here too long, I might start talking about my feelings, and we can’t have that.”

Solas rose with her, slow and fluid. “Perish the thought.”

She glanced back at him, mouth curling. “Let’s skip the lesson tonight. Same time tomorrow?”

His expression didn’t shift - but something in his voice warmed. “Ma nuvenin, da'len.”

And when she woke, heart pounding in the quiet dark, the dream was already fading. But the feeling lingered - like the ghost of touch, or the moment just before you fall.

Notes:

i don't actually understand betting so i hope "payout's ten-to-one!" made sense lmfaoooo

Chapter 9: Chapter Nine

Notes:

chapter 9 and 10 were originally one chapter, until I made them tooooo long. so now they're separate, but I've decided to post them at the same time! (can you tell I'm excited to get to the In Hushed Whispers mission?)

Chapter Text

“Why do I always get the feeling we’re walking straight into a trap?” Lilith asked, adjusting her grip on her staff as they climbed the trail up to Redcliffe.

“Because we are,” Varric replied cheerfully. “But at least it’s a trap with fresh air and a lovely view.”

“I was promised mages,” she muttered. “Instead, I get bandits, wolves, and a goat named Gerald who bit me.”

“I told you not to touch it,” Cassandra said over her shoulder.

“It winked at me, Cassandra. How could I resist?.”

Solas chuckled under his breath. “You did attempt to charm a goat. The outcome seems rather proportionate.”

Lilith glanced at him sideways. “Careful. That sounded suspiciously like a joke.”

He didn’t respond, but the corner of his mouth twitched.

The road to Redcliffe curled through hills gone pale with mist, but ahead, the village gates stood sharp and defined - and wrong. Just beyond them, something shimmered in the air, green and pulsing like a wound. A rift, gaping and volatile, hissed magic into the air like breath through broken teeth.

A soldier bolted past the Inquisition party, his face slick with sweat. “Keep a constant watch on the damned thing!” he shouted over his shoulder. “Sound the alarm the moment you see a demon!”

Another guard, this one barely older than a boy, paused long enough to glance at the approaching group. “Watch yourself, traveler!” he cried. “The Veil’s ripped wide open, and Maker-knows-what could come out!”

Lilith narrowed her eyes at the rift. It throbbed with unstable energy, radiating out in strange waves. For a second, she felt her heartbeat skip - then rush, then slow. Time bent around it like heat on stone.

A third soldier tried to intercept them, sword drawn. “Turn back! We can’t open the gates until the threat’s-!”

The rift screamed.

Figures clawed their way from the breach - twisted silhouettes that howled as they emerged, half-formed things of spirit and shadow. The party had barely drawn weapons before the air split with a pulse that sent Lilith reeling.

She staggered sideways. Varric’s shout reached her seconds too late. Iron Bull moved like molasses; a demon flickered forward in a blur.

Time felt like it was breaking .

“Fall back!” Cassandra barked, voice distorted.

No. No time for that. Lilith pulled her staff and pushed through the dissonance, magic crackling at her fingertips. She reached for the rift - into it - and drove her will like a blade.

It shattered open, then imploded. Silence fell like a dropped curtain.

Lilith stood at the center, breath fogging the air. Her limbs trembled slightly, uncertain whether to speed up or slow down. 

“…What was that?” she murmured, eyes still on the space where the rift had been.

Solas stepped forward, gaze fixed on the residual shimmer fading into the air. “That breach altered the flow of time around itself. It didn’t just weaken the Veil - it warped it.” He sounded almost reverent. “Fascinating. And deeply concerning.”

“I think we could’ve skipped these things getting weirder ,” Varric muttered, lowering Bianca.

Iron Bull grunted. “See? This is why my people don’t like magic.”

Lilith shook out her fingers, steadying herself. “There are a lot of mages in Redcliffe. Maybe Fiona will know what’s happening here.”

One of the soldiers crept forward, gawking at the closed rift. “Maker have mercy… is it over? Open the gates!”

The massive wooden doors creaked open. Beyond them, Redcliffe looked peaceful - but it was an illusion. The air still felt off . Too thin, too quiet. They stepped through as the scouts came to meet them.

“You’re from the Inquisition?” the lead scout asked. “We spread word you were coming, but… no one here was expecting you.”

Lilith frowned. “No one? Not even Grand Enchanter Fiona?”

“If she was, she didn’t say. We’ve arranged space for you at the Gull & Lantern, if you want to begin negotiations.”

Before she could respond, a young elf hurried over, nearly tripping in his haste. “Agents of the Inquisition, my apologies!” he said. “Magister Alexius is overseeing things now, but he hasn’t arrived yet. You may speak with the former grand enchanter in the meantime.”

He gestured toward the tavern before ducking away.

Lilith turned, mouthing to the group, “ Former Grand Enchanter?”

Cassandra replied grimly, “We should speak with her immediately.”

Solas, already scanning the horizon and not quite listening, murmured, “The Veil is weaker here than it was in Haven. And not just weak - altered. Shaped. I have never seen anything like it.”

They crossed into the heart of Redcliffe, the village too quiet around them. The Gull & Lantern’s sign creaked in the wind. Inside, warmth and candlelight offered a fragile comfort, one that shattered the moment they stepped through the door and spotted her.

Fiona stood at the far end of the room, tense, but regal. “Welcome, agents of the Inquisition,” she said. “What brings you to Redcliffe?”

Lilith hesitated, watching her closely for any flicker of irony. “We’re here because of your invitation. You approached us in Val Royeaux.”

Fiona blinked. “You must be mistaken. I haven’t been to Val Royeaux since before the Conclave.”

Lilith’s eyes narrowed. “There’s no mistake. While the templars were withdrawing, you appeared in the Grand Plaza and invited us here.”

The grand enchanter faltered. “The templars… left Val Royeaux?” She shook her head slightly. “That sounds… odd. Why does that sound strange ?”

Her tone changed, then. Firmer; resigned.

“Whoever sent you, whatever you were told - the situation has changed. The mages of Ferelden have already pledged themselves to the Tevinter Imperium.”

Lilith’s gaze snapped to her companions, searching their expressions for a measure of the fallout. Most were stunned into stillness.

She looked to Solas. His face remained unreadable, but his shoulders had gone rigid - like a bowstring pulled taut.

Varric let out a low whistle. “Andraste’s ass… I’m trying to think of a single worse thing you could’ve done, and I’ve got nothing.”

“I understand you are afraid,” Solas said, calm but firm. “But you deserve better than slavery to Tevinter.”

Iron Bull crossed his arms. “This right here is why you can’t trust mages. First it’s rebellions, now it’s inviting slavers through the front door.”

Cassandra’s jaw tightened. “An alliance with Tevinter ? Do you not fear all of Thedas turning against you?”

Fiona held up a hand. “I understand your anger. But as one indentured to a magister, I no longer have the authority to negotiate.”

Lilith’s voice turned sharp. “So, that’s it? You handed your people over to Tevinter - and what about the rifts? The one we just closed outside your gates ?”

Fiona sighed, the weight of it bowing her shoulders. “All hope of peace died with Divine Justinia. The bargain with Tevinter… it was not my first choice. But we were losing. I chose the survival of my people over annihilation.”

“I have not forgotten the Breach,” she added. “But we can only fight one war at a time. The templars were immediate. If we live, then we can face the Veil.”

Footsteps echoed from the hallway behind her. Two figures stepped into the tavern, both robed in Tevinter finery. One moved with studied grace, a predator in diplomat’s clothing.

“Welcome, my friends,” said Magister Gereon Alexius, lips curling into a pleasant smile. “Apologies for the delay.”

Fiona straightened. “Agents of the Inquisition, allow me to introduce Magister Alexius.”

He dipped his head. “The southern mages are now under my command.”

Then, his eyes fell on Lilith, narrowing with unsettling intensity. “And you,” he said, his voice softening, growing silkier with interest. “You are the survivor, yes? The one who emerged from the Fade.”

Lilith’s spine straightened. The air around her felt suddenly colder.

Alexius stepped closer, eyes glittering with a strange hunger. “You’re quite the curiosity, aren’t you?” His voice dropped to something almost intimate - admiring in a way that made her skin crawl. “You’re not like the others. I can see it in the Weave of you.”

Lilith went very still. Not Fade . Not magic . Weave . That word - the way he said it - did not belong in Thedas.

Her pulse roared in her ears. She kept her expression neutral, but her hand drifted, slow and casual, toward the staff strapped at her back.

Alexius’s smile curved into something colder, knowing. “There are those,” he murmured, “who would go to great lengths to understand what you are.”

Lilith didn’t respond. She didn’t trust her voice. A quiet, familiar panic twisted in her gut, dark and thick like smoke. He knew. Maybe not everything, but enough.

She forced herself to speak, cool and measured. “The grand enchanter told me she was - how did she put it - ‘indentured to a magister.’ Was that you?”

Alexius spread his hands, a gesture of affected graciousness. “Our southern brethren, regrettably, have no legal standing in the Imperium. Not having been born citizens, they must serve a period of ten years before attaining full rights. As their patron and protector, I oversee the terms of their service.”

Lilith’s eyes narrowed. “When, exactly, did you negotiate this arrangement with Fiona?”

Alexius sighed, as though burdened by the weight of necessity. “When the Conclave was destroyed, these poor souls faced slaughter at the hands of the templars, who struck without warning. It could only be through divine providence that I arrived when I did.”

Fiona, standing stiff beside him, nodded with an uneasy smile. “It was certainly… very timely.”

Lilith turned her gaze back to the magister. “What does the Imperium gain from taking in rebel mages from the south? Sounds rather generous.”

Alexius gave a short, pleasant laugh. “At present? The southern mages are quite the expense. But once properly trained, they will be a valuable addition to our legions.”

Fiona’s head whipped around. “You said not all my people would be military! There are children, scholars - those not suited-”

Alexius silenced her with a sharp glance and a smile that never reached his eyes. “And one day,” he said smoothly, “I’m sure they will all make productive citizens of the Imperium. When their debts are paid.”

Cassandra’s voice rang out, hard with suspicion. “I’ve seen no sign of Redcliffe’s Arl or his men.”

Alexius turned toward her with carefully measured regret. “Ah. The Arl of Redcliffe… left the village.”

Varric folded his arms. “ Left . That’s a polite way of saying ‘you threw him out on his ass.’”

Cassandra frowned. “Arl Teagan did not abandon his lands even during the Blight. He stood his ground when monsters were at his gates.”

Alexius waved a hand, as if swatting away a trifling concern. “There were… tensions. I feared an incident. It was best for everyone.”

Lilith tilted her head, voice like ice. “You’re quite a long way from Minrathous, Magister Alexius.”

Alexius’s smile sharpened - not friendly, not warm, but pleased , as though they were sharing a secret. “Indeed,” he murmured. “But then, so are you. I suspect your journey was rather longer than mine.”

It was casual. A throwaway line, meaningless to anyone else. But the way he said it - soft, deliberate, with the faintest tilt of emphasis - landed like a blade between her ribs.

Her jaw tightened. She forced her tone steady. “I’m here to secure the help of the mages. The Breach isn’t going to close itself.”

Alexius let out a light laugh, full of knowing amusement. “Ah, yes. Right to business, of course. How very… pragmatic.”

He leaned back slightly in his chair, eyes still locked on hers, watching her like a puzzle he already knew how to solve.

He stepped aside, gesturing to a nearby table tucked in a corner of the tavern, a seat already prepared. “Please, come. We can speak further.”

Lilith hesitated just long enough to catch Fiona’s expression - strained, uncomfortable. But she followed.

Alexius took the seat across from her with practiced ease, folding his hands together. “Felix,” he called over his shoulder, “would you send for a scribe, please?”

A young man, seated nearby and trying not to look exhausted, rose immediately. He bowed to the group, especially to Lilith, and gave a faint smile.

“My son,” Alexius said with a note of pride. “Felix. An excellent boy.”

Felix nodded once more and departed.

“I’m not surprised you’re here,” Alexius said, turning his full attention back to Lilith. “Containing the Breach… not a task for the meek. There is no telling how many mages would be required to sustain such an effort. Ambitious, indeed.”

Lilith leaned forward, resting her arms on the table. “When you’re dealing with a gaping tear in the sky that vomits demons into the world, thinking small isn’t an option.”

Across from her, Alexius chuckled. But it was a thin sound, all performance. His eyes remained fixed on her, gleaming - not with humor, but calculation.

“Well said,” he murmured. “There will have to be-”

The door opened behind them. Footsteps hurried across the tavern floor.

“-adjustments,” Alexius finished, turning his head just as a young man approached: Felix, returning with a tightness to his movements that hadn’t been there before.

He looked pale, his jaw clenched as if holding something back. And as he reached the table, his step faltered.

“Felix,” Alexius snapped, just as his son stumbled - directly into Lilith.

Her hand went to her staff out of instinct, but Felix caught himself quickly, grasping her hand in apology.

“My lady,” he said breathlessly, voice tight. “I’m so sorry. Please forgive me.”

Lilith’s eyes narrowed. His hand lingered a moment too long - just long enough for her to feel something pressed into her palm.

Alexius was already rising from his seat, his tone clipped with concern. “Felix. Are you all right?”

Felix stepped back, straightening with effort. “I’m fine, Father.”

Alexius’s expression shifted, irritation glimmering beneath a mask of care. “Come. I’ll get your powders.” He turned back to the table with a thin-lipped smile. “Please excuse me, friends. It seems we must postpone our little discussion. Fiona, I’ll require your assistance back at the castle.”

Fiona hesitated, glancing at Lilith with something like apology. “Of course, Magister.”

“I don’t mean to trouble everyone,” Felix added, eyes briefly meeting Lilith’s - something unspoken and urgent flashing in them.

Alexius placed a guiding hand on his son’s back, too firm to be gentle. “You needn’t explain, Felix. Come.”

He turned toward the door, adding without looking back, “I’ll send word to the Inquisition. We’ll conclude our business soon.”

The three of them departed - Alexius’s robes trailing behind him like a curtain closing on a stage - and the tavern fell abruptly quieter.

Lilith waited, breath tight in her chest, until the door shut behind them. Only then did she look down and slowly uncurl her fingers.

In her palm sat a folded scrap of parchment, hastily creased, the ink slightly smudged. She opened it with care.

Come to the Chantry. You are in danger.

Her stomach twisted. Behind her, Varric gave a low whistle. “Oh, very interesting.”

Cassandra leaned in, catching sight of the parchment. Her expression darkened. “Did the magister’s son give you that? Why would he help us?”

Solas didn’t take his eyes off the note. “It’s unsigned. That suggests he feared it would be found - by someone who wouldn’t take kindly to it.”

Lilith tucked it away into her sleeve. “We’ll be careful. But something’s wrong here. Alexius knew more than he was saying.”

Solas nodded. “A man like that doesn’t waste words. Every phrase is deliberate. If his son risked warning us, we should assume there’s real danger - and likely more than one kind.”

Lilith exhaled through her nose, slow and steady. “Then we need to act - fast.”

“We’ll be cautious,” Cassandra said. “Weapons ready, no one goes alone.”

Varric loaded a fresh bolt into Bianca with a click. “You know, the last time I followed a secret invitation like this, it ended with poison wine and a banshee impersonating someone’s grandmother.”

Lilith arched a brow. “Charming.”

“You’re not wrong,” he said, slinging Bianca over his shoulder. “But, if Felix is on our side, we need to hear him out before dear old dad tightens the leash.”

Solas moved toward the door, his expression unreadable. “Whatever this is, it’s already begun.”

Lilith followed him out into the Redcliffe air, the cold wind catching the edge of her cloak. She could feel the note against her wrist, its presence burning like a brand.

You are in danger.


The heavy doors of the Redcliffe Chantry creaked open on half-broken hinges. Dust motes swirled in the dim light filtering through cracked stained glass. The party stepped inside - only to find chaos already unfolding.

A man stood at the center of the nave, elegant robes disheveled, staff in hand, as he brought it down hard against a shrieking shade. Another flick of his wrist sent a flare of light arcing toward the rift at the altar, where jagged green energy tore at the air.

"Good," the man called, spotting them. "You're finally here! Now help me close this, would you?"

They leapt into the fray. The rift bucked and screamed, warping the air around it as demons spilled forth, flickering in and out of phase like they didn’t belong in the moment they inhabited. They managed to force it closed, the air snapping still.

The man approached, brushing dust from his sleeves. He was striking in the way some people just were - dark hair, a roguish cut to his smile, eyes that burned with wit and disdain in equal measure.

He fixed Lilith with a look that made it feel like she was being measured for something expensive. “Fascinating. How does that work, exactly? You don’t even know , do you? You just wiggle your fingers and boom - rifts collapse.”

Lilith cocked her head, lips tugging into a smirk. “And you are?”

“Ah. Forgive me. Dorian of House Pavus, most recently of Minrathous. A pleasure.” He sketched a dramatic bow, more flair than formality.

“Watch yourself,” Iron Bull said, arms crossed. “The pretty ones are always the worst.”

Dorian straightened, raising a brow. “Suspicious friends you keep.”

Lilith ignored the jab, eyes flicking to the now-sealed rift. “I was expecting Felix.”

Dorian waved a hand. “He was supposed to pass along the note, then meet us here. I’m sure he’s on his way. Unless his father’s decided to swaddle him in silk and lock him in a tower.”

“Alexius nearly tripped over himself to get to Felix when he collapsed,” Lilith said. “Is he really sick?”

Dorian hesitated for a beat. “He’s been ill for months. Something lingering. Alexius is... attentive. Possibly too attentive.”

Cassandra stepped forward, her voice hard with suspicion. “Are you a magister?”

“Oh, let’s get this over with.” Dorian turned toward her with theatrical weariness. “Yes, I’m a mage from Tevinter. No, I am not a magister. I know you southerners tend to lump us all together, but that only makes you sound like barbarians.”

“Alexius was your mentor?” she asked. “So you’re betraying him because…?”

“Because I’m no longer his apprentice,” Dorian replied crisply, then smirked. “And because I have an almost functioning conscience.”

“Stop talking like you’re expecting applause,” Lilith said, folding her arms. “Just tell me what’s going on.”

Dorian made an exaggerated sigh. “No applause? What a cruel world.”

“Was it you who sent the note?” she pressed.

“It was. Someone had to warn you.” His voice dropped a little, eyes narrowing. “You’ve already felt it, haven’t you? That something’s wrong. That this whole Redcliffe arrangement is far too neat. All the rebel mages, tucked away here like ducks in a row, and Alexius just happens to be at the center of it?”

Lilith’s expression didn’t shift, but something cold curled in her gut.

“Let’s start with Alexius claiming all the rebel mages out from under you,” Dorian went on. “As if by magic, yes? Which is exactly right. To reach Redcliffe before the Inquisition, Alexius distorted time itself.”

Lilith scoffed. “I hope that’s less dangerous than it sounds.”

“More.” Dorian smirked, wryly. 

She sighed. “Great. So, he arranged it so he could arrive here just after the Divine died?”

“You catch on quick.”

Solas, ever the scholar, chimed in, “That is fascinating, if true… and almost certainly dangerous.”

Dorian continued, “The rift you closed here? You saw how it twisted time around itself, sped some things up and slowed others down. Soon there will be more like it, and they’ll appear further and further away from Redcliffe. The magic Alexius is using is wildly unstable, and it’s unraveling the world.”

Lilith watched Dorian for a moment, her eyebrows furrowing. “Why should I believe any of this?”

“I know what I’m talking about. I helped develop this magic. When I was still his apprentice, it was pure theory. Alexius could never get it to work. What I don’t understand is why he’s doing it? Ripping time to shreds just to gain a few hundred lackeys?”

At that moment, the door creaked again, and Felix slipped inside, his face pale, shoulders tense. “He didn’t do it for the mages.”

Dorian turned. “Took you long enough. Is he getting suspicious?”

Felix shook his head. “Not yet. But I shouldn’t have used the fainting act. He’s hovering more than usual.”

Lilith looked between them. “You’re working against your own father?”

Felix didn’t flinch. “Because I love him. And because I love my country. But this?” He shook his head. “He’s joined a cult. Tevinter supremacists. They call themselves the Venatori. And I can tell you one thing: whatever he’s done for them, he’s done it to get to you .” 

Lilith blinked. “Cults. Of course. And here I didn’t get Alexius anything, while he went and did all this for me.”

Dorian quirked a smile. “You could always send a fruit basket. Everyone loves those.”

“But seriously,” Lilith said, her smirk fading.  Her voice was quiet now, almost careful. She didn’t say what she was thinking - that somehow, impossibly, he knew. Something about her blood. Her past. And if Alexius had found it… who else had?

“Why me? Why would he go this far?” 

Felix’s expression tightened. “They’re obsessed with you. I don’t know why. Maybe because you survived the explosion at the Temple of Sacred Ashes. Maybe because you can close the rifts. You’re… significant.”

“Or dangerous,” Dorian added. “Which is the same thing, depending on who’s looking.”

Lilith didn’t answer immediately. She felt the familiar chill of being watched, not just by eyes in a room, but by forces . By fate.

“If the Venatori are involved in this,” Felix said quietly, “if they had anything to do with the Breach, they’re even worse than I feared.”

“Why now?” Cassandra demanded. “Why not stop your father sooner?”

“I’ve tried,” Felix said. “You think I wanted this? I thought he was just chasing influence. But this is beyond politics. Beyond pride. It’s madness. For his sake, for all of Thedas - you have to stop him.”

Dorian nodded solemnly. “And it would be lovely if he didn’t rip the fabric of reality while he’s at it. There’s already a hole in the sky. We don’t need a matching one in the world.”

Lilith narrowed her eyes. “I’m not afraid of Alexius.”

“Good,” Dorian said. “You’re his target. Knowing that? It means you can prepare. Expect the trap. That’s the first step in springing it in your favor.”

He turned to go, then paused. “I can’t stay in Redcliffe. If he learns I’m here, everything changes. But when you move against him - call for me. I want to be there.”

“I’ll send word to Haven,” Lilith said.

Dorian inclined his head in something like respect. “Then until we meet again.”

He stepped away, but glanced over his shoulder at Felix. “And you - try not to get yourself killed.”

Felix gave him a wan smile. “There are worse things than dying, Dorian.”

Lilith watched him leave, a swirl of velvet and firelight.

The others followed her out into the cold, unsettled air of Redcliffe.

“Does Tevinter really need cults?” Varric muttered. “Aren’t they weird enough?”

“The word you’re looking for,” Cassandra replied, “is dangerous .”

Iron Bull cracked his neck. “Vints are all crazy. If it’s not cults, it’s demons, or musical theater, or something.”

Solas spoke last, his voice low. “They have torn open more than just the Veil. So no - I doubt they need a cult on top of it.”

Lilith walked a step behind, her thoughts whirling like ash on the wind.


The road stretched ahead in lazy curves, sun slanting low through the trees. It was the kind of crisp air that hinted at early frost, the scent of pine and distant woodsmoke clinging to every breath. The group rode in loose formation back to Haven, horses plodding steadily along the dirt path.

Varric cleared his throat dramatically, breaking the silence. “Alright. Research question. For a book.”

Lilith twisted in her saddle, half-suspicious. “Don’t tell me you’re writing a book about the Inquisition.”

“Don’t flatter yourself, Scorcher,” he said, smirking. “Now - if you had to be haunted by one of your past romantic partners, who would you pick?”

Cassandra made a noise halfway between disbelief and disdain. “What sort of question is that?”

“A good one,” Bull said, amused. “C’mon, Seeker. Don’t pretend you don’t have a tragic ex somewhere in your past.”

“I do not,” she snapped, then muttered, “...and even if I did, they would not be the haunting type.”

“I’d pick Mavris,” Bull said cheerfully. “Fun guy. Great cook. Died screaming, but who hasn’t?”

Lilith laughed under her breath but didn’t answer right away. She felt the warmth of the sun on her cheeks and the way all their voices swam in a soft cocoon around her - safe, if only briefly. The question had been ridiculous, but not pointless.

It had been a long time since anyone asked her something like that. Longer still since she let herself imagine a future where love wasn’t just a weapon - or a liability.

Kaelen. She nearly swallowed the name. Bit it back the moment it touched the tip of her tongue. He didn’t belong in this world, not really. And she wasn’t sure if she could stand the questions if anyone pushed.

But it felt good to talk about him - about this burden she carries. And there was trust here, she realized. Not total, not yet. But enough.

“My haunting would be… Kaelen.”

The others turned toward her with varying expressions.

“He was sweet,” she said, almost defensively. “And had very little shame. He’d probably just whisper bad poetry in my ear at inopportune times.”

A flicker of melancholy crossed her face. Her voice had softened, turned wistful without her meaning it to.

She continued. “He once serenaded me during a bar fight. With a tambourine.”

Varric gave a low whistle. “That’s one way to stay memorable.”

Bull let out a loud, delighted laugh. “Maker’s balls, I like this guy.”

Even Solas blinked, his lips twitching with the ghost of a smile.

She fell quiet, fingers tightening around the pendant at her throat. Bull had said like, and she hadn’t corrected him. A single word, but it lodged deep - present tense, as though Kaelen still lingered somewhere just out of sight, waiting to be found.

They rounded a bend in the trail, pine needles crackling softly under the horses’ hooves. The silence that followed was warmer now, settled.

“Hey, Scorcher,” Varric called up. “You think ghosts get offended if you pick the wrong one?”

“I assume they’d just add it to the list of things they’re haunting you for ,” she said.

Cassandra sighed. “We are returning from a mission involving dark magic, and this is the conversation?”

“It’s called morale-building,” Varric replied. “You’d miss it if I died.”

“Which we are working very hard to prevent,” she muttered sarcastically.

“I can’t die until I find someone else with Bull’s exact combination of charm and complete moral depravity,” Lilith said.

“Aww,” Bull said, mock-flattered. “You do like me.”

“I tolerate you.” She shot a glance at Solas - pointed, amused. A mirror of what she’d told him not long ago.

“Same thing.”

Solas exhaled quietly, shaking his head. “You’re all deeply unserious.”

“Right,” Lilith said, smiling. “And you’re the paragon of restraint.”

“I am,” he replied, completely straight-faced. “It is exhausting.”

Lilith blinked, then barked a laugh. Even Cassandra snorted despite herself.

They rode on, the mountains rising slowly in the distance, and for a little while longer, the world felt, if not safe, then at least like something they could share.


The war room was quieter than usual, though tension hung over the table like a storm cloud waiting to burst. Candles flickered along the stone walls, throwing long shadows over the gathered advisors. Lilith stepped forward, the faint echo of her boots on stone drawing their eyes.

“We’ve made our decision,” she said. “We’re going to Redcliffe.”

Cullen pushed back from the table with a sharp exhale. “We don’t have the manpower to take the castle,” he said. “Either we find another way in, or give up this nonsense and go get the templars.”

“Redcliffe is in the hands of a magister,” Cassandra cut in before anyone could respond. “That cannot be allowed to stand.”

Josephine folded her hands neatly atop the table. “The letter from Alexius specifically requested a meeting with the Herald of Andraste.” She looked at Lilith, voice tight. “It’s an obvious trap.”

Lilith raised an eyebrow, dry amusement in her tone. “Isn’t that thoughtful of him. Did he say anything flattering?”

Leliana, perched like a hawk in the shadows near the map table, smiled without warmth. “He was so complimentary that we’re fairly certain he wants to kill you.”

Lilith’s smirk faded. “We can’t waste time arguing. We need a plan - and an agreement.”

“A Tevinter magister seizes a Ferelden stronghold, invites you into the heart of it, and some of us suggest doing nothing,” Leliana said. “That’s madness.”

“Not this again,” Josephine muttered under her breath.

Cullen leaned forward, jaw clenched. “Redcliffe Castle is one of the most defensible fortresses in all of Ferelden. It has repelled thousands of assaults. If you go in there, you’ll die - and we’ll lose the only person who can close these rifts. I won’t allow it.”

“And if we do nothing?” Leliana snapped. “We lose the mage rebellion and leave a hostile foreign power sitting on Ferelden’s doorstep.”

“Even if we could mount an assault,” Josephine said tightly, “it would do us no good. An Orlesian-led Inquisition storming a Ferelden fortress? The Crown would see it as a declaration of war.”

Cassandra slammed her fist on the table, rattling a few documents. “We cannot simply accept defeat. We must find another way.”

Cullen threw up his hands. “The magister has outplayed us.”

Lilith took a slow breath. “His son, Felix, told me Alexius is working with a cult. Something called the Venatori. Apparently, they’re obsessed with me.”

That got their attention.

“Then they’ll remain a threat,” Leliana said, eyes narrowing. “And a powerful one - unless we act.”

Lilith pressed on. “Where’s Arl Teagan? He could help us retake the castle.”

Josephine shook her head. “After he was ousted, the Arl rode straight to Denerim to appeal to the Crown. I doubt he’ll want our help once Ferelden starts marching to reclaim Redcliffe. Especially not from us.”

Lilith frowned. “There’s got to be another way into the castle. A sewer? Watercourse? Secret passage?”

Cullen grimaced. “Nothing I know of that would get you inside.”

“There is a way,” Leliana said, tapping a finger thoughtfully against her lips. “A secret escape route used by the Redcliffe family. Too narrow for a full force, but agents could slip through.”

Cullen frowned. “Too risky. They’d be discovered before reaching Alexius.”

“Not if they’re distracted,” Leliana said. “Say, by the envoy the magister so graciously invited?”

Cullen rubbed at his temples. “So while Alexius focuses on the Herald, we use that time to strike?”

“It could work,” Cassandra said. “But it’s a huge risk.”

At that moment, the doors to the war room slammed open. A soldier stumbled in, looking half out of breath. “This man claims he has information on the magister,” he said.

Behind him, Dorian strode in like he owned the place. “Fortunately,” he said with a dramatic bow, “you’ll have help.”

Lilith arched an eyebrow. “You always make an entrance like that?”

“Only when it counts.”

Cullen looked the Tevinter mage over, suspicion in his voice. “And what are you offering, exactly?”

“Your spies won’t get anywhere near Alexius without magical help,” Dorian said. “He’ll see them coming a mile off. But me? I know his tricks. I helped invent some of them. If you’re going after him, you need me.”

“You’d be walking into the lion’s den,” Cullen said grimly. “This plan puts you both in the most danger. We won’t force it. We can still abandon this and pursue the templars. The choice is yours.”

Lilith looked between them - Josephine’s worried frown, Cullen’s scowl, Cassandra’s burning conviction, Leliana’s cold pragmatism, and now Dorian, smirking as though he already knew her answer.

“I made my decision,” she said. “We go to Redcliffe.”

Dorian straightened, pleased. “Good. I’ll start packing.”

As the soldier moved to escort him out, Dorian paused beside the door and glanced back toward Lilith. “Oh - and I’m flattered by how many people are obsessed with you. I usually have to try harder.”

Lilith rolled her eyes, but her smile tugged at the corners of her mouth despite the tension.

He turned to go, but not before throwing one last look at the soldier behind him. “Come along, darling. Time waits for no one.”

As the door shut behind them, Cassandra leaned forward, voice ironclad. “We need to move quickly.”

“We’ll prepare the agents,” Leliana said. “They’ll be in position by the time you arrive.”

“And we’ll make sure our scouts are ready to coordinate on your signal,” Cullen added. “Maker watch over us.”

As the advisors dispersed to begin their preparations, Lilith lingered by the table, staring at the map of Ferelden. Her eyes settled on Redcliffe Castle - still cloaked in Alexius’s shadow.

A trap, maybe. But she'd walked into worse. And this time, she wouldn’t walk alone.

Chapter 10: Chapter Ten

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

The fire crackled at the heart of their makeshift camp, casting flickering light across bedrolls, saddlebags, and the glint of steel left within arm’s reach. They’d begun making their way (back) to Redcliffe and stopped just off a main road, tucked between a grove of twisted pines and a low rise that shielded them from the wind. The scent of smoke and damp earth hung in the air, mingling with the faint aroma of something burnt - possibly dinner.

Varric, ever prepared, had produced a suspiciously full bottle of Antivan brandy from the depths of his pack. Dorian, having rejoined them with rather dramatic timing, snapped his fingers and conjured drinking cups out of thin air, the silver catching the firelight with smug flair.

Iron Bull, three drinks in and blissfully sprawled near the fire, raised his cup and declared, “We’re playing something. Drinking without games is for nobles and corpses.”

“Truth or Dare,” Varric said at once, hands behind his head. “A classic. Requires zero effort and lots of chaos.”

Cassandra frowned. “I’d rather spar with demons.”

Lilith slid in beside the flames, stretching her legs toward the heat. “I’d pay to see that. Come on, Seeker. We could all use a little unwinding.”

Cassandra gave her a long-suffering look, but eventually folded her arms and sat. “If this becomes indecent-”

Bull grinned. “Define ‘indecent.’”

“Anything involving nudity, fire, blood, or-”

“Ah,” Varric said. “So just half the things we do anyway.”

The bottle made its way around as the group settled. Solas, as ever, remained a little apart - cross-legged, thoughtful - but he made no move to leave. Lilith nudged the bottle his way with a raised brow.

“Apostate. Truth or dare?”

He looked at her sidelong, as though weighing the merits of participation.

“Truth.”

Lilith grinned as she turned to face him more fully. “What’s one small luxury you refuse to give up?”

Solas didn’t hesitate. “Solitude. The quiet moments between the chaos. Even if fleeting, they are essential.”

Varric raised his cup with a knowing smile. “I’ll drink to that.”

Bull snorted. “Solitude, huh? Sounds suspiciously like an excuse to avoid us.”

Dorian smirked, “Careful, Bull. Or you’ll find yourself with even more alone time.”

Bull shot him a mock glare. “Watch it, Vint. You’re lucky I’m feeling generous tonight.”

Dorian grinned. “Your turn, Solas.”

Solas scanned the group. “Varric. Truth or dare?”

“Truth,” Varric said, suspiciously fast.

“Who do you trust the least in our camp?”

“Oh, come on.”

Solas lifted a brow. “You chose.”

Varric groaned. “Fine. Adan . That guy’s brewing something illegal. I know it.”

Laughter rippled through the circle. Next went Bull, who dared Cassandra to do her best impression of Leliana. It was uncomfortably accurate.

Then Cassandra, perhaps seeking revenge, turned to Lilith. “Dare.”

Lilith smirked. “Bring it.”

“I dare you to steal something from Dorian without him noticing.”

“I absolutely will not allow-” Dorian began, but Lilith was already on her feet.

She disappeared behind him, hands deft and quick, and when she reappeared, she held up his embroidered handkerchief triumphantly.

“I hate you,” Dorian muttered, reaching for it.

“You’ll thank me when I return it cleaned and pressed.”

The game rolled on. Bull got dared to chug from a mystery bottle (he did; it smoked slightly). Varric admitted to getting his ear pierced on a drunken dare in Kirkwall and promptly losing the earring. Cassandra confessed - very reluctantly - that she once wrote poetry.

Then Dorian turned to Lilith with a sly look. “Your turn, my dear. Truth.”

She raised a brow. “I didn’t say truth.”

“No, but I’m saying it for you.”

Lilith sighed, amused. “Fine.”

He leaned in theatrically. “Describe your most questionable romantic decision - in vague detail, of course.”

Lilith laughed, sharp and sudden. “Only one?”

Bull raised a hand. “I can think of three, and I wasn’t even there.”

“I’ll say this,” Lilith said, swirling the bottle in her hands. “He was beautiful, and clever, and treated manipulation like a love language. Which, in hindsight, should’ve been a red flag.”

“Sounds like a Tevinter man,” Cassandra muttered.

Lilith smiled without teeth. “Worse. He was charming.”

There was a beat of silence too long, then Varric clapped his hands once. “Alright, your turn to dish it out, Scorcher.”

She turned toward Dorian, eyes gleaming. “Truth or dare?”

He grinned. “Dare.”

“Tell us the worst pick-up line you’ve ever used - and mean it.”

The group groaned.

Dorian cleared his throat, placed a hand over his heart, and delivered, with flourish: “‘Are you made of lyrium? Because you’ve got me glowing.’”

Lilith physically recoiled. “You did not .”

“I was young and drunk,” he said. “And, for the record, it worked .”

More laughter. The fire crackled and hissed like it was in on the joke.

Eventually, the group began to peel off. Cassandra retired to her tent muttering about “immature nonsense,” Varric and Dorian moved to argue over wine quality, and Bull began snoring in a way that might’ve been intentional.

Which left Lilith and Solas beside each other, quiet but not quite alone. Lilith drew her knees up, her hands warming over the flames.

She nudged him with her shoulder, a knowing smile playing on her lips. “You know, it’s somewhat amusing that you’re really not mysterious by choice. It’s just who you are.”

Solas gave her a sidelong glance. “It is not an act.”

“No,” she said thoughtfully. “It’s worse - it’s honest. You don’t even have the decency to be a liar.”

He tilted his head, curious. “And yet you still insist on flirting with me.”

“Who says I’m flirting right now?”

His lips quirked. “You’re sitting closer than necessary.”

She leaned in a touch more, voice low. “Maybe I like the heat.”

“You are very fond of fire.”

“And you’re very fond of resisting things.”

Solas’s gaze flicked to hers - sharp, searching - but he said nothing.

She smirked. “I’m just testing the waters.”

“For what?”

“To see when you’ll swim or sink.”

He looked away, chuckling under his breath. “Your audacity is impressive.”

“I aim to please.” Her voice dropped an octave. “Or at least provoke.”

The fire crackled between them. For a long moment, neither spoke.

Then Lilith, casual as anything, reached over and plucked a crumb from the collar of his robe. “You still smell like honey biscuit.”

Solas looked like he was torn between speaking and vanishing into the Fade. “That was days ago.”

“You must really savor things.”

He hummed. “Only the rare ones.”

There it was - his shot across the bow.

Lilith’s grin faltered for half a second. Then she leaned back, satisfied. “Well played.”

He inclined his head, the faintest ghost of a smile tugging at his mouth.

Nearby, Bull called out, “Are you two done whispering sweet nothings or should we take bets?”

Lilith turned, completely unbothered. “Too late. You already lost.”


Lilith moved to sit beside Dorian by the dwindling campfire, a book half-forgotten in his lap and a cup of something strong in hand. The others had turned in for the night, leaving the world in that soft hush where the fire crackles loudest, and thoughts come easier than sleep.

“It occurs to me,” she said, easing down onto a nearby log, “that I barely know anything about you.”

Dorian looked up from his book with a faint smile, the firelight flickering across his sharp cheekbones and well-kept beard. “Beyond my being a mage from Tevinter, you mean?”

She nodded. “Beyond that, yes.”

He gave an exaggerated sigh. “And beyond my being so charming and well-dressed? Which is obvious to anyone with eyes.”

“You certainly think highly of yourself.”

“It’s true. I could be more modest,” he said, setting the book aside with a casual flick of his wrist, “but I’d be lying.”

Lilith smirked despite herself. She hadn’t meant to enjoy his company - but Dorian had a way of slipping past defenses, his wit quick enough to draw laughter before suspicion could take root.

“Now… what was I talking about?” he continued, tapping his chin. “Ah, yes. Me. I am the scion of House Pavus, a product of generations of careful breeding, and the repository of its hopes and dreams. Naturally, I despised it all - the lies, the scheming, the illusions of supremacy. That’s Tevinter in a nutshell, isn’t it? A gilded rot. Needless to say, my family was not thrilled with the path I chose.”

“Why would they be upset with your choices?” Lilith asked, genuinely curious.

“Because I refused to play the role they wrote for me,” he said simply. “Had they had their way, by now I’d be married to some poor girl from a powerful family. We’d live in luxurious despair, loathing one another in perfect Tevinter fashion, while I waited to inherit my father’s seat in the Magisterium. I declined the honor. They find it less embarrassing if I remain far from home.”

Lilith tilted her head. “What did you mean by ‘generations of careful breeding?”

Dorian gave a humorless chuckle. “The great families of Tevinter don’t just have children. They curate bloodlines. They refine traits - magical prowess, intelligence, beauty, ambition. They weed out what’s undesirable, promote what isn’t. My mother was chosen for my father because magic runs hot in her bloodline. Never mind that they detested each other. They wanted a son who could one day become Archon, make House Pavus the envy of the Imperium.”

He looked into the fire. “They got me instead. A cautionary tale in silk.”

“I’m getting the impression that you don’t care much for your homeland,” she said quietly.

“On the contrary,” Dorian said, his voice softening, “I care for it deeply. That’s why it hurts so much. There’s such potential in Tevinter - brilliance, beauty, even a touch of nobility, if you know where to look. But we squander it. We cling to delusions instead of facing the truth. We pretend the Qunari can be beaten. We pretend we’re better than everyone else. We even lie to ourselves about our own decay.”

He looked up at her, firelight flickering in his eyes. “Not everyone is like that. I’m not. But we’re the minority.”

“It just seems like… so much of what you say about the Imperium is entirely negative.”

He huffed. “It might sound that way. For all our faults, my people have virtues. We are steeped in history, in tradition. Tevinter is where Thedas truly began, remember. We preserve our past - jealously. You can walk down a street in Minrathous and find buildings older than the Chantry itself. And beneath all the arrogance and ambition, we care. Passionately. We love fiercely. We fight ferociously. We feel everything, and hide none of it.”

He took a sip from his cup, then sighed. “If I truly believed Tevinter was beyond all hope… I wouldn’t miss it so much.”

Lilith watched him for a moment. “Then why stay with the Inquisition? Why not go back?”

Dorian chuckled. “Oh, I’m not exactly welcome home. Not that I mind - I’m quite used to being the scandal of the season. It adds to my mystique.” He leaned back. “Besides, I can do more for Tevinter from here. If the Venatori win, it will set us back a thousand years. I’m sure some magisters would celebrate that… which is why we kill them.”

Her expression turned curious. “You said Alexius was a mentor of yours?”

He nodded slowly, more solemn now. “He was. My sponsor, in fact. He elevated me to the higher tiers of the Circle in Minrathous. In return, my successes were his. And I had many, of course.” A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “He was pleased. We used to spend hours over brandy, talking about how we’d change the Imperium. We both knew it was corrupt, but we dreamed of reform.”

Lilith tilted her head. “What happened?”

Dorian’s gaze dimmed. “A journey to Hossberg. Darkspawn attack. His wife was killed, his son infected. He wasn’t there, you see - he’d stayed behind. The guilt consumed him. He became obsessed with finding a way to undo it. I tried to help with his research, for a time, but… eventually, we drifted apart.”

“That must have been difficult,” she said gently.

“I was furious,” Dorian admitted. “I told him to snap out of it. That he was wallowing. I thought I had all the answers back then.” His voice turned rueful. “Later, I regretted saying it. But by then we’d both grown too proud to mend things. We didn’t speak again until he appeared with the Venatori. I suppose by then I was too busy drinking.” He flashed a grin. “One must have priorities.”

Lilith studied him. “Was it hard, being away from him?”

He hesitated. “It was hard being without a sponsor. I’ve never been one to… blend in. Having someone who believed in my talent, even conditionally, was a rare thing.”

“And still, you went after him,” she said. “Even knowing what he’d become.”

Dorian laughed dryly. “Yes, I did. What was I thinking? It’s bloody freezing down here.”

She smiled faintly, her eyes on the fire. “I think it’s admirable. What you did - going after him, even after everything. I know what it feels like to believe someone’s past should damn them, and to choose hope anyway. There was a time I thought I’d never deserve anything but the worst of what I’d done. But then… someone- my friends saw something in me I couldn’t. It changes you, having someone believe you’re worth saving.”

She glanced over at him, voice softer. “Not everyone would’ve done what you did. But I think you understand, better than most, how much that kind of faith matters.”

He looked at her a long moment, expression unreadable. Then he nodded once, almost to himself.

The fire popped, scattering sparks into the night. Neither of them spoke for a while. There was little comfort in shared regrets - but there was understanding. And that, sometimes, was enough.


The footsteps were soft enough that she didn’t hear them until they stopped beside her.

“I thought you’d gone to bed,” Lilith said, glancing up.

Solas stood just beyond the fire’s glow, his silhouette outlined in the moonlight. “I was... delayed.”

She raised a brow. “Fade dreams?”

“Temptation,” he said simply, then moved to sit beside her.

Lilith laughed once. “Didn’t think you’d admit it.”

“I was referring to the brandy,” he said smoothly.

“Liar.”

He tilted his head. “I prefer subtle exaggeration .”

She smiled into her cup, then let the quiet settle again. The last coals of the fire cracked gently, the air cooling with the scent of salt and pine.

After a moment, Solas, amused, said, “You truly do not fear the sharp edges of things.”

She arched a brow. “Is that your delicate way of saying I have no tact?”

“I mean it sincerely,” he said. “Very few would dare press me so directly.”

Lilith swirled the wine in her cup, then looked over at him with a smirk. “I like poking things I shouldn’t.”

He gave a soft huff of amusement, gaze flicking toward the firelight. “You enjoy the game.”

“Of course I do. I like watching people squirm. Especially the ones who pretend not to feel anything.”

“Do I seem like I am squirming?”

“No.” She smiled. “That’s what makes it fun. I’m trying to find the line.”

“And when you do?”

“I’ll know what you’re afraid of.”

Solas went still at that - not tense, just quiet. As if she’d stepped too close to a boundary neither of them had agreed upon.

Then, softly, he said, “You speak like someone who’s made a study of masks.”

Her expression shifted. “Maybe.”

“And what have you learned?”

Lilith hesitated, then said, “Sometimes people build them so well, they forget they’re wearing one. Until someone knocks hard enough to hear the hollowness behind it.”

He studied her then, silent and sharp, like he was reading something off her skin.

“I noticed,” he said finally, “You’re shameless with everyone else, but you only flirt with me when you think no one’s looking.”

Lilith blinked.

“I also noticed,” he continued, “you stop just before it becomes real.”

Her smirk cracked - just faintly. “Are you calling me a coward?”

“No,” he said. “I... understand. Control is a comforting illusion.”

They sat in silence for a long moment, the only sound the soft hiss of fire dying into ash.

Eventually, Lilith said, quieter now, “It’s better than the alternative.”

He didn’t press her. Just said, “For what it’s worth, you were very convincing.”

Lilith huffed a laugh. “You saying I fooled you?”

His lips quirked. “I’m saying I was not immune.”

She looked at him then - really looked - and something unspoken passed between them, like a breath held too long.

Solas rose, brushing off his hands. “Goodnight, da’len.”

She watched him walk away, chest tight and mind spinning. When he was nearly out of earshot, she called after him, “You still didn’t answer the real question.”

He paused.

“Which is?” he asked, not turning.

She leaned back on her hands, gaze sharp and teasing. “When are you going to start flirting back?”

A long pause.

Then - quiet, amused: “Wouldn’t you rather be surprised?”

And then he was gone.


The ballroom was made of shadows and glass.

Lilith stood at its center, unmoving, in a gown she didn’t recognize - crimson so dark it was nearly black, cinched tight at the waist and spilling behind her like fresh blood on marble. Her bare shoulders were cold. The dress clung to her like memory.

Somewhere, strings played a slow, mournful waltz, though no orchestra could be seen. The chandeliers above twisted in lazy spirals, their crystal arms scattering fractured light across the faceless crowd - silhouettes frozen in place, elegant and eyeless. They swayed with the music but never stepped forward. Watching. Waiting.

And at the far end of the room, raised above it all like a crowned fever dream, lounged Astarion.

His throne was carved from onyx and bone, shaped like a cage masquerading as luxury. One leg was slung over the armrest, a goblet of dark, syrupy liquid swirling in his hand. His smile cut through the candlelight, gleaming like a promise she hadn’t agreed to.

“Well,” he said, voice all silk and rot. “Aren’t you lovely?”

Lilith didn’t move. Couldn’t. Her limbs were wax, her throat stuffed with cotton. The gown tightened around her chest like a vice.

He flicked two fingers. The crowd parted like smoke.

“Come now, darling,” he said, gently chiding. “Be gracious. Everyone’s watching.”

Her body obeyed without permission. She stepped forward, each movement loose and marionette-like. The floor beneath her shimmered like obsidian, and with every step, the shadows pressed in. No faces - just eyes , gleaming in the dark like coins dropped into a wishing well. Hungry. Reverent. Patient.

As she approached the throne, the room seemed to contract around her heartbeat.

Astarion leaned forward, one elbow resting on a skull carved into the throne’s arm. “You look tense,” he said, voice honey-sweet. “Whatever’s the matter?”

She tried to answer. Her lips parted, but her voice betrayed her - nothing came out. Not even breath.

He rose from the throne with the grace of a curtain drawing back. Slowly. Inevitable. He crossed the space between them like a predator pretending not to be one, then took her chin in his gloved hand.

His skin was cold through the leather. His eyes burned - bright and red and knowing .

“That won’t do,” he murmured. “Smile for me.”

Her heart thudded violently. She tried. Gods, she tried . But her mouth wouldn’t obey.

His grip on her chin tightened, just a hair.

“You remember how,” he said, and the sweetness left his voice. “The one you used to wear for me. The smile that said, ‘ Yes, I’m yours. I’m dangerous and delicate and everything you need me to be .’ That smile saved your life more times than I can count. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten.”

The crowd leaned closer, silent as graves, and somewhere deep in the dark, applause rustled like dead leaves.

“Be what they want,” Astarion whispered, his lips at her temple. “It’s what you’re good at.”

She forced the corners of her mouth upward. Too wide. Too stiff. A mask, not a smile.

The ballroom erupted - cheers, laughter, adoration, all hollow and echoing. The applause turned shrill, like screams wearing gloves.

Then- silence .

The scene fell away like ash in the wind. Lilith stood in a hall of mirrors, infinite and cold. The air bit at her skin. Black marble stretched beneath her bare feet, each step echoing too long.

She looked around - and saw herself.

Dozens of her. Hundreds. Reflections flickering in and out like ghosts: Lilith cloaked in Bhaal’s robes, drenched in moonlit blood; Lilith grinning from atop a throne of corpses; Lilith curled in silk sheets, face streaked with tears; Lilith laughing as a man bled out beneath her blade; Lilith kissing Astarion with red on her hands. 

She reached toward one mirror - her fingertips touched glass - and her reflection grinned with teeth too sharp.

A voice rose behind her, velvet and venom. “Still playing pretend, are we?”

Astarion stepped through a mirror like it was water, adorned now in his full Ascended regalia - white and gold robes crusted in rubies, his eyes twin garnets set in alabaster. He gleamed like a false idol in a chapel of rot.

He looked like a god carved in her image of fear.

“Did you really think you could outrun it?” he asked, circling her. “The blood. The truth of you? That part of you that craved the gaze? The hunger? The power in being desired?”

Lilith backed away from the glass. It didn’t help.

“I didn’t want you,” she said - but her voice sounded wrong. Young. Not hers.

“You didn’t want me?” he went on, voice mocking. “Please. You wanted what I offered. Power. Pleasure. The freedom to be everything they’re afraid of. You were magnificent, darling - before you got soft.

Her throat clenched. “I was used. I was-”

He laughed out loud, joyful and cruel. “Oh no. Don’t rewrite the story now. You loved being worshipped. You drank it like wine. Don’t act like you didn’t smile when they called you ‘Chosen.’ Don’t act like you didn’t savor the kill.”

He leaned in, face inches from hers. “You bathed in blood and called it baptism.”

She flinched.

"You think he doesn't feel it on you? That wrongness under your skin? That thing that slithers behind your pretty eyes? You think he's so different from me that he won’t recognize what you are?”

One of the mirrors rippled beside them.

Inside, Solas sat at his desk, calm and quiet, quill paused mid-sentence. In the reflection, Lilith stood beside him, speaking softly, fingers brushing his sleeve. Her smile looked warm; tender and affectionate.

But it was wrong. Too polished. Too practiced.

“You’re using my tricks,” Astarion purred. “You think you’re seducing some high-minded apostate with affection?” He clicked his tongue. “No, no, my darling. You’re still seducing with survival. With performance.”

Lilith turned her eyes to another mirror. Solas again - but this time, his gaze pierced through the glass and met hers. His expression was cold. Like he’d seen something he couldn’t unsee.

Something she couldn’t hide.

She stepped back, shaking and silent.

Astarion's hand landed on her shoulder again - this time heavy, possessive.

“Look at yourself,” he murmured. “The spawn of a god of murder, cloaking herself in remorse. You were designed to destroy. Your first kiss was a knife. Your first prayer was a scream. You think that goes away just because you’ve learned to weep?”

“I’m not-” she croaked, but he cut her off with a snarl:

“You’re not what? Not a monster? Not a liar? You bathed in your own family’s blood and told yourself it was fate.”

The mirror nearest to her shattered.

And another.

And another.

In one, she saw herself sobbing in the snow.

In another, dragging a blade across a girl’s stomach.

In another still, Solas turning away from her, face unreadable, body dissolving into mist.

“You’re not made to be loved,” Astarion whispered. “You’re made to end things. People. Peace. Hope.”

The mirrors cracked all at once.

“Even if he kisses you,” Astarion said, too close now. “Even if he holds you. One day, he’ll see it. And he’ll leave. They always do.”

She was left in a storm of falling glass and silence and absence, fragments spinning through a void; shards falling like rain.

She covered her face as the world broke apart.

She woke with a gasp.

Blankets tangled tight. Chest heaving. Her hand flew to her throat - checking for blood, for chains, for proof she was still here. Still whole. Still herself.

The tent was dark. Silent. Her skin clammy with sweat.

She didn’t move. Couldn’t. Not for a long time.

Eventually, Lilith turned her face toward the tent’s ceiling, eyes wide, throat raw, and whispered:

“I’m not him.”

But even in the quiet, it didn’t sound like truth.


The woods were quiet the next morning.

A crisp hush clung to the pine needles, dew clinging to their tips like pearls. Lilith moved through the underbrush with the easy grace of someone trying not to think too hard. She’d told the others she was going to hunt - not for anything in particular. Just to breathe. Just to move. Just to not sit around pretending she didn’t feel the air twisting strangely around her, like the world had already begun to shift beneath her feet.

The rising sun caught in the frost along the edges of her sleeves. A hare darted out from the brush, then paused in the clearing, ears twitching.

Lilith raised her hand, murmured a word under her breath.

A crackle of arcane energy sparked-

-and fizzled into nothing.

She frowned.

“I’d let that one go, if I were you,” said a voice, far too close to her ear.

Lilith spun around, fingers already curling into a spell.

He was leaning against a tree. Red coat immaculate. Boots free of mud despite the forest floor. Smiling like a serpent in silk.

Raphael.

“Miss me?” he asked smoothly, as if they were old friends who’d merely been apart for a season.

Lilith lowered her hand very slowly, magic still prickling at her fingertips. “I’m not in the mood.”

“Oh, I can see that,” he said, stepping forward, glancing at the rabbit - which had wisely bolted - then back to her. “You wear nerves like perfume, dear girl. Sharp, bitter. Citrusy .”

She turned away, stalking toward the next rise in the forest trail. “Get lost.”

“But I only just got here.” He followed, of course. “And it’s such a pivotal day. I couldn’t not stop by.”

Her boots cracked through the frost-bitten leaves. “Do you actually want something, or are you just here to breathe ominously over my shoulder?”

Raphael gave a theatrical sigh. “You wound me. Always so suspicious. So sharp-tongued. I come bearing only concern.”

She laughed once - short, disbelieving. “That’s new.”

“I’m not above keeping tabs on old friends,” he said, brushing a gloved hand along a branch like he might catch a secret in the needles. “Especially ones with such... interesting destinations.”

She stopped walking.

The woods around them were utterly still.

Lilith turned slowly. Her voice was even. “You know about Redcliffe.”

“I know enough .” He smiled wider. “Something about today fractures the thread. A moment pulled too tight. A door swung open just a crack too far.”

“And you’re here to, what, warn me?” she asked flatly.

“Oh, heavens, no,” he chuckled. “I’m here to watch.”

She stared at him.

“You’ve made such bold choices lately,” he continued, almost fond. “Aligning with the Inquisition. Traipsing about with the apostate. That’s the one I find most charming. He thinks he sees through you.”

Lilith said nothing.

Raphael’s smile thinned. “And yet you’ve never told him what you are. What really drives you. What you’re capable of when it matters.”

She stepped closer, gaze flinty. “You know damn well what I’m capable of.”

“Oh, I do .” His voice dropped an octave, more flame than silk now. “And I wonder - when the future comes clawing toward you, when it stares back wearing the faces of your friends, will you still pretend you’re one of the good ones?”

For a moment, the trees around them seemed to warp - shadows rippling, frost creeping where it didn’t belong.

Lilith’s voice was cold. “You don’t know anything.”

He smiled again, smaller this time. “Then you must be terrified of what it means when I do .”

She felt her stomach twist.

His eyes gleamed. “Be careful, little flame. The future is ravenous. And not everything waiting there will remember who you used to be - or care.”

She stepped back, magic simmering beneath her skin now, ready to strike. “If you touch anyone in Haven-”

He raised his hands. “Please. I’m merely a concerned party. Spectator sport, really.”

A blink.

He was gone.

Only the trees remained. The rabbit was long gone. Her heart hammered.

Lilith exhaled slowly, then turned and began the walk back to Haven. Her steps were faster now. More certain.

She didn’t look back. But the scent of sulfur still clung to the pines.


The wind coming off the lake stirred Lilith’s cloak as the party approached the castle gates. Guards in red-trimmed armor flanked the archway, their masks smooth and impassive. One stepped forward to bar their path - but before he could speak, the castle’s herald descended the steps with a rehearsed self-importance that made Varric mutter something under his breath.

Lilith held his gaze. “Announce us.”

The man gave a tight smile. “The magister’s invitation was extended to the Herald of Andraste. Your… companions will wait here.”

A long pause stretched between them. Lilith didn’t blink.

“Where I go,” she said, voice flat, “they go.”

A flicker of unease passed over the herald’s face. Behind her, Cassandra shifted, gauntlet resting near her sword. The Iron Bull cracked his neck, expression unreadable. The man hesitated - then dipped his head and turned with a clipped, “This way.”

They were led through the grand entryway of Redcliffe Castle, its halls echoing with the click of boots on stone. Venatori watched from every alcove and staircase, their presence oppressive, their eyes hollow behind their masks. The banners had been changed - no longer Fereldan, but crimson, embroidered with unfamiliar sigils.

The throne room was dimly lit, warm with firelight and the faint scent of burnt lyrium. At the far end stood Magister Alexius, robed in gold and black, with a calm smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. Beside him sat a young man with hollowed cheeks and a cane resting against his chair - Felix.

“My lord magister,” the herald intoned, “the agents of the Inquisition have arrived.”

Alexius rose smoothly, one hand spread in welcome. “Ah, my friend! It is very good to see you again.”

Lilith said nothing.

He glanced at the others. “And your associates, of course. I trust we can find a… mutually beneficial arrangement. Something equitable for all parties involved.”

A voice cut through from the side of the room - Fiona, proud and defiant even as her eyes betrayed exhaustion. “Are we mages to have no voice in deciding our fate?”

Alexius didn’t look at her. “Fiona, my dear, you would not have entrusted your followers to me if you did not have faith in my care.”

“If the Grand Enchanter wishes to take part in these talks,” Lilith said calmly, “then she is welcome, as a guest of the Inquisition.”

Fiona’s chin lifted slightly. “Thank you.”

Lilith stepped forward, gaze hard. “Enough pleasantries. Shall we begin?”

Alexius laughed softly, returning to his seat. “It’s refreshing, meeting someone so goal-oriented. So few appreciate the value of time.”

He steepled his fingers, eyeing her. “The Inquisition needs mages to close the Breach. I have mages. So then… what do you offer in exchange?”

Lilith’s voice turned cold. “Don’t waste my time. You invited me here to kill me.”

That earned her a sharper look from Felix. “They know everything, Father.”

Alexius’s expression barely shifted, but the tone of his voice darkened. “Felix… what have you done?”

Lilith’s gaze flicked to the boy, then back to the magister. “Your son is worried you’re involved in something unforgivable.”

Alexius took a slow step forward, his eyes narrowing. “So speaks the thief. You’ve stolen more than you understand - and now you think you can twist my son’s heart against me?”

He looked at her differently now, less like a political nuisance, more like an aberration.

“You wanted me here,” Lilith pressed. “Why?”

A long silence. Then Alexius tilted his head, lips parting in something that might have been amusement.

“Do you know what you are?” he asked softly.

The room stilled.

He stood again and descended the dais with slow, deliberate steps. “You walk into my stronghold with that stolen mark - a gift you wield like a child swinging a sword - and believe you’re in control?”

His voice turned low, venomous. “You’re not a savior. You’re not a Herald. You’re not even supposed to be . You’re a mistake.”

Lilith didn’t flinch. “If you know so much, enlighten me. Tell me what this mark is for.”

Alexius looked at her with something like pity. “It belongs to your betters. You, of all creatures, could never grasp its true purpose.”

Her jaw tightened. “If I’m a mistake, then what was the Breach supposed to be?”

Alexius’s eyes gleamed. “A moment of triumph. The beginning of a new age. One in which the Elder One rises - and this world remembers who truly commands it.”

Felix’s voice broke through, trembling. “Father… listen to yourself. Do you hear what you’re saying?”

From behind a stone column came a familiar voice, dry as ever. “He sounds exactly like the villainous cliché everyone always expects us to be.”

Dorian stepped into the room with a theatrical flourish, arms spread.

Alexius turned toward him with a frown. “Dorian. I gave you a chance. You could have been part of this.”

“The Elder One?” Dorian sneered. “You’re following him? You turned down wine and philosophy for a cultist apocalypse?”

Alexius’s voice grew fervent. “He has power you cannot imagine. He will raise the Imperium from its ashes. No more compromise. No more shame. We will rule - from the Boeric Ocean to the Frozen Seas.”

Fiona shouted, “You cannot force my people into this!”

Dorian took a step forward. “This is exactly what we swore we’d never become. Why are you supporting it?”

From outside, a sudden thud. Then another. A scream.

A guard crumpled at the far door, an Inquisition arrow lodged in his throat.

Felix stumbled forward, eyes wide. “Stop it. Stop this, Father. Give up the Venatori. Let the southern mages help. Let’s go home.”

Alexius’s voice cracked. “No! This is the only way. The Elder One… he can save you!”

Felix’s shoulders sagged. “Save me?”

“I’ve seen the way,” Alexius whispered. “He promised. If I undo the mistake at the Temple…”

Felix stepped back as though struck. “I’m going to die. And you need to accept that.”

Alexius raised his hand. “Seize them! The Elder One demands this woman’s life!”

More guards rushed in - but fell quickly to steel and spell. Varric’s arrows sang. Cassandra’s shield crushed a man’s helm. Behind Lilith, the Iron Bull roared and charged..

“You’re out of time, Alexius,” she said coldly. “Your men are dead.”

Alexius shook with fury. “You- you are the mistake! You were never meant to exist!”

From beneath his robes, he drew a pendant - intricate and ancient, crackling with unstable magic.

Dorian lunged. “No - don’t!”

The spell hit like a bell tolling across the Fade. Reality split with a jagged tear above Lilith, pulling at the air, her hair, her breath. A second later, she and Dorian were lifted off their feet and dragged into the rift.

There was no time to scream. No time to fight.

Only light.

And then-

blackness.

Notes:

ouuuu, what do you think happens next? unhinged answers only

Chapter 11: Chapter Eleven

Notes:

🤭

(reminder to mind the tags, i.e., canon-typical violence is incoming)

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

A sudden flash cracked the silence of the dungeon like lightning. Arcane heat rippled outward in a wave, pushing dust and damp through the air. The floor was slick beneath Lilith’s boots, a shallow tide of brackish water lapping over cracked stone. Red lyrium pulsed from the walls like jagged, bleeding wounds.

Two guards stood stunned just long enough to make a mistake.

“Where’d they come from?” one hissed, scrambling for his blade.

“Kill them!” barked the other.

Lilith didn’t give them time to figure it out. She snapped her hand forward, the sigils forming before her fingers had even stilled. Flame coiled in the damp air and burst against the nearest man’s chest, catching his robes and sending him reeling into the lyrium-laced water. Dorian followed, a spike of ice driving clean through the second before he could raise his staff.

The bodies hit the ground with wet thuds. Silence rushed in again.

Dorian exhaled, slow and tense. “Displacement,” he muttered, pushing back a damp lock of hair. “Interesting. Likely not what Alexius intended. The rift must have pulled us to a nearby confluence of arcane energy. Proximity-based, perhaps?”

Lilith scanned the flooded chamber. Red lyrium glimmered beneath the surface, glowing faintly like submerged embers. “The last thing I remember, we were in the throne room,” she said quietly. “This… isn’t the throne room.”

“No, definitely not. Let’s think - if we’re still in Redcliffe Castle, this dungeon shouldn’t look like something dragged from a nightmare. Which means…” His expression shifted. “Ah. Of course. It’s not where we are. It’s when .”

Lilith’s stomach turned. “You’re saying we time-travelled.”

“I’m saying Alexius used the amulet as a focus and flung us through time.” Dorian swept his staff in an arc, illuminating more red lyrium growths where the walls had split and bled. “Though I imagine not intentionally. I countered the spell mid-cast. The result was… unstable. Which explains the whole post-apocalyptic sewer thing.”

“That doesn’t sound good.”

“Oh, it sounds awful ,” he agreed. “Depending on how far we’ve jumped - and whether anyone survived long enough to tell us about it.”

Lilith’s fingers flexed, the weight of flame still crackling along her knuckles. “Did we go forward or back?”

“Well, given the decor, I’m betting forward. People rarely carve apocalypse into stone ahead of time.” He tilted his head, eyes narrowed. “Let’s investigate. Maybe we’ll find a helpful sign that says ‘Welcome to the Future. Sorry, Everything’s Dead.’”

She threw him a look, then turned toward the rusting iron gate at the back of the room. “What was Alexius trying to do?”

“Remove you from the timeline, most likely. A neat way to erase the mistake of your existence from the Elder One’s grand plan. I don’t think he expected you to interrupt mid-spell. That threw off his calculations. He panicked. I intervened. We landed here.” Dorian shrugged. “Perfectly logical. If you enjoy chaos and vomiting from magical vertigo.”

Lilith’s expression darkened. “He mentioned someone - the Elder One. You know who that is?”

Dorian grimaced. “Leader of the Venatori, I suspect. A magister, no doubt. One who fancies himself divine. They always do. ‘Ascend to godhood through poorly understood blood magic!’” He gestured dramatically. “It’s a Fereldan tragedy dressed as a Tevinter opera.”

“I’m not dying in the future,” Lilith muttered, conjuring a ball of fire to light the hallway ahead. “That’s entirely too poetic.”

“Spoken like someone who’s tired of being a metaphor,” Dorian said, falling in step behind her. “Onward, then.”

They slipped through corroded halls, the flickering light of Lilith’s magic casting long shadows on the walls. The dungeon reeked of mildew and something worse - something sweet and sharp and metallic. Red lyrium had overtaken entire sections of the corridor, jutting like crystallized tumors from brick and mortar. The silence was heavy, broken only by the occasional drip of water or the skitter of rats too stupid to leave.

The murals here were intact, preserved with obsessive care. They depicted scenes Lilith didn’t want to understand. A crowned figure standing above legions of kneeling silhouettes. A woman, always just out of focus. Sometimes radiant, sometimes cruel. Worshipped.

“This part of the castle was sealed off,” Lilith murmured.

“And originally covered in the ugliest carvings I’ve ever seen,” Dorian added. “Some noble’s idea of art, no doubt. Now? Well. This is not much of an improvement.”

They reached a corridor where the walls seemed to breathe with lyrium veins, and fought off another pair of guards in a tight, ugly scuffle. Lilith took a graze to the shoulder, retaliating with a flare of arcane energy that turned the man’s scream into gurgled silence.

When the last body fell, they found the door to the lower cells - and a voice.

“You’re… alive?” rasped someone inside. “How?”

Lilith froze, then ran forward. The cell was dim, but the glow of red lyrium was unmistakable, and it pulsed through the flesh of the woman slumped against the bars.

“Fiona,” Dorian breathed. “Oh… no.”

Lilith crouched down. “Is that really you?”

“What’s left… of me.” Fiona’s voice was brittle, her body ravaged by crystalline corruption. Her arm was half-fused with the stone beside her, and the lines of lyrium spidered across her face like veins of fire.

“I don’t understand. What happened to you?”

“Red lyrium… it’s a disease,” she whispered. “You breathe it, bleed near it, stay too long… eventually, it takes you. And then they mine your corpse… for more.”

Lilith looked ill. She touched the bars but didn’t cross them. “Can you tell us the date?”

“Harvestmere,” Fiona said. “Nine… forty-two Dragon.”

Dorian cursed under his breath. “Then it’s true. We’ve missed an entire year.”

“We have to get out of here,” Lilith said, rising. Her voice was low, sharp. “We have to go back.”

Fiona’s eyes fluttered. “Please… stop this from happening. Alexius… serves a new god. More powerful… than the Maker. He killed the Elder One. No one challenges him… and lives. The Venatori - they serve him now.”

Lilith rolled her eyes. "For fuck’s sake. Another culty god?"

Dorian’s expression soured. "Just once, I’d like to deal with a nice, boring political coup."

“I promise you,” Lilith said to Fiona, “we’ll do everything we can to set this right.”

She turned to Dorian then, eyes flashing. “That magister’s going to regret not killing me when he had the chance.”

“I’m fairly certain he’s regretting everything,” Dorian muttered. “Our only hope is the amulet Alexius used to cast the spell. If it still exists, I might be able to reconstruct the spell and return us to the moment we left.”

“Good,” Fiona rasped.

“I said might ,” Dorian corrected. “It could also liquify us.”

“Then try,” Fiona begged. “Your spymaster… Leliana… she’s here. Find her - quickly .”

Lilith hesitated, just for a second. Then she nodded. “We will.”

They left Fiona behind, the glow of her corrupted form dimming behind them as they climbed the stairs. The air grew heavier the deeper they went.

Dorian looked up at a vein of lyrium pulsing directly from the stone. “If red lyrium is an infection… why is it coming out of the walls ?”

Lilith’s eyes narrowed. “Are you sure you want to find out?”

“No,” he admitted. “But I suspect we won’t have a choice.”


The stench of red lyrium grew heavier as Lilith and Dorian descended once more into the bowels of Redcliffe’s ruined dungeons. The stone walls wept moisture and madness in equal measure - slick with lichen, pulsing with the faint shimmer of red crystal veins that hissed softly in the silence. It wasn’t just the lyrium itself that made her sick to her stomach - it was the sense that the castle had been hollowed out, its soul mined and replaced with something poisoned and wrong.

Piled haphazardly in an old storeroom they passed by, was a staggering number of bodies - limbs tangled, faces slack with the vague surprise of sudden death. Most were intact - no signs of battle, no defensive wounds - just a grim stillness, as if they’d all simply laid down and never risen. Lilith crouched beside a girl no older than twelve and brushed a lock of hair from her cheek. The skin was cold and too pale. 

Dorian stood behind her, unusually quiet, his mouth drawn in a thin, unreadable line. “Maker,” he muttered at last. “They look… small, don’t they?” 

Lilith said nothing. None bore the marks of red lyrium corruption, nor the stink of plague. Just clean, quiet death.

Then came the voice.

“The Light shall lead her safely through the paths of this world and into the next. For she who trusts the Maker, fire is her water.”

Lilith stood and turned the corner slowly, already knowing who she would find. Cassandra sat on the floor of her cell, back straight, gaze cast toward nothing. Her armor hung loose on her frame, dulled with grime and age. A broken sword lay across her lap like a relic.

Lilith’s breath caught in her throat. “Cassandra?”

The Seeker blinked as if waking from a dream, lifting her eyes to Lilith’s face.

“You’ve returned to us,” she whispered, reverent, trembling. “Can it be? Andraste has given us another chance? Maker forgive me. I failed you. I failed everyone. The end must truly be upon us if the dead return to life.”

“I’m not dead,” Lilith said, stepping closer. “I… it’s complicated. We were thrown through time.”

“I was there,” Cassandra said. “The magister obliterated you with a gesture.”

Lilith knelt outside the bars. “We’re going to kill Alexius. Come with us.”

But Cassandra only stared at her, hollow-eyed. “What use is there in fighting him now? He’s not the one who should be feared.”

Dorian frowned, then spoke gently. “Alexius sent us forward in time. If we find him, we might be able to return to the moment we left.”

Cassandra’s mouth parted. “Go back in time…? Then… none of this need ever happen?”

“Exactly,” Lilith said. “We can stop it all.”

The Seeker looked down at her sword. “After you died… the Elder One rose. Empress Celene was murdered. Then came the demons - an army of them. Nothing could stop it. Until the Crimson Lord arrived, and wiped out everything. He defeated the Elder One. Now the world worships him.”

Lilith recoiled slightly. The name sent a chill down her spine, unfamiliar yet... wrong.

Her hands clenched. “We’ll kill them both. I promise you.”

Cassandra nodded once, slowly. “Maker guide us all.”

Lilith had expected to see ruin in this timeline, but nothing could have prepared her for Cassandra - sunken-eyed and kneeling in a cell, whispering the Chant like a final prayer. The Seeker had always been ironclad, a woman built of conviction and sharp edges, too stubborn to break. 

And yet here she was, bowed. Lilith gripped the bars, trying to ignore the sour stench of red lyrium thick in the air, and felt something splinter inside her. Cassandra’s words about failure, about death, stabbed deeper than they should have. I failed you . The guilt rang louder than it ought to. Maybe because Cassandra had always believed in her. Maybe because she wasn’t sure she’d earned that belief.

They moved on.

Down the next corridor, Lilith heard a familiar baritone voice - half-sung, half-muttered.

“Three hundred bottles of beer on the wall, three hundred bottles of beer…”

Iron Bull was pacing in his cell like a caged bear. One eye flicked toward her when she approached, and he stopped short.

“You’re not dead?” he said, squinting. “You’re supposed to be dead. There was a burn mark and everything.”

Dorian sighed. “Alexius didn’t kill us. He tossed us forward in time.”

Bull scratched at the edge of his eyepatch. “Well, it’s my present. And in my past, I definitely saw you die.”

“I’m no more dead than you,” Lilith said, trying for levity, but it came out thin and strained.

“‘Dead’ and ‘not dead’ are apparently up for debate,” Bull muttered. “That’s wonderful.”

Dorian rolled his eyes. “This conversation has taken a turn for the moronic.”

“Just come with us,” Lilith said. “We’re going after Alexius. And this Crimson Lord .”

Bull gave a short, grim laugh. “Kill the magister and the new god-king? Sounds like a damn fine idea. Let’s go.”

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there when it all fell apart,” she added softly.

He looked at her, then grunted. “Demon army. Whole sky ripped open. Then he came. He turned it all into something worse. Shit, you were lucky you died early.”

Her heart twisted.

The moment Bull had turned, grinning through cracked lips and a filmy eye, Lilith nearly recoiled. He was still himself - quipping, irreverent - but something in his voice was off. Thinner. Warped by pain and madness. 

She remembered him laughing at campfires, loud enough to rattle stones, steady and unflinching even in blood-soaked battlefields. Now his jokes felt like armor barely holding. Lilith hadn’t realized how comforting his presence had become until it was warped by this place. 

And Maker, he thought she was lucky for dying early. That cut worse than his bravado let on. She clenched her jaw, promising herself - and him - that they’d undo this. They had to.

They continued on, the air thickening with the sour tang of blood and red lyrium as they descended further into the darkness.

A low, tuneless hum echoed from the next cell. When Lilith reached it, her throat closed.

“Varric?” she asked.

The dwarf blinked up at her with red-rimmed eyes. “Andraste’s sacred knickers. You’re alive?”

“We didn’t die,” Dorian said. “Alexius sent us into the future.”

Varric stared, then gave a half-hearted smirk. “Everything that happens to you is weird.”

Lilith gave him a weak smile. “You’re not wrong.”

“I never am. And when I am, I lie about it. So what brings you back? Just here to trade quips with a dying dwarf?”

“You look awful,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady.

“Bite your tongue. I look damn good for a dead man.”

Dorian stepped forward. “The red lyrium-”

“Yeah, yeah. The non-dying version’s even worse. Feels like fire in your bones. Just saying.”

“We’re going to stop all of this,” Lilith said. “Come with us.”

Varric’s cell was the worst. Not because of how he looked - though the red lyrium in his veins made her stomach churn - but because he smiled. Because he was still trying to be funny. His flippancy was a threadbare disguise, and Lilith saw straight through it. She’d leaned on his dry wit more than once, a quiet tether back to something resembling normalcy. 

Now he was locked in a cage, humming to himself like a man already half-gone. The thought of him suffering like this for a year… It made her vision blur with fury .

“You want to take on both Alexius and the Crimson Lord?” Varric scoffed, but there was something like hope behind it. “You’re completely insane.”

“And yet here we are,” Dorian said. “Come or don’t, Varric. But I’m not letting this world stand.”

“I’m in,” Varric said. “Let’s go kill ourselves a magister - and see if gods bleed.”

Lilith gave him a nod. “We’ll make sure none of this ever happens.”

As they pressed onward, the corridors narrowed. Red lyrium pulsed like veins in the walls. The air buzzed with energy - alive, sick, hungry.

A voice called softly from the final cell. “Is someone there?”

Solas.

When she heard his voice - rasped, but still unmistakably his - Lilith moved faster than she meant to. She hadn’t let herself hope. Not really. And seeing him - slumped against cold stone, red lyrium blooming across his skin like some obscene corruption - nearly shattered her composure. 

His breath rattled. “You’re alive?” he asked, eyes widening. “We saw you die.”

Dorian stepped beside her. “The spell displaced us in time. We just arrived.”

“Can you reverse it? Have you found Alexius’ amulet?” Solas asked. “You could return and obviate the events of the last year. It may not be too late…”

Lilith gripped the bars. “You look - Solas, you look terrible. Can I - can I help you?”

“I am dying,” he said simply. “But no matter. If this can be prevented… If this world can be undone…”

Dorian glanced between them. “We think we can. But, yes, we need Alexius’s amulet. We think it’s in the throne room.”

Solas seemed to contemplate something for a moment, then sat up straighter. “Then you must find it. If there is hope… my life is yours. This world is an abomination. It must never come to pass.”

He tried to speak evenly, still logical, still reaching for purpose beyond himself. But Lilith saw the tremor in his hands, the too-shallow rise of his chest. Solas, who had once conjured the Fade itself with a wave of his hand, now looked barely able to sit upright. Her heart ached at the sight. She wasn’t sure what hurt more - that he was dying, or that he hadn’t stopped trying to save everyone else.

Lilith didn’t realize she was trembling until Dorian touched her elbow. She nodded once and whispered, “We’ll fix this.”

Solas met her gaze. “You would think understanding time would stop me from making such terrible mistakes,” he said softly. “But you’d be wrong.”

Lilith gave him a sympathetic look, and for a moment, the weight of a thousand regrets passed between them.

She lifted the heavy latch and pushed the cell door open with a screech of iron and old rust. Solas made no move to leave. Instead, he turned back toward the narrow cot and knelt briefly, his hand disappearing beneath the thin, worn blanket. 

“One moment,” he said. His voice was even, unreadable. When he rose again, his hand was closed around something small and cloth-wrapped - something he tucked quickly into the folds of his belt before facing her once more. 

“All right,” he said, and stepped forward into the hall without another word.

They continued forward, their ragged, battered party now limping toward an uncertain future - or past. And as the door slammed open ahead of them, Lilith’s heart beat with one final, furious promise:

She would not let this world stand. Not for Fiona. Not for Cassandra. Not for Bull, or Varric, or Solas.

Not for the people she had failed once already. This time, she would burn the world to keep them alive.


They moved quickly, boots striking against stone, grabbing weapons they found as they walked. The air was thick with smoke and the sour tang of red lyrium, the party pressing on in grim silence.

“We’ll have to go up,” Solas said, gesturing toward the stairwell. “I have heard the guards say Alexius has barricaded himself in the throne room under the watch of the Crimson Lord.”

That settled it. Weapons drawn, the group ascended the winding stairwell - and ran directly into a Venatori patrol.

“Find them!” one of the guards shouted. “They must be here somewhere!”

The fight was short but brutal. Magic and steel met flesh in a blur of motion. Lilith burned a man alive with a flick of her wrist; Bull drove his axe through another’s shield. Dorian and Solas cast in perfect tandem, elemental fury crashing down in waves. When it was over, the stench of blood and burning lyrium filled the air.

Varric was the first to break the silence. “Well, it’s nice to do something constructive for a change.”

Iron Bull snorted, wiping his blade on his thigh. “Nice to be doing anything at all. I’m enjoying it while it lasts.”

Cassandra adjusted her grip on her sword, nodding once. “Just like old times.”

They climbed higher, into what must have once been the barracks - but no soldiers remained. The room was a tomb now, silent and pulsing with red lyrium that curled across the walls like veins. Crystals glowed faintly, casting everything in a sickly red light.

“Take a look around,” Varric said, sweeping his crossbow from side to side. “See if there’s anything we can use.”

Lilith stepped forward, boots crunching over broken stone and abandoned armor. And then-

A flash.

Blinding, white-hot light erupted in the center of the room. The Inquisition reeled, weapons drawn, magic flaring to life. Solas shielded his eyes. Cassandra barked a warning. Even Dorian cursed aloud.

When the light cleared, someone stood at its center.

A man. Tall, robed in indigo, the edges of his cloak still smoldering with arcane residue. His expression was frantic - hopeful.

“Lilith?”

Lilith stared, stunned. “Gale?”

The name left her lips before she could stop it. Her heart leapt, then stuttered in confusion. It was him - worn, dusted in chalk and starlight, but real. Real in a way she hadn’t let herself want for months. And then she moved, crossing the space between them in two strides and throwing her arms around him.

He caught her like he’d been waiting for it. Held her like something lost and precious. “ Lilith ,” he breathed, voice rough. “I felt you - across planes, across time. What in the Nine Hells have you done?”

She froze, suddenly aware of the eyes on her. Solas. Cassandra. Bull. Varric. All of them watching with varying degrees of confusion and suspicion. Dorian raised a brow.

Lilith pulled back and forced herself to speak calmly. “Later, please.”

She turned to the group, barely managing to smooth her expression. “This is Gale. An old friend.”

Cassandra narrowed her eyes. “Another mage?”

“He’s here to help,” Lilith said quickly.

Dorian gave Gale an appraising look, then shrugged. “I like his entrance. Flashy.”

“Not the weirdest thing that’s happened today,” Varric muttered.

The moment passed - barely. The others went back to checking the room for supplies, but Lilith caught Gale by the wrist and pulled him aside, behind a crumbling stone pillar slick with red lyrium.

“What are you doing here?” she whispered, eyes wide. “How did you find me?”

Gale’s eyes softened. “I take it your companions don’t know of your travels to get here?”

Lilith shook her head. “No, not yet. I’ll tell them - later. Just… how ?”

He studied her, then sighed, running a hand through his hair. “After you disappeared, I felt it - your magic signature. You didn’t die - you were removed . It was like a string was pulled from the Weave itself. I spent weeks looking for that thread.”

She swallowed hard, guilt prickling beneath her skin.

“I kept watch,” Gale continued. “I watched the currents, the wildest storms of magic. And then today, something changed. There was a surge of unstable time magic around your signature.” He leaned in, voice low. “Your magic hums with chaos, Lilith. Even from afar, it’s unmistakable. But that spell? That ripple ? I finally had something to follow.”

Lilith didn’t speak at first. Something twisted in her chest - grief, maybe. Or gratitude she couldn’t name. She exhaled slowly.

“We have a lot to catch up on,” she said at last. “For now… please help us.”

Gale nodded. “Right. What-” He paused, eyes narrowing as they dropped to her hand. “Lilith, what in the hells is that?”

She glanced down, flexing her fingers. Vivid green light pulsed faintly beneath her skin, tracing jagged veins up her wrist like cracks in glass. At the center of her palm, the Anchor flared - a sickly, shifting glyph, branded into flesh like it had been carved there by something divine and indifferent. “It’s a long story,” she said. “It’s embedded with magic. Some of it mine. Some of it… not.”

Gale stepped closer and took her hand. His fingers closed gently around hers, and he hissed through his teeth. “Gods,” he murmured. “It’s thrumming with power. What did you do?”

“I’m apparently the 'Herald’ now,” she said flatly. “Of a god from this world.”

Gale looked up at her sharply, the weight of it dawning behind his eyes. “Lilith… gods. I’m so sorry.”

She gave a tired, sardonic smile. “Trouble and I are in a committed relationship. You know that.”

Gale smiled, and nodded. “Right. What are we doing here, by the way?”

Lilith laughed weakly. “Dorian", she turned and pointed out Dorian, "and I were sent forward in time by an evil wizard. Culty stuff. You know how it is.”

“Ah, standard day for you then,” Gale said dryly. “Alright, lead the way.”

And with that, the strange reunion folded itself into the chaos of their mission, as if it had always belonged there - another ripple in a day defined by breaking time.


The stench hit them first.

Blood - thick, clotted, metallic. It clung to the walls and the stone floor like a second skin. The corridor twisted downward into the fortress’s bowels, and the further they descended, the more grotesque the scenery became. Torture devices lined the walls like a collector’s macabre trophies, twisted metal stained with old agony. Corpses hung limp in iron restraints, mouths open in silent screams.

Lilith moved with purpose, jaw set tight, though the sight turned her stomach. She tried not to look too closely at the bodies. Some still bled.

They passed a crumbling archway, the shadows lengthening ahead. Just beyond, a thick wooden door stood half-ajar. Voices drifted through the crack - low, sharp, the cadence unmistakably Venatori. Lilith raised a hand, and the party stilled.

“…tell me how the Herald knew of the sacrifice at the temple.”

The voice was smooth, cruel in its patience. Silence followed, and then-

“Never,” Leliana spat.

A sickening thud. A scream. Lilith’s blood turned to ice.

“There is no use to this defiance, little bird,” the Venatori murmured. “There’s no one left for you to protect.”

“You’re wasting your breath.”

Another impact. Another cry, hoarse and defiant.

“Talk! He demands answers!”

A low, furious laugh. “He’ll get used to disappointment.”

Lilith didn’t wait. She pushed the door open and stepped inside, staff already in hand.

The room was a chamber of horrors - dimly lit by red lyrium veins pulsing along the ceiling like diseased veins. Instruments of pain littered a long table. Chains rattled above. And at the center of it all, Leliana.

She hung suspended from the ceiling by her wrists, her skin pale and bloodied, lips cracked, but eyes burning with undiminished fire. A cloaked torturer loomed over her, turning to select another blade from the cluttered table, oblivious to the intruders behind him.

He moved to her with ritualistic slowness, holding a curved knife. With one hand he seized her hair, baring her throat.

“You will break.”

“I will die first,” Leliana growled.

The Venatori froze, turning towards the door, only noticing the shift in the air too late.

From above, Leliana’s legs lashed out with lethal precision. She wrapped them around his neck and twisted. There was a wet crack as the torturer’s body went limp. He slumped to the floor, knife clattering beside him.

Lilith hurried forward, rifling through the man’s robes until her fingers closed around a brass key. She reached up, unlocking the restraints. Leliana dropped heavily into her arms.

“You’re alive,” Leliana breathed, voice raw.

Lilith caught her weight. “We never died. Alexius miscalculated.”

“Then it will be his last mistake.”

Leliana pulled away, swaying but steady. Her expression hardened. “That was impressive,” Lilith said, honestly.

“Anger,” Leliana rasped, “is stronger than any pain.”

Her gaze swept over them. “Do you have weapons?”

Lilith nodded, gesturing to the others.

Without another word, Leliana strode past them toward a battered chest at the far end of the room. She threw it open and pulled out a worn bow and a quiver of arrows with practiced ease.

“You… aren’t curious how we got here?” Dorian asked, incredulous.

“No.”

Dorian blinked. “Alexius sent us into the future,” he explained. “This-” He gestured around the chamber, the lyrium, the corpses, the ruin. “It was never meant to be.”

Lilith stepped beside Leliana, her voice quiet. “I’m so sorry for everything you suffered.”

“We have to reverse the spell,” Dorian pressed. “If we can get to our present, we can prevent this future from ever happening.”

Leliana turned toward them. The fire in her eyes had not dimmed, but her face looked carved from stone.

“And mages wonder why people fear them,” she said coldly. “No one should have this power.”

“It’s dangerous, yes, but unpredictable. Before the Breach-” Dorian began, but she cut him off.

Enough.” Her voice cracked like a whip.

“This is all pretend to you. Some terrifying dream you hope to banish. But I lived it. The world burned . I watched friends die, cities fall. We suffered .”

She looked between them, and for a heartbeat, Lilith saw the ghost of the Nightingale she had once heard of in whispered tales - beautiful, terrible, unyielding.

“It was real.”

The silence afterward was oppressive. Even the lyrium seemed to dim for a moment.

Lilith didn’t try to speak again. Not yet. She simply nodded, a quiet agreement to the weight of it, the truth that could not be undone with words.

Leliana turned, bow in hand, arrows strapped to her back. She moved with purpose, the way someone moved when they’d already buried their fear. The party followed her into the gloom.


The group moved swiftly through half-collapsed halls, past gutted windows and scorched tapestries that still bore the crest of a world that no longer existed. Leliana walked beside Cassandra, her steps uneven but determined. Her lips were drawn tight, stained with dried blood, her cloak soaked from shoulder to hem.

Lilith couldn’t look at her too long. The last time she’d seen Leliana was at the Chantry in Haven, laughing over a bottle of Orlesian wine before they left for Redcliffe. Now she moved like a revenant. A blade of purpose.

At her side, Gale was mid-sentence.

“-if the enchantment is still active, we can’t just brute-force it open,” he was saying. “We’ll need to apply equal pressure across the arcane fracture or risk rupturing the entire matrix.”

“So we stabilize it,” Dorian replied. “We draw a containment ward, isolate the fracture points, and re-bind them with a controlled surge. Basic magical triage.”

“Controlled,” Gale repeated, skeptical. “How charmingly optimistic.”

Solas, who had thus far kept to the rear, cut in coolly. “And what precisely do you know of containment wards, Gale?”

“I’ve done more than my share of magical salvage,” Gale replied, without looking back. “Relics. Cursed items. A nearly sentient box, once. I’m familiar with unstable enchantments.”

“And yet you appear from nothing,” Solas said, voice light but edged. “With no context. No history.”

Lilith slid between them before Gale could bite back. “Play nice,” she murmured to Solas, just loud enough for him to hear.

He glanced at her sidelong. “You seem very trusting of him.”

She didn’t answer at first. Just walked a little faster. But after a moment, she said quietly, “I’ve known Gale a long time. Longer than I’ve known anyone here.”

Solas’s steps didn’t falter, but his expression darkened - curiosity wrestling with something that looked dangerously close to envy.

“From before the Inquisition?” he asked.

Lilith hesitated. “Something like that.”

He looked at her then - really looked. “And what brought him here now?”

“I don’t know,” she lied.

Up ahead, the group slowed at Cassandra’s signal. The corridor narrowed into a vaulted antechamber, its walls crumbling with red lyrium veins that pulsed faintly, like a heartbeat under skin.

“So what’s the plan?” Lilith asked, her voice rougher than intended.

“If the amulet’s tied to temporal displacement, we’ll need two casters minimum,” Gale said. “Any fewer and the energy won’t stabilize. The weave - er, the pattern of the magic - it won’t hold. Not here.”

“We work in unison,” Dorian added. “Solas, you can-?”

“I can,” Solas replied, already moving to trace a preliminary sigil in the air. “But it must be soon. This place is... unraveling.”

Lilith watched them talk, felt the conversation sliding just beyond her comprehension. Time magic. Power flows. Magical structure. She understood the theory, but it wasn’t the same as being part of the casting. She’d never been good at collaboration. She worked alone. She schemed alone. She survived alone.

But this wasn’t about her. This was about getting them home .

Solas glanced over his shoulder. “We’ll need someone to anchor us while the spell forms.”

Lilith blinked. “What, like... magically?”

“No,” he said. “Physically. You’ll hold the amulet, remain at the center, and ensure we don’t lose the focus while casting. The connection must remain stable.”

“Great,” she said. “So if something goes wrong, I’m the first to explode.”

“You always did have a gift for dramatics,” Solas said quietly.

Her eyes flicked to his. “You used to like that about me.”

Solas didn’t answer. But something unreadable passed behind his eyes.

Cassandra turned to face them. Her voice was low, grim. “We need to hurry. Alexius and the Crimson Lord should be inside. We’ve seen what he’s capable of - his power is... considerable. Beyond anything we’ve faced before.”

“If that’s the kind of power we’re dealing with,” Dorian muttered, glancing down again, “we need to be very sure this spell works.”

Cassandra’s jaw tightened. “We’ve heard… stories. From survivors. They say his power comes from blood - but it is not blood magic. It’s something else entirely. Something we don’t understand.”

Lilith’s breath caught.

The word blood rang too sharp in her ears. She felt her spine lock, her fingers curl slightly. Her stomach gave a slow, sick turn.

She glanced sideways, and sure enough, Gale was already looking at her. The faintest crease formed between his brows. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to.

They were both thinking the same thing.

The Crimson Lord. A throne built on death. Blood.

Is Astarion here?

Lilith’s pulse quickened, her vision tunneling. The hallway felt narrower than it had a moment ago. She could feel something just beyond her senses - something old, and hungry, and horribly familiar.

Before she could push - before she could ask for just one minute to breathe - the heavy iron doors ahead groaned open.

“Wait,” she said. “Don’t-”

But it was too late.

A draft of warm, blood-sweet air rolled out into the hall. And they stepped into the throne room.

The chamber had changed. No longer a place of politics or rebellion - it was a temple, a cathedral of rot. The walls wept blood. Red lyrium had overtaken the stone, growing in grotesque formations like veins, ribs, bones. It pulsed faintly, as if breathing. As if watching .

Her heart dropped. She felt him before she saw him. 

At the far end, seated on a grotesque throne of blackened steel and fused crystal, was Astarion.

Not the man she remembered.

He lounged like a god drunk on his own mythology. His silver hair fell in loose, untamed waves around his face, now pale to the point of iridescence. His red eyes burned like twin stars. He wore a cloak embroidered with constellations, stained through with old blood. And beneath his skin - woven into his veins- gleamed red lyrium, a web of crimson light crawling over him like a parasite he had welcomed. His bare feet rested in a circle of runes drawn in blood, thick with glyphs Lilith could taste on her tongue.

He smiled when he saw her.

The room froze.

“Darling,” he said, like a lover reunited after lifetimes. "Even here, in this wretched world," he said, rising with regal grace, voice as smooth and cold as winter’s kiss. "You came back to me. You always do."

Lilith stopped breathing. Her pulse roared in her ears. This wasn’t a dream. This was what the future had carved in her absence.

The silence behind her thickened. She could feel the companions shifting - Varric’s sharp inhale, Cassandra’s sword whispering free of its scabbard, the way Solas stiffened beside her like someone watching history rot in front of their eyes.

“You know him,” Cassandra said sharply, stepping forward. Her sword point hovered an inch above the stone floor. “Lilith. You know him.”

Lilith’s mouth opened. No sound came out.

Astarion descended the altar’s steps with slow, reverent steps, never taking his eyes off her. “You look the same, Lilith. A miracle, really. Time has not touched you - but oh, how it’s changed me.”

“I can see that,” she said quietly, her voice trembling despite herself.

"How many nights I dreamed of this," he purred, descending the stairs of his malformed dais. "A hundred altars raised. A thousand hands broken. All for you."

He didn’t walk straight toward them. He curved around - never breaching the space where the companions stood at Lilith’s back. His eyes flicked over them with idle disdain, his boots gliding across the lyrium-laced floor like he was untouchable. He was careful - deliberate - to stay out of reach of Cassandra’s blade or Bull’s axe. But he moved close enough to her, always to her.

“Ah,” Astarion drawled, eyes catching on Gale. “You brought the wizard. The dog at your heels. Still loyal, is he? I’m surprised he was able to find his way here.”

Gale bristled. “ Careful,” he snapped, voice tight with heat.

But Astarion didn’t even blink. His smile only widened.

“It’s a shame she didn’t love you back, Gale. She loved me ,” he told them all. “More than anything. Enough to kill for me. Enough to die for me. And you all thought she was yours? Your Herald ?” He shook his head in mock pity. “She’s always been mine. My beloved. My wife . My promised queen .”

Gale recoiled. “Wait - what?” His eyes snapped to Lilith. “Lilith, you married him?”

She flinched as though struck. “It wasn’t - it wasn’t like that, Gale.”

“Oh, but it was,” Astarion said, eyes glittering. “Shall I tell them about our wedding night, dearest ? Or perhaps about the ascension ritual? Seven thousand souls, sacrificed at your side. We bathed in their blood and walked into the stars.”

Solas stilled beside her, his expression unreadable. Cassandra looked ill. Leliana swore under her breath.

Lilith’s stomach turned. “Stop it.”

“No, no,” Astarion said, almost cheerfully. “They should know. They’ve followed you, bled for you. Shouldn’t they know what their darling Herald used to be?”

“What is he talking about?” Bull asked, voice tight.

The others were frozen in place. Varric blinked hard, like trying to reset the scene. Dorian looked between Lilith and Astarion, as if unsure whether to be furious or afraid. Solas had gone deathly quiet.

“I didn’t know what I was choosing,” she said sharply. Then, quieter: “Not really.”

Astarion stepped within arm’s length now. His voice lowered.

“It took so long, you know. So many months preparing. But I always knew you’d come. I saw it in the stars. I felt it in the blood. You were made to return to me.”

Her stomach twisted. “Astarion… what are you doing? What is this?”

“This?” He gestured to the grotesque throne, the crystal-bloated corpses fused to the walls. “This is destiny. This is what you promised me. Godhood. Power. Freedom. You helped me take the stars once - do you remember? Do you remember the screams?”

Lilith shook her head. “That was different. That wasn’t-”

“I did it all for us ,” he said, suddenly soft, something cracked in his voice. “And you left. Without a word. Without a trace. Do you know what that did to me?”

Astarion turned to her again, slowly circling - just her. As if the rest of the room didn’t exist. As if she were the only real thing.

“They call me the Crimson Lord,” Astarion whispered, his breath ghosting close enough for her to feel. “Slayer of the Elder One. Bringer of salvation.”

His words hung between them like a curse, slow and reverent, as if spoken in prayer.

“But it was always your name I wore beneath my tongue.”

His voice cracked on the last word - so shattered - that for a heartbeat, something almost human flickered behind his gaze. Pain, maybe. Longing.

But then the mask returned, sudden and sharp, cruelty flashing like a blade drawn in moonlight.

“It was easy, you know,” he said, smile widening with something wolfish. “Corypheus - the Elder One - made an excellent ally, for a time. Oh, he helped me find you. His red lyrium, his darkspawn corruption, even that absurd orb… but most importantly, he had Alexius. Clever, desperate Alexius. He explained the mechanics of time like he was handing me a key.”

He stepped back, arms folded behind him with the ease of a man presenting a prize.

“I knew then - I didn’t need to chase you. I simply had to wait.”

He raised one pale hand, fingers curling in a slow command.

The shadows behind the dais peeled apart. Alexius emerged first. Or, what remained of him.

His once-regal robes hung like grave wrappings over a frame too thin, too broken. Red lyrium jutted from his jaw and knuckles like fangs, pulsing faintly in time with the hum of warped magic around them. His eyes were sunken pits, barely aware, lips twitching with phantom mutterings. And beside him-

“Felix,” Dorian breathed. His voice broke on the name.

The boy - no, the husk - walked like a marionette. His gait was uneven, stiff. His mouth hung half-open, and his once-warm eyes were dull and pale, like moons eclipsed in blood.

“No,” Dorian whispered louder now. “No, no, no-”

His hand twitched toward his staff, but Lilith caught his gaze and gave the faintest nod. Not yet.

“Time,” Astarion said dreamily, tilting his head like a curious child. “It bends, if you force it hard enough.”

Something shifted in the air, something foul and burning beneath the sweetness of his voice.

“But I forgive you, my dear,” he said, gaze softening as it returned to her. “Because you’ve come home.”

He took one step closer. Then another. “I remade this world for us. This throne, this kingdom-”

He swept his arms wide to the ruined grandeur of the chamber: the twisted spires of red lyrium, the altar of bone and gold, the mangled banners still bearing the Inquisition’s crest - defiled, re-stitched into a crude approximation of a sun bleeding black.

“It waits for you.”

Lilith’s pulse roared in her ears. She turned her head just enough to meet Dorian’s eyes again and flicked her gaze toward the amulet hanging at Astarion’s belt. Dorian looked troubled meeting her gaze, but nodded in return.

She looked back at Astarion. Her voice was low. Accusing. “You tortured them, Astarion.”

“I preserved them,” he corrected gently. “To keep them alive. For you.” He stepped forward again. His hand rose.

She flinched - instinctive, sharp.

“Don’t be afraid,” he cooed. “You always feared what you were. But now… there is no shame. You are divine. We both are.”

He reached toward her cheek, fingers outstretched like a prayer. The air between them seemed to ripple. Reality grew thin.

“Say it,” he whispered. “Say you came back for me.”

The silence that followed stretched, impossibly taut.

Lilith’s heart pounded. Everyone was watching. Her companions. Her enemies. The man - no, god - she had once loved. Astarion’s power thickened the air like incense, cloying and hot. She could feel him at the edges of her mind, probing. She knew what he could do. What he had done. He could compel her again, break her like a bone.

And yet - she needed the amulet.

So she stepped forward. Slowly. Deliberately. Her shoulders squared, her expression unreadable. “Of course I did,” she said softly.

Astarion stilled. His eyes lit - slowly, terrifyingly - with something feral. Like a star being born behind his irises.

“I missed you,” she continued. “All this time. I was lost without you.”

Behind her, Bull muttered, “What the fuck is she doing?”

Gale raised a hand to silence him, eyes locked on Lilith.

She moved closer, her body loose, her face tender - but her gaze cold as polished steel.

“I thought I could run,” she said. “But I always knew… we were meant to rule.”

The distance between them vanished. Astarion reached out, cupped her cheek with blood-stained fingers. He searched her face with something close to awe.

From the edge of the room, Solas took a sharp breath.

His expression didn’t move - his hands curled into fists. He watched without blinking, as if trying to memorize every detail. Or brace for the blow.

“You’re still mine,” Astarion said.

“Yes,” she breathed.

She let herself fall into him, arms curling around his waist in a gesture that felt like surrender. But her fingers moved with purpose, quick and surgical. Trained by years of theft and war. She pressed her body against his - kept his focus on her breath, her warmth, her words - and with practiced ease, plucked the amulet from the loop on his belt.

Her fingers closed around it like a secret. And then she withdrew, one step back. Two. Her eyes never left his.

“Show them,” she said. Her voice was light. Dangerous. “Show them who we are.”

He turned to address the room, smug and triumphant.

And she turned faster. She spun, cloak flaring, and crossed the floor in three strides. Her hand brushed Dorian’s. The amulet passed between them.

Go,” she mouthed.

He stared at her, frozen.

Now,” she hissed.

But Astarion noticed something in the shift. His gaze snapped to Lilith, his smile faltering. “What did you do?” he snarled.

Lilith turned, her eyes gleaming.

“What I always do,” she said coldly. “I lied.”

Her hand shot forward, arcane energy erupting from her palm in a violent blast of violet flame. It streaked toward Astarion’s chest, but he was faster.

With a flick of his wrist, a crimson ward shimmered into being. The spell shattered against it, splintering into sparks that hissed across the marble floor.

He laughed. Not cruelly. Playfully.

“Oh, my darling. Still so dramatic.” He tilted his head. “Is that how you looked when Kaelen died? You never did tell me all the details.”

Her breath hitched, just for a moment.

His voice dropped, honeyed and vile. “You spoke of him like he was your salvation. Your anchor.” He leaned in, fangs gleaming. “Do you think he’d still want you now ?”

The rage hit her suddenly, like a storm.

Behind her, the Fade shuddered - Solas already moving, quiet as a blade drawn in snow.

The Inquisition - what was left of them - moved as one. Cassandra stepped in front of Varric, shield raised; Bull let out a battle cry and charged forward. Varric loosened a bolt toward Astarion’s heart.

But blood - thick, hot, and explosive - erupted around the vampire lord. It didn’t drip. It detonated, like shrapnel.

The force of it flung them all back.

Astarion moved faster than lightning. One moment, he stood relaxed and gleaming. The next, his blade arced through the air toward Dorian’s throat.

Cassandra intercepted, deflecting the strike with a yell. Solas raised a shaky hand, summoning a barrier that cracked with the strain. Magic shrieked as it held.

Lilith stepped in, her own spell answering his with a blaze of violet fire. It struck his blade mid-swing. The steel hissed against the heat.

Their faces were inches apart.

“You’ve grown stronger,” Astarion purred, smiling through his fangs. “Perfect.”

She didn’t flinch. “You’re insane .”

“I’m divine.” His voice fractured into laughter. “And you’re mine.”

She pushed him back. A shield of shimmering light rose around him, his magic pulsing in tune with the red lyrium embedded beneath his skin. Lilith’s eyes narrowed. He was warded now - too well for ranged attacks to work.

“Fine,” she muttered. “Up close, then.”

They clashed, her dagger meeting his blade in sparks and snarls. Fire and shadow tore through the throne room, painting the lyrium-streaked walls in flashes of burning light. Ice shattered across the floor as his sword grazed her arm, drawing blood. Necrotic mist curled around their feet like smoke rising from the Fade.

He was faster. Stronger. Drunk on divine blood and power. But she met him blow for blow, spell for spell, her magic snapping through the air in arcs of blistering heat and howling wind.

Still - it wasn’t enough.

Astarion feinted, twisted low, and surged forward. She parried with a shout, striking a force blade toward his ribs - he caught her wrist mid-swing, fingers like iron.

In a blink, he was behind her.

Her body wrenched sideways, dagger clattering from her grip, and slammed back against him, her back to his chest. His arm locked tight across her throat, the other gripping her chin with predatory ease. Her toes barely touched the floor.

The room froze.

Lilith choked against his hold, trying to summon flame - but she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think.

Astarion turned his head just enough to see the others over her shoulder, his lips brushing her ear.

“So protective,” he purred. “Let’s test that, shall we?”

“Let her go!” Bull roared, taking a step forward. Cassandra raised her shield, blade poised to strike. Varric muttered, “Oh shit, oh shit,” and raised his crossbow, knuckles white.

Solas didn’t speak. But the magic around him began to shimmer, gathering at his fingertips like a storm held in check by sheer will.

Only Gale remained still - his jaw clenched, his eyes on Lilith, watching her hands. Waiting for the shift. Waiting for her move.

Astarion's eyes flared, impossibly red.

Kill them,” he said.

The words thrummed through the room like a divine command. Lilith’s body went slack, her head lolling back against his shoulder, mouth parting in a silent gasp. For a heartbeat, she was motionless.

Then she stiffened, and her eyes opened, glowing and crimson.

She dropped from his grip like a marionette whose strings had been cut - and landed in a crouch, smooth and silent.

Astarion stepped back, smug, sauntering toward his desecrated throne like an artist admiring his masterpiece.

“Let’s see how much they really mean to you,” he said, reclining lazily. 

He snapped his fingers. The chamber shook as more cultists poured in - some cloaked, others half-consumed by lyrium, all howling praise to the Crimson Lord.

But they weren’t the real danger. 

Lilith was.

She rose. Her expression was blank. Her fingers crackled with energy. Flames pooled at her palms, magic coiling like serpents seeking targets.

“Lilith, no!” Gale shouted. “She’s not herself - she’s under his control!”

“Maker’s mercy,” Cassandra whispered.

“She’s going to fucking kill us,” Varric said grimly, crossbow already raised.

Lilith raised one hand. Bolts of fire roared across the room - one seared past Dorian’s cheek, another struck Bull in the side, forcing him to his knees with a grunt. The third exploded near Cassandra, sending her tumbling behind a pillar.

“Lilith, stop!” Solas called - but she was already moving.

She didn’t just fight. She hunted.

She blinked across the battlefield in short-range teleports, appearing behind Gale and striking him with a sharp burst of force that sent him reeling. She hurled a sphere of darkness at Solas, forcing him to shield. Then she lunged toward Dorian, blade conjured from light and heat. He barely parried in time.

“She’s not holding back!” he shouted, panting. “She’s going to kill someone!”

Bull charged her, axe raised - she dodged fluidly, spun low, and struck the backs of his knees with a pulse of kinetic magic. He fell hard, swearing.

“Dammit-” Varric fired, but the bolt ricocheted off a shield spell.

They couldn’t reach her. Not like this.

“Hold her!” Gale barked, throwing his hands out. A shimmer of light burst from his hands - Hold Person . It struck her mid-lunge. Her limbs froze in place, suspended in a perfect moment of deadly grace. Her face twisted in frustration, mouth opening as if to scream.

Solas stepped forward, pushing through the whirling chaos, towards her. “Lilith. Lilith.” 

Her head jerked slightly - just enough to track him with her eyes.

Still glowing. Still not hers.

“Look at me,” he said softly. “It’s not real.”

He reached out and touched her cheek. His hand shook. And then - he called to the Fade, muttering under his breath.

Something shimmered. A sliver of spirit emerged: luminous, humming, its form wreathed in light. 

Wisdom. It drifted forward and pressed between Lilith’s brow.

A breathless moment passed. Then another. 

Her body jerked. The glow flickered as Gale released his spell and her muscles tensed, her expression flickering between rage and confusion.

Then, a gasp. She staggered backward, nearly falling, hand to her head. Her knees buckled.

“…Solas?”

He caught her.

“Welcome back,” he whispered.

Around them, the battle still raged. Cultists screamed while spells collided and blood splashed across the stones. And the amulet - the key to their escape - still pulsed, untouched, somewhere in Dorian’s hand.

But for one brief moment, they had her. Lilith had returned.

And she looked furious.

She turned to Gale, her voice like a snapped blade. “Find Dorian. You need to get us out of here - back to the present.”

Leliana’s voice cut through the chaos. “There’s a side chamber - this way! You’ll be able to cast your spell there!”

Gale grabbed Lilith’s arm. “We’re not leaving you.”

She rested a hand on his shoulder, gaze steady despite the storm inside her. “I’ll be right there. I promise.”

He hesitated - only a moment - then nodded and ran with Leliana and Dorian, disappearing into the shadowed archway of a side hall.

Lilith turned toward the throne. Toward the man she had once chosen. Once loved .

But there was no love in her now. Only fire.

“You’re not a god,” she snarled, every word laced with venom. “You’re a parasite with delusions of grandeur.”

Astarion only smiled - wide, gleaming. “You always were such a tease,” he purred. “Come now, my dear. You made me this.”

She didn’t dignify him with a reply. Instead, she lunged.

A blast of green fire screamed from her palm, crackling with entropy and fury. Astarion blurred - vanishing in a puff of shadow - and reappeared behind her, sword raised in a streak of silver.

She ducked, spun, and retaliated.

Her next spell hit like a battering ram - pure force that split the dais in half. The entire platform buckled with a crack like breaking bones, and webbed fractures spidered outward through the lyrium-infested floor. The throne teetered on its base.

The walls trembled. And around her, chaos exploded.

Venatori poured from the side halls - robes slick with ritual blood, mouths chanting syllables not meant for mortal throats. Demons clawed their way through the Fade - rage and despair given flesh, summoned by magic too old and foul to name.

Cassandra met the first wave with a cry, shield raised. Her blade flashed in an arc of righteous silver, cutting down the lead cultist in a single, brutal swing.

“They just keep coming!” she shouted.

“I noticed!” Varric fired bolt after bolt from his crossbow, targeting the Venatori mages trying to shield the demons. “If you’ve got a miracle, now would be a great time!”

A hulking rage demon lunged - plated in molten bone, frothing from its fanged maw.

Bull intercepted it with a bellow, slamming his axe into its chest. “You wanna dance, ugly? Let’s fucking dance!”

Solas moved like a ghost through the fire and madness. Calm. Surgical. His eyes glowed faintly as he unbound demons with cracks of magic and hurled Venatori backwards with invisible waves of force. He spared only a glance for Lilith-

Just enough to see her and Astarion circling each other like twin storms.

“Still clinging to defiance?” Astarion said as he parried a bolt of chain lightning. “It’s almost sweet.”

Lilith’s reply was a blast of necrotic flame. It caught his shoulder, burning away part of his cloak and revealing a lattice of red lyrium pulsing beneath his skin like a second circulatory system.

“I will never be yours again,” she spat. “You’re not who you were.”

“I am more than I was. Because of you.”

He lunged - faster than a thought - and she barely raised a barrier in time. It shattered on impact, the shockwave hurling her across the room. She slammed into a fractured pillar and crumpled, coughing, blood on her lip.

“Lilith!” Cassandra shouted, slashing down another cultist. “We’re almost through - whatever you’re doing, do it now!”

Lilith staggered to her feet. Smoke in her lungs. Blood in her mouth. Power screaming in her bones.

She looked up. Above her, the lyrium-choked ceiling of Redcliffe’s great hall loomed. A lattice of stone, crystal, and decay - massive, ancient, and sick with corruption.

She reached deeper. - deeper than she ever had. Beyond pain. Beyond rage . Beyond the mortal part of her that trembled.

And she let go.

A single wordless scream left her throat as she raised both hands and hurled her magic skyward. A beam of pure force - searing and wild - punched into the ceiling like a god’s fist.

Cracks erupted like thunder. Lightning-shaped fissures tore through stone and lyrium alike. The very air warped from the pressure of it.

The entire throne room groaned.

And then-

BOOM.

The roof of Redcliffe Castle collapsed.

A roar of stone and dust crashed downward, as slabs of masonry the size of wagons plummeted into the dais. Spires of red lyrium shattered like glass. The air choked with red-tinged debris and magic, burning hot and thick as blood.

Astarion’s form vanished beneath the rubble.

The echoes went on and on and on.

And then-

Silence.

Lilith turned, smoke curling off her skin, eyes burning with fury. “That should hold him off for a few minutes.”

Varric coughed violently, patting dust from his jacket. “A few ?! You know how long it took to rebuild this place last time?”

Lilith didn’t answer. She was already sprinting, boots pounding across the fractured floor as the others regrouped behind her.

“Come on!” she called. “We have to get to the ritual chamber. We finish this. Now.”

Solas fell in beside her, blood streaked down one temple. “He’ll dig himself out.”

“I know,” she said grimly.

Cassandra, Bull, and Varric fought a path forward - cutting down the last of the cultists with brutal, desperate efficiency. More were coming, but they wouldn’t make it in time.

The party rushed forward together - limping, bloodied, breathing hard - but alive.

Behind them, somewhere beneath the rubble, something stirred.

But Lilith didn’t look back.


Inside the ritual chamber, the air pulsed with unstable magic. The amulet hovered above the altar, spinning faster and faster, bands of green and violet energy twisting between them like threads in a loom about to snap.

Gale and Dorian stood on either side, sweat slicking their brows, hands flying as they adjusted the crystal focus, muttered incantations, and stabilized the amulet’s rotation with layered spells.

“The resonance is off!” Dorian barked. “We’re going to destabilize the entire chamber if we don’t-”

“I know!” Gale snapped. “Hold it at the axis - don’t let it slip or we’ll be scattered across the void like confetti!”

“I’d rather die than become magical confetti, thank you!”

“You just might if you don’t - ah, there!”

A pulse of raw energy surged from the altar, throwing off sparks and rattling the stones beneath their feet.

At the edge of the room, the others had fallen into a breathless, waiting silence.

Until Varric broke it. “Someone want to tell me what the fuck that was back there?” he said, voice low and razor-sharp. He turned to Lilith, “He called you his wife .”

Lilith’s jaw tensed.

“She didn’t deny it,” Cassandra said. “He spoke of her like - like she was part of it. Seven thousand souls.”

“She’s not denying that either,” Bull growled. “Tell me I’m wrong, Boss. Tell me he’s lying.”

Lilith’s gaze flicked to the door. She didn’t speak.

“Seven. Thousand. People,” Leliana said, each word cutting like a knife. “And he said you chose it ?”

“I didn’t know what he would become,” Lilith said finally, her voice cold and bitter. “Not until it was already done.”

“But you still stood by him,” Cassandra said. “You married him.”

Lilith’s composure cracked, frustration flaring beneath her shame. “I escaped him,” she snapped, voice sharper than she meant. “I ran across the planes to forget what I was.”

“And what were you?” Bull asked. “His bride ? His executioner ?”

Lilith’s hands curled into fists. Her voice came low and taut, barely holding. “I was a monster. But not his - not anymore.”

A beat of silence.

Bull shook his head. “We’ve bled beside you. Trusted you.”

She looked around the room, her eyes pleading. “You trusted what I am now. That hasn’t changed.”

The silence bristled with doubt.

Then-

The door exploded inward, a tidal wave of pressure slamming into the room, shattering shelves, sending stones flying. Fire bloomed from nowhere. Red light poured in like a tide.

Astarion stormed in like a god unchained.

Blood streaked his chest, his cloak half-torn, lyrium glowing like veins of molten rage beneath his skin. His face was twisted - not with pain, but joy . Rapture. His grin carved across his face like a wound.

He screamed - raw, feral. “LILITH -!”

Lilith was already moving. “DOWN !” she shouted, throwing up a barrier of force halfway between the altar and the door. Gale and Dorian ducked instinctively behind it, hands still on the amulet.

Astarion didn’t lunge. Instead, he lifted his arms, and magic erupted from him in every direction. A shockwave of shadow and blood energy rolled across the chamber like a tidal blast.

Lilith’s barrier held, just barely. The force slammed against it like a wrecking ball, sparks hissing across its surface. Gale stumbled. Dorian swore.

But beyond their shield-

Solas raised a ward of his own a second too late. The edge of the blast caught him and hurled him across the floor. He collapsed in a heap, unmoving, blood pooling beneath him.

The others weren’t so lucky.

Cassandra was thrown back with a crack - her body slamming into a pillar and crumpling at its base. Varric’s scream was cut off mid-breath as he collided with the wall, neck twisting wrong. Bull flew sideways, crashing through a bookshelf that collapsed atop him. Leliana tried to leap aside - but the wave struck her mid-run. Her blades clattered to the ground before her body hit it.

Lilith stared through the shimmering wall of her ward, her ears ringing. They were gone. All of them.

“No,” she whispered. It came out broken.

Her knees nearly buckled, grief surging through her like poison. Her breath hitched. Her vision blurred. These were her people - hers - and now they were wreckage scattered across the room like forgotten relics.

Because of him.

Because of her.

Astarion stepped through the smoke, chest heaving. Eyes locked on her. “Do you see?” he breathed. “Do you see what we could be?”

The amulet shrieked behind her, light fracturing in violent, impossible color.

Then-

A sound like the world splitting apart.

The portal snapped open in a thundercrack of green light, a window to the present ripping itself into the chamber with a roar. Wind from another time howled through the room, stirring ash and blood like leaves in a storm.

Lilith turned, heart pounding.

The escape was open.

But Astarion was already moving.

She saw the blur - crimson and lyrium, fangs and fury - cutting across the chamber with impossible speed. Faster than lightning. Straight toward Gale and Dorian.

He was going to reach them.

If he followed them through the portal - if he returned to the present - there would be no sanctuary. No time left to fight back. No second chance. She had dropped the roof of an impenetrable fortress on him, and he got back up . If he reached their time, the Inquisition wouldn’t stand a chance. The world might not, either.

Lilith’s stomach dropped. She wouldn’t make it to the exit before him. 

And the portal - gods, it would take a moment to close. Just enough time for him to slip in behind them. Not unless someone stopped him.

Her hand snapped forward. A fireball screamed from her palm, slamming into Astarion’s chest with the force of a cannon blast. Heat scorched the air. His cloak ignited, red lyrium cracking and glowing like embers - but he only slowed slightly.

Gale !” she shouted, voice raw. “ Dorian - GO!”

They hesitated. Dorian turned to her, horror etched into every line of his face.

She met Gale’s eyes across the chaos. “I’m sorry,” she mouthed.

Lilith thrust both hands forward and let loose a concussive wave of force, her magic screaming as it crashed into their backs. The spell hit them like a hammer, hurling them off their feet - backwards - into the portal.

“Lilith!” Gale shouted as their figures vanished in a blaze of light.

Then the portal convulsed, light folding in on itself, and with a thunderclap like the sky cracking open-

-it collapsed

Gone.

Silence dropped like a blade.

Lilith stood alone in the wreckage of the chamber. Her hands still outstretched, breath ragged, skin singed from casting. Astarion was already recovering - grinning through blood-stained teeth as the embers of her fire curled around his shoulders.

She was alone, but she’d done it. They were safe. Gale and Dorian made it back. 

She let out a shaky breath, something like a laugh tearing free of her throat.

Then she looked at the shattered remnants of the portal. The crackling red lyrium veins snaking along the walls. The blood-soaked stones beneath her feet.

Astarion rose slowly, the grin never leaving his face.

She turned to him fully, fire gathering in her palms, her spine straightening.

“I should’ve burned you to ash the first time.” Lilith muttered, eyes glowing now - not with compulsion, but with rage.

“You wanted me to stay? Fine. Come see what that costs you.”

Notes:

gale and dorian: frantically doing time math
lilith: conducting a war divorce in real time

also sorry to the inquisition. you did not deserve to get curb-stomped by vampire jesus.

anyway let me know your thoughts! how do we think this is going to pan out?

Chapter 12: Chapter Twelve

Notes:

tw: mention of suicidal ideation (marked with *** at beginning and end of sentence)

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

The silence afterward was suffocating.

Lilith turned.

Astarion was still standing - burned, bloodied, grinning like the devil had kissed him. Smoke curled from his coat where her fire had caught it. The veins in his throat glowed red like fault lines, the lyrium in his blood pulsing visibly now, rhythmic and obscene. His eyes glittered like coins tossed into a cursed well.

And he was laughing.

“Ah, my love,” he said, voice raw and delighted. “You don’t know how good I am to you. Even now. Even after everything.”

Her heart was still hammering from the spell, her breath tearing ragged from her lungs.

She drew her dagger anyway. “I hate you.” Her voice cracked like a whip. “You’re rot in silk.”

His grin stretched wider, impossibly wide. “Oh, but you don’t hate me, darling. You hate yourself. That’s why it still hurts. That’s why you’re still mine.”

Her grip tightened.

“You think you’re free,” he said, taking a slow step forward, boots crunching over broken stone. “But you left your soul behind in that ritual chamber. Don’t you remember? You begged me to ascend.”

Lilith’s throat closed, just for a breath. “That wasn’t love,” she said. “That was madness.”

He tilted his head, mock-thoughtful. “Is there a difference?”

“You loved what we were,” he continued, voice low and coaxing. “What I gave you. Power. Purpose. You stood beside a god as his equal.”

“I stood beside a monster.”

He chuckled, soft and cruel. “You’re so dramatic when you’re ashamed.”

“I escaped you.”

“No,” he said, gaze sharpening. “You abandoned me.”

Another step. His expression softened, almost mournful. “I waited for you, you know. I thought maybe - maybe you’d come back.”

Lilith stayed still. But something inside her twisted.

“I was going to turn you,” he said. “Did you know that?”

She didn’t answer.

“On our wedding night.” His voice was almost tender now. “I even found a priest. Some shriveled wretch from the Underdark. It was going to be poetic. Ascending together - forever .”

Lilith flinched.

“But you ran.” The softness drained from his face. “You ran, and I burned for you. I bled cities dry to bring you back.”

From the edge of her awareness, she felt a flicker-like wind brushing cold fingers against her mind. Solas. Somewhere nearby. Watching. Listening.

“Did you really think I’d let you go?” Astarion hissed. “After all we were? After you gave me your blood, your body, your blessing? You said there was no you without me.”

Her voice trembled. “I lied.”

“No, darling,” he said, stepping close enough she could smell the iron on his breath. “You lied to yourself.”

That was the last thing he said before she lunged.

Their blades met with a shriek of steel and magic. Light and shadow exploded between them - burning runes and crashing flame, smoke spiraling through the air.

He was faster. Stronger. Barely mortal now. But Lilith was fury . She was memory, and grief, and guilt sharpened into something lethal.

She fought.

Her sword tore through his coat. Her magic branded his skin, fire licking up his ribs, carving down his chest in holy, furious arcs.

He laughed through all of it.

“Is this foreplay?” he snarled, catching her wrist mid-spell and twisting until she cried out.

She bared her teeth - and conjured a dagger into her free hand, driving it across his cheek in a streak of molten pain.

His growl turned animal. “You think you’re divine now?” he snarled. “I made you divine!”

He slammed her back against the wall with enough force to crack the stone.

She gasped, struggled-

-and the world changed.

No explosion. No smoke. No scream. Just stillness.

Lilith blinked.

She was barefoot on the roof of the Elfsong Tavern.

Moonlight poured across the stones like silver wine. There were flowers blooming in window boxes - violets, she thought, though she didn’t remember who planted them. The air was soft and sweet. Familiar.

The table was set for two. Wine glasses full, candles flickering low.

And Astarion stood a few paces away, wrapped in a black silk shirt she hadn’t seen since Baldur’s Gate - the one he only ever wore for her. 

“Darling?” His voice was gentle. Uncertain. “You’re - what happened? Why are you bleeding?”

Lilith froze. The blood on her was gone. Her dagger was gone too, and her magic silent. Even the pain in her ribs had faded.

“You were just laughing,” he said, stepping closer. “The wine - you called it swamp water. Said it tasted like embalming fluid.” He gave a short, nervous laugh. “Gods, your laugh…”

She stared.

“Tell me I didn’t lose you again,” he said softly. “Please. Just look at me.”

For a heartbeat, she almost believed it. This was her Astarion - clever, magnetic, human in all the ways she’d wanted him to be. The dream she'd painted over a nightmare.

But her hand curled at her side, and she whispered: “What is this?”

He stilled. His smile cracked. “You’re remembering now, aren’t you?”

Her blood ran cold.

His eyes went wide - too wide. His grin stretched - too sharp. And then-

The world shattered. The tavern fell away in a blink, like glass smashed underfoot.

Stone roared back beneath her boots. The castle walls folded inward, red lyrium veins pulsing like open wounds. The scent of fire and blood returned with a vengeance.

And around her-

A dozen Astarions. All watching. All smiling.

Each a different version of the man she once loved.

One leaned against the wall, spinning a ring between pale fingers. “You cried when I put this on you. Did you think I’d forget?”

Another stood tall and monstrous, red lyrium crowning his brow like horns. “You called me your god.”

Astarion in chains. Astarion with her crown. Astarion painted in wedding ink. Astarion with blood down his chin and tears in his eyes.

“You ran.”
“You ruined us.”
“You broke my heart.”
“You were happy.”
“You were mine.”

Lilith backed up. Her breath hitched.

“You said you’d burn the world for me,” one whispered. “Why not this one?”

One came close enough to breathe beside her ear. “No one will ever love the part of you that liked what we did.”

She struck before she could think - flames erupting from her palms in a scorched arc, illusionary flesh peeling into smoke. Several vanished in shrieks, but not all.

The others stepped forward, untouched.

“We made you feel beautiful.”
“We made you feel powerful.”
“No one else will love all of you.”

Her pulse was a drumbeat in her skull. Her magic surged, wild and unsteady.

And then - a crack.

Solas.

The Fade snapped like a rope pulled taut. A hand gripped her waist - real, firm, alive - and then everything broke. The illusions shattered like glass.

And they were moving. Stone blurred past and reality roared back in shades of gray and blood and stone. Solas blinked them through the Fade in a rush of light.

They landed hard. Lilith hit one knee, gasping, eyes wild. Solas was already beside her.

“There’s no time,” he said - low and steady.

She looked back.

The wall behind them trembled, cracks bloomed in the stone. And through them, rage poured like sound.

He followed - the real Astarion - burned, bloodied, thriving as he stepped into the corridor, red lyrium glowing like veins of molten iron beneath his skin.

He smiled like a wolf.

“Oh, Lilith,” he purred. “Did you enjoy your walk down memory lane?”

Solas raised a ward, but it flickered - he was faltering. Too much magic, too fast.

“You think you can run again?” Astarion laughed, eyes wild. “Darling, I learned from the best.”

He raised one clawed hand and cast. Smoke exploded outward.

Lilith screamed. In front of her wasn't Astarion.

It was her.

They stepped from the smoke like ghosts given form. A dozen shades. Each one her.

One in blood-red robes, the Mark of Bhaal fresh on her brow.

One in chains.

One in her Inquisition armor, but wrong-crueler, smirking, alive with hunger.

One was young - barely more than a girl. Wide-eyed, holding the dagger she’d used on her adoptive parents.

“You always knew what you were,” one whispered.
“You just wanted someone else to blame.”
“You begged Astarion to ascend.”
“You enjoyed the killing.”
“You miss it.”

Lilith’s heart pounded. Her hands shook. Her vision split.

“Shut up,” she gasped. “Shut up.”

The shades circled.

“You’re afraid of yourself.”
“So let us take over.”

The Bhaalspawn shade lunged - Lilith screamed, parried - her blade met her own, magic burning like guilt under her skin.

She fought. Steel to steel. Fire to shadow.

And they laughed.

Every blow pulled a memory - Kaelen’s pendant. The slaughter at Moonrise. The crown of Karsus, still heavy in her hand.

“ENOUGH!” she roared - her voice cracking like a command as she unleashed.

A column of fire erupted from her core, raw, unfiltered magic - grief and fury and self-loathing transmuted into flame. The corridor turned white-hot, shadows curling into smoke, screams burning to silence.

Ash.

Blood.

The scent of her past, burned clean.

When the echoes died, only one figure remained.

Solas.

He stepped forward, eyes unreadable, and pulled her upright.

Lilith staggered. She could barely breathe. “I don’t want to be that person again,” she whispered.

His gaze softened - not with pity, but understanding.

“Then don’t,” he said.

He slipped an arm around her shoulders. A tether. 

“This way,” he murmured. “We don’t have long.”


They turned a corner. Another. Solas flung open a warped wooden door and pulled her inside.

A forgotten library, half-collapsed. Shelves broken, scrolls and tomes moldering under layers of soot. It had once been grand - the arched ceiling still painted with stars - but now it felt like a crypt, untouched even by rats.

Lilith staggered to a halt. Her eyes caught on something across the room.

It was unfinished, but the likeness was unmistakable: Astarion, seated on a black throne. Cloaked in crimson, a crown of thorns etched with veins of lyrium gleaming at his temple. And beside him - her.

Or something meant to be her.

Dressed in red, eyes cast downward, serene and obedient. Painted with devotion. Idolized.

Possessed.

Lilith took two steps toward it before her legs gave a warning tremble. She stopped just out of reach.

“Well,” she muttered. “At least he didn’t give me devil horns. Small blessings.”

Solas stood silent behind her, watching.

Her voice cracked. “He painted me into his kingdom like I was… part of the architecture. Like a fucking stained glass window.”

““You are not what he made you.” Solas said quietly. 

She didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Her hand hovered near the figure’s painted face, fingertips shaking just above the dried brushstrokes. Her expression had been captured with eerie calm. A smile ghosted her lips in the mural - serene and obedient.

The same smile one of her shades had worn.

The same smile she’d once worn.

The silence dragged. Finally, Lilith turned away. “He never even needed to find me,” she muttered. “He just knew. Knew I’d be here. Like I’m his little prophecy.”

Solas stepped closer, voice low. “You are not a prophecy either.”

Her jaw clenched. She glanced back - and suddenly noticed the way he was leaning against the doorframe. Breathing shallow, his hand was pressed to his ribs, red leaking through his fingers.

Her heart stuttered. “You’re - Solas, why didn’t you say something?” She crossed the room in two strides.

He didn’t meet her gaze. “Because I am dying,” he said simply. “There’s no point in healing me.”

“You don’t know that.”

He caught her wrist before her hands could reach his wound. His grip wasn’t harsh - just tired.

“There’s lyrium in my blood,” he said, voice soft. “The corruption is too deep. The most you’d do is burn yourself trying.”

Lilith shook her head. “I’ve burned before.”

He managed a weak smile. “You look worse than I do, Lilith. Unfortunately, I’ve no strength left to heal you.”

She raised a brow. “So what - you get to be noble and tragic while I limp around like a half-dead scarecrow?”

His smile tugged a little deeper. “It seems only fair.”

Her hand stayed in his for a beat longer than necessary. Then she gently pulled away.

They both sank to the ground, slumped against the same cracked stone wall. The mural watched them with its lifeless gaze.

“I’m sorry,” she said after a pause. “What he said, in the throne room…”

His voice was unreadable. “Is it true?”

She didn’t look at him. Her mouth opened - then closed again. Her heart was thudding so loud she thought it might shake the walls.

“Yes,” she said finally. “But… it’s more complicated than that.”

Solas didn’t respond at first. His face shifted - grief, revulsion, disbelief - then something else. A flicker of pain. Recognition. For a moment, it looked like he might speak in anger, but it passed.

When he looked at her again, his eyes held something quieter. Not absolution. Not forgiveness.

Sympathy. Almost as if he understood.

“You hide it well,” he said softly.

She turned to him then, properly. “Do you want to ask?”

He held her gaze. “Do you want to tell me?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “I think if I say it out loud, I won’t be able to take it back.”

Solas looked back toward the mural. “Then don’t say it. Not yet. But I would hear it - when you’re ready.”

Lilith let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. Her fingers brushed against the stone beside her. Not seeking comfort. Just trying to stay tethered.

“Thank you,” she said. “I’m used to people trying to dig it out of me. Like it’s owed.”

“It’s not,” he said. “And I don’t want pieces of you you’re not ready to give.”

She laughed - quiet, raw. “Gods. That might be the kindest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

Another pause passed, long and fragile. Then Solas spoke again.

“In the throne room. When he… controlled you.” His voice was quieter now. “How?”

She exhaled slowly, her fingers picking at a crack in the floor.

“It’s part of the magic he got from the ascension,” she said. “If he touches you, he can compel you. Make you want to obey him.”

Solas frowned. “Is it a form of blood magic?”

She shook her head.

He stilled.

“He used it often,” she added. “Especially when I started pulling away. Easier than arguing.”

She didn’t look at him, but she felt the way his gaze snapped toward her - sharp and startled. Solas turned fully toward her, eyes narrowing in quiet, horrified disbelief. “He has used it on you before?”

She blinked, then gave a humorless smile. “Frequently.”

Solas’ jaw tightened. His silence was more furious than anything he could have said.

Lilith exhaled. “It didn’t feel like being possessed. Not exactly. More like… forgetting I had a choice. Like his will just fit better than mine.”

Lilith.” His voice was low, unsteady.

She ignored it. “One of the shades he sent after me - one of the versions of me - she said I missed it. That I wanted it.”

“Do you?”

“No,” she said fiercely. “But... sometimes I remember it wrong. I remember the warmth. The safety. The love. And then I have to remind myself - none of that was real.”

He said nothing. Just listened.

“And it almost worked,” she whispered. “He showed me an old version of himself. Before the ritual, when we were still...” She trailed off. “He looked at me like I was still his.”

Solas’s voice was barely audible. “You didn’t give in.”

“I wanted to.”

Another beat of silence.

“He was going to turn me,” she said suddenly, and Solas went still beside her.

His brow furrowed. “Turn you into what?”

“One of his spawn,” she said, as if it were obvious.

Solas stared. “I’m sorry. A what?”

She blinked. “A vampire.”

His face remained blank.

She frowned slightly. “A predator. A creature that feeds on blood. Immortal, fast, stronger than anything alive. They enthrall people - they don’t just take from you, they make you want it.”

Something in his face darkened, slow and horrified. “You were going to become this?”

“No,” she said quickly, shaking her head. “No, I wouldn’t have let him. He asked more than once. Pressed harder every time. Said it was the only way we’d be together forever.”

Her fingers curled into fists.

“The last time, he held me down and said he’d do it whether I agreed or not. That I’d thank him after.”

*** Her voice faltered. “It got to a point where I started thinking... maybe the only way out was to end my life. Just to make sure I couldn’t become what he wanted.” ***

Solas’s breath left him in a shallow exhale. He didn’t speak, but she could feel the fury burning behind his silence.

“He didn’t just want me to belong to him,” she whispered. “He wanted to rewrite me. From the inside out.”

Solas nodded slowly, his jaw tight. “You came back,” he said, softer now - like the words held more than one meaning.

Lilith didn’t trust her voice, so she just nodded.

“I didn’t want anyone to know,” she murmured. “Not here. Not now. I wanted to be better before - before they ever had to see what I was.”

“You were surviving,” he said. “Whatever he twisted you into - he chose it. You didn’t.”

“I helped him,” she whispered. 

Her hands dropped from his side. She sat back on her heels, eyes burning though no tears fell. “I keep thinking this is the worst of it. That the past can’t possibly hold any more blood. But it always does.”

Solas was quiet. Still. Then, without ceremony, he reached out - just a touch at her wrist. Barely there.

“You carry all of it,” he said quietly. “And still, you move forward.”

She looked at him then, something flickering in her face. Not disbelief. Not gratitude. Just the sharp ache of being seen too clearly.

“You are not his.” he said. 

She didn’t cry. But something gave way beneath her sternum - like breath after drowning.

Something like hope.

They sat in silence, the mural watching from its crumbling perch. And Lilith didn’t touch it again.

She stayed still for a long moment, fingers curled in her lap. Then, without fully thinking - before she could talk herself out of it - she shifted closer and leaned into him, arms wrapping around his shoulders.

It wasn’t graceful or rehearsed. She just needed it.

Solas stiffened - just for a moment - then eased into it, one hand resting gently between her shoulder blades.

He didn’t speak. He didn’t have to.

And for the first time in a long while, Lilith let herself be held.

After a beat, he spoke - low, steady, close to her ear.

“You are not beyond saving, Lilith. Not even close.”


In a sealed chamber beneath the ruins of Redcliffe Castle, lit only by the flicker of dying torches and the breathless pulse of distant battle, Solas turned to her.

“I began constructing this the day you vanished,” he said quietly, reaching into the folds of his robes.

From his pocket, he drew an amulet.cIt gleamed faintly in the dark - a twin to Alexius’s fractured artifact, but more elegant, more deliberate. The filigree shimmered with Elven etchings that pulsed in rhythm with the Fade. Glyphs of time, memory, return. Magic older than death.

“I had no guarantee you’d find the original,” he murmured. “But I estimated… you’d been pushed approximately 1-2 years forward.”

He looked down at the amulet, then back at her. “Before I was captured, I finished this and hid it, in case this day ever came.”

Lilith stared. “Will it work?” she asked.

He didn’t answer at first. “With enough power,” he said finally. “Yours. Mine. Together.”

They knelt beside the ring of runes etched into the stone. She set her hand atop the amulet. His covered hers.

Magic surged.

Their forces collided like starfire - Fade and Weave tangled, foreign and ancient. The chamber trembled, torches flaring. Light spiraled upward, gold and green and violet, wrapping the amulet in a cyclone of time-bent potential.

Then-

Solas flinched.

He was already studying her again - curious, cautious. There was something in his eyes that hadn’t been there before. Not suspicion or fear. Something like… reverence.

“Your magic,” he said slowly, as if tasting the word, “doesn’t belong here. I’ve felt many strange things in the Fade… but this…”

He didn’t finish. But his gaze lingered on her. He felt it now - truly felt it. She wasn’t of this world.

She didn’t explain. There was no time.

The portal cracked open like the eye of a storm - shimmering gold, flickering at the edges, unstable but open.

“You need to go,” he said, urgency threading his voice. “Now.”

“I won’t leave you.”

“You must. You’ve seen what he becomes. If you stay, we lose everything.”

Her voice dropped to a whisper. “All I ever do is leave.”

“This isn’t running,” he said. “This is choosing to live.”

She closed her eyes - just for a second.

And then-

BOOM.

The chamber door exploded inward, a cloud of dust and splinters.

Astarion.

He staggered into view like a revenant. Blood on his face and lyrium glowing in his veins as smoke curled from his cloak like a shroud.

LILITH!” he screamed - something primal and broken and furious.

Her breath hitched. He wasn’t supposed to get here. Not yet.

“You will not leave me again!”

He lunged.

Solas moved to intercept- 

-but the amulet slipped from his hand.

Lilith dove. Astarion tackled her before she could reach it.

They crashed to the floor in a tumble of fire and fury, her blade skittering across the stone.

His claws raked the air near her throat-

She ducked, rolled, slammed an elbow into his ribs. He snarled. Blood sprayed from his mouth, and he laughed through it.

“Scream all you want,” he growled. “You belong to me.”

His hand reached for her and she twisted away. She couldn’t let him touch her. His compulsion lived in skin and voice. She knew that better than anyone.

Behind them, Solas had scrambled for the amulet, breathless. He was already casting - his magic curling through the air, unstable without her.

Lilith raised one hand and threw a raw surge of magic across the room. It hit the amulet like lightning.

Their magic linked again. The portal widened, shimmering violently, splintering at the edges.

“Keep casting!” she shouted. “Don’t stop!”

Astarion roared and came at her again-

She caught his wrist mid-strike and fire erupted from her free hand, blasting him backwards into the wall.

Lilith stood in the center of the chamber, both arms outstretched - one hand tethered to Solas, golden light sparking at her fingertips, magic pouring into the amulet. The other hand wreathed in flame, throwing Astarion back with a scream of rage.

She was caught between them - past and future. Her whole body shook with it. The corridor trembled. The portal shrieked.

Astarion surged forward again - faster this time, maddened-

“I made you a GOD!”

“And I chose to be free,” she hissed - and drove a dagger of flame straight into his chest.

He stumbled and screamed, smoke pouring from the wound.

She turned back-

“Solas - NOW!”

The amulet flared as the portal snapped wide open.

Solas threw out a hand, his magic pulling her forward-

And as Astarion reached for her one last time, claws inches from her throat-

She jumped into the green light.

And the portal slammed shut behind her.


The portal tore open with a scream of magic, splitting the air above the broken stones of Redcliffe’s throne room. Light exploded outward - raw, unstable, reeking of power that didn’t belong in this world - and then spat her out like a curse expelled.

Lilith hit the floor hard.

Her shoulder cracked against stone. She rolled with the impact, her breath torn from her lungs. Her palms scraped raw across rubble, and she barely caught herself before her chin slammed into the ground. Sparks danced at her fingertips - magic still twitching, blood still singing with power that shouldn’t exist in this world.

The Fade echoed in her bones.

Everything hurt. She coughed, dragging in a breath thick with dust, ash, and the iron tang of old blood. Her eyes burned. Her mind lagged.

She was back.

And then-

“Lilith-!”

Gale’s voice. Close.

She lifted her head. He was already beside her, skidding to his knees, hands hovering, frantic - afraid to touch her but needing to. 

Dorian dropped down beside him, out of breath and wide-eyed. “You made it,” he exhaled. “You actually-” he huffed a wild, stunned laugh, “that was the worst ten seconds of my life.”

She pushed herself upright, arms trembling under her own weight. “He nearly had me.”

Dorian laughed again - weak, half-hysterical. “Of course he did. You don't seem to do anything the easy way.”

Behind them, the throne room reeled with movement - Cassandra barking orders, Varric groaning about needing a drink the size of his head, Bull muttering a prayer of relief. The space still warped faintly around the edges, time-sick and echoing - but it was real. It was present.

Lilith stared down at the stone beneath her hands, her fingers twitching. She wanted to claw into it - anchor herself. Remind herself she wasn’t still in that chamber. 

But she could still feel it. The fire at her back. Solas bleeding out beside her. Astarion’s claws inches from her throat. The crack of the mural splitting in two when the chamber began to collapse - like the walls of reality couldn’t bear the weight of what had happened inside them.

It hadn’t been a fight. It had been a reckoning.

She turned to her companions.  They were all alive. 

A breath escaped her. It sounded like a sob trying to disguise itself as a laugh.

But Lilith didn’t feel like someone who’d been gone for ten seconds. She felt like someone who had been pulled through a thousand lifetimes - and left parts of herself screaming in each one.

Across the chamber, soldiers were dragging Alexius upright.

Lilith rose slowly - every motion aching. But her voice, when it came, was sharp and venomous.

“Is that the best you’ve got?”

Alexius flinched. His mouth opened, then closed.

“You failed,” she said, stepping forward, eyes hard. “How forgiving is your god?”

There was no pretense left in him. “You’ve won,” he said hoarsely. “There’s no point in extending the charade.”

His eyes flicked to Felix.

“Felix…”

Felix - alive and conscious, barely - reached for his father’s hand. “It’s going to be all right, Father.”

Alexius flinched. “You will die.”

Felix only smiled. “Everyone dies.”

The Inquisition soldiers led Alexius away.

Dorian exhaled sharply. “Well. I’m glad that’s over with.”

A trumpet suddenly blared.

“Or not,” he muttered.

The doors opened - and Ferelden troops poured into the hall. Behind them: King Alistair and Queen Anora.

Alistair’s eyes swept the chaos. “Grand Enchanter. Imagine how surprised I was to learn you’d given Redcliffe Castle away to a Tevinter magister.”

“Your Majesties,” Fiona began.

Anora’s voice cut sharper. “When we offered the mages sanctuary, we did not give them the right to drive the people from their homes.”

Fiona bowed her head. “King Alistair, Queen Anora, I assure you, we never intended-”

“Good intentions,” Anora interrupted, “are no longer enough.”

Alistair stepped forward. “You and your followers have worn out your welcome. Leave Ferelden - or we’ll be forced to make you leave.”

Fiona’s voice cracked. “But we have hundreds who need protection. Where will we go?”

Lilith stepped forward, trying not to wince at the pain in her ribs. “I should point out that we did come here for mages to close the Breach. The Inquisition might be willing to take them in.”

Fiona turned sharply to her. “And what are the terms of this arrangement?”

Dorian stepped beside Lilith. “Hopefully better than what Alexius gave you. The Inquisition is better than that, yes?”

Fiona’s jaw clenched. “It seems we have little choice but to accept whatever you offer.”

Lilith’s voice steadied. “We would be honored to have you fight as allies at the Inquisition’s side.”

Fiona hesitated. “A generous offer. But will the rest of the Inquisition honor it?”

“The Breach threatens all of Thedas,” Lilith said. “We can’t afford to be divided, and we can’t fight it without you. Any chance of success requires your full support.”

Alistair exchanged a look with Anora. “It’s a generous offer. I doubt you’re going to get a better one from us.”

Fiona nodded. “We accept. It would be madness not to. I will gather my people and ready them for the journey to Haven. The Breach will be closed. You will not regret giving us this chance.”

“Then I wish the Inquisition the best,” Alistair said. “I’d like Redcliffe back to normal by sundown tomorrow.”

Lilith nodded her thanks. But her hands were still trembling.

As the monarchs left, Dorian turned on her. “What were you thinking?”

Lilith blinked. “Excuse me?”

“In the chamber. You threw us through the portal, alone. What if it had collapsed before you-?”

“But it didn’t,” she said, trying to smile. “Worked out, didn’t it?”

“You infuriate me,” Dorian snapped, and for a moment she thought he might storm off. But instead, he stepped forward and grabbed her arm, gentle but firm. “We will be speaking later.”

She nodded, quiet. “I know.”

“Next time,” Dorian muttered, jabbing a finger at her, “you don’t get to be the self-sacrificing one.”

As he turned away to join the others, Gale stepped in front of her again. His expression was gentler - still stunned, still pale with worry. He gently pulled her into a hug. She didn’t resist.

“You made it,” he whispered. “You really made it.”

“Barely.”

“I know,” he said. “We’ll talk later.”

There was something in his voice - relief, yes, but also fear. And something else. Something she wasn’t ready to name.

She leaned into him for a heartbeat. Then pulled away, bracing herself against the floor. Her legs still weren’t steady.

Behind them, Solas watched.

Lilith glanced his way - then turned. She focused on Cassandra, Varric, Bull - alive. Breathing. Her heart stuttered in her chest.

She didn’t think. She walked straight to them, wrapped her arms around Cassandra first. The Seeker stiffened - then, surprisingly, patted her back once in return.

“Lilith?” Varric asked. “You grow a second head in there?”

“Shut up,” she muttered, pulling him into a quick, firm hug. Varric raised an eyebrow but didn’t stop her.

Bull’s hug nearly lifted her off her feet. “You okay, Boss?”

She nodded into his chest. “You have no idea.”

Then - Solas.

He didn’t move as she approached. Lilith hesitated, just for a second. Then she leaned in and hugged him, arms slipping around his ribs.

He went rigid. Then slowly, cautiously, his arms came around her, a breath later than they should have. It was awkward. And warm. And real.

“You came back,” he murmured.

“Barely.”

They stepped apart.

The others gathered, finally processing that something huge had happened - and that they’d been left out of it entirely.

Cassandra stepped forward. “What happened in there?”

“And who the hell is that?” Varric added, eyeing Gale.

Lilith turned to them, wiping at her eyes.

“This is Gale. He’s… a friend. He found us in the past and helped us escape.”

Gale offered a half-bow. “Pleasure.”

“And how, precisely, did you find them?” Solas asked, frowning.

Gale smiled faintly. “Lilith has a very unique magical signature. Once I knew the time range, it was easy enough to track.”

Lilith groaned. “Not this again. It’s not a scent, Gale.”

“No,” he said. “It’s more like a very elegant scream.”

A few of the others exchanged baffled looks. Lilith shook her head, dazed. “I’ll explain everything later. Once I’ve had water, a bed, and possibly six drinks.”

They didn’t press.

She looked around once more. Everyone alive. Everyone safe. She didn’t deserve it - but they were still here.

But she still heard Astarion’s voice. Still felt the pressure of Solas’ bleeding hand in hers. Still saw the shade of herself, whispering all the things she’d tried not to believe.

There would be no peace tonight. But for now, she could pretend.

They began to gather their things. Soon, they would ride for Haven.

And then - gods help her - she’d have to tell the truth.

Notes:

she made it! thank you for surviving Redcliffe with me. if you’re still here, you now qualify for emotional hazard pay and a complimentary therapy wolf. you will need it for some upcoming chapters 👀

please hydrate. hug a friend. tell someone you love them but not in a creepy astarion way.

see you next chapter, where things definitely calm down and no one explodes emotionally or otherwise!

Chapter 13: Chapter Thirteen

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Dusk had fallen by the time they left Redcliffe behind.

The horses moved in a steady rhythm along the muddy trail, hooves thudding softly against earth damp with old blood and broken spells. The sky overhead was a veil of deepening violet, the last light of day sinking past the treetops. In the distance, the hills rolled toward the Frostbacks like the folds of some sleeping beast, and beyond that - Haven. Safety. Or the closest thing to it.

Lilith rode at the front of the group, her reins held loosely in one hand. She barely registered the motion. Her thoughts were elsewhere - fractured, scattered, caught between the afterimages of the ruined throne room and the echo of Astarion’s voice ringing in her skull. Her shoulder ached. Her ribs throbbed with every breath. Her hand still sparked faintly, like a coal that refused to die.

They had made it back. Somehow, she had made it back.

And now came the harder part: the questions. The truth - or parts of it, anyway. She didn’t know what she was going to say, or how. Her mouth already felt dry just thinking about it.

The steady clop of hooves behind her was broken by Varric’s voice. “You know, I thought the road back from a demonic time cult would be less depressing.”

Cassandra grunted. “Don’t tempt fate.”

They rode a little further before Gale caught up beside her, squinting ahead.

“What is that?” he asked, pointing toward the trees. A faint green glow shimmered through the branches ahead - sickly, pulsing, unmistakable.

“A rift,” Lilith said, sighing. “Of course.”

Dorian groaned from somewhere behind her. “I am not getting off this horse unless the Fade itself comes up here and asks me politely.”

“I second that,” Lilith muttered. “You lot go ahead. Heroes, or whatever.”

“Very noble,” Varric said dryly, nudging his mount forward. “Glad we’re all feeling so inspired.”

“Don’t worry,” Cassandra added, reining in beside him. “We’ll handle it.”

As the others rode ahead to engage, Gale stayed beside Lilith, his gaze fixed upward, entranced by the swirling tear in the sky.

“What is that?” he asked, half-wondering, half-dreading.

“A rift,” Lilith said. “It tears through the Veil and pulls demons through from the Fade into our world. They feed on chaos. The bigger it gets, the more real estate it claims.”

She cast him a glance. “They’re less majestic when they’re trying to eat you.”

“And how do you close them?”

Lilith lifted her left hand and wiggled her fingers. “With this.”

He blinked. “The… mark?”

She nodded. “It reacts to the rifts, pulls them closed. Most days, it hurts like hell. Some days… well. You’ll see.”

Sliding off her horse with a grunt, Lilith made her way to the center of the clearing. The battle was already winding down - Bull smashing through the last demon with his axe, Cassandra shielding Solas as he loosed a precise arc of lightning into the creature’s chest, evaporating into smoke.

The rift pulsed, furious. Lilith stepped into position beneath it, lifting her marked hand toward the sky. Green light flared.

Her teeth clenched as the power surged through her arm - hot, electric, searing like fire in her bones. The mark always resisted at first, but this time it felt worse. Frenzied.

The rift shrieked - and then, suddenly, folded inward on itself with a sound like tearing silk.

Lilith staggered. The pain didn’t stop. In fact, it got worse.

Her scream caught in her throat as her knees buckled, hand still raised, light writhing across her skin like it wanted out. The magic twisted up past her palm, spiraling into her wrist, then her forearm. Every nerve lit up in agony.

She dropped to one knee, gasping.

“Lilith-!”

Dorian was the first at her side, catching her shoulder. “Shit - what is it?”

“I don’t know-” she managed, voice ragged. “It’s not stopping-”

Gale knelt on her other side, reaching instinctively, then pulling back as the magic sparked off her skin.

“Is it - spreading?” he said, stunned. “It’s trying to push higher-”

A third presence dropped beside her - faster than either of them.

Solas.

He caught her hand without hesitation.

His palm met hers, and his magic poured in - soothing and deliberate. Like a balm. The wild flaring of the mark shuddered beneath his touch, recoiled, then softened. The pain didn’t vanish, but it lessened. Her heartbeat began to slow.

She was still shaking when the light finally dimmed. Lilith stared at her arm. The veins near her wrist were still glowing faintly, tinged with green. Like it was burrowing deeper now.

“What the hell was that?” she whispered.

Solas didn’t let go of her hand. His eyes were narrowed, calculating. “The mark is changing. It’s no longer contained to your hand - it’s evolving.”

Her mouth went dry. “What does that mean?”

“It means it will spread. Slowly. Unless something is done to suppress it.”

Dorian’s brow furrowed. “Can you suppress it?”

“For now.” Solas finally released her, gently. “But it will require frequent attention. Daily, I would estimate. I can keep the growth at bay, but I cannot remove it.”

Lilith flexed her fingers, wincing. “Great. So I’m a time bomb with a babysitter.”

“Preferably a cooperative one,” Solas said wryly.

Gale frowned at the mark, then at her. “Has this ever happened before?”

“Not like that,” she muttered. “It’s always been unstable. But this felt… different. Like something snapped.”

They stood in silence for a moment - wind rustling through the trees, faint crackle of residual Fade energy fizzing out from where the rift had been.

Then Varric called from the trail. “Are we camping or what? My ass is sore, and I think I’ve got a new scar!”

Lilith exhaled, shaky but steady. “Coming.”

Solas moved beside her, offering an arm.

She hesitated. Then took it.

Because whatever was coming next - explanations, politics, pain - she wasn’t ready to face it alone.

Not yet.


The air around their camp crackled with the scent of pine and the faintest trace of ozone - remnants of the storm that had passed while they rode. Evening light slanted through the trees, golden and drowsy, gilding the horses’ manes and warming the edges of steel and leather. The others were settling in: Cassandra directing tent setup with military efficiency, Varric already poking at a fire pit with a stick like it owed him money, and Bull grumbling about rations.

Lilith slipped away without a word. She wasn’t surprised when footsteps trailed her - two sets, one precise and deliberate, the other squelching slightly with each step.

“You could at least pretend to sneak,” she said over her shoulder.

“I could,” Dorian replied, flicking a bit of mud off his boot with theatrical disdain. “But I find stealth is wasted on the morally ambiguous.”

“Oh, she’s not ambiguous,” Gale said dryly, catching up. “Just deeply suspicious.”

Lilith huffed a laugh despite herself, pushing through a thicket until the trees parted to reveal a quiet lake nestled in the hollow of the hills. The surface was still, mirroring the purpling sky above.

They stripped without comment, the silence between them not uncomfortable, just heavy with everything left unsaid. Lilith stepped into the shallows, the cold water biting at her ankles like teeth, grounding and cruel. 

She knelt and cupped the lake in her hands, splashing her face, letting the sting chase away the grit and blood of the past days. Her reflection blurred and broke apart with every ripple. 

Behind her, she heard a soft intake of breath - not surprise, exactly, but something close. When she turned slightly, she caught Dorian's eyes flicking over her back, then sharply away. Not before he saw it. 

The scarring was hard to miss. Her skin was a map of old battles and older rituals - crossed and carved, healed and reopened. A jagged scar bisected her lower back, just above the curve of her hip, and across her shoulders bloomed something far worse - a skill encircled in drops of blood, like a crown of rot. It had been etched deep, and healed deeper. 

Gale, beside him, didn't react. He'd seen them before. But Dorian stood stiffly in the water for a moment longer, as if unsure whether to comment or pretend he hadn't noticed at all.

She didn't say anything. Didn't offer the stories, didn't explain them away. Instead, she turned back to the lake and let the silence hold. 

Then, finally, Dorian exhaled - and started talking again, as if nothing had happened. As if the only kindness he could give her in that moment was pretending it hadn't caught him off guard. 

She appreciated that more than she could say. 

“So,” he began, now glancing meaningfully between her and Gale, “I suppose I owe you an apology for thinking you were harboring some grand and secret infatuation with our favourite broody apostate. Clearly, I misread the situation.”

Lilith looked at him, then at Gale, who - remarkably - did not look away. His expression was open, quiet. Not smug. Just… present.

She rolled her eyes and flopped backward to float, arms splayed. “I’m not with anyone right now, Dorian.”

“Well, our friend from the future certainly seems to disagree,” Dorian said, eyebrows raised meaningfully.

Lilith groaned and let herself sink a little deeper in the water, staring at the sky. “Really?”

“Too far?” Dorian asked, feigning innocence.

“Dorian,” she said with a long-suffering sigh. “Don’t joke about that.”

He held up his hands in a gesture of surrender. “Alright. Fair enough. But you know we’ll have to talk about it eventually. All of it.”

“I know,” she muttered, eyes on the sky.

Gale, ever the diplomat, waded a little closer, brushing water off his forearm. “What happened after we went through the portal?” he asked gently. “I looked back, and you were still there. Then nothing.”

Lilith took a long breath. “Astarion attacked me. Or, was about to. Solas intervened.” She caught the smirk already forming on Dorian’s face. “Don’t.”

“I said nothing,” Dorian said, with all the innocence of a cat beside a shattered vase.

“Then Astarion sent… things after me. Shades - they were copies of me. Dozens. I don’t know how he made them, but-”

She cut herself off, shook her head.

“We fought our way out. Solas had crafted a second amulet - said he expected us to resurface in the future. Thought it might have been temporal displacement.” She gave a humorless laugh. “He was right.”

“He predicted it?” Dorian said, eyebrows rising. “That smug little-”

“Brilliant,” Gale finished, though his smile was thin. “That’s brilliant. And terrifying.”

She didn’t tell them the rest. Didn’t say that Solas had poured his magic into the amulet like blood into a wound. That his hands had trembled. That he had told her to go, and she had.

They all grew quiet. Then, Gale stepped closer, water shifting gently around him, and lowered his voice.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “For everything that happened in Baldur’s Gate. I didn’t know what he’d become. Not until it was too late.”

Lilith blinked hard and nodded, her eyes stinging. She turned away under the pretense of brushing her hair out of her eyes, but her fingers trembled slightly against her temple. There was no way Gale could have known what was happening - not truly. Not the long, silent months in the Manor. Not the pressure of velvet-gloved hands curled around her jaw. Not the nights she screamed into her pillow, only to wake and find the sound caught, muffled in her throat by compulsion. She had tried writing to him - to them all. Letters written in tiny, cramped script when she could steal a moment of clarity. Letters she thought had been swallowed by the dark.

“I tried,” she said at last. “I wrote to you. To all of you, over and over. I thought maybe he was intercepting them, but I didn’t know for sure. I just… I thought someone would come.”

Gale frowned. “We did get your letters.”

Lilith turned.

He nodded. “Dozens. All of us. You always said you were safe. That you were happy. They were vague, yes, but… we believed you.”

“I… I never wrote those,” she whispered.

Gale’s brow furrowed. “Lilith, they were in your handwriting. Your seal. And they came regularly - for months.”

Her chest went cold. Unless-

“Unless he made me write them,” she said hollowly. “Compelled me. Then made me forget.”

Gale swore under his breath. Dorian’s expression, previously skeptical, shifted to something more horrified.

“Lilith-” Gale began.

She shook her head, tears biting at the edges of her eyes now. “It’s fine.”

“It’s not,” Gale said firmly. He stepped forward, catching her by the shoulders - not harshly, but with enough weight that she looked up at him.

“That’s not fine. Gods, Lilith. He took your words. Your voice. Do you have any idea how awful that is?”

“Yes,” she said, quiet and raw. “I do.”

Her eyes burned. She closed them, just for a moment, and leaned forward to press her forehead to his shoulder. He pulled her in, his arms curling around her as if he could hold together what had splintered.

She stayed there a while. Just long enough to breathe. Just long enough to lie and say it didn’t still hurt.

When she finally pulled back, Gale held her steady.

“Are you alright?” he asked softly. “Really?”

She met his eyes. He knew. Of course he did. He’d been there once, too - power stripped away, agency stolen, bent under the will of another.

“I don’t know,” she said honestly.

She hesitated, glancing out over the lake. The shadows across the surface had deepened. 

She offered a bitter, breathless smile. “I want to believe he’s still in Baldur’s Gate,” she said. “But I can’t say I’m free. Not yet.”

Gale’s jaw tightened.

As they walked back through the trees, the hum of camp life grew louder - voices over crackling firewood, laughter, the metallic chime of armor being adjusted.

Lilith paused at the edge of the clearing, brushing pine needles from her sleeve.

“Dorian,” she said quietly.

He stopped beside her, one brow raised.

“Would you mind giving me a moment with Gale? Just… the two of us. I’ll come find you in a bit so we can… talk.”

Dorian studied her for a beat, understanding dawning in his eyes. He gave a subtle nod. “Of course.”

He gave Gale a look - amused - and disappeared toward the firelight, leaving them alone at the treeline.

“Alright,” Gale said, leading her to stand behind a tree, shielding them from view of the camp. “Now that no one’s eavesdropping - how in the hells did you end up here?”

Lilith rubbed her face. “The short version?”

“I’ll take what I can get.”

She exhaled through her nose. “Astarion changed, after he ascended. He became… cruel. Controlling. I couldn’t take it anymore, so I made a deal.”

Gale’s eyebrows lifted.

“With Raphael.”

He groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Lilith.”

“I know,” she said quickly. “I know how stupid it was. But I was desperate. I just needed to be gone. Needed to get somewhere - anywhere - where Astarion couldn’t find me.”

Gale’s frustration was real, but there was no anger behind it, only pain. “You could’ve reached out to me. You should’ve-”

“I tried,” she said quietly. 

Gale sighed, pushing his hair back from his forehead.

“Anyway,” Lilith continued, “Raphael agreed to take me somewhere Astarion wouldn’t follow. In exchange, I… owe him my soul. In a hundred years.”

Gale’s head turned sharply toward her. “You what?”

She didn’t meet his eyes. “It bought me time.”

“Lilith…” His voice cracked slightly. “You sold your soul - to Raphael?”

“A hundred years of freedom is enough for me,” she said, too quickly.

He stared at her, disbelief lining every inch of his face. “You were that desperate?”

“Yes,” she said, finally meeting his gaze. “I was.”

Gale looked away, jaw clenched. “A generous timeline,” he said bitterly. “Plenty of time to pretend it won’t come due.”

“I’m aware,” she murmured.

She continued, “But Astarion found me - both Raphael and I - in the House of Hope before I could leave. Everything went wrong - the magic in the portal snapped, and I landed here. No memories of how - I just woke up in chains. The Chantry thought I caused some kind of explosion at their Conclave.”

“Which you don’t remember being at.”

“Nope. But apparently, I was. And I was the only survivor. With this.”

She held up her left hand. The Anchor flared faintly in the dimness - green and pulsing like a heartbeat.

“It’s killing me,” she added. “Slowly. No one’s sure how fast.”

Gale turned serious, shifting closer to inspect the mark. “Can I-?”

She nodded.

He studied it closely, expression darkening. “I don’t recognize the magic - it’s old. I’d need time, and a better working knowledge of the Fade, maybe. But - gods, Lilith. Are you sure there’s no way to remove it?”

“I’m sure,” she said softly. “It’s bound to me.”

Gale sat back slowly, frowning.

After a moment, Lilith tilted her head toward him. “How did you get here?”

“Ah.” Gale gave a slightly sheepish smile. “You remember how I was working on interplanar mobility? When you… well, when we parted ways.”

“I remember you calling the Astral Plane temperamental and then nearly getting eaten by it.”

“Well, I perfected it,” he said. “Sort of. I can move between Realms now. Not freely - there are rules, and I need something to anchor me. But I followed a trail of arcane instability and ended up here. It led to a rift, and to you.”

Lilith blinked. “So you were looking for me?”

“I was hoping,” Gale smiled. “I didn’t know what I’d find. But I felt... something. Like a ripple in the Weave. And I remembered your magic - how strange it always felt. Like it didn’t belong.”

She smiled faintly. “Thanks.”

“Not an insult.”

For a moment, the fire crackled in place of speech.

Then, softly, Gale said, “You should tell Dorian.”

The smile slipped from her face. “Tell him what, exactly? That I was born of a god who delights in murder? That the things Astarion said weren’t exaggerations - that they were real? That I’ve killed, maimed, and relished it? That whatever made the sky bleed in Redcliffe didn’t come from this Elder One, but my husband?”

“Yes,” Gale said, gently. “All of it.”

Lilith looked away. “He’ll hate me.”

“I doubt it.” Gale nudged his boot into the dirt. “You forget - I was there too. I saw the look on his face when Astarion called you his beloved queen.”

He paused. “You think Dorian didn’t notice how quiet you got afterward? How tightly you were wound?”

She didn’t answer.

“He’s already drawing conclusions, Lilith.” Gale’s voice softened, but there was weight behind it. “Wouldn’t you rather give him the truth?”

She exhaled, slow and shaky.

“And he’s clever, and much sharper than he lets on.” Gale’s brow furrowed thoughtfully. “He masks it in wit, but his mind’s a blade. He’s well-versed in time magic and all the tangled edges of the arcane, which might help us.”

Lilith glanced at him. “Since when are you Dorian’s champion?”

Gale smiled. “Since I've been speaking with him on the road. I wasn’t sure at first - he’s theatrical, a little smug, and deeply committed to being the cleverest man in the room.” He tilted his head. “But I’ve come to think he’s loyal. He listens more than he lets on, even if he is as judgmental as he pretends to be.”

She stared at the fire. “I don’t know if I can.”

“I know,” Gale said. “But it might help. You’ve been holding this alone for so long, and it’s clearly eating you alive.”

He paused. “Let someone else carry a little of it, if only for a while.”

She didn’t speak for a long moment. Then, “Historically speaking, you and I have awful taste in people.”

Gale gave a rueful smile. “Terrible. But I’m willing to risk it.”


The fire crackled low as Lilith approached, her steps light and measured. She tapped the side of Dorian’s boot with the toe of hers. He looked up, brow lifting slightly.

“Walk with me?” she asked softly.

He didn’t move at first. Just stared at her, his eyes unreadable in the firelight.

“Planning to kill me in the woods?” he asked lightly. “Because if so, I hope you at least brought wine.”

Lilith gave a faint smile. “Would you follow me if I had?”

“Without hesitation. I have a famously poor sense of self-preservation.”

He stood, brushing ash from his fingers with studied grace. “Lead the way, oh suspiciously quiet one.”

They slipped into the woods together, the camp shrinking behind them like a forgotten dream. Pine needles crunched beneath their boots, but otherwise, the night was silent. Lilith moved like she always did when she didn’t want to be followed - fluid, deliberate, and hard to track. Dorian trailed behind with considerably less grace but enough awareness not to fill the silence with idle commentary. Yet.

After a while, he said, “You know, when you asked me to walk, I assumed we were going to gossip.”

Lilith gave a faint snort. “You’re disappointed.”

“I’m devastated, my dear. I was promised dirt and juicy secrets. Instead you’ve led me to a murder clearing.”

She stopped, and turned. They stood in a pale slash of moonlight, the clearing empty but for a few moss-covered rocks and the stretch of open sky above.

Dorian arched a brow. “This does feel like the place where one buries a body.”

“Do you ever stop talking?”

“Not when I’m nervous.”

She tilted her head. “You’re nervous?”

“Terrified,” he said dryly. “You’re acting strange. And let’s be honest, your baseline is already deeply unsettling.”

Lilith let out a quiet laugh. But it didn’t reach her eyes.

Dorian noticed - of course he did.

His smile faltered just a little. “Lilith,” he said, quieter now. “What is this?”

“I didn’t bring you out here to kill you, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“I wasn’t worried, I was preparing. Very different.”

She didn’t answer. Just stared at him for a long moment. Then she lifted a hand and cast Silence. The air collapsed into stillness, muting everything but the tension strung taut between them.

Dorian looked around, his brows rising.

“Well,” he said. “Now I am worried. Should I be flattered or terrified?”

“I’m debating how honest I want to be,” she replied, voice low and flat.

He gave her a sideways smile. “Ah. So somewhere between confession and crime. How thrilling.”

Lilith didn’t laugh this time.

She stared at him a second longer, and something - some mask - cracked just a little. Dorian caught it. His expression shifted, all wryness gone in an instant. His arms fell to his sides, less guarded now.

“I’m going to tell you something,” Lilith said, slow and quiet. “Something no one knows. Well - only one person. And he’s currently off somewhere being far too pleased with his own spellcasting.”

Dorian’s brow twitched. “Gale?”

“Unfortunately.”

She inhaled. “Can I trust you?”

That caught him off guard. For once, he didn’t have a clever retort ready. His face went still, eyes narrowing slightly.

“I know I talk a lot,” he said. “But I do listen when it counts. And I don’t betray people I care about.”

Lilith blinked at him. “You care about me?”

“Don’t make it weird.”

“Dorian, I am weird.”

He sighed. “Yes, well. You’ve worn me down with your relentless charm, your nihilistic muttering, and your tendency to look at magical catastrophes and say, ‘What if I touched it?’ So yes, I care. Of course I do.”

She huffed a soft laugh. “You’re terrible at sincerity.”

“I know. I hate this. Let’s get back to the horrifying confession, please.”

Lilith hesitated one last time.

And then, with a quiet breath, she spoke.

“I’m… not from this world,” she said. “As in, I’m not from Thedas. I’m from a place called Faerun. Specifically, a city called Baldur’s Gate.”

Dorian blinked. “Alright…” he said cautiously. “That… is unexpected. But it explains some things.”

She continued. “I wasn’t born - not in the way you’d think. I was created, through something called divine parthenogenesis. A god willed me into being.”

He blinked again. “I’m sorry, did you say parthenogenesis-”

“The god was Bhaal,” she went on. “He’s the Lord of Murder. He… created me directly from his blood. Not born from a woman like his other children. They were called Bhaalspawn. I was different - I was his Chosen. To complete his ‘prophecy’, I was supposed to kill every other living being to be the last one alive. And then… I was meant to kill myself.” 

Dorian stared at her, stunned into rare silence.

She continued - halting at first, but then the words tumbled out faster, as if once she started, she couldn’t stop. If she did, she might never get them out at all. “I was adopted by a Baldurian family when I was young. I had a normal life for a while, but then I started feeling… it. The Urge, we called it. Basically, a compulsion to kill. It didn’t feel wrong - it felt divine. I became good at it. I was considered a prodigy.”

She swallowed hard. “Eventually I was ordered to kill my adoptive parents. And I did. But something… shifted after that. I still don’t understand what. I think that was the first time I really felt something close to empathy.”

Dorian’s mouth parted slightly. He didn’t speak.

“I kept killing, of course,” she said, eyes on the forest floor. “Traveled, assassinated, worshipped. Eventually, I infiltrated a mercenary band I was meant to eliminate. But one of them… Kaelen. He surprised me. And helped me - a lot.”

She hesitated. “He led the group and ran it with a code. No kills without reason. No contracts on civilians. It was the first time I’d been part of something that didn’t demand cruelty as currency.”

Her voice dipped quieter. “He died because of me. That’s all I’ll say.”

She didn’t meet Dorian’s eyes.

“After that, I went back to Bhaal’s temple and embraced who I was. I helped orchestrate something horrible - an alliance with the Chosen of two other evil gods. We tried to take over the world. I was monstrous.”

She forced herself to continue.

“But I was betrayed. My sister - also a Bhaalspawn - took my place as Chosen and left me for dead. I was tortured for a long while. Then one day, I woke up in a nautiloid ship with no memories and a parasite in my skull. I had to rebuild from nothing.”

“That’s when I met Gale. And Astarion. We fought a god - several, actually - and saved our world. Or tried to, anyway. I still struggled with the Urge, but I tried to be better." Her fingers curled slightly against her knee. “Eventually, I confronted Bhaal. Rejected him, and walked away. And for the first time, the Urge went quiet.”

She paused, as if the silence that followed was still ringing in her ears.

“And Astarion and I…” She took a breath. “We fell in love.”

That got a sharp look from Dorian, but he said nothing.

“He wasn’t like the man we saw in that future. Not then.” Her voice softened. “He’d suffered, Dorian - for centuries. Tortured, broken down, turned into a vampire by a sadist named Cazador. He never had a choice. He was made into something cruel - and he wanted revenge. Of course he did.”

A beat.

“It doesn’t excuse what he became. But I understand why he wanted it." She exhaled, voice tighter now. “That kind of pain… it warps you. And when the chance came to finally be free, to take power back - he took it.”

She looked down at her hands, fingers twitching.

“He hijacked a ritual meant for Cazador. It was supposed to turn him into a sort of god, you could say. Astarion took it instead. But the cost was 7,000 souls. He sacrificed them. And I helped him.”

“You helped him?” Dorian echoed, wide-eyed.

“I wasn’t thinking,” Lilith whispered. “There’s no excuse - I know that. I just wanted the man I loved to be free. I wanted to end his pain. I thought… I could save him.”

Dorian said nothing. The silence pressed in.

“After that, he changed. Became… cold. Vicious. Some of the things he did…”

Her voice trailed off. Her expression shifted - blank, distant. Her eyes no longer focused on Dorian, or anything at all.

“He compelled me to marry him. Threatened to turn me more times than I can count. Made me forget things - entire days, whole conversations. I don’t even know everything he made me do.”

Her hands were still. Too still.

She met Dorian’s eyes. “Eventually, I couldn’t take it anymore. I made a deal with a devil I knew - Raphael. He offered me escape, anywhere in the world. In exchange, I agreed to give him my soul… in a hundred years.”

Dorian reeled back slightly, eyes wide. “You what?”

She let out a breathless, humorless laugh. “He was supposed to get me out before Astarion could stop him. But Astarion found us and the magic went haywire. So I landed here, in Thedas.”

She paused, letting it settle. “I woke up in a dungeon with Cassandra and Leliana. And the Anchor. I don’t remember how I got it. There’s more - hells, there’s so much more - but I’m giving you the bones of it. The rest would take days.”

Dorian rubbed a hand down his face. “Fasta vass.”

Lilith glanced down. “You can hate me. I’d understand.”

Hate you?” Dorian said, incredulous. “Lilith, I’m a little more terrified of you than I was five minutes ago, but I don’t hate you.”

She gave a weak smile.

“You did what you had to do to survive. And from where I’m standing? You’ve spent every step since trying to be better. That counts for something. More than something.”

He gestured loosely toward the Anchor glowing faintly at her hand. “You landed in a world you don’t know, were branded a saviour by a religion you don’t believe in, handed a war you never asked for - and you still chose to stay. To fight. That means something, Lilith.”

He gave a wry smile. “And let’s not pretend I’m any kind of moral authority. I’ve made my fair share of disastrous decisions - just fewer involving gods and soul bargains.”

She let out a shaky breath. “I’ve seen Raphael - the devil - here, you know. In Thedas. Watching me. I don’t understand why. I think maybe he just wants to remind me the clock’s still ticking.”

Dorian groaned, rubbing his eyes. “Okay. Well. I have so many questions. But first, I’m going to need a drink. Possibly several.”

She laughed softly. “That’s fair.”

Then - more quiet now - he added, “Lilith, you know you’re not alone in this, right? Look around. There are more people in your corner than you realize.”

He gave her a meaningful look. “And I’m one of them. Even if I need a stiff drink before I can look you in the eye again.”

Lilith reached out and took his hand, squeezing gently.

“Thank you.”

Dorian smiled faintly. “Just don’t go sacrificing me to any murder gods and we’ll call it even.”


The return to camp felt like surfacing. Sounds crashed down around her - laughter, quiet arguments, the scraping of bowls. The flicker of firelight on armor. Her eyes adjusted slowly, and she felt the Silence spell unravel like breath from her lungs.

Dorian peeled off toward the supply crates, muttering something about wine and trauma, leaving Lilith alone at the edge of the firelight.

Solas sat cross-legged by the flames, alone, tending a pot that didn’t seem to need tending. His face was cast in shadows and gold, eyes glinting with that quiet, unblinking attention she was beginning to recognize as his resting state.

She approached silently and sat down beside him. The night was cool, damp with river mist, and the world had narrowed to the hush of crickets and the occasional flutter of wings.

Eventually, she drew her knees up and wrapped her arms around them. Solas’ gaze lifted toward the sky.

“I wanted to thank you,” she murmured.

Solas blinked, looking at her. “For what?”

She smiled faintly. “You saved my life.”

He tilted his head. “I wasn’t aware I had.”

“You weren’t there, technically,” she murmured. “Not this you. A future you. But… it was still you.”

Something passed over his face - curiosity, concern. “I don’t understand,” he said gently.

“You don’t have to,” Lilith said. “But I needed to say it anyway. You helped me. You knew exactly what I needed, even though I didn’t. You trusted me when I didn’t trust myself.”

Solas watched her for a long moment. Then, “Are you ready to speak about what happened?”

She shook her head slowly. “No. But I think I’ll have to anyway.”

“I see.” He paused. “Then don’t say it yet. But I would still like to hear it - when you’re ready. You’ve surrendered enough of yourself just by wearing that title. You shouldn’t have to give up any more pieces of yourself before you’re willing to.”

Lilith sucked in a breath, and something in her chest twisted. The words echoed - not just in meaning, but almost in form, a familiarity that reached across memory.

She laughed softly, a sound more fragile than amused. “You-” she began, blinking quickly, “you said that before.”

Solas turned to her, his eyebrows furrowed. “In… the future?”

She nodded. “Almost exactly. And it meant a lot to me then. It means just as much now.”

Solas studied her in silence, the fire of his gaze tempered by something softer. Thoughtful. Patient.

“It was awful,” Lilith said suddenly, voice tight. “I can’t even begin to… but I’ll tell you more. Maybe tonight, in the Fade.”

At that, he smiled - faint and crooked. “A fitting place for ghosts.”

She looked over at him. “Is that what I am now?”

He didn’t answer right away. Then, “I think you are someone who’s walked through death more times than you care to count, yet kept walking anyway. That makes you many things, but not a ghost.”

Lilith turned her face up, towards the moonlight. Somewhere, far in the distance, a wolf howled. She didn’t say anything else, and neither did he.

They just sat together in the crackle of the campfire, breathing the same air, caught between then and now and not-quite-yet.


The fire had burned low, and most of the others had already turned in. The hush of night settled around them - soft breathing from tents, the occasional snort from a horse, and the quiet rustle of Bull trying to get comfortable in a bedroll far too small for him.

Lilith hovered near the supplies, suddenly aware of how bone-deep tired she felt.

“We don’t have any spare tents, do we?” she asked, scanning the worn piles of canvas and rope.

“Afraid not,” came Gale’s voice from where he sat near the embers, unrolling a blanket with theatrical resignation. 

He leaned in close so only Lilith could hear. “The esteemed Herald of Andraste gets a tent, of course - but not, apparently, enough foresight to requisition one for the mysterious wizard who dropped in from another realm.”

Lilith snorted. “I’m sure they’re still adjusting the seating chart.”

He gave her a pointed look and sighed. “I suppose I’ll make do with the stars and a stiff spine.”

She rolled her eyes. “You’re not sleeping on the ground, Gale. Just share mine.”

He raised a brow, faux-innocent. “Oh? And your reputation?”

Lilith glanced over her shoulder - and found Solas watching them from his place by the fire. He didn’t say anything, but his gaze lingered just a moment too long. His expression was unreadable. Or rather: readable only if you knew where to look.

Lilith bit back a smirk.

“I think I’ll survive the scandal,” she said, stepping toward her tent. “But no wandering in your sleep.”

“Perish the thought,” Gale said, rising with mock gravity to follow.

The space inside was cramped but warm, scattered with books and scrolls, a pair of boots, and what might’ve once been a sock and was now a magical experiment gone horribly wrong. Lilith settled onto her bedroll as Gale laid beside her and reached out to cast Silence over the tent’s borders. The air fell still and weightless - like they were suspended in a bubble of calm.

There was a pause.

“I think Astarion’s here,” she said quietly.

Gale’s whole body went still.

“I thought I saw him. A few weeks ago, in Val Royeaux. Just for a moment. Could’ve been a hallucination. But-” She exhaled. “It felt real. And I’ve seen Raphael - twice now. Just… watching.”

Gale’s voice went grim. “He always did enjoy loitering ominously.”

She glanced at him, lips twitching. “Possessively ominous.”

He didn’t smile. “He was never one to let go of what he thinks he owns.”

A silence settled between them as Gale stared into his pile of scattered books, brow furrowing.

Lilith watched him for a moment, then nudged his leg with hers. “Alright. You’re thinking too hard. What is it?”

He looked over at her, hesitant. “You said earlier that Astarion found you and Raphael in the House of Hope before you could escape, right?”

“That’s right,” she said, straightening slightly.

Gale frowned deeper. “That’s what’s bothering me. When we went to the House of Hope, Hope gave us those disguises. Remember? She said the moment anyone realized we didn’t belong, they’d raise the alarm and alert Raphael.”

Lilith nodded slowly. “Right. Because of the debtors. They watch everything.”

“Exactly. So…” Gale hesitated. “How did Astarion get in without setting off any alarms? Was he disguised?”

Lilith’s brow furrowed. “No. No, he was wearing his usual clothing. Not even subtle. He looked like himself, just angrier.”

Gale turned toward her, eyes narrowing. “Then why didn’t Raphael know he was coming?”

A long pause.

“Unless…” Lilith murmured. “Unless someone told the debtors not to raise the alarm.”

Gale’s voice lowered. “And that someone would’ve had to be Raphael.”

She stared into the shadows pooling at the back of the tent, the lantern’s flickering light throwing her face into shifting relief - half-lit, half-lost to darkness. “If he knew… if he let Astarion in…”

“Then it wasn’t an ambush,” Gale said. “It was an arrangement.”

Lilith let out a soft, humorless laugh. “What is he up to?”

Gale didn’t answer.

“He saved me from Astarion,” she said quietly. “Promised to spirit me away to some quiet corner of Faerun, far from him. And gave me a hundred years of borrowed time. I thought I owed him everything.”

“You might still,” Gale said, his voice gentler now. “But maybe not for the reasons you think.”

The tent was quiet for a long moment. The kind of silence that doesn’t ache - just settles.

Lilith pulled her knees in closer, fingers tightening around the fabric of her sleeve. “Everything here has felt like I’ve been playing someone else’s game. I don’t know where the moves are coming from anymore, or who’s setting the board.”

She let out a breath, this one softer. “I think I forgot what it felt like to just… talk, without feeling like I’m lying or leaving something out.”

Her voice cracked slightly, and she blinked it away.

“Honestly?” she continued, “I missed this. You. Just… someone who knew me before. Someone who doesn’t look at me like I’m a saint or a monster.”

A beat passed.

“Well,” Gale said, nudging her shoulder lightly, “you’re a terrible saint. Your bedside manner is atrocious. But your magic? Spectacularly monstrous. In the best possible way.”

She huffed a laugh, brushing her hand over her face. “Gods, I hate how much I needed to hear that.”

“That’s what I’m here for. That and consuming any remaining rations. You’ve no idea the things I’ve done for a warm stew.”

“I have exactly an idea.”

“Touché.”

He didn’t answer with words. Just pulled her into a hug.

She pressed her face to his shoulder, breathing him in - books, parchment, something faintly cinnamon-like. Her fingers curled in his sleeve.

“You’re not a monster,” he said into her hair. “And I’ve never seen you as a saint. Just as you.”

She laughed weakly, and it cracked on the way out.

She settled back, and Gale shifted so she could curl into his side. His arms draped around her, warm and grounding.

The tent was silent. Weightless.

Within minutes, Lilith’s breathing slowed. With the steady rhythm of a heartbeat beside her, her eyes slipped shut. 


Lilith dreamed of moonlight and river water.

The air was warm. The stars scattered like pale glass above the edge of camp. Somewhere, frogs chirped in lazy rhythm, and a fire popped gently behind her, almost out. She saw critters darting near the underbrush - mice, a fox, something else. A dark wolf stood still on a distant ridge, its eyes locked on her. She felt no fear. It wasn’t threatening. Just... watching.

Astarion lay beside her, cool and content. He’d fed already - not on her, this time - and he was sated, all silken charm and idle affection. One hand traced patterns along her bare shoulder, drawing invisible sigils in the heat left by her skin.

“You’re so fragile,” he murmured.

Lilith snorted, elbowing him lightly. “Wow. Romantic.”

He laughed softly. “Not an insult, darling. Just an observation.” His hand found her chin, tilting her gaze toward him. Moonlight made him almost gentle. “One arrow, one lucky goblin with a knife, and you’d be gone. Doesn’t that frighten you?”

She blinked. “Of course it does. But I’m used to it.”

His frown was genuine. “You shouldn’t have to be. Not when there’s another way.”

Something shifted. Not in the world, but in her. She felt the moment her dream-self caught on, and froze.

His voice turned silkier, measured. “I could turn you. You’d never have to worry again. You’d be strong. Eternal, with me.”

Lilith stared at him. Was he joking? The Astarion she loved could joke. 

But no. She saw it in his eyes.

“Astarion,” she said carefully, sitting up, “I’m not… I don’t want that.”

“You wouldn’t be losing anything.” He followed her, the firelight glinting in his smile. “You’d be gaining everything. Power. Safety. Me.”

“You already have me,” she said, trying to make it a joke. Trying to end it there.

There was a flicker in his expression. Disappointment, masked with a smirk. “Of course. It’s only a thought.” He kissed her temple. “You don’t have to decide now. I just want you to know the offer’s there. Always.”

She didn’t lie back down.

The fire popped. The dream shifted. Stone now, cold and hard beneath her.

She remembered this, too. Remembered the way he’d whispered against her neck, already fed on her, already drunk on control.

“Just a little more,” he murmured. “You taste sweeter when you’re afraid, you know.”

Her heart thundered. Not in the dream - in her chest, as she watched the memory unfold. Her limbs refused to move.

“Astarion,” she heard herself say, weakly. “Stop.”

But he didn’t. His hands pinned hers. His body pressed hers down. He held her wrists tight, breath hot against her neck. Then, with practiced ease, he shifted her wrists into one of his hands - freeing the other to adjust her throat.

“Why do you fight this?” he hissed. “Why do you make me the villain when I only want to protect you?”

“You want to own me!”

“After everything I’ve given you?”

She writhed beneath him. The pressure on her neck increased. Her fingers sparked with arcane power, twitching under his grip.

“I never asked you to give me anything!”

Her hand flared with arcane light. Thunderwave crackled at her fingertips. She screamed as she let it loose. The dream shook with it - stone splitting, red mist rising, his snarl echoing off the pillars.

He hit the wall and crumpled. Then looked up at her with bloodied lips and eyes that glittered like rubies.

“Such a waste,” he said. “You could’ve been perfect.”

Lilith turned away.

Only now, she didn’t wake up. She was still dreaming.

Still in Redcliffe.

The throne room was silent. Slick. The windows bled moonlight. Her own footsteps echoed far too loud.

And Astarion stood before her again, not injured, not shaken.

Whole. Regal. Wearing the crown of the Crimson Lord.

“You did leave,” he said calmly. “You hurt me.”

She took a step back. Her hand burned - the Anchor pulsed wildly, out of sync with her heartbeat.

“You said you didn’t want eternity,” he said. “But you don’t get to choose anymore.”

Behind her, a mirror.

She turned. Her reflection stared back - red-haired, red-eyed, fanged.

Astarion appeared beside her, his hand caressing her cheek.

“I fixed you,” he whispered. “You always belonged to me.”

Guilt surged up like bile. Redcliffe had burned. Her friends - her family - died to buy her time. She hadn’t told them the truth. She still hadn’t. All this death and secrecy, all because of her choices. Because she couldn’t save Kaelen. Because she helped Gortash steal the Crown of Karsus. Because she couldn’t say no to Astarion. Because she was afraid. How much of her still belonged to him? And if she couldn’t say it aloud - if she couldn’t name it - did she deserve to be free of it?

There, in the far corner of the dream, something moved.

A shape, low to the ground. Lurking. A black wolf - again - barely visible.

But the dream shattered before she could look twice.

With a breath like a gasp of air after drowning, Lilith willed the vision away. The Anchor flared, and the throne room dissolved into mist.

And suddenly-

She was standing in a grove, somewhere green and quiet, as pale trees rustled above her. She was in the Fade, she realized.

She turned. Solas stood nearby, arms folded, brow raised.

"Dreamwalking now?” he asked dryly. “Or just fleeing something unpleasant?”

Lilith let out a shaky breath. “Both.”

“Mm. You have excellent timing. I was just about to lecture a pride demon on the ethics of dramatic monologuing.”

She smiled. Weakly. But it was real.

Solas stepped closer, his expression softening.

“Would you like to talk about it?”

She hesitated.

He waited.

She sat beneath one of the trees, curling her knees to her chest. “It was Redcliffe,” she said quietly. “But also… before. A memory. From home.”

He lowered himself beside her, movements quiet and deliberate. The dreamscape around them shimmered with its usual unreality - skies too wide, stars that pulsed like heartbeats.

“It must have been difficult,” Solas said softly. “You looked… changed. When you returned with Dorian and Gale.”

Lilith wrapped her arms around her knees, gaze distant. “It was awful,” she said. Her voice cracked slightly, as though the words scraped their way out.

Solas tilted his head. “Then I am, at the very least, consistent in recognizing emotional collapse.”

She gave him a look, then nudged his leg with her foot. “Annoyingly so.”

A brief smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. They sat in quiet, the kind that didn’t demand explanation. Above them, the sky rippled with shifting light - dream constellations rearranging themselves on a whim.

“You don’t have to tell me what happened,” he said at last, his voice more a suggestion than a request. “But if you ever choose to, I will listen.”

Lilith didn’t answer right away. Her fingers tightened slightly around her knees.

“I know,” she said finally. “That’s the worst part.”

There was a pause, then her voice softened further. “I will tell you. I promise. I just… need a little more time.”

He glanced at her, brow furrowing just slightly - but said nothing.

The Fade pulsed around them. Quiet. Infinite. Waiting.

“So,” he said. “It is excellent we've gained the mages. They should be able to seal the Breach.”

He paused. “You are certain you experienced time travel? Could it have been an illusion, a trick of the Fade?”

“It was nothing like the Fade,” she said firmly. “It was real. Besides, do you really think Alexius made an illusion of his own life going down in flames?”

“Point taken.”

“What an amazing gift,” he said after a beat. “It is vital the Inquisition succeed, to avoid the future you witnessed.”

“So many were dead,” Lilith murmured. “More had been corrupted. Knowing what will happen if we fail… we have to stop it. And we will. No matter what.”

“Remember that,” Solas said quietly, “should you ever feel hesitant about the necessity of the Inquisition’s actions.”

She looked at him sideways. “I’m surprised you’re not more interested in your own future.”

He shrugged, a ghost of a smile flickering across his mouth. “I know enough. If that future happened, then I - and Cassandra, Cullen, and the rest - failed to stop this Elder One. That’s all I need to know.”

“Most people have had trouble wrapping their heads around the idea of time travel.”

“I’m not most people.”

Lilith tilted her head. “I appreciate you talking with me about it… and not being most people.”

He laughed weakly. “If you wish me to speak of Orlesian fashion, I may be at a loss. Magical surprises I can handle.”

“Speaking of which…” he said, more serious now. “You should ready yourself.”

“For?”

“This Elder One. You have now interfered with his plans twice. Once at the Temple of Sacred Ashes… and now again at Redcliffe. A being who aspires to godhood is unlikely to ignore such an affront.”

Lilith gave a tired exhale, tipping her head back to the glowing canopy above. “Fantastic. Another ancient evil bent on apocalyptic ruin. Gods forbid we get a week of peace.”

Solas huffed a soft laugh.

They let the quiet settle. The Fade above them shimmered with stars - brighter than any waking sky. For a long time, they didn’t speak. They just sat, side by side, until the dream turned gently to starlight.

Lilith’s voice was soft. “At least this part of the nightmare isn’t so bad.”

“No,” Solas agreed, looking upward, then peeking a glance at her. “Not bad at all.”

Notes:

lilith and dorian give me sibling energy, im so excited to explore their dynamic more!

those damn letters!! astarion's over here breaking my heart

and oh, raphael.....whatever could he be up to? (the author wrote as she giggled menacingly)

Chapter 14: Chapter Fourteen

Notes:

realizing i'm an avid enjoyer of tavern scenes and sparring scenes lololol - i promise to change it up in the future!

i definitely could have split this into two chapters, but i didn't want to lol. so, here's a hefty chapter - i hope you enjoy! and sorry in advance! :)

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

The gates of Haven creaked open as the weary group rode in, hooves crunching softly over packed snow. The air was sharp with pine and hearth smoke, and for once, Lilith didn’t mind the cold. She exhaled into the crisp afternoon light, her breath fogging in the air. 

Her limbs ached from the ride, but there was a comfort in the ache - almost a rhythm to it. The familiarity of campfires and snow-laced roofs and the slow bustle of Inquisition life - people moving, calling, carrying crates, training in the square. For the first time since Redcliffe, the knot in her chest loosened.

As they dismounted, Lilith rolled her neck with a groan and stretched her arms over her head. She turned toward Gale, who was already surveying the village like a scholar cataloguing a new text. Typical.

“Well,” she said, tugging off one glove with her teeth, “here we are. Home sweet home. Scenic, secluded, and quiet.”

Gale chuckled, brushing a dusting of snow from his shoulder. “Charming. One might say the architectural style here is rustic survivalist.” 

“Very fashionable,” Lilith said dryly. “And drafty enough to freeze your soul if the demons don’t get there first.”

Before Gale could reply, a familiar voice cried out, “Lilith!”

Mira barreled through the crowd, her arms outstretched. She reached Lilith with surprising speed, nearly tackling her in a hug.

“I heard something went wrong at Redcliffe - Maker, I was so worried.”

Lilith blinked, caught off guard. For a moment, she stiffened - she always did, even now, when affection came unannounced. But then she breathed in the familiar smell of Mira’s hair oils and firewood and sage, and something in her - something tense and coiled - softened.

“I’m alright,” Lilith murmured, just for her. “I’ll tell you everything later. Promise.”

Mira pulled back with a tight look, eyes scanning her face like she could find the truth written there. Lilith offered a tired smile and stepped aside. “Actually,” she said, motioning to Gale, “this is Gale, he’s new, but also an old friend. You’ll like him - he’s bossy and poetic.”

Gale offered a graceful little bow. “A pleasure.”

Mira blinked. “Oh. Um - hello. Wow. I mean. Hi.”

Lilith narrowed her eyes slightly at Mira’s sudden discomfort, watching as she flushed and glanced away quickly, clearing her throat. Lilith smirked slightly at this, but there was no time to dwell on it. The Chargers were already making their presence known, their voices echoing from across the courtyard.

“Look who finally dragged her ass home!” Krem called, sauntering up.

“Just in time,” Skinner added. “We were gonna eat Grim out of desperation.”

Grim grunted, unimpressed. “Don’t listen to them,” Krem said with a grin, turning to Lilith. “You bring back any souvenirs? Magical doohickeys? Extra princes trying to marry you?”

“Only nightmares and possible political fallout,” Lilith replied. “So… business as usual.”

“You know,” Rocky mused, “I heard she drop-kicked a mage off a balcony.”

“Wasn’t a drop-kick,” Stitches corrected. “She used a spell that looked like a drop-kick. Very different.”

“Oh my gods,” Lilith muttered, pressing her fingers to her temples. “You guys are a plague.” But she was smiling.

From behind the crowd, Cassandra stepped forward, her armor streaked with dried mud, eyes dark with exhaustion. She gave Lilith a tight nod as she passed. “We should meet in the war room to debrief with the advisors.”

Lilith groaned, letting her head fall back. “Can’t we just skip to the part where I crawl into a snowbank and fake my death?”

Cassandra didn’t bother to answer.

As the Seeker disappeared up the hill, the weight of it all settled again on Lilith’s shoulders. The warmth of Mira’s hug, and of Krem’s teasing, didn’t shield her from the truth. She’d seen the future. Fought in it, lost in it. And now she was here again, in the present, potentially seconds from catastrophe, with secrets clinging to her like a second skin.

She glanced to Gale and Dorian at her side. Their jaws were tight, lips pressed thin, eyes forward like soldiers bracing for impact.

Yeah. They were worried too. Dorian didn’t speak, just arched a brow at her. Lilith returned the look - less shall we?, more do we have a choice? - and turned toward the war room.

The steps stretched ahead like a sentence being handed down. And she climbed them, one at a time, each footfall dragging behind the weight of everything she wasn’t ready to say. She wasn’t good at stillness, not when her mind was screaming. She could still hear Astarion’s voice, cloying and cruel. Still feel the heat of Redcliffe burning behind her eyes.

By the time they reached the Chantry steps, her stomach was twisting into knots. The war room doors creaked open slowly, revealing a heated conversation already underway.

Inside, the table was already half-ringed with advisors. Cullen, frowning over reports. Leliana with her arms crossed, eyes narrowed in thought. Josephine looked up with a practiced smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.

Cullen’s voice rang out sharp and uncompromising. “It is not a matter for debate. There will be abominations among the mages - we must be prepared.”

Josephine’s reply was clipped but calm. “If we rescind our alliance now, the Inquisition will look not only disorganized, but oppressive. That is not the image we want to send to the world.”

Lilith stepped into the room - and nearly froze.

The usual advisors were there, of course - Josephine, Leliana, Cullen - but so were the others. Varric lounged against a wooden support beam, arms crossed, brows lifted. Bull stood with arms folded, wearing a faint scowl that flickered to interest when he saw her. Solas remained just behind her, Dorian, and Gale, silent as a shadow. Even Cassandra looked briefly at the group with a flicker of uncertainty.

Cullen spotted her, his eyes snapping to hers like a shot. “What were you thinking,” he demanded, “turning the mages loose with no oversight? The Veil is torn open!”

Lilith stopped mid-step, her pulse jumping. “Mages aren’t monsters,” she replied coolly. “We can control ourselves without any outside help.”

“This is not an issue of self-control,” Cullen snapped. “Even the strongest mages can be overcome by demons in conditions like these!” He turned abruptly. “You were there, Seeker. Why didn’t you intervene?”

Cassandra didn’t flinch. “Because we gave the Herald the authority to negotiate, and I stand by that choice.”

Lilith blinked. That… wasn’t what she expected. Cassandra’s support had always been earned in battle, not policy. But there it was. Not glowing approval - but enough.

“We need them to close the Breach,” Lilith said firmly. “Turning them away now would be suicide.”

“And letting them run unchecked may amount to the same,” Cullen countered.

“Oh, for the love of- ” Varric cut in. “If we’re handing out paranoia, should we worry about our own warriors too? They carry swords. What if they turn those on us, huh?”

Bull let out a low chuckle. “I mean, I’ve considered it,” he said, deadpan. “But the pay’s decent.”

A ripple of quiet laughter passed through the room - tense, brittle.

Cassandra, standing rigid beside the war table, folded her arms across her chest. “The sole point of the Herald’s mission was to gain the mages’ aid,” she said. “And that was accomplished.”

“Ah, the voice of pragmatism speaks,” came a smooth drawl from the shadows. Dorian strolled in with practiced ease, passing Lilith with a glance that was half amusement, half pride. “And here I was just starting to enjoy the circular arguments.”

Cassandra arched a brow. “Closing the Breach is all that matters.”

Lilith offered a small smile and nodded towards Cassandra in agreement. Then, after a breath, she added, “There’s someone else you should meet.” She stepped aside, gesturing toward the door. “This is Gale.”

The mage entered behind her, calm and measured, the lines of his robes still dusted with snow. “He’s… a friend. And a mage who assisted us in Redcliffe.”

The room shifted subtly - attention turning, measuring. Lilith didn’t move, but she could feel the weight of it: skepticism, curiosity, caution. The fragile threads of alliance being woven and tugged taut.

Gale offered a courteous bow, voice smooth and composed. “An honour. I’m here to help - for as long as I’m needed.”

Cullen gave him a once-over, skeptical but silent. Josephine nodded politely, ever the diplomat. “Any ally in defense of the Inquisition is welcome.”

Solas tilted his head slightly, eyes narrowing. “Another mage, appearing at a most convenient time. Fortunate.”

Lilith shot him a look, her brows faintly pulling together. What the hell was that? She didn’t expect warm approval from everyone, but they were friends - or at least something like it - and the pointed tone caught her off guard. She tried to catch his eye, but his expression remained unreadable and maddeningly composed. Distant.

Beside her, Gale smiled with easy charm. “Fortune,” he echoed lightly, “is rarely so tidy. But I’ll take the compliment.”

Dorian folded his arms. “Honestly, if the goal is peace and order, we might want to stop treating mages like unstable explosives.” 

Gale spoke, his tone smooth but weighted. “There are dangers, yes - but I’ve yet to see fear produce more than cruelty and stagnation. This Breach grows while we debate morality. We need power to meet power.”

Solas shifted, and Lilith’s eyes were drawn to him. His arms remained folded, expression impassive, but his gaze flicked to her - searching. Not accusatory, but there was a question there, hovering in the silence between them.

She looked away first.

“We’re wasting time,” Cassandra said sharply. “The mages have joined us. That decision is made. The focus now must be the Breach.”

“Agreed,” Josephine nodded. “The sooner we strike, the better.”

Lilith hesitated. And then, softly, she said, “Dorian and I saw what happens if we fail. And it’s worse than anything you’re imagining.”

A hush fell across the war table. All eyes turned to her.

Leliana tilted her head, voice low. “Then tell us. What did you see?”

Lilith’s throat closed. She felt Dorian shift beside her - an almost imperceptible movement. A warning.

She swallowed. “The world was... crumbling. Empress Celene was assassinated. Demons everywhere. Cities falling, one after the next. People fleeing, but - there was nowhere left to run.” She kept her voice level. Her details vague. But her hands were clenched tight in her lap.

Dorian picked up easily. “It had the trappings of a grand Tevinter coup, wouldn’t you say? Utopian rhetoric, apocalyptic execution. Cultists trying to drag the world to its knees so they could build something worse atop the rubble.”

Leliana’s eyes narrowed. “Who led it?”

Lilith hesitated. “It started with Alexius. But he wasn’t acting alone.”

Cassandra frowned. “The Elder One?”

Lilith nodded. “That’s what they called him. But Dorian and I... we heard a different name too. Corypheus.”

The name hit the room like a dropped blade. Varric went still. Then - softly - he said, “He’s back… Well, shit.”

Lilith bristled. “You know him?”

Varric let out a long breath. “Unfortunately, yeah. Hawke and I fought him. But he was dead. As in, no pulse! No breath! Full of stab wounds! Not a lot of room for doubt."

Lilith’s brow furrowed. “So who - what - is he?”

“I’m not sure even he knows,” Varric said. “He’s a darkspawn, but he thinks he’s a magister - a priest of Dumat. And he says he broke into the Golden City, like in the Chantry tale.”

Varric continued, "It makes me wonder… I thought the Wardens imprisoned Corypheus to use him. Maybe they did it because he can’t be killed."

“There has to be a way to defeat him,” Lilith said firmly.

“I hope you’re right,” Varric replied.

A heavy pause. And then Lilith spoke again. “He wasn’t the end of it.”

Cassandra turned to her. “What do you mean?”

“We thought Corypheus was the threat. But something else rose in his place after he died.”

Leliana’s voice was low. “What?”

Lilith’s jaw clenched. She felt the name rising in her throat like bile.

“The- ” Her lips faltered. “The…”

“Called himself the Crimson Lord,” Dorian cut in smoothly. “Rather dramatic, don’t you think? Red robes, vague threats. The usual cult-leader routine.”

Cassandra frowned. “Another Venatori leader?”

“No,” Lilith said. “The Venatori served him. Worshipped him, like he was a god.”

Leliana’s gaze sharpened. “Was he human?”

Lilith hesitated. “Not anymore. Whatever he was before... it was gone. There was red lyrium in him, in everything. The walls. The air. He infected the world just by being in it.”

She continued, staring ahead, her voice soft. “It’s almost as if he had power that… didn’t belong in this world. It wasn’t magic, not really. Or maybe it was something older. Twisted.”

Dorian gave a low, wry sound. “He had influence over people. Over their minds.”

Lilith looked at him then. He met her eyes, as if asking permission, and after a beat, she gave a small nod.

“He was able to force people to bend to his will with just a touch. He compelled - controlled - Lilith,” Dorian said, gaze turning sharp. “Forced her to try to kill us.”

The room reacted instantly - Cullen straightening, Cassandra’s mouth parting in alarm, Solas going still.nLeliana’s expression was unreadable, but her eyes were locked on Lilith. “He could control your mind?”

“Not… all of it,” Lilith said. “But enough. It was like something crawling under my skin - familiar, and not.”

“It didn’t work,” she added quickly. “Gale and Solas were able to stop it. I fought it - I tried to fight it.”

“And she did,” Dorian confirmed. “I wouldn’t be here otherwise.”

Cullen folded his arms. “Then this Crimson Lord is a worse threat than Corypheus?”

“I think he was waiting for Corypheus to rise. And fall,” Dorian said. “Like a parasite biding its time.”

There was silence.

Leliana looked between her and Dorian, eyes calculating. “And you were able to escape?”

Lilith laughed weakly, “Barely.” 

Dorian gave a clipped nod. “It was… not a clean exit.”

“But you’re back,” Cullen said, voice grounding. “One battle at a time. The Breach first. We’ll need to position the mages, secure our forces, and plan around what we now know.”

Lilith nodded faintly, letting herself breathe for a moment, but her gaze remained distant. “I was hoping to skip the assault,” she muttered. “Take a long nap. Maybe fake my death.”

“Tempting,” Bull rumbled. “But the paperwork’s a nightmare.”

Cullen allowed himself a faint snort. “No rest for the wicked, I’m afraid.”

“Then I must be very wicked,” Lilith said dryly.

Dorian leaned back against the door. “In that case, I’ll be skipping the next war council. But I do want to see the Breach up close.”

Lilith turned to him, surprised. “You’re staying?”

“Oh, didn’t I mention?” He waved a hand. “The South is absolutely charming this time of year. I adore all the mud and ice and constant threat of doom.”

She didn’t laugh. She just stepped forward and hugged him. “There’s no one I’d rather be stranded in time with,” she whispered, “future or present.”

He gave her a squeeze. “Yes, well, let’s avoid getting stranded again, hmm? My wardrobe barely survived the last trip.”

Lilith pulled back, managing a faint, real smile. “Thank you.”

Dorian sobered. “We both saw what’s coming. And we both know it can’t be allowed to happen. You won’t face it alone.”

She nodded once, sharply, and turned back to the others.

Cullen stepped forward. “We’ll march for the Breach as soon as we’re ready. Maker willing, the mages will be enough.”

Lilith looked around the room. She’d seen a world where they were all gone. And she would burn the world herself before she let it happen again.


The war room emptied slowly, boots scuffing across the wooden floor, voices fading into low murmurs as the advisors and companions trickled out. Cullen was the first to go, already muttering about troop formations and battle readiness. Josephine lingered just long enough to gather her notes before sweeping off with diplomatic efficiency. Varric offered Lilith a quick nod on his way out. Bull clapped her on the shoulder with a grunt of approval, and Dorian gave her a wink that was only half flippant. Even Gale paused by the door, gave a quiet “You did well,” and left her with a ghost of a smile.

Solas was the last to leave - silent as ever. He didn’t speak as he passed her. Just looked. That long, unreadable look he gave her far too often these days, like he was trying to read through her skin to the secrets underneath.

Then he was gone too.

Only Lilith and Leliana remained.

The spymaster stood by the war table, fingers lightly tracing the edge of the map still spread across its surface. Her expression was unreadable, but her voice was low and steady when she finally spoke.

“Your open support for the mages likely earned you enemies,” she said, not unkindly. “Our agents will monitor the situation. If the most opposed can be identified, we may yet turn this to our advantage.”

Lilith shrugged, the movement tired. “People can hate me if they wish.”

“That gets us nowhere,” Leliana replied smoothly. “The Inquisition is young. We need to build support, not fracture it.”

She glanced over at Lilith then, the faintest smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “Regardless, I applaud the courage it took to stand up for the mages.”

Lilith arched a brow. “You’re not planning assassinations, are you?”

Leliana’s smile widened, just a touch. “I was planning to unleash Josephine on them. She kills with kindness.”

That earned a soft laugh from Lilith - short-lived, but real. Then her smile faded, replaced by something more solemn. “In Redcliffe…” she began, voice quieter. “You sacrificed yourself so I could return.”

Leliana’s gaze didn’t waver. “Of course I did. One small life in exchange for a second chance at history? I’ve always loved a bargain.”

“It was still a sacrifice,” Lilith said. “And still noble.”

“There are things worth dying for,” Leliana answered. “I learned that a long time ago.”

She stepped around the table then, her voice gentler now, but firm. “And I would do it again.”

Lilith said nothing for a moment, her throat thick with things she couldn’t say. She only nodded, then turned and made her way to the door, footsteps echoing softly behind her.

Leliana remained behind, still and watchful, already slipping back into the shadows. And Lilith stepped out into the cold Haven air, alone again with everything she was trying not to remember.

The war room door shut with a soft thud behind her, leaving the tension and candlelight inside. Lilith stepped into the colder air of the Chantry’s hallway, exhaling slowly, letting her shoulders drop. She didn’t make it more than a few paces before a familiar voice chimed in at her side.

“Well,” Dorian drawled, lounging against the stone wall with his arms folded like he'd been waiting forever, “the Inquisition supports free mages. What’s next? Elves running Halamshiral? Cows milking farmers?”

Lilith arched a brow at him. “Give me time. I’m sure I’ll surprise you.”

He gave a theatrical gasp. “I suspect that’s untrue… unless you strip yourself naked and allow the Chantry to flog you into repentance. Now that would surprise me.”

She snorted. “It’s not like there was any other choice.”

“Oh, there were definitely other choices,” he said as they began walking side by side down the corridor, the flicker of sconces casting shifting shadows on the stone walls. “You just picked the one that’ll absolutely scandalize Ferelden’s entire noble class. I approve, of course. But let’s not pretend it was a middle-of-the-road option.”

Lilith gave him a sidelong glance. “I did what was right.”

“Debatable.” He waved a hand. “But what I do wonder is if you’ve thought about what this decision might do - for mages in general, I mean. The Inquisition is becoming a symbol. You’ve just given every hedge-mage and firestarter in the South license to start acting like, well… mages back home.”

“And what exactly is wrong with that?”

“Nothing,” Dorian said, hands sliding into the folds of his coat, “at first.”

Lilith smirked. “If that means they end up anything like you, I fully support it.”

He chuckled. “You flatter me. But sadly, there aren’t many mages back home like me.”

“I’d believe that.”

“Mm.” His smile thinned just a little. “I never fit in. Bloodstains are so difficult to clean, you see.”

Lilith slowed a bit, glancing over at him. “So we’re doomed to a future of blood magic, then?”

“Not doomed,” Dorian said thoughtfully. “But perhaps... historically inclined. The Imperium wasn’t always what it is now. It started just like this: Templars, Circles, rules, structure. Then came the erosion. Inch by inch, the power shifted.”

He paused as they reached the exit doors, laying a hand briefly against the cold wood before pushing them open.

“That doesn’t mean we deserve to be shackled,” he said more softly. “But the Imperium should be a warning. Not a blueprint.”

Lilith stepped out into the icy evening air beside him. The wind bit at her cheeks, but she didn’t flinch. “I’m not building a new Imperium,” she said.

“No,” Dorian murmured. “But others might try.”

He glanced at her again - more serious now, despite the glint still in his eye. “And if they do, you’ll be the reason they think it’s possible.”

Lilith didn’t answer. Not right away. Instead, she looked out across Haven, where torches flickered along the ramparts and snow danced on the wind like ash.

Whatever came next, they’d set it in motion here. And she could only hope she hadn’t already doomed them all.


Quiet had settled over Haven. A rare thing. No hammering, no shouting, no messengers rushing through half-frozen mud. Snowflakes drifted lazily through the lamplight, catching in Lilith’s lashes as she stepped in pace with Dorian. The wind had lost its teeth, now just a breath against stone and wood, whistling low between the buildings like it, too, had finally grown tired.

Ahead, a small fire burned low in one of the side courtyards, casting golden light against a circle of soot-darkened snow. A figure sat beside it - broad shoulders hunched, crossbow resting loose across his knees.

Varric didn’t look up until they were nearly beside him. “Ah,” he said, flashing a weary grin. “The conquerors return.”

Gale caught up beside them, cloak trailing smoke and pine, hands folded neatly behind his back. “Hardly conquerors,” he murmured. “Just messengers with increasingly alarming news.”

Lilith gave him a look. “You say that like you don’t enjoy alarming people.”

“I said nothing of the sort.”

Varric huffed out a dry laugh, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Maker’s breath,” he muttered, gaze returning to the fire. “What have I let loose?”

Lilith lowered herself to a crouch beside him, letting the warmth seep through her gloves. “You had nothing to do with this, Varric.”

“I was the one who led Hawke to Corypheus,” he said. “If I hadn’t tracked the Carta to that ruin…”

She shook her head. “Forget the past. It makes no difference what Corypheus is or how he got loose. We’re putting an end to him.”

Varric’s mouth twisted, a grimace masquerading as a smile. “I wish I had your confidence.”

He looked up at her now, something sharper flickering behind the usual sarcasm. “At least the mages have joined up. That’s good. A twist I didn’t see coming, but a good one. Thought Cassandra was going to have an aneurysm.”

Dorian chuckled. “She might still.”

“But,” Varric went on, quieter now, “there’s one thing you mentioned that’s stuck in my head. I mean, sure, everything you saw in that future was bad - but red lyrium? In Ferelden? Growing out of people?”

He shook his head, visibly unsettled. “That’s not just bad. That’s a nightmare.”

The fire cracked, a little too loud in the stillness, sending sparks fluttering into the night. “Finding more of it really punches a hole in my ‘maybe it was a one-time freak incident at Temple of Sacred Ashes' theory,” Varric added. “Thanks for that.”

Lilith rubbed her hands together and glanced into the flames, their light dancing in her eyes. “How long does it take red lyrium to grow? How fast can it spread?”

Varric exhaled slowly, like he didn’t want to answer. “In Kirkwall, it took years. But no one there was actually eating the stuff. And now it sounds like this Elder One and Crimson Lord - whoever the hell they are - has managed to take the worst thing I’ve ever seen and make it worse. That’s an accomplishment. Not the kind you want on a resume.”

“I’d like to keep pretending it’s all just a coincidence,” Lilith said, voice low. “I need to be able to sleep at night.”

“Honestly?” Varric replied. “I think I’ll give up sleeping for the foreseeable future.”

There was a beat of silence between them, crackling with the fire. Snow hissed as it landed on hot stone.

“I’ve got people trying to track where the red stuff came from,” he went on. “Where it’s spreading. I think we should bump that to the top of the priority list. If it’s showing up again, we need to know how bad this is going to get.”

Lilith nodded slowly. “Agreed.”

“But that’s enough doom and gloom for one evening,” Varric added, sitting back with a theatrical sigh. “You just scored a big win for the Inquisition. What’re you going to do to celebrate?”

Lilith gave him a dry look. “After everything that just happened, I don’t feel like we won much of anything.”

“You’re not wrong,” he said, shrugging. “But we’re just getting started. Can’t win a war in a day.”

“Was planning to put my feet up,” she muttered. “Maybe nap until the next catastrophe.”

Dorian hummed. “Not a bad strategy.”

“And you?” Lilith asked, turning to Varric.

“Whatever I do, it’ll be as far from Cassandra as possible,” he said without missing a beat.

Gale laughed softly under his breath. “A wise man.”

Varric leaned back, stretching his legs toward the fire. “Things should be calm for at least the next day. Maybe two, if we’re lucky. Take a moment to enjoy it while it lasts.”

Lilith stared into the fire, quiet now. Dorian moved to sit beside her, Gale lingering just behind, watching the snow. For one strange moment, the four of them were still.


The quiet didn’t last. Lilith was halfway across the courtyard when Cassandra’s voice cut through the stillness like a blade.

“...what you always do,” she snapped. “Complain.”

Lilith slowed her steps. A young mage stood in front of Cassandra with arms folded, lips tight and twitching with barely restrained frustration. Snow drifted gently between them, unbothered by the tension.

“We’ve already spoken with Commander Cullen,” the mage said, jaw tight. “No one listens. We want better quarters. We want the templars kept at a distance. And some respect for- ”

“This is not the Circle,” Cassandra cut in, voice like iron striking stone. “You mages are our allies. Not our wards. Act like it.”

The mage opened his mouth to protest - but Cassandra stepped forward just slightly, gaze sharp.

Deal. With. It.”

A long pause. The mage huffed, spun on his heel, and stalked away without another word. Cassandra exhaled slowly, muttering something that sounded like a prayer - or a curse - under her breath. When she turned, she spotted Lilith hovering nearby.

“It never ends, evidently,” she said flatly.

Lilith raised a brow. “Trouble with the mages? Or the soldiers?”

Cassandra shook her head. “The mages are here as equals. They need to get used to what that means.” Her tone softened just slightly. “It is your doing, after all. You created this alliance.”

“Well,” Lilith said, approaching, “I had to think on my feet. I did what I could - not like we had many other choices.” She tilted her head, then. “Would you have done differently?”

Cassandra hesitated - and then sighed. “Oh. I sound like I’m blaming you, don’t I?”

“A little.”

“I don’t disapprove.” She crossed her arms, brow furrowed. “In fact… you did well. You made a decision when it needed to be made. And here we are. I wish I could say this was my doing.”

Lilith blinked, then grinned. “You’re flattering me.”

“I’m not!” Cassandra scowled, almost indignant. “This always happens. Nobody ever takes my meaning…”

Lilith laughed, caught off guard. “Cassandra, we wouldn’t be here at all if you hadn’t stood up to the Chantry.”

Cassandra looked away, clearly uncomfortable with the compliment. “You’re being kind.”

“No,” Lilith said, more serious now. “You’re discounting your role in this. You gave people something to believe in.”

Cassandra’s expression shifted - tightened for a moment, like the words cut closer than they should have. But then she cleared her throat, composed herself. “Let’s close the Breach,” she said. “Then we can say how successful I was.”

Lilith watched her for a beat, then glanced toward the empty training ring nearby, half-covered in frost and morning mist.

“Actually,” she said, “I was wondering…”

Cassandra looked at her.

“Would you spar with me again?”

That drew a flicker of surprise - maybe even amusement. Cassandra’s brow lifted slightly. “You want to train now? After everything?”

Lilith gave a small shrug. “Better now than when the world’s ending. Besides, I need to clear my head.”

A slow smile tugged at Cassandra’s mouth. “I’ll go easy on you.”

Lilith smirked. “Don’t you dare.”

~

Round One

Lilith twirled her daggers in her hands, light glinting off the polished steel as she stepped into the ring. Cassandra was already there, arms crossed, expression stern.

“No magic,” she said flatly. “Only blades.”

“Scared I’ll incinerate you?” Lilith grinned.

“I’m scared you’ll trip over your own ego and embarrass yourself.”

“You came in cocky last time,” Lilith said, grinning. “And I dropped you in under a minute.”

Cassandra’s scowl deepened. “The second match was longer.”

“True. You almost made me sweat.”

They circled once, twice. Then Cassandra lunged.

Steel clashed, sharp and rhythmic. Cassandra fought like a hammer - blunt, heavy, precise. Lilith danced around her like smoke, slipping just out of reach, blades flicking in with sudden sharpness.

Cassandra pressed harder, strikes fierce and punishing - but Lilith was faster. She ducked beneath a swing, pivoted behind her, and caught the Seeker’s blade on a cross of her own.

Cassandra tried to twist free - but Lilith shoved her backward with surprising force, knocking her off balance just enough.

Lilith swept her foot out. Cassandra hit the ground with a grunt, a blade at her throat.

A moment of silence. Then-

“I yield,” Cassandra muttered.

Lilith extended a hand, grinning. “Thanks for the warm-up.”

Cassandra took it, grumbling. “I’ll remember this next time you need backup. I might suddenly develop a cramp.”

~

Round Two

“Magic only,” Dorian said, brushing imaginary dust from his sleeve as he sauntered into the ring. “Don’t go easy on me. I want to feel humiliated in style.”

Lilith rolled her shoulders. “I’ll see what I can do.”

The crowd backed up instinctively. A few already had snacks.

The spar began with twin bolts of arcane energy colliding mid-air in a burst of purple light. Dorian conjured a shield of frost. Lilith shattered it with a flick of her hand and launched a barrage of flame - only for him to vanish in a puff of mist.

He reappeared behind her. “Peekaboo.”

Lilith countered with a shockwave, sending him skidding across the ground. Dorian barely managed to stay upright, laughing as he rebounded with a slicing arc of shadow magic. She caught it on a glyph mid-cast.

“You’re very rude,” he said cheerfully.

“I’m delightful.”

Another series of spells flared, crackling through the courtyard in violent flashes - until Lilith, grinning, blinked through the Fade and reappeared behind him.

Dorian turned - too late. A crackling whip of force caught him by the ankles and flipped him flat onto his back.

He lay there, winded but laughing, one hand thrown over his eyes. “All right, all right, I yield, Chosen One.”

Her smile faded slightly. “What?”

“Oh, nothing,” he said, his voice low, just for her ears. “Just wondering if your Lord Daddy Bhaal is proud of his little murder prodigy.”

Lilith blinked. Her mouth parted slightly, breath caught in her throat as if she hadn’t quite registered the words - and her eyes went wide and disbelieving, and for a moment she could only stare at him, as though trying to decide whether to slap him or not. Then, the laugh hit her - sharp and sudden, torn from somewhere deep in her chest. She doubled over with it, gasping, one hand braced on her knee, the other wiping at her eyes.

“Dorian Pavus, you menace!” she said, “you have some very bold opinions for a man who just got wrecked.”

~

Round Three

Gale stood at the edge of the ring, already rolling his sleeves back. “I take it I’m next in line for ritual humiliation?”

Lilith smiled. “If you’re lucky.”

His magic hit harder. Less theatrical than Dorian - more calculated. Gale fought like a tactician: pushing her, baiting her, collapsing her ground with measured bursts. They traded spells in a rhythm so fast it blurred, and for the first time that afternoon, Lilith sweat.

He pinned her once. She broke free with a flash of raw force.

She caught him off guard with a glyph hidden beneath a decoy illusion. He adjusted, and hit back harder.

Then she vanished into the Fade for half a breath - a Fade step, a trick she learned from Solas - and reappeared at his flank with a blast of wind that dropped him to one knee.

Lilith stood over him, panting, magic thrumming in her hands. Gale groaned, pushing his hair out of his face. “By Mystra’s patience, I have never managed to beat you.”

“You keep trying, though,” she said, helping him up.

“I have a terrible addiction to failure. And a weakness for wizards who could turn me into ash without blinking.”

She snorted. “You’re lucky I like you.”

~

Round Four

A slow clap echoed from the edge of the ring.

Lilith turned and spotted Solas leaned against a post, his arms crossed, pale eyes unreadable. “Impressive,” he said. “I had no idea you were so proficient at brute force.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Is that Elvish for ‘fight me’?”

He tilted his head, thoughtful. “Only if you insist. But I must warn you, it won’t be an equal fight.”

Lilith held back a devilish smile. “Hey, don’t sell yourself short, champ! I’ve taken down demons, assassins, and a very angry dragon once - what’s one smug apostate with a superiority complex?”

A pause. Then she winked. “Unless you’re scared of losing to someone half your age and twice your charm.”

Solas stepped into the ring, removing his cloak with deliberate precision.

“I will not go easy on you, da’len.”

Lilith smiled like she was planning a murder. “That’s the point.”

They circled, knives drawn. Then-

He struck. Each movement like ink on a page - controlled, deliberate, and poetic. She barely blocked the first blow, their daggers sparking together. He was reading her, dissecting her rhythm before she’d even found it.

Lilith grinned. Their blades sang in the winter light. She ducked under one arc, twisted for a leg sweep, but he was already gone, feet barely touching the snow. He went for her ribs. She blocked, spun, kicked-

He staggered back, laughing under his breath.

“You’re enjoying this,” she panted, circling.

“You’re less reckless than you pretend,” he said smoothly. “But you leave your left open.”

“Thanks. I’ll remember that when I’m stabbing you in the face.”

She feinted high. He dodged. Then she twisted mid-air and tackled him, sending them both crashing into the snow.

Lilith landed on top of him, straddling his waist, knife to his throat. Her smile was wild, breath fogging in the cold.

“Yield.”

Solas lay perfectly still, his breath fanning against her jaw.

Then - cold metal pressed against her own throat.

She froze.

You yield,” he murmured.

They didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. Their standoff stretched long and electric, breath mingling, snow clinging to her hair, his palm still flat against her hip.

“Well shit,” Varric groaned. “I did not see the double blade coming. Do we call that a draw?”

From somewhere behind, Cassandra muttered, “They’ll either kill each other or get married.”

Lilith’s voice dropped to a murmur. “Are you flirting with me, Fade boy?”

Solas’s smile deepened - slow, like a secret blooming. “Would it be so terrible if I were?”

She blinked. His voice was low, intimate - and a little surprised. He hadn’t meant to say it out loud.

Neither of them moved.

Then, Lilith slowly eased up, tugging her gloves back on, the imprint of his hands still warming her through her coat. She turned from the ring, cheeks flushed.

Solas lay back in the snow, smiling faintly to himself as she walked away.

And Varric, somewhere off to the side, muttered, “Andraste's flaming knickers. That’s the beginning of something terrible.”


The tavern at Haven was warm with laughter, firelight, and the smell of something slightly burnt. Someone - probably Krem - had finally talked the cook into letting him try a recipe from Tevinter, which had apparently involved far too much garlic and an unfortunate incident with a frying pan. No one was dead, so it was deemed a success.

Lilith slipped through the door and was immediately hit with a wave of heat and noise. Varric was at the long table near the hearth, already halfway into a mug of something foamy and amber. Bull loomed beside him, laughing thunderously at something Dorian had said, while Mira sat at the edge of the group, curled around a hot drink with a shy little smile.

Gale was speaking earnestly to a passing scout about something to do with ley lines, which was received with the glazed nod of someone who had not asked for homework.

Lilith slid onto the bench next to Mira. "Did I miss the garlic apocalypse?"

Mira laughed. "You did, but just barely. Krem tried to flambe something and ended up setting his sleeve on fire. Bull put him out. With beer."

"A hero."

"A very sticky hero."

Bull raised his tankard in salute. "No flames, no foul!"

"Speak for yourself," Varric muttered. "I can still taste it in the air. And possibly in my eyebrows."

"That might be the brandy," Gale said cheerfully, joining them and setting down a small glass of something luminous and blue. "I bought something special. Dorian, don’t drink all of it."

"I’m wounded," Dorian said, clutching at his chest with exaggerated offense. "You think I lack self-control."

"I think you poured half of it into your coffee."

"Details."

Lilith laughed, warm and easy, letting the tension she hadn't noticed unwind from her shoulders. The fire crackled, and for once, the world outside could wait. Mira leaned over a little, nudging her with a conspiratorial smile.

"So," she said quietly, just for Lilith. "Are you and Solas... you know."

Lilith blinked. "Am I and Solas what?"

"Just saying, he’s always watching you. In the weirdly hot, broody way. Like a tragic romance novel."

Lilith nearly choked on her drink. "You think Solas is in a romance novel?"

"Look me in the eye and tell me he doesn’t look like he lives in a tower and only paints in grayscale."

Lilith covered her face, laughing. "It’s not like that," she said, still grinning. "I mean, maybe. I don’t know. He’s... complicated."

"He’s definitely got the mysterious loner thing going on," Mira said, sipping her drink. "I’m just saying. If you were into that... you could do worse."

Lilith gave her a look. Mira raised her hands in mock surrender. "You started this."

"No, you started this. I was just sitting here, minding my business, being normal."

Mira grinned. "You? Normal? That's adorable."

Across the table, Dorian and Varric were deep in some kind of heated debate about the relative merits of Tevinter opera versus Orlesian theatre, complete with reenacted dialogue, while Bull had convinced Gale to arm wrestle. Gale was currently losing, but seemed very philosophical about it.

"You're quite strong," Gale grunted, knuckles white.

"You're quite doomed," Bull replied cheerfully, and slammed his arm down.

"Fascinating," Gale wheezed.

Lilith pushed to her feet. "I’ll be back."

"Oooh," Mira said. "Where are you going?"

Lilith tilted her head. "To go drag a certain bald apostate out of his tower and make him have fun."

Mira raised her drink in salute. "Godspeed."


The wind had quieted, but snow still fell in lazy spirals as Lilith made her way toward his cabin. Out here, everything was still; the tavern’s laughter had faded, muffled by fresh drifts.

She knocked once, then eased the door open without waiting for an answer. The interior was dim, lit only by the soft flicker of a mage-light hovering near the ceiling. It cast long shadows over empty shelves and a narrow cot in the corner that looked barely used. Solas stood at the far end, back turned, studying a glowing shard of something ancient with the same intensity one might give a bomb.

Lilith leaned against the doorframe. “You know, people might think you’re avoiding fun on purpose.”

He didn’t turn. “People would be correct.”

She stepped inside, letting the door fall shut behind her with a soft click. “Come to the tavern. Just for an hour. There’s brandy. And chaos. And Varric acting out an Orlesian love triangle with Dorian.”

“Tempting,” he said, still not looking at her.

She crossed the room slowly, boots soft on the wooden floor, the firelight catching the edges of his robes. The space was warmer than she expected - still, quiet, thick with the faint scent of old parchment and something distinctly him - woodsmoke and lavender.

Only when she was halfway to him did he finally turn. The flickering lamplight caught in his eyes, cool and unreadable, and yet she could feel the tension thread between them like wire. His expression was guarded, practiced, but there was something else beneath it - something brittle and searching. Like he was trying to decide whether she was a comfort or a threat.

They stood close now. Closer than casual. The space between them narrowed to a breath, and for a moment, neither moved.

Lilith met his gaze and held it. It was the kind of silence that made people stupid. The kind of stillness that could be mistaken for invitation - because of proximity, because of heat, because neither of them knew what to do with the way the air thickened when they looked too long.

She didn’t blink. Neither did he. Then his voice broke the silence, low and measured.

“You want me to drink?”

“I want you to relax,” she said. “Or pretend to. Or stand in a corner and glower silently. You do that very well.”

He huffed - barely a sound, more breath than laughter - but not dismissive. Amused. “I fail to see the appeal,” he said.

“Then come prove how boring it is,” Lilith said. “Worst case, you can lecture us about the symbolic meaning of brandy in ancient Arlathan. Or the social dynamics of tavern seating arrangements. Whatever keeps that ego warm.”

He arched a brow. “That is not out of the question.”

She laughed softly and took a step back, holding out a hand toward him. “Come on, Solas. Just this once.”

There was a pause, and Lilith felt the quiet weight of it settle. He was frustrating and brilliant and far too guarded, but there was something in their banter that made her feel more like herself. Like he saw her clearly, even when she didn’t want to be seen. She liked needling him. She liked the way he needled back. And if this was another small crack in that carefully constructed armor of his, she’d take it.

And she remembered the familiar ache of feeling like the odd one out. Surrounded by people, yet alone - kept at a distance, not because anyone meant harm, but because no one quite knew what to do with her.

Her hand stayed outstretched, steady in the stillness. Solas looked at it for a long moment, regarding her with that familiar, dry expression. “I’m sure you’ve said ‘just this once’ before.”

Lilith arched a brow. “Have I? I don’t recall any promises of the sort. I’m pretty sure you made that up.”

Solas’s lips twitched. “Memory is a fickle thing. You certainly sound convincing.”

“Convincing or repetitive?” she shot back with a smirk. “Either way, I’m persistent. Think of it as charity.”

He narrowed his eyes playfully. “Ah, so I’m the charity case now.”

“You’re the beneficiary of my good will,” Lilith said, fingers still extended. “And don’t you forget it.”

Then, quietly, he reached out and took her hand. His fingers were warm. And the contact - brief and gentle - held the gravity of a promise.

Lilith grinned. “See? That wasn’t so hard.”

“Very well,” he said, “but if I must endure any Orlesian dramatics, I hold you personally responsible.”

Lilith laughed. “Deal. And you owe me a lecture on ancient Arlathan poetry as penance.”

“I will regret this,” he sighed.

“Oh, almost certainly.”

When they returned to the tavern, the volume had doubled. "HA!" Varric shouted. "And that is how you deliver a soliloquy while being stabbed."

"Orlesians are deranged," Dorian muttered. "That wasn’t even the romantic lead."

Solas looked around with the air of a man walking into a very loud mistake.

"There you are!" Bull called. "We saved you a seat. And possibly a new trauma. Depends how much you drink."

Solas looked to Lilith. She grinned. "Told you it was worth it."

He didn’t smile back, but his eyes were warm. And he followed her in.


The fire crackled in the hearth, sending warm flickers across tankards and flushed cheeks. Varric leaned back in his chair with the casual grace of a man who had a keen nose for a good story and all the time in the world to enjoy it. “So,” he drawled, swirling his drink, “how did you two meet, anyway?”

Lilith blinked at him over her mug. “Me and- ?”

Wonderboy,” Varric said, jerking a thumb at Gale. “You’ve got the energy of people who’ve been through something together. Or possibly just trauma-bonded.”

Bull grinned around a mouthful of ale. “I vote trauma.”

“Oh, it was definitely trauma,” Dorian chimed in, not looking up from the cherry he was trying to spear with a tiny dagger.

Lilith flicked a peanut at him. Then she tilted her head toward Gale. “Do you want to tell it, or should I?”

Gale was already smiling, fingers steepled under his chin like a man preparing to launch into a tale at court. “Why not both? You begin - I’ll correct you where you lie.”

“I never lie.”

“Fine - you embellish creatively.”

Solas gave a quiet, amused hum. Mira, sitting near Lilith, leaned in with interest. “This sounds promising already.”

Lilith leaned back, eyes narrowing slightly as she tried to measure just how much to share. She could already feel Solas watching her - quiet, unreadable, but always listening. “Well…” she started slowly, swirling her drink. “We were walking through this forest - me and someone else from our group - Shadowheart. We came across this… huge stone. Or maybe more like a boulder. A huge rock that was definitely not trying to kill me.”

Yet,” Gale added helpfully.

“ -and glowing,” she continued. “Swirling and sparking magic. Like a drunk glyph trying to cast fireball and forgetting which end to aim it from.”

“Dangerous?” Varric asked.

Obviously,” said Bull, raising his glass. “Which means our girl here definitely touched it.”

“I investigated it,” Lilith corrected. “With my finger.”

“Of course you did,” Dorian said dryly.

“It zapped me,” Lilith went on, ignoring him. “And then - suddenly - this hand shot out of it. Just… a hand, wiggling its fingers.”

She looked to Gale, brow arched. “That was my hand,” he said indignantly. “Desperate times, thank you.”

Lilith turned back to the table. “So. This man’s hand shoots out of the rock like some golem looking for a high-five, and I did what anyone would do.”

Gale jumped in. “You smirked like a gremlin and smacked it.”

Lilith shrugged. “I panicked! It was instinct, and I didn’t know if you were a threat!”

“I said ‘help’ multiple times!” Gale said, gesturing grandly. “Politely, I might add.”

Lilith gave a dry smile. “He did. So I helped and pulled him out, but he tumbled through the portal and knocked us both over.”

Gale sniffed, though he was clearly enjoying himself. “I was a disheveled mess, and she just stood over me and asked if I was alright.”

“You were a mess,” Lilith agreed fondly. “You introduced yourself with ‘Apologies, I’m usually better at this.’”

Dorian snorted. “At being pulled out of magical stone prisons?”

“At magic,” Gale defended. “Usually.”

“Mm. And then you started babbling about shared ailments,” Lilith said, raising a brow.

“Which we did share,” Gale said smoothly. “Though it wasn’t polite dinner conversation then, and it certainly isn’t now.”

“Vague and ominous,” Mira murmured. “We’re really doing the whole mysterious past routine, huh?”

“It’s tradition,” Dorian said. “Next they’ll reveal one of them is secretly royalty.”

“Or cursed,” Varric said.

“Or both,” Solas added, not looking up from his wine.

Mira, ever the healer, asked, "What kind of ailment?”, her brows drawing together.

Lilith paused. “Something… rare, and unusual. Not the kind of thing most healers could fix.”

“And you were looking for help?” Mira asked gently.

“Yes,” Gale said smoothly, picking up the thread. “She's not a cleric. Neither was Shadowheart, as I made the mistake of pointing out-”

“Oh, you did,” Lilith cut in, smirking. “Shadowheart wanted to push you right back into the rock.”

“In my defense,” Gale said, raising a hand, “she hadn’t exactly introduced herself as a divine miracle worker, and I was under duress.”

Mira covered a laugh behind her hand. Dorian swirled his wine, visibly entertained.

For a moment, the laughter dimmed behind her eyes, and she could feel the memory tugging at her - those first days after the Nautiloid crash. The fear. The ache in her skull. The way the world seemed strange, like she'd slipped into the wrong skin. Gale had been loud and infuriatingly persistent - but also warm and loyal. He was the first person who’d made her laugh when everything felt like it was slipping away.

Bull leaned forward, intrigued. “So, what, you bonded over being sick?”

Lilith smirked, but her gaze drifted to Gale with a softness that hadn’t been there before. “We didn’t know anything then, only that something was wrong. And he offered to stick together to find help.” She gave a soft huff of amusement. “He actually said, ‘A parasite shared is a parasite halved.’”

There was a pause - did she say too much? Mira made a face. “That sounds like something a healer would say about a rash.”

Then, Lilith and Gale exchanged a look, matching each other's smirks. “Something like that,” they said in unison.

A laugh rolled around the table, but Lilith’s smile was tight around the edges. Her fingers tapped idly against the side of her mug. Even now, she could feel the phantom sensation - the crawling hunger behind her eyes, the quiet tick of something wrong. And yet, somehow, the memory didn’t just feel grim. There’d been light there, too. Gale had made her feel less alone.

“And we’ve been stuck with each other ever since. Well, mostly.” Lilith said, nudging Gale’s boot beneath the table.

“I prefer ‘chosen,’ personally.”

“Oh, you definitely didn’t choose me.”

“On the contrary,” Gale said, lifting his drink with flair, “When I was pulled through the rock and landed at your feet, I decided that of all the strange, terrifying people in the world, you were the one worth bothering.”

Lilith rolled her eyes. “Says the man who nearly exploded five days later.”

Varric leaned in. “Wait, what?”

Nothing,” they said in unison.

Dorian howled with laughter. “Oh, Maker. You’re a disaster pair.”

“We’re efficient,” Gale insisted.

“You bicker like people who’ve survived something big together,” Mira offered gently, her speech a bit slurred from the alcohol but her smile genuine. “That kind of shorthand - it doesn’t come from nowhere.”

Solas said nothing, but his gaze lingered on Lilith longer than it needed to. She wished she could know what he was thinking beneath that steady gaze.

Then, for a moment, the laughter around her dimmed into a warm, distant hush. Lilith could almost hear the Elfsong Tavern again - haunting and half-remembered. She saw Astarion tipping back a glass of wine with theatrical disdain, Karlach throwing an arm around Shadowheart’s shoulder and trying to convince her to dance, and Gale beside her, overexplaining a spell he’d already cast perfectly just for the excuse to keep talking.

It had been chaos - and dangerous. But it had also been home. And for a flicker of a heartbeat, this felt like that.

Gale drained his glass. “Well, regardless of magical mishaps, planar anomalies, or existential dread - ” He looked over at Lilith, eyes warm, looking at her with something like affection. “I wouldn’t have made it this far without her.”

Lilith’s smirk faltered just a little - just enough for it to become something real. “Likewise.”

There was a moment of silence. Not heavy. Just... full. Then, Bull clapped his hands. “Alright, but next time someone gets stuck in a rock, we leave them. Got it?”

Lilith raised her mug. “Noted.”

“Understood,” Gale said cheerfully. “But I should warn you - I’m very persuasive when disembodied.”

“And very slappable,” Lilith added, with mock sweetness. She rolled her eyes then. “You’re lucky I didn’t set you on fire.”

Solas’s voice cut in then, quiet and deliberate from beside her. “That would have been a waste.”

All eyes turned slightly, the table shifting its weight toward him. He was watching Lilith - not Gale - with the kind of still intensity that made her stomach tighten.

Lilith arched a brow, holding back a smirk. “You think I’m too useful to incinerate?”

“I think even in a strange forest, confronted by a magical anomaly, you saw someone in need and chose to help.” His gaze didn’t leave her. “It speaks to your instincts.”

Lilith blinked, unsettled by the sudden sincerity. Before she could answer, Varric drawled, “Alright, broody epilogue over. Let’s get back to the part where people drink and make poor choices.”

“Still,” he added, raising his glass, “solid first chapter. Great setup, good pacing, charming idiot in a rock - would absolutely read that story.”

“Do we get a sequel where she actually sets him on fire?” Bull asked, hopeful.

Lilith smirked. “Give it time.”

They clinked glasses. As the laughter settled, Lilith leaned back, sipping her drink - only to realize Solas was still watching her, his expression thoughtful, but not unreadable.

“Quite the tale,” he said at last, tone light. “Did you make a habit of rescuing strange men from cursed stones?”

Lilith gave him a sideways glance, playing coy. “Only the one.”

“Mm. And what was it about this one that earned your charity?”

“He had a certain... theatrical desperation.” She turned toward him a little, letting the faint smile linger. “And very grabby hands.”

Solas arched a brow. “You reward bad manners with mercy?”

“Only when they’re entertaining,” Lilith said. “And mildly electrocuted.”

“Ah,” he said, lips curling faintly. “That narrows it down.”

Mira, on Lilith’s other side, leaned forward just slightly - just enough to catch Lilith’s eye and flash her a look. One brow lifted, her expression saying clearly: Oh, 'it's complicated', huh?

Lilith shot her a warning kick under the table. Mira just grinned into her drink, innocent as a Chantry sister. Solas, oblivious - or perhaps pointedly pretending to be - tilted his head. “And you trusted him, just like that?”

“No,” Lilith said, more quietly. “But I liked him. And… I didn’t want to face what was happening alone.”

That answer sat between them for a breath, not heavy, not sad. Just honest. “Well,” Solas said after a pause, “for what it’s worth - I’m glad you weren’t.”

Lilith blinked, caught off guard again. But before she could answer, Mira bumped her knee. “I’m getting another drink,” she said innocently. “Lilith, you want one?”

“Sure.”

“Great. I’ll leave you two to talk about theatrical desperation and cursed rocks.”

As Mira slipped away, Lilith turned back to Solas. “She’s worse than Varric, you know.”

“I find that difficult to believe.”

“You haven’t seen her tipsy.”

Solas’s eyes glinted. “Not yet.”

Lilith gave him a skeptical look. “And you’re hoping to?”

“That depends,” he said smoothly, “on whether she’s as entertaining as you claim.”

“She’s not. She’s worse. Beneath the soft-spoken helpfulness is a menace.”

“She did seem rather invested in our conversation.”

“More like collecting evidence.”

He gave a soft chuckle. “She and Varric would get along well.”

Lilith smiled at that, warm and honest, but it faltered slightly as her gaze drifted to the fire. For a second, she let herself sink into the quiet again, the rest of the tavern fading into background noise. It felt like a rare moment of peace. Familiar. Almost like...

Before.

“There’s something different about you tonight,” Solas said, interrupting her thoughts. His voice was low and curious, not intrusive.

Lilith tilted her head. “Different how?”

“I’m not sure,” he said. “Lighter, perhaps. Or distracted.”

She shrugged, trying not to look too closely at what might be shining behind his eyes. “It’s been a while since I laughed like this. It reminds me of-” She stopped herself. “-of good people I used to know.”

He didn’t push, just inclined his head in quiet understanding. Mira returned then, holding two mugs in one hand and grinning far too cheerfully for someone carrying alcohol.

“Look at you two, solving the world’s mysteries without me,” she teased, handing Lilith her drink. “You didn’t even notice me sneaking back.”

“We noticed,” Solas said mildly.

“I didn’t,” Lilith admitted. “You’re practically a shadow when you want to be.”

“Blame the apothecary. Years of tiptoeing around glass vials and grumpy mages.”

She handed the other drink to Bull, who raised it in salute before turning back to whatever drinking game he and Dorian were arguing about.

Lilith brought her mug to her lips and took a sip. The taste was sharper than expected. Tart, or maybe a little bitter. She made a face but swallowed it anyway. “What is this?” she asked, squinting into the mug.

Mira shrugged, casual. “The barkeep called it ‘Summer Wine,’ but I think it’s lying. Want something else?”

Lilith shook her head. “Nah, it’s fine. Just wasn’t expecting it to bite back.”

Solas arched an eyebrow. “You, surprised by something with sharp edges?”

Lilith snorted. “Takes one to know one.”

He smiled at that - just a flicker, just for her.

And the tavern buzzed on, loud and golden, while something small and invisible began to shift - just beneath the surface, unnoticed between smiles.


It started as one of the good nights. 

The rooftops of Baldur’s Gate stretched wide beneath a velvet sky, torches flickering like fireflies in the dark. Lilith crouched beside Astarion on a sloped tile ledge, wind ruffling in her hair. His laughter was a soft thing, tucked between them like a secret. 

“Look at him,” he purred, gesturing with his chin toward the street below. A stout nobleman wobbled drunkenly up the cobblestones, swaying like a child’s top. “Bastard hasn’t a clue.” 

Lilith smirked, nudging his knee with hers. “Maybe he likes the thrill. Some men pay for that sort of thing.” 

“Oh, believe me, darling,” Astarion drawled, reclining back on one elbow, “they pay. In all kinds of ways.”

She snorted, shaking her head. “You’re awful.” 

“You adore it,” he said easily, turning his gaze to her. “Adore me, actually.”

The flippancy made her roll her eyes, but there was warmth beneath it. The way he looked at her then - eyes crinkling at the corners, mouth soft and playful. She remembered this night - remembered the giddy, breathless thrill of it. It had been one of the first times he’d made her feel like more than a blade to be wielded. 

“You’re unbearable,” she told him. 

“And yet,” he said, brushing a lock of hair back behind her ear, “you’re still here.” 

The memory blurred momentarily, around the edges, but she didn’t notice. Not yet. 

“You want the first strike?” he asked, already twirling his dagger around his fingers. “Or shall I?” 

Lilith grinned. “Let me. I’m feeling inspired.” 

He bowed with mock grandeur. “Be my guest, my little monster.” 

She rolled her eyes at him, then leapt from the rooftop, silent and swift, landing in the shadowed alley near the manor gates. The noble had just stumbled toward the back entrance, humming off-key and fumbling with his keys. She darted into position, already mapping her angle of approach. 

But something felt wrong. The smell in the air wasn’t wine or perfume, it was copper. Sharp and thick. 

She stepped around the corner, blade in hand, and froze.  The nobleman was gone. 

In his place knelt a figure, bound at the wrists with coarse rope, wrists rubbed red and raw. Her head lolled forward, red hair matted with blood. A gag choked off her gasps, and her bare arms trembled as she tried to lift her face. 

Lilith instinctively took a step back. Because the figure wore her face. Skin pale and slick with sweat and grime. A long, jagged gash torn from clavicle to navel. Bruises bloomed like sick flowers along her ribs. Her eyes were wild - her eyes - but full of terror. 

She tried to speak, but the gag muffled it. Her bound self writhed, trying to reach for her. “What…” Lilith whispered. “What the fuck is this-” 

“You don’t remember?” came a voice behind her. 

She turned sharply. Astarion stood in the alley’s mouth, calm as ever, holding a glass of blood-red wine in one hand and a curved blade in the other. He smiled like they were back on that rooftop, planning a kill between kisses.

“You were so elegant,” he said. “So vicious. She didn’t even beg, not really. Not once you got going.” 

Lilith shook her head, confused. “I didn’t - that’s not what happened.” 

He tsked. “Oh, but it is. Don’t you see? You loved it. The thrill, the fear, the power. Crimson on your hands, dripping down your throat - gods, you looked radiant that night.” 

Her breath caught. And suddenly, the alley twisted. The stones beneath her feet cracked, bleeding. Her double sobbed through the gag, head jerking violently side to side. Chains began to grow out of the walls, snaking towards her. 

Astarion stepped closer. His face didn’t change, but his eyes glowed faintly red.  “You always wanted to be feared,” he said. “Don’t pretend you didn’t. I saw you. I shaped you.”

“No,” she whispered. “No, this isn’t real-”

“Real enough.” He offered the goblet. “Go on. Drink. You always do.” 

Lilith’s heartbeat thundered. She took one last look at the bound version of herself - skin torn, lips shredded, a wolf pendant half-sunk in a bloodied collarbone - and then closed her eyes. 

“You don’t get to have this.” 

The chains halted mid-air. The blood receded. And Astarion’s grin faltered.  Lilith lifted her hand and banished him - her will snapping through the Fade like a blade of light - and the nightmare crumbled to ash. 

She landed hard on her knees, palms scraping soft grass instead of cobblestone. The air was sweet, cool.  A clearing stretched around her - moonlit and humming quietly. Wildflowers brushed her legs, and the sky above shimmered with ever-shifting pale stars. 

At the edge of it, arms folded behind his back, stood Solas. He watched her with the gravity of a statue, his gaze unreadable. 

Lilith pushed herself upright, brushing grass from her hands. Her breath was stil la little ragged. 

“Well,” she said dryly. “That was unpleasant. How long were you watching?” 

“Long enough,” he replied. “You handled it well.” 

“Better than last time,” she muttered. “I didn’t end up stabbing a tree in my sleep.” 

His mouth twitched faintly. 

She lingered a few paces back, catching her breath, her gaze flicking up to meet his.  He didn’t ask what she’d seen. He never did.  And yet, she knew he knew. Not everything, not the whole of it. But surely enough to have questions. 

This wasn’t the first time she’d surfaced from blood and memory and found him waiting - steady, silent, and infuriatingly composed. He never questioned her or offered pity. He just let her be, gave her space to claw her way back to herself. And that restraint - the decision not to dig - meant something. More than she’d expected it to.

But it didn’t quiet the unease curling under her ribs. Because for all his gentleness, Solas wasn’t blind. He saw things - felt things - in the Fade that no one else could. And he didn’t need her to speak them aloud to understand what they were. 

He was helping her, she knew that. And still… she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was being read. Like a story halfway through, waiting for a moment the plot turned cruel. For him to catch a glimpse of something too awful to ignore. For the scales to tip from kindness to judgement. 

The Fade offered no privacy, not truly.  So she stood there, arms wrapped around herself for one breath more, waiting for the other shoe to drop. It hadn’t - yet. But it would.  

Lilith stopped in front of him, arms crossing over her chest. “So? Are you here to help me outwit another nightmare, or are we back to philosophy over dream-tea?”

He shook his head, that same faint smile tugging at his lips. “Neither. Though the sparring match was... enlightening.”

“Oh?” Her brow arched. “Enlightening how?”

He looked at her not like a threat, but like a question he wanted to understand. “I underestimated you.”

Her smirk was half-genuine, half-defiant. “From you? Be still my heart.”

“You were trained,” Solas went on, voice softening. “Brutally, I suspect.”

Her smile faded.

“You didn’t fight like someone taught to survive. You fought like someone who had no choice.”

Her throat tightened. The stars around them pulsed too bright. The Fade shimmered, unsteady, like her heartbeat. She inhaled, grounding herself. “That obvious, huh?”

He didn’t answer, he just waited.

Lilith met his gaze - steady now, but uncertain. And she considered telling the truth. Not because she owed him, or because he’d asked. But because - despite her wariness, despite the nagging voice in her skull that reminded her Solas saw too much - something in his stillness offered safety. A place to set something down.

She had already told Dorian. She’d peeled herself open once, and the world hadn’t ended. It had made her feel lighter, if only by degrees. It was out there now - truth - and this was just another weight. She could carry it alone, she always had. But maybe… maybe she didn’t have to. At least, not this time.

And because this was the Fade - and here, some truths floated easier.

“Tell me a secret, Solas,” she said quietly. “One you don’t usually share.”

He regarded her a moment, then smiled - faint, almost tender. “A secret?” His voice was the rustle of wind through leaves. “Very well. I… once feared I could never belong. Not among the People. Not even here, in the Fade. I thought I was destined to remain only a watcher, forever apart.”

Her gaze softened. There was something about the look in his eyes that made her want to close the distance, even just a little. So s he stepped closer. “I’ll trade you one.” The space between them thickened, quieter than silence.

“I was raised to be a weapon,” she said. “Some children get lullabies and bedtime kisses. I got blood rites and body counts.”

The pause that followed wasn’t silence. It was space - held for her, not filled.

She hesitated, then pressed on. “I don’t remember my parents’ faces. But I remember their eyes. I remember how they looked when I killed them.”

The words landed like stones in water - rippling outward, deep and dark. She braced herself, eyes flicking to his, expecting disgust. Revulsion. Lilith thought he would hate her. Anyone would - should.

She swallowed, then shifted the collar of her shirt to one side, revealing the pale, raised scar just above her left shoulder. A carved mark - something deliberate, ceremonial - in the shape of a handprint, the fingers long and jagged like claws. The flesh around it had never healed clean.

“They burned it into me that night,” she said flatly. “Said I’d earned my place. They called it a rite of passage.”

Solas moved before she could finish pulling her shirt back up. He reached for her - not roughly, but with a kind of urgency that didn’t leave room for hesitation. His hand closed around her upper arm, firm and warm. His brow was drawn tight, fury rising behind his eyes like a tide barely held in check. Then his thumb brushed the edge of the scar, a slow, deliberate stroke - and she shivered.

A flicker ran down her spine, sharp and involuntary, as if her body hadn’t gotten the message that this was supposed to be about anger, not… whatever this was. He was too close. Too focused. The firelight carved shadows along his jaw, and hells, he was still touching her.

Solas exhaled like the breath had turned bitter in his mouth, gaze fixed on the mark like he could erase it by looking hard enough. " Who would do this,” he said, his voice low, “to a child.”

His voice wasn’t pitying. It was controlled anger - righteous and sharp as winter wind. He released her slowly, but his gaze didn’t leave the scar for a long moment. “You were a child,” he said again, quieter now.

“I was efficient.” Her smile was bitter armor. “They praised me for it. Said I was finally ready.”

His eyes flicked up to hers, gentled but unflinching, and anchored by something deeper than sympathy. "That was control. And cruelty. Nothing more.”

Lilith gave a quiet, humorless snort. “Funny. You sound like someone who’s been there.”

Solas didn’t deny it. His expression shifted - just enough. “We carry different scars,” he said. “But we are not so different, you and I.”

“That’s what all the worst people say.” She gave him a sideways glance, eyes glinting with challenge. “But... maybe I’ll allow it. Just for tonight.”

Solas studied her for a long moment, then reached out - not touching, but close enough that the warmth of him ghosted over her skin. “You fight like you expect to die every time you lift a blade,” he said quietly.

She looked at him sidelong, smirking despite herself. “And you fight like it’s penance.”

That startled a laugh from him - low and surprised. "W ell,” he said, “we’re both wrong. Most days.”

She shifted again, the distance between them narrowing just enough to make her pulse stir.

Then she said, “You know, if you wanted me to straddle you again, you could’ve just asked.”

His mouth twitched. “You wield flirtation like a weapon.”

“I was trained to be very, very good with weapons.”

This time, when he looked at her, it wasn’t analytical. Or guarded. It was open - curious in a way that made her chest ache. He didn’t reach for her, but he didn’t move away either.

And neither did she.


The days that followed their return from Redcliffe passed in a blur of planning and preparation. The mages had barely finished stowing their supplies before the Inquisition began organizing for the closing of the Breach. Enchanters fortified spells, scouts tracked Fade activity, and quartermasters barked orders across muddy courtyards as crates of lyrium and warding talismans were hauled into place. Even the snow seemed to hang heavier in the air - as if the world itself was holding its breath.

Lilith kept moving through it all. Meetings, reports, combat drills, a dozen questions she couldn’t answer. But everything pointed to one thing: the Breach. And now, at last, they were ready.

The war room was quieter than usual, the long table strewn with parchments and spell schematics. Lilith stood with the advisors beneath the glowing map, her fingers curled loosely around the edge of the table.

“The best of the mages are ready, Herald,” Cullen said, arms crossed, voice firm. “They await your word.”

He paused, then added, more gently, “Be certain you are prepared for the assault on the Breach. We cannot know how you will be affected.”

Lilith’s gaze lifted from the table, landing on Cullen with quiet focus. She didn’t always press him on this, not when she could sense the tension behind his careful tone, the way the word mage still made his shoulders stiffen. But they couldn’t afford to keep standing on opposite sides of the same line - not today.

“I know you’re still worried about the mages,” she said, steady but not unkind. “But please, give them a chance to prove themselves.”

There was no accusation in her voice, just the kind of insistence that came from belief. She understood his caution, having heard bits and pieces of his past. But this wasn’t about comfort anymore - it was about trust.

“I’m not questioning their ability or their intentions,” Cullen replied, his jaw tightening slightly. “But the risks worry me.”

He stepped closer, the tension in his posture unmistakable now. “I will not endanger the alliance you’ve created. We need their help. Any precautions taken will be to ensure the safety of our people and the mages themselves. Nothing more.”

Lilith let out a slow breath, her fingers drumming once against the table’s edge. “Fiona has sent her best mages,” she said. “This has to work.”

“Of course,” Cullen said with a nod. “In the meantime, I will oversee our forces, should anything go wrong.”

That made her pause. “What do you mean?”

He glanced toward the map on the table. “All we have are theories. I believe our plan can work, but no one knows for certain what will happen when you try to close it. We need to be ready for anything.”

She swallowed hard. The truth was, she wasn’t afraid of dying - not really. But failure? Of making the wrong move and taking everyone else down with her? Of being the weapon that cracked rather than sealed the wound? That terrified her.

The room was quiet for a long beat. Leliana stood in the shadows near the back, saying nothing. Josephine, for once, didn’t offer reassurance. Even the map flickered uncertainly beneath the sconces.

Lilith said nothing at first, just gave a small nod and stepped away from the table. Her footsteps echoed on the stone as she exited into the cold, clear morning. The sky above Haven was streaked with pale light, the distant green wound in the sky pulsing like a second sun.

She crossed the courtyard quickly, snow crunching beneath her boots, and ducked into her cabin to grab her pack. The weight of it settled easily across her shoulders - too familiar now to notice. 

She drew her cloak tighter, adjusted the satchel straps, and turned toward the gates. This would be the day, one way or another.

Then footsteps approached behind her - soft, careful, not meant to startle. Mira.

“Hey,” Mira said gently, placing a hand on Lilith’s forearm. “Before you go...”

Lilith turned, arching a brow. “Come to tell me to avoid getting impaled?”

Mira huffed a small laugh, but didn’t rise to the joke. Instead, she reached into the deep pocket of her coat and pulled something out, holding it in her open palm. A simple bracelet - silver-flecked cord, faintly red in the light. It glimmered and pulsed with quiet magic.

“For luck,” Mira said. “Or… for coming back. I made it from scraps. Metal shavings, herbs, a pinch of enchantment. You know. Magic stuff.”

Lilith studied it, then tilted her head with a crooked grin. “You think I need luck?”

Mira didn’t smile this time. Her eyes met Lilith’s with quiet resolve. “I think... you deserve someone hoping you come back.”

Lilith’s heart gave a strange little lurch. After slaying a god or two, after everything she’d endured, she was used to people watching her for strength. For command. She was used to awe, to fear, to wariness hidden behind deference. But kindness? Gentle, unspoken care like this? That felt rarer than divinity.

For just a moment, she was back at the camp before the Elder Brain - watching her companions pass flasks, trade stories, sneak glances at the stars as if trying to memorize the shape of them. That final night had been full of quiet hopes no one dared to speak aloud. She remembered thinking it then: I hope you make it back.

And now here was Mira, offering that same silent prayer with a charm made of scraps and care. Not as a soldier, not as a follower. Just… someone who cared.

Lilith took the bracelet slowly, her fingers brushing Mira’s. The cord was rough and imperfect. Something warm in a world that rarely offered it. Her throat tightened, sharp with sudden emotion. The bracelet was unexpected, and it wasn’t beautiful. But it was real.

Meant for her.

She swallowed the knot rising in her throat and managed, “Thank you.” Her voice sounded strange - unsteady in a way it hadn’t been in months. 

She slipped it onto her wrist. Mira watched her for a moment longer, as if committing her to memory, then gave a small nod and turned to head back toward the others.

The moment the bracelet touched skin, Lilith inhaled sharply. The enchantment stirred, faint but steady - a thrum like a heartbeat. I hope you make it back.

Lilith closed her eyes briefly, steadying herself. “See you soon, Mira,” she murmured.

The bracelet glowed, just for an instant - a single thread of red light unfurling like smoke. It flickered through the air - through the Fade, through the Weave - then vanished.

And somewhere far away, something ancient - something hateful - remembered her name.

Somewhere across worlds, Bhaal stirred.

Notes:

we hit 100k words! woo!!!! 🎉🎉 thanks for sticking with me through all the emotional damage, banter, and suspicious egghead tension 🫡

now, how about that ending? thoughts?? feelings?? ominous dread crawling up your spine at the idea of bhaal waking up and going “where’s my special girl 😍” ??? no reason, just curious!!! it’s FINE. EVERYTHING IS FINE.

and okay i must confess: the real reason i wrote another sparring scene is because i'd originally wrote the solas/lilith fight into the first scene a few chapters ago, but then felt like it was too much too soon. but i'd also already written the Fade scene that follows, incl. "if you wanted me to straddle you again, you could’ve just asked" and i just COULDN'T let go of it. hence, another sparring scene!!

anyway, see you in the next chapter, where we absolutely do not spiral further into trauma, moral ambiguity, destruction, and hot people being sad in the snow!

love u bye <3

Chapter 15: Chapter Fifteen

Notes:

sorry for the delay! i had two interviews this week, so things have been busy lol. back to our regularly scheduled bad decisions!

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

The Temple of Sacred Ashes loomed like a skeleton of hope and ruin, its shattered spires stabbing toward the green-sick sky. The Breach yawned wide above the altar, crackling and alive. Below it, rows lined with mages, robed and steady, their faces pale in the shadow of something unholy.

Lilith stepped forward, her boots crunching on broken stone. Her breath hitched. She could feel the pull of the rift already - hungry, familiar - as if it were reaching for her across some invisible divide. 

Everything had led to this. Every battle they’d fought, every secret she’d buried, every lie she let them believe about who she was. They had all carried her to this altar, to close the Breach.

As if that were the hardest part.

Her fingers twitched. The thought wouldn’t go away: What happens after?

If this worked - if they really sealed it - what would be left of her? She was just a figurehead to the Inquisition. Would she still matter when there’s no sky tearing open to justify her? 

A shiver traced up her spine, but she straightened and clenched her jaw. This wasn’t the time - not for doubt, nor for the yawning ache in her chest that whispered she'd never really been a hero, just a weapon conveniently pointed in the right direction.

She wasn’t Fereldan, or Andrastian - hells, she wasn’t even from this gods-forsaken world. And still they cheered her name, prayed for her light, looked to her like she was chosen. She had played the part so well she almost believed it.

Almost.

She remembered what it was like to be revered as Bhaal’s Chosen; his holy butcher. And this had felt dangerously similar.

She would miss it. That thought scared her a bit. 

The way they all looked at her like she mattered. She would never say it aloud, but there had been something intoxicating about being needed again. About walking into war and feeling like fire incarnate.

And now, she thought, she was just a woman with too many scars and no good reason for surviving.

She swallowed hard. She’d been thinking about it, and became certain the Anchor would take her life in her attempt to close the Breach. It’d burn through her veins, hollow out her chest, rip her apart as she sealed the sky. 

That was the cost, wasn’t it? The magic had always felt too vast for one body. She was supposed to be a conduit, a sacrifice to the void. She’d close the Breach in a blaze of light, and be consumed from the inside out. That was how this was meant to end. A final act of redemption to save a world that wasn’t hers. Not for glory, or even for forgiveness, but because it felt right that she should give herself up to fix something, finally. To let it end with purpose.

She’d made peace with that. Because if she died sealing the sky, then there’d be no need to face what came after. No awkward thanks, no questions. No slow, inevitable turning of heads when the Inquisition no longer had use for her. They’d praise her sacrifice, mourn her briefly, and move on - without needing to ask where she came from, or what she really was.

But the Anchor still pulsed. And she was still standing.

If she closed the Breach, what would the Anchor take from her next?

Beside her, Cassandra stepped into view, her armor gleaming faintly in the viridescent light. “Mages!” she called, her voice strong and unwavering, echoing off the ruined walls.

Lilith didn’t move. She remained still in the half-shadow, wrapped in the green glow of an unnatural sky. She flexed her hand again and the Anchor flared, pain blooming in her palm like a warning.

There was no turning back now.

She stepped toward the Breach, tilting her head back to face it. Behind her, Solas raised his staff, his voice commanding. “Focus past the Herald! Let her will draw from you!”

And they obeyed. The air thickened, pulsing with arcane force as dozens of mages raised their hands. Threads of magic raced toward Lilith, coalescing around her mark like a river feeding a storm. Her hand surged with pain and power alike, glowing with a light that scorched from within.

For just a second, something else stirred beneath the surface. It was only a flicker, like a second heartbeat. Then came a whisper, low and seductive, as images bled into her mind unbidden - flashes of violence that didn’t belong to her, and yet did. Screams echoing in stone corridors, not of fear, but reverence.

A hunger unfurled in her chest, sharp and sudden, as if her body had remembered a language her mind had long since buried. It thrilled at the power funneling into her - at the pain. At the vulnerability of those around her. So many mages, so many throats bared to the wind. Her marked hand itched to turn on them, to cut rather than contain.

Her vision narrowed to a single point, focusing back on the Breach, its edges ragged and writhing, its center pulling her thoughts apart. She clenched her jaw, teeth grinding, and forced the magic forward. The wind howled and magic twisted in the air like a cyclone of light and memory and pressure.

She gasped, staggered a step forward, and dropped to one knee. The Breach screamed, and still, she reached.

It wasn't only her strength that poured into the Breach - it was theirs, too. The mages. The Inquisition. Everyone who helped her get here. 

The rift pulsed once, twice-

Then exploded in a blinding shockwave of green and gold, tearing through the sky like a sunrise through a battlefield. The earth trembled. The sound wasn’t a bang, but a shuddering exhale, as if the world had been holding its breath and finally let go.

Lilith collapsed forward, bracing herself on her hands as the wind died and silence fell. She could feel it, in the marrow of her bones: the Breach was gone.

Her breath came in ragged pulls. The pain was sharp and blinding as magic screamed through her bones. Then, the agony dulled, receding like a tide dragged backward through her veins. It still burned, but more faint now, no longer tethered to something vast and hungry above.

She exhaled shakily as the last tendrils of magic slipped away. The images and whispers of violence in her mind were gone - burnt out as fast as they’d come - but her heart was still racing. It was nothing, she thought. Just a side effect. The power, the pain, the pressure of holding something that vast had overwhelmed her for a moment, that was all. Or her mind had conjured it. A trick of adrenaline, or exhaustion, or both. It wasn’t real, and it wasn’t her - she knew who she was now. Whatever that flicker was, whatever it had tried to show her - it didn’t matter, because it wasn’t her. She told herself this firmly, again and again. 

She blinked as Cassandra knelt beside her and placed a firm hand on her shoulder. “You did it,” she said simply.

Lilith looked up at her, and for a moment, she saw nothing but the blood-smeared altar and the empty sky beyond it.

Her throat tightened. She had no words. She had survived.


Evening had sunk its golden teeth into Haven. Fires burned in barrels and braziers, casting warm halos across the snow-dusted village. Music rose from the center of it all. Clapping hands, echoing laughter, a fiddle sawing cheerfully through the night. Villagers, soldiers, mages, and scouts all danced in mismatched harmony. It was clumsy and unpolished and joyful.

Lilith stood at the edge, half-shadowed beneath an overhang. Her arms were crossed, her back against a post, as she watched the celebration unfold like a play she wasn’t meant to be in. Smiles bloomed all around her, relief worn proudly, like armor set aside for the night. She didn’t begrudge them that joy, but a strange stillness curled in her gut, as if she’d forgotten how to feel it.

Bootsteps approached through the snow, deliberate but not stiff. “I thought I might find you here,” Cassandra said as she stepped into view, her gaze fixed on the crowd, not Lilith. “Solas confirms the heavens are scarred, but calm. The Breach is sealed. We’ve received reports of lingering rifts, and many questions remain…” She paused, then turned toward her. “But this was a victory. Word of your heroism has already begun to spread.”

Lilith let out a quiet breath through her nose. “You know how many were involved. Luck just put me at the center.”

Cassandra arched an eyebrow. “A strange kind of luck. I’m not sure if we need more or less of it.”

That drew a faint smile from Lilith. “Less, I think. Preferably none.”

Cassandra’s expression softened, the lines around her eyes easing. “But you’re right. This was a victory of alliance. One of the few in recent memory.” She looked out again over the celebration, thoughtful. “With the Breach closed, that alliance will need new focus. And new leadership.”

Lilith shifted uncomfortably. “Is that your way of warning me that I’m about to be dismissed with polite applause and a pat on the head?”

Cassandra blinked, genuinely puzzled. “Dismissed?” She frowned. “No. That was never a thought.”

Lilith looked away, mouth twisting. “Wouldn’t blame you if it was.”

“Lilith - Herald,” Cassandra said, her tone steady but not unkind, “you’re not being cast aside. If anything, you’re being looked to.” She paused, then added with a dry huff, “Encouraged.” A pause. “Pushed, perhaps.”

Lilith huffed, then sighed. “I… don’t want to lead anything.”

“No one sane does,” Cassandra said, surprisingly gentle. “But that hasn’t stopped them from doing what must be done.”

Lilith was quiet for a moment, then asked, “Is that what you tell yourself? When things get heavy?”

Cassandra gave a dry little laugh. “Among other things. I’ve told myself many lies and half-truths to keep going. That duty is simple. That faith is unshakable. That justice is always worth the cost.”

“And now?” Lilith asked, genuinely curious.

Cassandra was quiet, her face lit by torchlight and memory. “Now… I think doing the right thing is hard, and often unrewarded. But it is still worth doing. Even if no one remembers your name.”

They stood like that for a while - two women shaped by entirely different paths, finding each other in a flicker of understanding.

“Would you walk with me?” Cassandra asked after a beat. “I find I’d rather not spend the evening pretending to be busy to avoid dancing.”

Lilith gave her a sidelong glance. “And here I thought you’d be the first to drag me into a circle.”

“I’ve been dragged before,” Cassandra muttered. “It did not end well.”

Lilith gave a real laugh this time, short and sudden. “Alright. Let’s walk.”

They turned from the firelight and wandered toward the quiet edge of the village. Behind them, Haven danced and cheered and drank. But ahead of them, the night stretched wide. The sky above them was scarred - but calm.


Everywhere Lilith looked, there were smiles - the village shimmering with lantern light and laughter. She moved like a shadow through the joy, nodding, exchanging words. Avoiding stillness.

Dorian was the first to intercept her. “Ah, there you are,” he said, swirling wine in a cup that looked suspiciously like it belonged to the Chantry. “The Herald of Andraste herself, gracing the peasants with her divine presence.”

She snorted. “Hardly.”

“You closed a hole in the sky, Lilith. You can allow yourself one dance. No one would fault you for it.”

She raised an eyebrow. “You offering?”

“I was being metaphorical,” he said, sipping. “But yes. Also literal.”

A beat passed. Dorian’s grin faltered, just slightly. He studied her, too closely now. 

“Joking aside, my dear,” he said softly, “you’ve more than earned a night off. Just… don’t burn yourself out trying to be everything to everyone. You’re allowed to feel things, even if they’re not celebratory.”

She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “And what if what I’m feeling isn’t polite enough for a party?”

“Then come find me. I’ve got a bottle and terrible judgment.”

She wandered towards the tavern in search of food, and found Gale inside hovering near some platters. He offered her a plate - warm bread, dried meats, and something fried in too much oil. It smelled like comfort. She took it with a quiet thanks.

“I’ve seen many miracles,” he said. “But this… this was something else.”

“You were brilliant,” he added quickly. “Unnerving. But brilliant.”

She looked away. “You were watching?”

“Of course I was.” A smile ghosted his lips. “Baldur’s Gate has its share of fireworks, but nothing quite like this.”

The words twisted something in her. Home. Fire. Blood in the alleys. 

When she looked up, he wasn’t looking at the sky outside the windows, or the torches, or even her. His gaze lingered briefly on her wrist - the bracelet hidden beneath her sleeve.

“I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop,” she murmured, fiddling with her sleeve.

Gale stepped closer and wrapped his arms around her - firm but not forceful, warm in a way that felt more like home than comfort. She stiffened for half a second, caught off guard, then let herself lean in, just slightly.

“Then wear quieter shoes,” he said against her hair.

She laughed weakly.

“You’re not alone in this, Lilith. Even if it feels like it.”

She pulled away to thank him - to remind him how much she appreciates him - when Iron Bull grabbed her by the shoulders. “There she is!” he bellowed. “You’re a beast out there, you know that? Remind me never to piss you off.”

“I thought I already had,” she replied dryly.

“Yeah, but I’m bigger than you,” he said, wagging a finger, then laughing and handing her a mug of something frothy and suspect. “Come on. Krem’s losing at dice, and Varric’s about to make someone cry with a limerick.”

“I don’t think-”

“Nope,” Bull interrupted. “No brooding, not tonight. You did something awesome. You’re allowed to breathe.”

She forced a grin and let the mug warm her fingers. Scanning the tavern, she spotted Sera, who was half-drunk and half-crouched on a barrel, and wholly up to no good.

You!” Sera shouted, pointing at her with a sloshing cup. “Broody and dangerous! Just the elf I was looking for.”

Lilith raised an eyebrow. “Should I be flattered or concerned?”

“Yup,” Sera said cheerfully. “Come on.” Sera slid off the barrel and landed with a wobble. “We’re gonna shoot the lanterns off the chapel. It’s symbolic. Or... I dunno, fun.”

Lilith blinked. “Why?”

Sera looked scandalized. “Why not? Varric says it’s vandalism. Cassandra says it’s blasphemy. I say it’s festive.”

Lilith hesitated. Her fingers twitched around the mug. There was something tempting about it. Something in the chaos, the recklessness. 

“You in?” Sera asked, already halfway to the door. “We’ll blame it on demons. Or magic. Or, like, pigeons with fire arrows.”

Lilith exhaled, almost a laugh. “I’ll watch.”

Sera spun back, finger to her chest. “Your loss. My aim’s great and I’m not wearing smalls under this.”

And with that, she vanished into the crowd, already humming something off-key and vaguely threatening.

Lilith stared after her, lips twitching, the faintest echo of a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.

The tavern was louder than usual - music spilling out into the cold evening, laughter echoing between snow-dusted rooftops. Someone had hung a string of mismatched lanterns over the door, and the lights shimmered in the ice like tiny stars.

Lilith stepped out into the cold for air, fingers still faintly tingling from the Anchor. The world had narrowed solely to sensation during the ritual - only light, pain, power - and now everything felt too sharp in her skin. Too much.

She made her way to the low stone rampart across from The Singing Maiden and climbed up, settling on the ledge with a soft exhale. Moonlight spilled over her skin as she tilted her face to the sky. The Breach was gone. The world felt… quieter without it.

Footsteps crunched behind her. "You disappeared," Mira said, her voice soft.

Lilith didn’t look back. “Needed a minute.”

“Figured. You looked like you were about to throw someone through a table.”

That earned a faint snort. “Tempting.”

Mira climbed up beside her, the hem of her patched cloak brushing the stone as she sat. She smelled faintly of rosemary and smoke. “How’s the hand?”

Lilith flexed it. “Still attached.”

“Progress.”

They sat in silence for a moment, enjoying the quiet. Inside, someone cheered - probably Varric - and the music picked up again, clumsy but happy.

"You did something incredible today, Lilith" Mira said quietly. "I know everyone’s saying it, but I mean it. You... stitched the world back together.”

Lilith shrugged, eyes still skyward. “I was the only option.”

“No.” Mira’s voice was firmer than usual. “You chose to do it. With all these people looking to you, you could’ve run, but you didn’t. That matters.”

Lilith didn’t answer. The words sat too heavy in her chest.

Mira tilted her head, studying her. “You always look like you’re waiting for someone to yank the rug out from under you.”

Lilith huffed. “Not waiting. Just realistic.”

“I think you're scared," Mira said gently. "That if you let yourself feel proud of what you did - just for a second - it’ll get twisted into something else, or taken away.”

Lilith went still.

“I’m not asking you to believe you’re a hero,” Mira added. “Just… maybe don’t be so quick to hate the part of you that stood in front of the sky and protected us.”

A long pause. Then Lilith finally looked at her, eyes tired but open. “You always like this, or am I just special?”

Mira smiled and squeezed her hand. “A bit of both.”

Lilith shook her head with a quiet laugh. “Come on. Let’s go back in before Varric starts auctioning off my boots.”


The snow had begun to fall again - thin, weightless flakes drifting through the evening, catching faint light from the torches lining Haven’s walkways. A while later, Lilith slipped out again, her breath curling in the cold.

Now standing at his cabin door, she knocked once. The glow of firelight leaked out through the cracks, flickering across her boots. The door opened almost immediately, as if he’d been waiting.

“Solas.”

“Lilith,” he returned, quiet as the snow behind her.

For a moment, neither of them moved.

“I hope I’m not interrupting,” she said lightly, pulling her cloak a little tighter.

“Not at all.” He stepped aside to let her in. “Though I expected you'd be celebrating with the others. Reveling in your triumph.”

“I tried,” she said, brushing past him. “Turns out I have a low tolerance for divine praise and mediocre mead.”

His lips quirked, just a little. “And here I thought you were just fond of attention.”

“Oh, I am,” she replied, shrugging off her cloak. “Just not when it’s holy.”

The door clicked shut behind her. His cabin smelled of parchment, dried elfroot, and something warm and sharp - like crushed thyme. Books and maps lay arranged in obsessive order, but the fire softened everything, giving the space a kind of reluctant warmth.

Lilith rubbed her arms to shake off the cold. “You didn’t join the festivities.”

“I find parties... tiring,” he said, with a hint of amusement.

She smirked. “You do brooding solitude very well.”

“And you?” he asked, watching her cross to the hearth.

She laughed weakly. “A hole in the sky is closed,” she said. “Everyone’s acting like it’s the end of something. But I think it’s just the middle. Like we’re pretending the worst is over.”

He leaned against the edge of his desk, folding his arms. “It’s not.”

She looked up at him. “That was grim.”

“I thought you preferred honesty.” He tilted his head. “How do you feel now that it’s done?”

“Like I’m missing something.”

That earned her a quiet, brief smile - genuine, if faint. There was a moment of companionablesilence.

Then, “So,” she asked, gaze flicking back to the flames, “now that the Breach is closed... what happens to you?”

“To me?”

“Yes. Are you going to vanish into the mountains? Start a secret apostate book club?”

He chuckled softly under his breath. “No. I think I’ll remain, at least for now. There is still much to learn. Many dangers to guard against.”

“That’s not really an answer.”

He tilted his head. “What about you?”

“What happens to me?”

He nodded.

Lilith pulled a chair closer to the hearth and dropped into it, stretching her legs out toward the fire. “I think... I'll keep pretending I have a plan until I accidentally do.”

“Strategic improvisation.”

“Something like that,” she said. “Though it’s getting harder to fake confidence when everyone keeps calling me Herald. Makes it sound like I know what I’m doing.”

Solas stepped away from the desk, slow and measured, approaching the fire. “You do know what you’re doing.”

Lilith glanced up at him. “Oh? You trust me now?”

“I trust what I see,” he said. “And I’ve seen what you’re capable of.”

She held his gaze, playful but sharp. “You’ve seen me destroy things.”

“I’ve also seen you choose not to.”

Lilith leaned forward, elbows on her knees, staring into the fire. “It just feels strange. Everyone keeps congratulating me like I’ve done something miraculous. Like I meant to do any of this.”

Solas didn’t interrupt. He took a nearby chair, dragged it closer until it sat beside hers, and lowered himself into it, waiting.

“I didn’t,” she went on. “I was just… in the right place at the wrong time. And now I’m supposed to have answers. Direction. A cause.” Her voice thinned, bitter at the edges. “I don’t even know if I believe in what we’re building.”

He nodded slowly. “I think many people feel that way. Even those who pretend otherwise.”

She gave a dry laugh. “Is that your way of saying I’m not special?”

“No, it’s my way of saying you’re not alone.”

That made her pause.

“I... have watched people lead before,” he continued. “Sometimes they do it well enough that others start to believe it. And that belief… becomes real. Not because it’s true, but because someone needed it to be.”

Lilith was quiet for a moment, her eyes on the flames. “Do you think that’s all I am? A need people projected into something useful?”

He didn’t answer right away. “No,” he said eventually. “I think you’ve become something real. I think you’ve surprised yourself.”

That landed more than she expected it to. Not because it was flattery - it wasn’t - but because it felt honest.

“I’m used to people telling me what I am,” she said. “Even when they don’t know anything about me.”

He hummed. “You’re good at letting them believe whatever’s most convenient.”

She gave him a sideways glance. “You’ve been watching me that closely?”

Solas’s gaze lingered on her a moment longer than necessary, then he gave a faint shrug, lips curving. “You’re not exactly easy to overlook.”

Lilith raised a brow, dry. “That a compliment or a warning?”

He huffed a quiet breath, almost a laugh. “That depends. Which would you prefer?”

She tilted her head, studying him now. “You’re the one staring. What is it you think you see?”

There was a pause. Not long, but thoughtful. Measured.

“You carry yourself as if you’ve learned to keep your back to the wall.” he said eventually.

Lilith looked away, jaw tight. “Old habits.”

“And yet,” he continued, “you don’t hide. You speak plainly. You meet people’s eyes. You let them know you're watching, too.”

She picked at the edge of her glove, voice quieter now. “Helps to know who’s going to strike first.”

Solas nodded, his tone gentler. “It’s not aimless, what you do. Just cautious. Like perhaps you don’t trust where you’re going.”

She gave a short, humourless laugh. “Maybe I just don’t want to look too closely at where the path’s leading.”

Solas’s expression didn’t change, but something in his voice went quieter. “And if you did?”

Lilith didn’t answer right away. Her fingers stilled against the edge of her glove before pulling both off completely. “Then I might have to admit I’ve already started walking it.”

A pause. 

“Better that,” he said softly, without judgement, “than pretending you’re standing still.”

That quieted her. She glanced back at the fire, then down at her hands, where her nails were now digging absent-mindedly into the skin beside her thumb. A nervous habit of hers. She didn’t even notice until Solas reached out and gently caught her hand in his.

“You’ll draw blood,” he said quietly.

Her fingers twitched, but she didn’t look up, and she didn’t pull away. Instead, slowly, she turned his hand over in hers. Studying it like it was something curious. Her thumb brushed across the center of his palm, slow, thoughtful. A grounding gesture - comfort for herself, maybe, more than for him.

“You have calluses,” she murmured, mostly to herself.

“I do use my staff for more than decoration,” he said, a little dryly.

She huffed a soft laugh but didn’t stop tracing the lines of his hand.

“You don’t seem like someone who’d follow orders,” he added after a beat. “But you speak like someone who has led before.”

Her fingers stilled. “I have.”

Solas didn’t press. A long silence followed.

“I wasn’t a good leader,” she added. “I was efficient. Strategic. Cold, sometimes. I got people through things. But I don’t think anyone would have followed me for who I was. Just what I could do.” A need people projected into something useful.

Solas met her gaze, steady. “Maybe. Or maybe they’re responding to something you haven’t seen in yourself yet.”

Lilith looked down at their hands. “I don’t know. I think I’m still figuring out who that - who I - even am.”

He didn’t look away. “Then let them follow that. The version you’re still becoming.”

A pause. Her expression softened to something more vulnerable. “You really think it’s that simple?” she asked, her voice quieter now.

“No,” he said. “But simple and impossible aren’t the same thing.”

They sat like that a moment longer. His hand in hers. The fire crackling, soft and steady. Snow ticking faintly at the windowpanes.

“You’re easier to talk to when you’re not being cryptic,” she said, a trace of amusement in her voice again.

He smirked. “So I’ve been told.”

“You should try it more often.”

“I’ll consider it,” he said.

She smiled, just a little, and didn’t let go of his hand.

Neither of them spoke. The space between them thickened, not with awkwardness, but something weightier. Anticipatory. Her thumb brushed again over his palm, slower this time. A lazy, absent motion. But Solas’s breath caught, just faintly, and the pause that followed said everything.

Lilith glanced up at him, meeting his gaze. His expression had changed. Still calm, still composed, but his eyes had gone dark and unreadable. She didn’t drop his hand. Didn’t move away. Just tilted her head slightly, studying him like she was solving a puzzle.

“You always do that,” she murmured.

“Do what?”

“Look at me like you know something I don’t.”

His mouth twitched. “I often do.”

That earned him a raised brow. “Smartass. So what do you know now?”

He didn’t answer, he just watched her. Carefully. Intensely, maybe, as if the truth was too dangerous to say aloud.

The silence stretched. Her hand shifted in his, fingers threading lightly between his. Testing. Her pulse had quickened, but she didn’t pull away.

For a moment, neither of them moved. Then, as if the tension had built too far to bear, Lilith stood abruptly - too casual to be a retreat, but too sudden to be aimless. She crossed the room in a few long strides and leaned back against the opposite wall, arms loosely crossed, chin tilted up as she exhaled.

She didn’t look at him when she spoke. “I’m still waiting, you know.”

He glanced up, brow creasing. “For what?”

She met his eyes then, her voice low. “For you to flirt back.”

There was that flicker again - half a smile, half a sigh. Something almost fond in the way his expression shifted. Lilith noted it, the way she always did. He never denied he was interested in her, but he never named it either. Not like she did.

“You’re relentless,” he said at last, with a dryness that almost masked the warmth beneath.

“And you’re evasive,” she said, tilting her head. “I ask a question, and you answer it like it’s a riddle.”

“Perhaps I enjoy watching you try to solve me.”

She made a sound in her throat - half scoff, half laugh. “You’re not that mysterious.”

“Aren’t I? I seem to remember you telling me otherwise.”

“No,” she said, grinning. “You’re just emotionally constipated.”

His eyes narrowed, but not in anger. He looked entertained. “I don’t recall asking to be insulted in my own cabin.”

“You didn’t,” she said sweetly, “but you invited me in.”

A pause.

Then, lightly, like a game she was daring him to play - she leaned her head back against the wall, eyes half-lidded. With deliberate quiet, she added, “And I think you wanted me here.”

His gaze locked with hers, intense and unreadable again. Then he stood.

She watched him, warily, curiously, as he took a slow step toward her. Then another.

Lilith didn’t move. Just leaned more comfortably against the wall, letting him come to her.

When he stopped, he was close - very close. Close enough that she felt the warmth of him, the tension coiled beneath his stillness. His eyes, in the firelight, looked burnished, full of things he’d never say.

His hand rose, hovering near her jaw - but didn’t touch. Her breath hitched. His hand fell back to his side, clenching and unclenching into a fist.  

For one long, suspended moment, neither of them moved.

Her voice dipped to a whisper. “You know, I really thought you were going to kiss me just then.”

His breath caught. “I didn’t,” he said, quietly.

She grinned. “I noticed.”

Her finger rose - slow, playful, deliberate - and she dragged it down the center of his chest, over the stitching of his robes. She felt his breath falter. Her smile turned wicked.

“You’re trembling,” she whispered.

“I am not.” His eyes fluttered closed as he took a deep breath.

“You are.” Her smirk was slow, teasing. “Is it the finger? Or the danger?”

His eyes opened again, sharp and bright. “Yes.”

A beat passed. Her smirk faltered, flickering into something else before she caught it. She laughed, soft and low, laced with something darker. “You’re not nearly as composed as you pretend.”

He didn’t respond. Just watched her with that same infuriating stillness, as if revealing anything would cost more than he was willing to spend.

She clicked her tongue. “Been practicing for me?”

Still nothing. But his eyes didn’t leave hers. And that pointed, deliberate silence told her everything.

At last, his hand lifted - as if he meant to reach for her - but instead, he took a step back. Just enough to breathe again.

“We should go,” he said, voice low and rough around the edges. “The others will be wondering.”

She nodded, the heat of the moment still clinging to her skin like steam. Without a word, she crossed to where her cloak hung and she shrugged it on slowly, fingers fussing with the clasp longer than necessary.

Solas didn’t move.

She walked toward the door, footsteps soft on the stone. At the threshold, she paused, one hand resting on the handle. “Hey, Solas?”

He looked up.

She glanced over her shoulder, mouth curving. “That answer?”, she said in a singsong voice, “Still counts as flirting.”

And then she was gone.

He stood there, the fire crackling behind him, her warmth still lingering in the air like smoke.

And for a long time, he didn’t move.


Lilith returned to her cabin, elation and exhaustion warring beneath her skin.

She pushed open the door-

And froze

Raphael was sat in her chair.

His legs were crossed, one arm draped lazily over the armrest. Firelight gilded his red coat like fresh-spilled wine. In his other hand, he cradled a stemless glass filled with something thick and dark - too viscous for wine, too gleaming for blood.

He smiled, teeth just visible. “Home sweet hovel.”

Lilith didn’t move. “Get the fuck out.”

“No ‘welcome back, Raphael, how have you been’? Truly, I expected better hospitality from my favourite wizard.”

She slammed the door behind her, the latch clicking like a threat.

“You should be celebrating,” he continued smoothly. “The sky is mended. The lambs are rejoicing. And you - you, my dear - have never looked more radiant.”

Her arms crossed, a warding gesture. “What do you want?”

He gave a low, amused hum. “Is that really how you see me? All contracts and fine print?”

“Yes.”

His grin widened. “Good. I’d hate to be misunderstood.” A laugh followed - genuine, delighted. “Still so sharp. So stubborn. So… flammable. Joy is dangerous, Lilith. You should be careful how brightly you burn.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Speaking of danger, devil, how did Astarion get into the House of Hope? I thought it was sealed tighter than your ego.”

Something flickered behind Raphael’s smile. Not surprise, but calculation. “Oh, that little matter,” he said lightly. “You wound me, thinking I’d leave the back door open for just anyone. But let’s not dwell on trespassers. I came bearing gifts.”

She made a mental note of his non-answer. “No thanks.”

He drained the glass and set it beside her cot, the motion precise. “Information. And a choice. That’s all.”

She didn’t answer - just watched him like a predator waiting for a twitch.

“You agree,” he said softly, “and I guarantee every soul here survives the next sunrise. Refuse… and we let the winds of fate play their little tune.”

Lilith’s gaze sharpened. “What kind of game are you playing?”

“No game.” He rose, brushing invisible lint from his sleeve. “A very serious offer. Something terrible is coming, Lilith. I won’t say what, not yet. But I can... delay it. Divert it, perhaps, if I understand what I’m working with.”

Her stomach knotted. “You want something.”

“Of course I do.” His smile was razor-thin. “I want to examine the Anchor.”

She blinked. “What?”

He stepped closer, his voice conspiratorial now. “Just a peek. No tricks, nothing invasive. Let me take a look at it.”

She glared at him. “And if I say no?”

He spread his arms. “Then I step aside. And we both see what happens when the wheel turns.”

“You think I’m stupid? You’re not curious, you’re calculating. I think you want to figure out how to remove it.”

Now, would that be so bad?” he murmured. “Wouldn’t you like to know how long your little tether will hold? How long you’ll hold?”

Her fists clenched. 

“There are more than one hundred souls in this little village. Would you wager them on your principles?”

“You’re bluffing,” she snapped. “If something were coming, and you actually wanted to help - not that you ever have - you’d just tell me. You're trying to scare me so you have more leverage.”

He bowed his head slightly, like a priest indulging a particularly stubborn sinner. “You always did have a head for metaphors. But are you certain? What if this once, I’m the only thing standing between you and disaster?”

She saw it then: Solas frowning over maps, Varric laughing over drinks, Leliana murmuring prayers to the Divine. It would be so easy to say yes. To trade a little trust for a little safety.

But this is Raphael. And she remembers what happens when you trust devils.

“No deal.”

Silence. For a beat, Raphael only watched her. His gaze lingered on the tension in her jaw, the way her shoulders stiffen as she readied for another betrayal. And then he smiled. “Very well.”

He turned, striding to the door, but paused with one hand on the frame. “You’re stronger than they think, you know,” he says softly. “But perhaps not strong enough to stop what’s coming.”

He looked back at her, eyes gleaming like coals.

Remember this moment, Lilith. When the snow turns red. When you’re standing in the rubble, wondering what you could’ve done differently - remember that you chose it.”

And then he vanished into shadow, leaving only the lingering scent of brimstone and the faintest shimmer of glass on the cot beside her.

Lilith stared at it for a long second. Her breath came slow, like she was forcing herself not to shake. She didn’t touch the glass. Just turned, opened the door, and strode into the night.

Snow crunched beneath her boots. The wind was rising. She kept her head low as she moved through the village, shoulders squared, pace steady - but her pulse was a drumbeat in her throat. She cut toward the tavern, jaw tight, trying not to look like she was running.

The Maiden glowed like a hearth from the outside. Inside, warmth and noise rushed at her in a wave - boisterous voices, the scrape of chairs, the scent of wine and meat and wet wool. She scanned the room in one sweep. Solas was near the fire, standing with Dorian. His gaze, sharp and narrowed, met hers instantly, but she didn’t stop.

There. Gale.

He was seated near the hearth, half-laughing at something Bull was saying, a tankard in one hand, the firelight catching in his collar. She crossed the room in three long strides, reached out, and tugged the drink from his hand.

“Lilith-?” he began, startled.

She set the tankard on the mantle with deliberate calm, then grabbed his wrist and turned for the door.

“Ooh, stealing him away?” Varric called. “Make sure you bring him back in one piece!”

She ignored them, not slowing down. Outside, the cold hit like a slap and the laughter faded behind them as the door swung shut. Gale shivered, frowning.

“What's going on?” he asked, his voice low now, and his breath ghosting in the air.

“He came to me,” she said, without preamble.

“Who?”

“Raphael.”

That wiped the smile from his face. “When?”

“Just now. He was waiting in my cabin.”

Gale’s brows furrowed, concern sharpening into something harder. “And?”

“He was... smiling - like always. Said I looked radiant. And that I should be celebrating.” She shook her head. “He said he had a gift for me. A choice.”

“What kind of choice?”

Lilith looked away for a moment, snow catching in her lashes. “He said something terrible is coming. That he could delay it, maybe divert it, if I let him examine the Anchor.”

Gale swore under his breath. “And did you?”

“Of course not.” She glanced back at him, jaw set. “He didn’t even try to hide it. He wants to understand it. Figure out what it is, maybe, so he can take the power for himself.”

“Sounds like him,” Gale muttered. “Always acting like he’s doing you a favour right before he slips the dagger between your ribs.”

She nodded tightly. “I asked how Astarion was able to get into the House of Hope, but he dodged it. Said something about not leaving the back door open, then brushed it off like it was nothing.”

“And the bargain?”

“He said he’d guarantee everyone in Haven would survive the night if I agreed.” Her voice dropped lower. “If I refused, he said we’d see what fate had in store.”

A beat of silence. Gale’s eyes searched hers, brow furrowed. His voice was quieter now, more careful. “Do you believe him?”

She didn’t answer right away. The wind had picked up, brushing stray hair into her face, carrying the chill of mountain air. It tugged at the edges of her cloak, rattled the eaves of nearby cabins like brittle bones.

“I don’t know,” she said at last. “But he meant it as a warning. He told me to remember this moment. ‘Remember that you chose this.’”

Footsteps crunched softly behind them. “Well, that’s sufficiently ominous.”

Dorian’s voice cut in, dry as ever. He stepped into view with his arms crossed, clearly having abandoned his drink mid-conversation.

He looked between them, then gave Lilith a pointed look. “You vanished out of that tavern like your boots were on fire. Thought I’d find you mid-duel or post-proposal, given how you yanked poor Gale away like a blushing bride.”

Lilith didn’t smile. Neither did Gale.

“He came to see her,” Gale said. “Raphael. The devil.”

Dorian’s expression tightened. “I suppose he didn’t pop by for a social call.”

“No,” Lilith said. “He made a deal. Or tried to.”

Behind them, a figure shifted near the tavern’s doorway - Solas, leaning against the frame with quiet purpose, gaze fixed on the three of them. He hadn’t come close enough to hear, but he was watching. Listening in a way that didn’t require ears.

Dorian followed her glance, then returned his focus to Lilith. “What kind of deal?”

And then-

The bell rang. Sharp. Sudden. Too fast to be the hour.

A warning.

Lilith turned toward the sound, hand already at her belt. “I think,” she said, “we’re out of time.”

Around her, people stilled, then scattered - soldiers scrambling for weapons, townsfolk rushing to gather children and flee indoors.

Cullen’s voice boomed across the courtyard. “Forces approaching! To arms!

Cassandra appeared beside them and drew her sword without hesitation. “What the-? We must get to the gates!”

Suddenly more of her companions appeared at her side. Varric grunted. “I knew it was too easy.” Solas’s expression tightened. “This bodes poorly.” Iron Bull cracked his knuckles, already turning towards the gates. “So… celebratory drinks are on hold.”

Lilith’s thoughts ran fast - pattern recognition, tactical assessment. But there had been no warning, no scouts reporting unusual movement. Who had the audacity to march here, on Haven? 

Her blood turned cold. Did Raphael plan this? Was this the punishment for saying no? A cruel demonstration? Or had something else - someone else - slipped through their defenses while she was distracted?

She turned on her heel, eyes scanning the snow-covered village, and caught a flicker of movement near the apothecary. Mira - frozen like prey, a satchel dangling limply from her fingers.

Without thinking, Lilith strode toward her, boots crunching hard against the packed snow. She grasped Mira by the arms, grounding her. “Mira,” she said, firm. The woman’s breath caught. Her other hand shot out, gripping Lilith’s sleeve like a child clinging to a ledge.

Adan emerged from behind the hut, alarm on his face. “What’s going on? Are we under attack? From who?”

“I don’t know yet,” Lilith said without turning. Her attention was still on Mira, whose voice trembled with disbelief.

“Who would attack us?” Mira whispered. “You just saved us all.”

Lilith softened, just slightly. Her voice came low and steady, the calm in the eye of the storm. “We’re going to handle it. But I need you to pack a go-bag. Medical supplies, food, bandages. The essentials. Fast. Help the other residents if you have time, and get to the Chantry when you’re done. Stay hidden. Understand?”

Mira nodded, wide-eyed. “O-okay.”

Then, before Lilith could turn away, Mira threw her arms around her, pulling her into a sudden, tight hug. “Be careful,” she said into Lilith’s shoulder. “Please.”

Lilith froze for half a heartbeat. Then her hand came up, gentle, to Mira’s back. “You too,” she said quietly. “Now go.”

Mira took off, sprinting back into the hut, Adan trailing behind her shouting instructions.

Lilith turned and moved with purpose through the thickening crowd, her steps brisk but measured. The courtyard buzzed with alarm; soldiers barking orders and villagers crying out. Her cloak snapped behind her in the wind, her mind a maelstrom of calculation. No time for full armor. No time to question the motive.

The party reached the gates, where Cullen was already issuing orders, hair damp with cold sweat, his expression grim. “One watchguard reporting. It’s a massive force, the bulk of it coming over the mountain."

Josephine had joined them, breathless. “Under what banner?”

Cullen turned to her, eyes hard. “None.”

Josephine stared. “None?”

The sound of fists - or something heavier - banging on the gate snapped all attention forward. Someone was outside. Then a voice, young and thin: “I can’t come in unless you open!”

Lilith was already moving, her staff at the ready, but she raised a hand to signal the others to hold. She pulled the latch.

The door creaked open, and a red templar lunged, only to be stabbed through the chest, falling forward in a heap of corrupted armor. Behind him stood a strange boy in tattered clothes, a too-large hat casting shadows over his eyes. Blond hair curled underneath it.

“I’m Cole,” he said quietly. “I came to warn you. To help. People are coming to hurt you. You probably already know.”

Lilith stared at him, but he was already staring at her. Not just looking, but seeing. His head tilted, expression unreadable, as if he were sorting through something she couldn’t hear. Like he knew exactly what she was, and hadn’t decided yet whether that was a tragedy or a threat.

“What is this?” she asked, unease prickling beneath her skin. “What’s going on?"

Cole didn’t blink. “The templars have come to kill you.”

Cullen stepped forward, stunned. “Templars? Is this the Order’s response to our talks with the mages? Attacking blindly?”

Cole shook his head, almost sadly. “The red templars went to the Elder One. You know him? He knows you. You took his mages.”

A sick weight dropped into Lilith’s stomach as a sound split the air - an unnatural, distant roar of hundreds marching in perfect, soulless time. 

Over the rise of the mountain, the enemy came into view. An impossible number of them. Warped, armored figures; men and monsters. Among them was a familiar man, his eyes glowing red with lyrium corruption. And at the heart of the army, shrouded in darkness like an omen, stood a figure she did not yet know - but felt, deep in the marrow of her bones.

Cullen’s breath caught. “I know that man - Samson - but this Elder One…”

Cole looked to Lilith. “He’s very angry that you took his mages.”

Lilith’s eyes narrowed, already scanning the terrain - the narrow passes, the bottlenecks, the weaknesses. The chapel’s height. The snowdrifts that could be collapsed. The exposed slope.

She turned to Cullen, the panic rising in her throat shoved down by force of will. “We need to draw them into the lower pass, force them to split. Their numbers are too dense up top.”

Cullen glanced at her, surprised - but nodded. “We’ll post archers on the ridge. Focus fire on the front, draw them into the bottleneck.”

“Prepare the trebuchets,” Lilith added quickly. “If we collapse the path after the first wave, we’ll buy time for the residents to get to the Chantry.”

Cullen turned, raising his voice to the gathering soldiers. “Mages! You - you have sanction to engage them! That is Samson. He will not make it easy!” He paused, eyes sweeping across the Inquisition - torches lit, shields lifted, faces pale but resolute.

“Inquisition! With the Herald! For your lives! For all of us!

A cheer went up - not loud, not joyous - but a rallying cry born of desperation and courage.

Lilith gripped her staff and stepped forward, the fire in her blood catching up to her fear. She wasn’t a general, not officially. But war had shaped her - molded her into something cunning and vicious enough to survive.

Remember this moment, Lilith.

The words came unbidden, curling through her mind like smoke. She could almost smell the brimstone again.

When the snow turns red.

The wind howled. Somewhere, a horn sounded - long and low, a warning. The templars were close.

When you’re standing in the rubble, wondering what you could’ve done differently-

She shut her eyes, just for a heartbeat. Took a breath, setting her jaw.

-remember that you chose it.

Tonight, survival would have to be enough.

Notes:

this chapter had everything!

💥 a breach, breached
😈 a devil, meddling
👀 a near-kiss, interrupted
🧠 intrusive thoughts, winning
🏃‍♀️ haven, about to be soooo gone

anyway solas is fighting for his life in the "do not catch feelings" trenches lol. next chapter is gonna be absolutely unhinged. any predictions?

(pray for our girl)

Chapter 16: Chapter Sixteen

Notes:

remember to mind the tags, please! cw: violence

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

The gates of Haven groaned as Lilith shoved them open, snow slamming into her like a wall. The night was a blur of red and silver, fire and steel. Screams tore through the air - soldiers, villagers, beasts. The enemy had arrived in full force.

“The trebuchet!” Cullen had shouted. “Outside the walls - we need it operational!”

She didn’t need to be told twice. Lilith and her companions sped forward, boots crunching through snow as the clash of battle rose to meet them. Just ahead, the first trebuchet loomed, tall against the burning sky. Enemy templars swarmed its base like ants, steel glinting in the firelight.

“Herald!” a soldier called from behind a makeshift barricade. “Over here! Keep them off us!”

Her hand snapped forward, arcane fire flaring to life, and she didn’t aim to stagger - she aimed to kill.

Flames erupted across the snow, engulfing a pack of red templars mid-charge. They screamed, clawing at burning flesh, and she didn’t look away. She watched them fall.

Cassandra crashed beside her, shield raised, her blade cleaving through the line. “Lilith - move up!”

“Already on it,” she hissed, and surged ahead, striking a templar with a blast that shattered his breastplate and the bones beneath.

Bull let out a roar and barreled into the fray, axe swinging. “Remind me to duck next time you’re pissed off.”

She didn’t respond. There was no room for banter - only blood .

“Keep them back!” another soldier shouted. “We’re ready to fire!”

Arrows whistled past Lilith’s ear. She didn’t duck - she turned and sent a volley of arcane missiles into the archer’s perch, wood splintering and bodies falling. There was a sharp, clean satisfaction in it. 

“Centered and clear! Firing!” A thunderous crack echoed across the mountains as the massive stone was hurled into the dark. Moments later, the distant impact sent snow and shattered ice racing downwards, overtaking the templars marching through the valley. 

“They felt that!” the soldier crowed. “We’ll reload - you get to the other trebuchet! It isn’t firing!”

Lilith wordlessly turned and her companions followed, glancing at her somewhat unusual behaviour - Cassandra with a flicker of concern, Dorian with a tight frown - but no one said anything.

They arrived to find another cluster of soldiers locked in fierce combat. Steel clashed with steel as wild-eyed templars in corrupted crimson bore down upon the Inquisition soldiers, their swings brutal. The snow beneath them was already churned into slush and stained with blood.

Lilith surged forward, skidding low beneath a templar’s wide swing. She came up inside his guard and slammed an arcane blast into his chest at point-blank range. The impact lifted him off his feet and he hit the ground with a sickening crunch. 

To her left, Cassandra engaged two enemies at once, her shield braced and unwavering. Behind them, Dorian unleashed a curtain of necrotic energy, setting a cluster of templars alight as he barked a phrase in Tevene.

Another templar charged from the flank - straight toward Solas. He was distracted, engaged in combat with another enemy. He didn’t see the attacker coming.

“Behind you!” Lilith shouted. She was too far away to intercept with magic, so she bolted forward with a Misty Step and half-tackled the templar, hauling him off his feet in a burst of motion. They hit the snow in a tumble. She came up faster, staff in hand, and drove it down with a sharp crack against the man’s helm. The templar groaned, and went limp.

Solas straightened, his eyes widened. She didn’t look at him. “You’re welcome,” she muttered, voice already breathless.

His jaw tightened, whether at her flippancy or her recklessness, she couldn’t tell - but he gave her a terse nod. “Thank you.”

They returned to the fray. Solas cast with swift, sharp motions, ice blooming along the ground to snare templars by the ankles. Lilith followed in his wake, all precision and violence. She moved like a shadow, like she was born in battle. A parry here, a guttural incantation there - her spells came harder now, her face tight with concentration and something darker.

She felled a templar with a spike of obsidian force. Another she simply sliced through the abdomen with a blade of conjured ice, her expression unreadable.

Solas caught a glimpse of her then, standing over a fallen enemy, breathing hard. She raised her hand again, even though the man was already down, blood fanning out beneath him. Her fist clenched, magic gathering-

Lilith !” Solas barked.

She stopped. Her jaw twitched, and she turned away, letting the energy dissipate harmlessly into the air.

He frowned faintly, but said nothing.

“This way!” a solider yelled, sword clashing with an axe. “We must get the trebuchet firing!”

Lilith sprinted through the melee, her cloak flaring behind her, and launched a shockwave of force that sent three enemies tumbling like dolls. One scrambled to rise, wheezing, and she struck him again, harder than necessary.

On the platform, her fingers curled around the frozen release. She gritted her teeth. Magic shimmered beneath her skin, aching to be used. Begging .

With a growl, she slammed the mechanism forward. The trebuchet groaned and fired, its payload arcing into the peaks.

A heartbeat later, the mountains answered once again. A rumble, then a roar, as the avalanche surged downward, massive and merciless, sweeping over the templars in a tidal wave of ice.

Soldiers cheered.

“Ha!” Bull whooped, slamming his axe against his chest. “That’ll slow ‘em down!”

“Nice aim,” Dorian said - but there was something tentative in his grin as he glanced at her.

Lilith exhaled hard. Her heart was racing, blood thrumming through her limbs. She felt good - alive. She’d missed this.

Before she could answer, the sky ignited. A roar, deeper and older than anything natural, split the heavens. The trebuchet exploded beside her in a burst of flame, the shockwave flinging her from the platform. She hit the ground hard, her breath leaving her in a rush. Smoke billowed upward, and through it - a shape appeared.

Massive wings. Horned crown. Fire trailing from its jaws. 

A dragon.

“That is not possible!” Solas spoke, his face pale in the firelight as he scrambled to his feet beside her.

Shit !” Varric yelled. “Who ordered the end of the damned world?”

Cassandra’s voice was tight with panic. “We can’t face it here! We have to… do something !”

Lilith pushed herself up on shaking arms, tasting blood in her mouth. “Everyone to the gates!”

They ran. Haven was no longer a village, but a battlefield. Homes burned and smoke curled into the sky in choking ribbons. The roar of the dragon echoed off the mountains like a promise of death.

Near the gates, they saw Harrit - the forge master - limping toward a burning cabin, clutching his shoulder.

“Blasted shoulder!” he grunted. “Herald! Help me with this door!”

Lilith ran to his side, but the door was warped and stuck. Together, they shoved, and the door gave with a groan.

“Thank you!” Harrit barked, already rushing inside. “Just grabbing the essentials! Won’t die for the damn forge!”

“Funny way of showing it,” Lilith muttered, then turned as Cullen’s voice rang out ahead.

“Come on, through here! Everyone inside!” he shouted, waving villagers through the gate. “Move it! Move it!”

Lilith grabbed one of the last stragglers by the arm and yanked them through just before Cullen slammed the doors shut. He and Lilith braced their backs against it.

“We need everyone back to the Chantry!” Cullen barked. “It’s the only building that might hold against… that beast .” He glanced up toward the burning sky and his voice dropped, quiet and grim. “At this point… just make them work for it.”

He pushed off and ran ahead to gather the next wave. They were only a few steps behind him when a new sound rang out - steel clashing and screams closeby.

“The villagers will need help if they’re to survive this,” Dorian said grimly.

“Let’s get people to safety!” Varric growled, already breaking into a jog.

“Grab anyone we can on the way!” Bull added.

They moved through the smoke-choked pathways. Flames licked up the sides of buildings and snow melted, turning black beneath their feet.

“Someone hurts,” Cole murmured, eyes distant. “Inside. Trapped.”

“You hear that?” Bull asked suddenly, pausing. “Survivors!”

They followed the sound toward the tavern, where more soldiers were holding the line outside. Just within, Lilith could see something through the broken door - movement under rubble.

“I think someone is over here!” a soldier yelled.

Flissa , Lilith realized. “Get it… get it off!” she cried, voice hoarse. “It’s coming down!”

Lilith threw herself forward and ran inside, grabbing the scorched beam and lifting with everything she had. Flame singed her arm as the wood gave way, and Gale pulled Flissa free with a grunt.

“I can’t get up… help me… it hurts…”

“We’ve got you,” Lilith said, crouching beside her. “You’re alright.”

Flissa clung to her, face smeared with ash and tears. “I knew you’d come. Thank you. We are all blessed.”

They kept moving.

The apothecary had collapsed - the carts outside broken open, jars and flasks shattered in the snow. Adan’s voice rang out first. “It’s too hot! I can’t get out!”

“Help me!” Minaeve called from beneath another cart. “The fire will explode the pots!”

Mira’s voice joined theirs, higher, panicked. “It’s going to explode! Help!”

Lilith’s heart stuttered. She ran in, heedless of the heat, and heaved the cart off Adan with a cry. Cassandra and Bull grabbed Minaeve, dragging her clear. Dorian’s magic surged, extinguishing a creeping flame before it reached the oil.

Lilith yanked Mira up and into her arms. “You’re alright. You’re alright.”

Mira clutched her back. “I thought - I didn’t think-”

Lilith pulled back just enough to smirk at her friend. “ I told you to get to the Chantry.”

Mira let out a breathless laugh, and Lilith gave her one last shove toward safety. “Go. Run .”

Adan, wide-eyed, nodded. “Our Lady is with you, Herald. Thank you.”

Minaeve murmured a dazed, “Maker… thank you…”

They pushed on, grabbing villagers where they could - hauling them from collapsed roofs, smashing in doors, shielding children from falling debris. Time was folding in on itself; every moment felt like it would be the last. Lilith ran ahead of the group, scanning the village for anyone they might have missed.

Mira was only a few feet from the Chantry when she stopped short, eyes locking on something past Lilith.

“There-!” she gasped.

Lilith turned just in time to see a red templar stalking toward a cowering woman clutching two children, sword raised high.

A jolt of white-hot fury surged through her. She didn’t remember moving, just the blood roaring in her ears and the sudden stillness of the world around her as she sprinted forward, boots sliding through ash and slush. She slammed into the templar, her blade flashing. He staggered back, surprised, but not slow.

They grappled in the snow, his strength against her speed. He swung at her with brute force; she ducked low, slashing at the muscles behind his knee. He screamed, stumbled, and she was already behind him. Her dagger found the soft space beneath his helm and plunged deep. She twisted, and he dropped like a stone.

Lilith stood panting, eyes wild, blood soaking the snow at her feet. The woman stared at her, something between terror and reverence.

“Go,” Lilith snapped, wrenching the blade free. “ Now .”

She turned and waved Mira over. “Take them to the Chantry - go !”

Mira ran forward to usher the family inside, but her eyes flicked up - past Lilith’s shoulder - and widened in horror.

“Get down!”

A templar was perched atop a collapsed market stall, bow drawn. He loosed what looked like an explosive arrow, cruelly barbed and heading directly for Lilith and her team.

Lilith used her magic to raise a shield just in time. The force of the strike cracked through her barrier with a deafening snap, the arrow splintering midair. She dropped the spell then, already moving, as a throwing knife flew from her hand and struck the templar in the thigh. He howled and staggered. Then, she hurled a chromatic orb crackling with thunder at him, the magic slamming into his chest and knocking him clean off the platform. He hit the ground hard.

Lilith turned slightly toward Mira and the children, offering a breathless smirk. “Honestly, is no one going to compliment my reflexes?”

And then - pain .

The first arrow struck high in her shoulder with a crack of bone and cartilage, slamming her back a step. The second buried itself in her side, just under the ribs. For a second, everything blurred. The cold vanished and all she could feel was the thudding impact and the sudden hollowness in her limbs.

And then, absurdly, Lae’zel came to mind.

She remembered her presence behind her one early morning at camp, barking orders as the sharp snap of knives rung out, embedding into wood inches from her face.

“You are too slow,” Lae’zel had told her bluntly, expression unreadable as always. “You wish to be trained? Then move .”

And Lilith had. She’d lunged, rolled, ducked - more out of admiration than fear, though Lae’zel was terrifying in her own right. There was a ferocity to her, a clarity of purpose that made every movement feel deliberate. She was everything Lilith imagined a true warrior to be: disciplined, unrelenting, and unshakably sure. 

Maybe even everything Lilith secretly wished she could become. Warriors killed, yes - but they killed with meaning. With honour . There was purpose in it, or at least the illusion of it. More than she could say for her own past, slipping blades between ribs for either Bhaal or coin. 

And for reasons she never quite understood, Lae’zel had agreed to train her. She’d thrown knives at Lilith for weeks to improve her reflexes. Lilith hadn’t minded. In fact, she’d liked it. It had been… fun, in a depraved sort of way.

But Lae’zel had warned her, once, when a blade grazed her ribs during a drill. “You do not verify your kills,” she’d said. “You assume. That is not strength. That is laziness disguised as confidence.”

And it had stung - because it was true. Assassin’s instinct had taught her to move on, to keep going, to trust in muscle memory and blood. But Lae’zel had taught her to pause and confirm. To finish what she started.

She hadn’t looked this time. And now there was an arrow in her side to remind her.

A different memory flickered in, more recent. Sparring with Solas. 

“You’re less reckless than you pretend, but you leave your left open.”

And now? Lilith swayed where she stood as his words raced through her mind, blood soaking hot through the linen beneath her armor. Of course it was her left side.

Gods , she thought, Solas was going to be insufferable about this .

A sharp thunk rang out - Varric’s bolt, clean through the templar’s eye. The man dropped like a felled tree.

Her knees gave out, but a pair of arms caught her before she hit the ground. Solas , magic already burning at his fingertips. “You should have waited for us,” he said sharply, his voice tight.

“Just - just hold her-!” Mira cried, crouching beside them. “She needs-”

“I know what she needs,” Solas snapped. He pressed a glowing hand toward her wound.

“No,” Lilith hissed, forced herself upright despite the wave of nausea. “Save your energy.”

“You’re bleeding,” Solas observed, voice low but firm.

Lilith squinted at the arrow in her shoulder and in her side, then raised a brow. “Oh? And here I thought that was just an aggressive breeze.”

A muscle ticked in his jaw, but he gave a slight, exasperated huff that might have been a laugh. “If you have the energy for that level of sarcasm, I can only assume you’re not dying.”

“Give me five minutes.”

“Generous,” he murmured. “Though I suspect you’d still manage to insult someone on your way out.”

A crack of lightning shattered the sky above them, reminding them that the Templars were still advancing.

Dorian threw out a pulse of magic, scattering the closest ones, his expression sharp with fury. “You absolute idiot !” he shouted at her. “You don’t get to die playing hero in the snow - especially not over some tragic nonsense about self-sacrifice !”

“Tragic nonsense is kind of my thing,” Lilith muttered, teeth gritted.

Mira was already rummaging in her pouch. “You’re so stupid,” she said, voice tight. “So incredibly stupid. What were you thinking ?” 

Lilith gave a breathless laugh. “I was thinking that I liked your faces un-perforated.”

Mira uncorked two vials with her teeth and shoved them into Lilith’s hands. “Drink these or I swear to the Maker I’ll pour them in your eye sockets.”

She drank the potions, burning on their way down, sweet and bitter. The worst of the blood stopped and the pain dulled from excruciating to just painful. She’d been shot before, but she realized that this time was marginally more painful than she was used to. 

Solas helped her up and didn’t let go until she steadied herself, though his expression remained grim.

“Don’t say it,” she muttered to him.

“I wasn’t going to.”

“You were . I can see it.”

He glanced at her shoulder. “Your left side-”

Don’t .”

Cassandra’s voice rang out from ahead, sharp over the storm. “To the Chantry! Move !”

Behind her, Cole whispered, “All are saved to die later. We should follow.”

Gale caught her as she stumbled, arms wrapping around her with a force that was more fear than finesse. “Next time you want to save our lives,” she whispered, “please try not to almost die in the process.”

Lilith exhaled something close to a laugh. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Approaching the Chantry, Lilith took one last glance at the burning village. Smoke rose like incense into a wounded sky.

The Chantry doors slammed shut behind her, sealing the chaos outside. Inside, the air was heavy with smoke and silence. Not true silence - there were still whispers, prayers, coughing fits, the muffled sobs of children - but it was a breathless hush compared to the madness beyond the walls. A stillness steeped in dread. The hall was overcrowded, flickering candlelight casting stretched shadows on worn stone. The scent of burning wood clung to everything.

Lilith staggered just inside the threshold, one arm clutching her bleeding side, the other hanging limp around Gale’s shoulder. Her body screamed with pain, heat burning under her skin in her shoulder and ribs, but worse than that was the pressure building in her chest, the guilt pressing in like a vice.

Because she still heard his voice.

“Remember this moment, Lilith. When the snow turns red. When you’re standing in the rubble, wondering what you could’ve done differently - remember that you chose it.”

Raphael, smiling like a serpent in her cabin, red silk gleaming, eyes glittering with knowing. She didn’t even know why she declined his bargain.

Because it felt wrong? Because his gaze made her feel seen in the worst way? Because some stubborn piece of her still believed she could win on her own - that she could claw her way to redemption without bowing to a devil? To be stronger than him, smarter than him, untempted and untouchable?

Was it wisdom that made her refuse? Or was it pride?

She closed her eyes. A few hours ago, she’d danced in this very room - twirled with Dorian, stolen a cup of wine, laughed with the people she now watched huddled on the floor. Those who remained , at least, because not all of them had made it.

She had fought. Gods , she had fought. She’d thrown every ounce of magic she had into defending Haven. She’d rescued who she could, but it wasn’t enough.

She wasn’t enough.

And the not-knowing - that maybe, just maybe , she could have made a difference if she’d agreed to Raphael’s bargain - that was the part she couldn’t breathe around.

A new kind of weight settled behind her ribs, different from the usual guilt and her current arrow wound. Not the sharp pain of a mistake made, but the slow suffocation of the unknowable - like a haunting. Would he have warned her about the dragon? Would it have saved anyone? She would never know. And it would eat her alive.

“Lilith.”

She looked up, startled. Solas stood a few feet away, his brow furrowed, his voice low enough not to be heard by the rest. He didn’t move closer, but his eyes never left hers, patient and perceptive.

“You’re shaking,” he said softly.

She hadn’t noticed. Her hands trembled at her sides, fingers twitching like they still gripped the broken wood of the trebuchet.

She barely registered any sound until the footsteps of Varric appeared beside her, lowering Bianca slightly. His cheek was slashed, blood drying fast along the edge of his beard.

“Shit,” she said, eyes locking on the cut. “Are you okay?”

He gave her a tired chuckle, nodding toward the arrows jutting from her shoulder and side. “I could ask you the same, Scorcher. Pretty sure your definition of 'okay' needs some work.”

She swayed a little. Solas and Varric reached out instinctively, but Gale held her sturdily. 

“Here,” Solas said, voice low. “We need space. This way.”

He and Gale helped guide her away from the main hall, to a small secluded corner near the front doors. Dorian, Mira, Cassandra, Bull, and Varric followed. 

Lilith’s breath shuddered as she sat heavily on a narrow cot - one of many currently littered throughout the Chantry. Her shoulder and ribs throbbed, every motion laced with fire. Blood soaked through the linen beneath her armor, warm and slick.

Mira knelt beside her, voice gently urgent. “We have to get those arrows out. I can help, but we need to take your shirt off.”

Lilith stiffened. Her eyes flicked to Gale - then Dorian, and then Solas.

After Redcliffe, Dorian had seen her scars when they’d both bathed in the river, and he hadn’t said a word. She’d later shown Solas one of them in the Fade - the one on her shoulder. And Gale… Gale knew more than most. He had pieced it together long before she ever said anything aloud.

Still, the idea of exposing herself here - under these lights, in front of so many - sent a pulse of dread through her. 

Gale saw the shift in her face immediately. He stepped forward, voice calm but firm. “We’ll do it,” he said, glancing toward Dorian. “The others should focus on helping the wounded.”

Solas frowned. “I am perfectly capable-”

“I know,” Gale said, evenly. “But you should help the others.”

Lilith’s voice was barely audible. “It’s fine. Solas can stay.”

Solas looked briefly surprised. Mira nodded and rose, giving Lilith’s hand a squeeze before departing with Cassandra, Bull, and Varric. However Varric lingered a moment, glancing down at the arrow embedded in her side. His expression shifted as his brows drew together and his eyes narrowed.

“Wait,” he said quietly. “That tip… it’s glowing.”

He stepped closer, squinting - and then his eyes widened. “Shit, Lilith. That’s red lyrium.”

Suddenly everything stilled. Gale swore and Dorian inhaled sharply as he knelt beside her, examining the arrowhead. “It’s lodged deep,” he said, tone gone sharp. “It’s in her shoulder too.”

A ringing started in her ears. A flash of red. Not the blood on her skin, but crystal, gleaming like a wound torn open in the world. Redcliffe. The taste of smoke and copper. The memory slammed into her like a fist.

Astarion’s voice, low and cruel, echoing in the stone halls. “Don’t be afraid. You always feared what you were. But now… there is no shame. You are divine. We both are.”

She remembered her friends’ ragged breath, red lyrium blooming from their skin like thorns. All of them twisted by that sick, singing crystal. All of them lost .

Her stomach churned and her hands began to shake. She could feel it growing in her even now - feel it worming its way deeper like a curse she’d invited.

“No,” Lilith said, her voice cracking. Her heart thudded violently in her ribs. “No . No . Get it out. Get it out now.

Her hands gripped the edge of the cot. She looked to Gale, to Dorian, frantic. “I can’t - just, please , get it out .”

“A numbing potion would take too long to kick in,” Mira said, returning with a bandage roll and quickly kneeling.

“I’ll tough it out,” Lilith said immediately.

“That’s insane ,” Dorian muttered.

Solas knelt beside her, magic curling at his fingertips. “You don’t have to-”

“I do,” she whispered.

There was a pause. And then, without a word, Gale moved to help her remove her outer layer. Her jaw clenched, muscles trembling as he tore around the ruined fabric and lifted it over her head. Underneath, she wore only a thin breastband, soaked through with sweat and blood.

She didn’t look at anyone as she sat up straight, a great deal of her scarring now visible and impossible to miss. But in her periphery, she caught the expression on Solas’ face. He had gone perfectly still.

Her skin was a canvas of horror. A jagged slash bisected her lower back. Her shoulders were a lattice of marks - ritualistic, deliberate. A skull-shaped emblem bloomed across her upper back, circled in drops like a crown of rot. The bloody handprint on her shoulder looked freshly angry, though it hadn’t been touched in years.

She didn’t speak. Neither did anyone else.

Gale, gentle as ever, crouched in front of her and squeezed her hand. “I’m sorry in advance,” he said quietly. “Bite down on this,” offering her a strip of leather.

She placed it between her teeth, then, they began.

Dorian steadied her arm while Gale cut through the flesh near her shoulder to extract the arrow, slow and careful. Her breath hitched, but she didn’t cry out - only clenched her jaw and stared straight ahead, eyes watery but blank. The red lyrium pulsed in the ruined tip as it was pulled free.

Solas stepped in immediately. He sat down beside her on the cot and took the fragment, carefully tracing magic around her wound. His expression was storm-dark as his fingers glowed with slow, precise energy, drawing out the last of the taint. The pain was staggering, yet Lilith made no sound.

The second arrow was worse - lodged in her side, close to her ribs. She laid down this time. Dorian looked like he might vomit. 

“You’re going to feel this,” Gale warned. She nodded once.

He made the cut and she convulsed slightly. Solas moved faster this time, bracing her while Gale maneuvered and carefully pulled the barbed shaft free, making sure not to nick anything on its way out. Her hands white-knuckled the cot beneath her, nails biting into the wood.

Then - finally - it was over.

They gave her a potion while Solas healed her using a bit of his magic, sweat beading on his brow.

Lilith let out a breath that trembled on the exhale. Her skin was gray with pain. Still, she managed a weak grin.

“Well,” she rasped, voice hoarse, “you did say I was reckless.”

Solas didn’t answer. He was still staring at her, but the look wasn’t anger now - it was something deeper. A question he didn’t yet know how to ask.

Lilith stood now and downed a second potion, then moved to the front of the Chantry. Her gaze drifted over the injured, the soot-streaked faces, the stunned silence of the survivors. Mira was sitting on the floor nearby, her arms wrapped around a child who had lost their parents. Adan and Minaeve tended wounds with whatever herbs they’d been able to salvage. Varric now leaned against a pillar, his crossbow still in hand, jaw tight.

People were alive, but many had died. And Raphael had known .

Lilith closed her eyes again. She didn’t cry - she just stood there, and let the silence settle over her shoulders like a shroud.

Chancellor Roderick suddenly staggered toward them, his face ashen.

His legs buckled but Cole caught him before he hit the ground, and eased him gently into a nearby chair. “He tried to stop a templar,” Cole said softly. “The blade went deep. He’s going to die.”

Roderick gave a weak smile. “What a charming boy…”

Cullen appeared, snow melting into steam on his pauldrons. “Herald,” he said, “our position is not good. That dragon stole back any time you might have earned us.”

Cole turned, eyes wide, voice distant. “I’ve seen an Archdemon. I was in the Fade. But it looked like that .”

“I don’t care what it looks like,” Cullen snapped. “It’s cut a path for the enemy. They’ll kill everyone in Haven.”

Cole blinked. “The Elder One doesn’t care about the village. He only wants the Herald.”

Lilith stiffened. “Why?” Her voice was sharp. “Why does he want me?”

“I don’t know,” Cole murmured, fingers twitching. “He’s too loud. It hurts to hear him. He wants to kill you. No one else matters. But he’ll crush them anyway. Burn them. Break them. I don’t like him.”

Lilith didn’t hesitate, turning to Cullen. “If it will save these people,” she said, her voice low but clear, “he can have me.”

“No!” Gale barked. The word echoed across the Chantry. “Absolutely not.”

Cole stepped forward. “It won’t matter. He wants to kill you. No one else matters.”

“So I give him a target,” Lilith said. “I keep him busy and give you all time to escape.”

Cullen’s mouth tightened. “Herald, there are no tactics to make this survivable. The only thing that slowed them was the avalanche. We could turn the remaining trebuchets - trigger another slide.”

“But we’re overrun,” Lilith murmured. “To hit them, we’d bury Haven.”

“We’re dying,” Cullen said, quiet and grave. “But we can decide how . Many don’t get that choice.”

“That’s not acceptable,” Dorian snapped. “I didn’t survive time travel just to have you drop rocks on my head.”

“My apologies, Dorian. Would you rather die impaled ?” Lilith offered. “I’m flexible.”

“Should we submit?” Cullen retorted. “Let him kill us?”

“Dying is typically a last resort, not a first!” Dorian gestured furiously. “For a templar, you think like a blood mage!”

Enough !” Gale strode to Lilith’s side, his face flushed. “Lilith. You’re not doing this.”

She met his eyes, defiant. “There’s no other option.”

“You think this is noble?” he hissed. “Sacrificing yourself to buy time? We’ll find another way .”

“There is no other way, Gale!” she snapped. “You heard Cullen - unless we distract the Elder One, we all die here. Everyone .”

“I don’t accept that,” Gale said, jaw clenched. He clasped her hand between both of his, squeezing. “I won’t lose you again, Lilith.”

“That’s not your choice to make,” she whispered. Her voice broke, just a little.

He stared at her. “Don’t do this. Please . You saved me from myself once - let me do the same.”

And gods, the words hurt, because he had said something like that before - to her .

She remembered Gale, herself, and their team, high above the city, arcane power thrumming in the air between them. Gale had stood there - calm, resolute, and full of that maddening heroism - ready to die to stop the Absolute. She had begged him not to, pleaded that they could find another way. That there had to be.

And still, he was ready to die.

“The brain… it’s high above the city now,” he’d said, voice heavy with fatal clarity. “Far away from any innocents. I can end this now. The stage is set for my final act. Mystra’s bidding. And the redemption that lies beyond.”

Lilith had shaken her head, fury and grief and disbelief twisting in her gut. “Don’t be ridiculous, Gale. You don’t have to do this.”

“It’s now or never.”

“What about everything we’ve been through?” Her voice had cracked too then. “You’re just going to give up? You know there’s always another way.”

He had smiled, soft and utterly resigned. “This isn’t giving up. It’s securing victory at a price I’m willing to pay. You matter to me, Lilith - more than you know. And everything we shared - all of it - can live on through you.”

Her heart had clenched.

“For too long I’ve lived in fear of taking a host of innocents with me when I… expired,” he’d said. “Now, at least, I can be assured my demise will be saving them instead.”

“Gale, no . We’re going to end this together and live to tell the tale.”

“Lilith, if you’re mistaken, this could be the end of everything.” He had paused then, thinking, looking at her with something like reverence. “But I’ve only made it this far thanks to you. Who am I to question such sterling guidance now? Fine, I shall stay my hand as long as I can. But if the tide turns against us…” His voice had gone quiet. “Remember I have the means to end this swiftly.”

And together with their team, they had ascended the brain, ready to do whatever it took to save their city.

Back in the present, Lilith exhaled shakily, her chest tight with memory. Her hands trembled. But when she turned to the others, her voice was calm.

She forced herself to meet his eyes. “I’m not trying to be a martyr,” she said. “I’m trying to survive. I’ve survived worse.”

A lie, maybe. But it was all she had.

Gale stepped forward again, anguished. “ Lilith -”

“Don’t,” she said softly. “You said it yourself, once. If the tide turns, someone has to end it. That’s me, now . I can buy you the time you need.”

“By playing decoy to a godlike monster,” Varric said. “Hell of a plan.”

Cassandra frowned. “It’s madness.”

“She’s an anomaly,” Cole said quietly. “She walks wrong. Not broken, just misplaced. And now the world pulls tight around her. One wants worship. The other wants her will. One reaches for what she was, the other for what she might become. Neither will let her go. They want to wear her like a crown.”

Lilith went still, her pulse thundering in her chest. Cole’s words hung in the air like smoke.

Solas stepped forward then, sharp and sudden. “Enough, Cole.” His tone wasn’t cruel - but it was precise.

“The Anchor makes her valuable to the Elder One,” he said, voice low. “That alone is cause for caution - but not justification for self-destruction.”

“Agreed,” Dorian said, stepping up beside Gale. “We all know the odds, but this is folly. You can’t make yourself a sacrifice just because it’s convenient for the rest of us.”

“You think this is easy for me?” Lilith snapped. “I don’t want to do this. But someone has to keep that thing occupied.”

Cole tilted his head, fingers twitching at his sides. “She’s the piece neither of them can shape. Not a servant. Not a god. She slips through their teeth, and they hate it. That’s why they keep reaching. That’s why they’re afraid.”

Lilith’s breath caught again. Her eyes darted to Gale, now. He was already looking at her.

And in that single look, she saw what he meant: This isn’t our home. We don’t owe this place our lives.

But she looked away.

“You don’t have to prove anything,” Gale said, his voice quieter now, aching. “Not to them. Not to us. Not to him .”

Lilith stood her ground. “I’ve made my choice.”

“Damn it, Lilith,” he said. “You’re not the only one who gets to choose.”

A hacking cough drew their attention - Roderick, still slumped in his chair, eyes glazed but focused on Lilith.

“There is a path,” he wheezed. “You wouldn’t know it unless you’d made the summer pilgrimage. As I have…”

Cole helped him upright as he struggled to stand.

“The people can escape,” he whispered. “She must have shown me. Andraste must have shown me… so I could tell you.”

Lilith stared. “What are you talking about?”

“I didn’t mean to start the path,” he mumbled. “It was overgrown. Forgotten. But now, so many dead, and I am the only one who remembers…” He looked at her, eyes glassy. “If this memory can save us… perhaps it is not accident. Perhaps you are not accident. You… could be more.”

She turned back to Cullen, who looked grim. “What about it? Will it work?”

He nodded slowly. “Possibly. If he shows us the path. But what of your escape?”

“If that thing is here for me…” She swallowed. “Then I’ll make him fight for it.”

“And when the mountain falls?” he pressed. “What about you ?”

Lilith didn’t answer. Her expression said enough.

Cullen stared at her, then shook his head. “Perhaps you’ll surprise it. Find a way.”

Lilith gave a crooked smile, dry and dark. “Stranger things have happened.”

Cullen huffed something that might’ve been a laugh, but didn’t quite make it out. He turned toward the Chantry doors. “Inquisition! Follow Chancellor Roderick through the Chantry! Move!”

The others began to gather - wounded helped along by the strong, children cradled by frightened parents.

Roderick leaned heavily on Cole as he passed Lilith. “Herald,” he whispered, “if you are meant for this… if the Inquisition is meant for this… I pray for you.”

Then he was gone.

Cullen paused at the threshold, his hand on the door. “They’ll load the trebuchets,” he said, voice low. “Keep the Elder One’s attention until we’re above the tree line. If we are to have a chance - if you are to have a chance - let that thing hear you.”

Lilith nodded once. But as he turned away, she reached out and caught his arm. “Hey,” she said quietly. “Thank you.”

Cullen looked at her, solemn. Then gave a firm nod - soldier to soldier - and slipped through the door.

She took a deep breath, exhaled slowly, then turned back to her companions.

“Cassandra,” she said, voice clear and steady, “go with Cullen. Make sure everyone gets to safety.”

Cassandra stepped forward, her jaw clenched. She gave a short nod. “And you?”

“Like I said - I'll buy you time.”

Cassandra's expression faltered for only a moment. Then she gave a hand-over-heart salute, something close to reverence in the gesture. “May the Maker watch over you, Lilith.”

“Wouldn’t that be a twist,” Lilith muttered, almost amused. Cassandra almost smiled. Then she was gone.

Lilith turned to the others. “The rest of you are with me. We get those trebuchets loaded, fast. Once they’re set, I want all of you back in the Chantry, following them through that path. Understood?”

They exchanged grim nods. She hesitated, glancing between them.

“Thank you,” she added, softer. “For everything.”

They lingered. The air stretched taut with the weight of things unsaid.

Dorian stepped forward first. “No need for goodbyes,” he said firmly, arching an eyebrow. “You’re not dying. You’re being melodramatic.”

Lilith smiled, or tried to. “Spoken like someone who knows me far too well.”

Dorian gave her shoulder a pat and turned away, but not before glancing back once, sharply, as if memorizing her face.

The others began to check weapons, ready themselves. She gave them all a few moments. Then, quietly, she pulled Gale aside.

Solas’s eyes flicked toward them - curious, unreadable - but he said nothing.

Gale followed her just out of earshot. She took a steadying breath. “If I don’t make it-”

Lilith -”

“Let me say this.” Her voice was soft. “If I don’t… I need you to go back. To Baldur’s Gate.”

She didn’t look at him. “Tell the others what happened. Tell them I love them - all of you.”

Gale’s brow creased, eyes gleaming with emotion. “You’ll tell them yourself.”

“If I can’t stop him ,” she added, and her voice caught slightly. “I need you to do it. Stop Astarion. Kill him, if you have to.” There was a beat of silence. The word kill tasted bitter, even now. 

“It has to end.”

Gale nodded once, slowly. No flourish, no wit this time. Just understanding.

Solas approached then, hesitant. “May I speak with you?” he asked.

Gale glanced between them and stepped away. Lilith turned to Solas, heart catching in her throat. There was something unreadable in his expression - too many feelings behind too calm a face.

They stood in silence for a moment. Solas seemed as though he wanted to speak, but the words refused to come. Eventually, he defaulted to logic.

“When you face Corypheus,” he began, “he will likely use the orb again to activate the Anchor. If you can draw his focus from-”

“Solas,” she interrupted gently, tilting her head. “Is that really what you want to say to me?”

His jaw tightened. She saw it then - the flicker of guilt and the faint, hollow fear he tried so carefully to hide.

It hit her then. He wasn’t just worried for her - he was worried for himself. Early on, he’d confessed his unease as an apostate who was surrounded by Chantry forces who barely tolerated his presence. She had been his shield, whether either of them liked to admit it. A barrier between him and the scrutiny of the Inquisition.

And now, maybe, he was wondering what would happen if she didn’t come back.

She reached out and took his hand. “It’s going to be okay,” she said quietly. “Gale won’t let them turn on you. And neither would I, if I could help it.”

His eyes widened a little, but he didn’t pull away. When she stepped forward and hugged him, his arms hovered for a moment, uncertain - then closed around her, gentle and careful like he was holding something already half-lost.

“Thank you,” she whispered. “For all you’ve done for me.”

He didn't answer - just held her a moment longer before releasing her.

She stepped back, cleared her throat, and made her way toward the Chantry doors.

Gale fell into step beside her. “You know,” he said, his voice light but edged with feeling, “I’m starting to think you enjoy this sort of thing. Facing gods, throwing yourself into noble death… It's all very dramatic. You’ll make a wonderful cautionary tale one day.”

Lilith smiled faintly, eyes forward. “One way or another,” she said, “I already am.”

They walked a few more paces in silence before Gale stopped. “Wait,” he said, catching her elbow.

She turned. There was something unusually serious in his expression now - his usual wit dulled, not absent, just quiet.

“I know you’re doing what you think you have to,” he said. “And... I won’t try to talk you out of it. But for what it’s worth… I’ve never met anyone like you, Lilith. And I doubt I ever will again.”

She blinked. That ache at the base of her throat grew a little sharper.

He stepped closer and, after a breath of hesitation, wrapped his arms around her. Warm, steady, real. “You’re too stubborn to die,” he murmured against her hair. “You did die once - and even then, you clawed your way back. So do it again.”

Lilith stood frozen for a heartbeat, then let herself return the embrace, fingers curling into the fabric of his robes.

“I’ll try,” she said softly. “But if I do die, I want you to write something incredibly biased about me.”

Gale huffed a breath that was almost a laugh. “Already working on the first draft.”

They pulled apart slowly. No more words were needed.

And then they turned, and kept walking.


The snowstorm howled like a living thing as they burst from the Chantry, Lilith leading the charge. Her staff cracked against the stone arch as she passed, sparks trailing her like a comet. The wind bit at her face, knives of ice slicing through the smoke and cinder. Ahead, the village swarmed with red templars, twisted figures lunging from the whiteout.

“If there’s one thing I know,” Varric said, crossbow already firing, “it’s how to get an asshole’s attention.”

“Happens to be a specialty of mine,” Dorian added, fire blooming from his fingers.

Lilith surged forward, tearing through them, as the others followed. There was no finesse - only heat and rage and satisfaction. A bolt of magic tore from her staff and slammed into the nearest templar with such force his armor shattered. He didn’t get back up.

Another templar lunged. She met him halfway, striking with an arc of lightning that left his corpse smoking. When another tried to flank her, she turned, eyes wide and wild, and launched a blast of force that cracked his skull against the stone wall.

Varric’s voice rang out. “There’s your trebuchet! Let’s get it aimed!”

It loomed ahead, half-shrouded in smoke and already surrounded by fresh enemies. At the base of the trebuchet, steel met steel as more templars spilled from the fog, blood spraying across the snow. A blade arced toward Dorian. Solas flung out his hand - barrier flared just in time.

“More incoming!” he called, breath sharp. “Brace yourselves!”

Varric ducked behind Lilith to reload. “Looks like they brought the whole damn Order.”

Bull snorted, dragging his axe free from a corpse. “Good. Would’ve hated if they missed the party.”

Lilith laughed, low and wild, blood still on her tongue. “Then let’s give them a welcome.” Her voice was sharper than usual. Meaner. Even Dorian looked over, startled, as she strode forward with something too eager in her step.

More red templars descended. They fought as a unit - Gale freezing a group in place, Bull crashing into their line, Varric picking them off one by one. Lilith cast recklessly, violently, carving paths through the enemy without pause. At one point, she stepped over a burning body that hadn’t yet finished dying and incinerated two more without blinking.

When the final knight fell, silence settled. Lilith was the first to stand straight. Her breathing was ragged and blood was smeared across her cheek. “Trebuchet’s aimed,” she said hoarsely. “They’ll see it from the mountain pass.”

The group gathered at the edge, surveying the quiet. The air was too still, too silent.

“We should go,” Gale said.

Lilith turned to Varric and Bull. “Head back and get the villagers moving faster.”

Bull grinned, blood on his teeth. “Try not to blow yourself up with that fancy green hand. I like my bosses in one piece.”

She winked. “Two’s just messy.”

Varric chuckled and gave her a nod, slapping her arm. “Yeah, try not to die, will you? It’d really screw up the ending of my book.”

Lilith gave him a crooked smile. “Guess you’ll just have to get creative. Gale could give you some notes. Maybe give me a twin who shows up in the final chapter.”

Varric smirked and turned with Bull, disappearing into the storm, leaving her with Dorian, Solas, and Gale.

The silence didn’t last long. The roar came first, deafening and primal. The sound of something ancient and cruel cutting through the sky.

“Dragon,” Solas said, barely audible over the wind.

Lilith looked up, just in time to see the beast descend towards them with fire churning in its throat. “Move - NOW !” she screamed, and they ran.

Flames streaked the air behind them as a fireball slammed into the earth just to her left. The explosion tore the ground apart, sending Lilith flying.

She hit the ground hard, ears ringing, rolling and skidding across ice and grit as pain lit every nerve in her body. Somewhere behind her, she heard more impacts - more bodies hitting the ground.

When she blinked the blood from her lashes, she saw Gale, Dorian, and Solas clambering to their feet, coughing and burned.

“Get back to the Chantry!” she shouted, her voice cracking.

They hesitated. She looked at each of them, one by one, hoping that this wouldn’t be the last time. Solas - his expression unreadable. Dorian - jaw clenched and fiercely loyal. Gale - open worry in his eyes.

Something like affection flickered in hers. Or maybe apology. “ GO !” she said again. Her voice didn’t plead, it commanded. 

She watched as they acquiesced, turning back to the Chantry. Then she turned back toward the dragon and the trebuchet. The snow was falling harder now. Ash mingled with it, turning the world to smoke and white. She was limping, her body screaming with every step, as blood ran freely from her side.

The beast circled overhead.

This is it, she thought. She began moving - stumbling - toward the trebuchet, when something grabbed her. A hand snaked around her middle and yanked her off her feet.

She was airborne for a second, then slammed into the ground hard enough to knock the breath from her lungs. Her cheek skidded across ice and grit, leaving a smear of blood in the snow. Her vision swam and she blinked, trying to compose herself.

She heard footsteps first, crunching snow. Then, his voice: " Darling ," it’s velvet-slick, deceptively warm. “You’re a difficult woman to find.”

“…Astarion?” she rasped.

Lilith, facedown in the snow, turned her head and tried to push herself up. Blood poured from her nose - she thinks she broke it - warm and metallic down her chin, catching in the corner of her mouth. She tried to stand when a boot slammed down on her spine and pushed her back down.

He watched her for a moment, scanning her face, then used his heel to nudge her head to the side before crouching down beside her. “You look dreadful,” he observed, head tilting with mock concern. “Your face all busted, mouth full of blood. Gods, you’re a mess . I thought the Inquisition was supposed to protect its little toys. Well-” he smiled, showing just a flash of fang, “I should thank whoever softened you up.”

Her lip curled. “Funny. I thought vermin scattered when exposed to daylight.”

Astarion leaned in. “Funny,” he parroted. “I always pictured our reunion with a little more… groveling.”

She twisted, gasping, trying to summon something - anything . A flame, a frostbolt, a flicker of force. Nothing came.

Astarion only chuckled. “Honestly, I’m insulted. Did you  truly  think you could outrun me forever?" 

Then, she lunged forward, scrambling for her dagger, just out of reach, fingers closing around the hilt-

But Astarion was faster. The toe of his boot struck with precision, knocking the blade from her grasp and sending it spinning in the snow. He followed with a swift stomp to her wrist - not enough to break it, but enough that pain screamed up her arm. She gasped, curling in on herself.

“Oh, Lilith,” he sighed, almost mournfully. “You’re trying so hard to be something you’re not.”

Her body ached, every joint throbbing from the cold and exhaustion and pain. As blood continued leaking past the bandage on her side, her breath hitched. She tried to focus on something other than the pain. She was in no shape to fight - and he knew it. She could barely breathe .

He made a mocking noise of sympathy before he grabbed her by the hair, his fist tangling in the blood-matted strands, and yanked her upright. “Come now, darling,” he crooned, “let’s get a good look at what’s left of you.”

He backhanded her across the cheek with bone-snapping force.

Her ears rang while the taste of copper bloomed across her tongue, her body crumpling to the snow as her legs buckled beneath her. She blinked through the red streaking her lashes, through the blur of light and pain, and reached a hand out for anything - a stick, a shard of her shattered staff, the frozen ground. Anything to keep her grounded.

But he didn’t stop.

“Is this what you ran to?” he spat, striding toward her as she began crawling backwards through the snow, trying to get as far away from him as possible. Each motion sent agony flaring through her joints. “Some soggy cult of bleeding hearts and broken banners? You were legendary . You slit men’s throats with a smile in your god’s temple as they cheered.”

The movement and memory made her vision swim. Somewhere in the recess of her mind, she was back in the undercity - blood on marble, screams echoing through the halls of Bhaal’s temple, her name chanted like scripture. She can’t breathe. No. No, no, no.

She twisted suddenly, drawing a blade from her boot - a small one, hidden - and slashed upward. It caught his coat, not skin, but the movement surprised him. He snarled, seized her wrist again, and twisted until she cried out and dropped the blade.

“And now look at you.” 

He kicked her square in the chest.

She hit the ground hard, the breath torn from her lungs. Blood pooled in her mouth, hot and metallic, as her teeth bit down on her tongue. Her shoulder jarred where she’d landed on the already-wounded side, and her ribs - her ribs screamed . The world tilted from the onslaught of pain.

“You think this is redemption ?” he roared. “You think anyone here would hesitate to put you down if they knew the truth?”

Suddenly rage boiled up inside her, red and pulsing. How dare he talk to her about redemption. As if he’d ever cared what she wanted. As if he’d ever seen her as anything but his.

“I don’t need saving,” she hissed, “especially not from you .”

“Of course not.” He smiled, mockingly. “You’ve always been such a brave little liar.”

He moved closer, kneeling beside her. “You went to him .” The word curled like smoke from his tongue. “ Raphael . Of all the filth in the Realms, you signed your name over to a devil.” His voice was calm, almost bemused. “What a tragic little thing. I would’ve given you everything freely. He’ll smile while he flays you, you know. But me? I’ve always adored you. Even now - even broken .”

Lilith dragged in a breath. “So what?” she said through bloodied teeth. “You’re here to punish me?”

“No.” He crouched again, voice low. “I’m here to bring you home.”

She froze, blinking hard, trying to stay present. Trying not to break.

“You’ve had your little rebellion,” he said. “Your tour of suffering and penance. But that’s over. You belong with me , in Baldur’s Gate.”

He reached out and touched her cheek again - gentle, almost reverent.

“I’ll change you, of course,” he murmured. “It’s time, my dear. You’ll sit beside me, as my spawn. My consort - for eternity .”

She stopped breathing, momentarily. She tried to crawl backward, but his gaze pinned her in place. He stared at her with utter certainty, the way gods looked at their followers. He wasn’t threatening her, not really. He didn’t need to. The horror was in the certainty. That she’d thank him, eventually.

Her voice was hoarse. “You’re out of your fucking mind .”

“Am I?” he asked softly. “Or are you simply too frightened to accept what you are?”

Her jaw clenched. “I’m nothing like you.” 

He leaned closer, voice dropping to a whisper. “You can hate me now. I’ll forgive you.” A pause. “But once we’re back in our city, you’ll see.”

He smiled. And it wasn’t cruel. Something closer to affection, maybe. “You’ll be mine again. And this time, you won’t need to pretend otherwise.”

Lilith’s breath hitched, her ribs trembling with each gasp. She didn’t want to know what he meant by that .

“You remember the servant who helped you escape?” he said casually. He touched her hair, brushing it behind her ear, but his eyes seemed to change. “He had kind eyes. Sweet. Thought he was doing the right thing.”

He stopped. “I gutted him.”

Lilith flinched. Her breath came ragged, choked.

“He begged,” Astarion whispered, as he brushed a blood-soaked curl from her cheek. “ Pleaded me not to. And it’s your fault he had to be put down.”

She turned her face away. Shame burned hotter than the snow ever could.

He grabbed her chin and forced her to look at him. “ This ,” he snarled, voice dropping into something low and venomous, “is why you couldn’t save Kaelen.”

That landed like a hammer. Lilith froze, her whole body momentarily seizing with it. There was a beat - a silence so taut it could snap bone - and her hand twitched toward her magic, fury boiling just beneath the skin. 

Her hand darted for a different blade hidden in her other boot and swung at him - this time not out of desperation, but rage.

He dodged and she struck again, slashing toward his face. He caught her wrist but she punched him with the other, catching his jaw.

He reeled back, more startled than hurt. And then, he laughed. “Oh, there she is.”

Lilith lunged again, but he grabbed her throat and shoved her down into the snow. Her shoulder slammed against the ground, reopening the wound there, blood blooming anew.

He looked down at her, straddling her now, pinning her to the ice. “You think they’ll come running?” His voice dropped, fond and full of venom. “You were mine first. You always will be.”

She lifted her chin, blood streaking her teeth, and spat at him. “Rot in hells.”

“I’ve lived there,” he whispered. “And now, I’ve built a throne there.”

Then his hand curled around her side - not to steady her, but to draw his blade. He pressed the tip just under her ribs and cut. Smooth, deep, elegant.

She screamed. The wound bled fast - not jagged or impulsive, but deliberate.  He leaned in, lips brushing her ear. “You’ll carry me, even when I’m gone.”

Then he pulled her closer.

“No-” she gasped, struggling, heart stammering in panic. “Don’t you fucking dare -”

She lashed out in deep anger, weak and frantic, but he caught her hand and pinned it to the snow.

And he sank his fangs into her neck. It wasn’t hunger, it was ownership.

She bucked and writhed beneath him, but his grip was iron. Her nails tore at fabric, skin-

Then, just as quickly, he pulled away, blood dripping from his lips. Her blood.

He sighed, content and smug. “You taste like you’re still mine.”

The wind howled, snow swirling around them as her heart thundered in her ears. 

And then a voice, clear and commanding, if not furious.

Enough .”

The word was simple, and yet the air bent with it, like the world itself flinched.

Something moved through the blizzard, a hulking silhouette dragging ruin in its wake. From the white haze emerged what might once have been a man, though even that felt generous. His skin was blistered and waxen, stretched too tight and mottled with dark veins and red lyrium. The ground seemed to recoil from his presence, snow melting at his feet as if the world itself refused to touch him.

The Anchor burned like fire on her hand. She knew this was the Elder One .

Astarion stilled, his confidence faltering - just for a moment. Then he spoke quickly, licking his lips as he turned toward the creature beside him. “I told you,” he said, gesturing to her. “She’d be here. She always did run toward the noise. Like a dog.”

Corypheus said nothing at first. He kept his eyes fixed on her with a gaze so deep and dead she could feel it behind her teeth. “Then you have served your purpose,” he said, without looking at Astarion.

But Astarion wasn’t done. His voice softened - dangerously. “It’s time, darling,” he said, turning back to her with a twisted smile. “I’ll take you home and fix you. I’ll make you-”

Lilith let out a low, ragged laugh. Her ribs ached with it, pain flaring fresh. “What are you even doing here, Astarion?” she bit out. “You’re working with him now?”

“We have an arrangement. A… mutual understanding ,” he said, baring his teeth in something like a smile. “He gets his toy. I get mine. Doesn’t that sound civilized ?”

She spat blood into the snow and glared at Corypheus, then back to Astarion. “You teamed up with that thing?”

“Darling,” Astarion said smoothly, stepping closer, “I’ve teamed up with worse.” He reached out and brushed a lock of hair from her face. A mockery of affection. The touch was cold, possessive.

She recoiled.

He stepped aside, finally - though not far. His gaze lingered on her, almost tender. Almost hungry.

Lilith forced herself to move. Her limbs screamed in protest and her breath came in shallow, painful gasps. She rose slowly, blood trailing down her neck, one leg barely holding her weight.

Corypheus stopped a few feet away. His voice came deadly and ancient. “Pretender. You toy with forces beyond your ken. No more.”

“What are you?” Lilith spat. “Why are you doing this?”

“Mortals beg for truth they cannot have. It is beyond what you are, what I was.”

She bared her teeth. “Whatever you are, I am not afraid."

“Words mortals often hurl at the darkness. Once they were mine. They are always lies.”

The wind shrieked past them, scattering snow and ash. The shadows around Corypheus deepened. His very presence felt wrong, like gravity twisted around him.

“Know me, know what you have pretended to be. Exalt the Elder One! The will that is Corypheus! You will kneel.”

Lilith didn’t flinch. “Why are you here? What do you want from us?”

“I ask for nothing, because it is not in your power to give. But that will not stop me.”

“You’ll get nothing out of me,” she growled.

“You will resist. You will always resist. It matters not.”

He lifted his hand. “I am here for the Anchor. The process of removing it begins now.”

From within his robes, Corypheus revealed a glowing red orb, slick with corruption and pulsing like a heart. At once, the Anchor on her hand flared in response. A violent, involuntary surge of energy ran up her arm.

Lilith gasped as heat flooded her. The mark shone, turning from green to white to red. The air itself twisted with it.

“It is your fault, ‘Herald .’ You interrupted a ritual years in the planning, and instead of dying, you stole its purpose.”

The orb brightened.

“You were marked by fate itself. You are not chosen. You are claimed . The Anchor answers only to me.”

Corypheus raised his hand. The mark pulsed again-

And she screamed. The pain was like a blade inside her chest, like her soul was being flayed open. Not just agony in flesh or blood, but something deeper. Her bones ached to crack, her veins alight with fire. Something was trying to tear its way out.

Astarion’s laugh echoed nearby, low and amused. “You should let it happen,” he said. “Maybe then you’ll finally be useful again.”

She collapsed, knees crashing into the snow. Her vision flickered and the world spun, dimming at the edges.

“I do not know how you survived,” Corypheus said, approaching still. “But what marks you as ‘touched ,’ what you flail at rifts - I crafted to assault the very heavens.”

The Anchor ignited and her entire body locked in place, teeth clenched against another scream. Then, a crack. Something inside her broke. Not bone, or muscle. But magic .

It wasn’t a clean fracture. It was cataclysm - power flooding through her like a dam ruptured. It screamed through her veins - chaotic and uncontainable - and roared behind her eyes. The mark on her hand burned white-hot, blinding her from within, setting fire to everything she was.

She had just enough time to draw breath when the world exploded into light.

When it cleared, she was gasping in the snow, barely conscious, vision fractured like glass. Her limbs refused to obey her. Magic still coursed through her in unpredictable spasms, every pulse a threat to her bones. Corypheus loomed before her, seemingly undisturbed by the blast.

“And you used the Anchor to undo my work!” he said, voice rising with fury. “ The gall!

She coughed, spitting blood. “What is this thing meant to do ?”

“It is meant to bring certainty where there is none,” Corypheus replied. “For you, the certainty that I would always come for it.”

Take it! ” she shouted, half in desperation, half in rage. “I didn’t ask for this!”

“Mortals have always cried thus,” he intoned, stepping toward her. “Praise me, for I would end the silence that answers!”

Before she could react, his hand closed around her arm, talons digging into her skin like rusted iron. He lifted her easily off the ground, dangling her in the air like a broken marionette. Pain exploded through her shoulder and the Anchor flared in agony.

“I once breached the Fade in the name of another,” Corypheus said. “To serve the Old Gods of the empire in person. I found only chaos and corruption. Dead whispers. For a thousand years I was confused. No more .”

Lilith writhed in his grip, her free hand clawing at his wrist, her magic sputtering helplessly against his sheer will.

“I have gathered the will to return under no name but my own,” he continued, eyes burning with unnatural light. “To champion withered Tevinter and correct this blighted world. Beg that I succeed, for I have seen the throne of the gods-” His voice dropped, reverent, terrible. “ -and it was empty .”

He flung her aside like a discarded rag. Her body slammed into the side of the shattered trebuchet, the wood cracking on impact. The wind was knocked out of her, her ribs howling in protest as she collapsed in the snow, stunned. Her vision swam and blood dripped from her brow into her eyes.

“The Anchor is permanent,” Corypheus said coldly, striding toward her. “You have spoiled it with your stumbling.”

Through a blur of pain, she spotted the hilt of a sword lodged in the snow just beside the trebuchet, and her fingers closed around it.

The dragon, looming nearby with its eyes like burning coals, shifted. It had been still as stone until now - but as she stood, it moved. Its head lowered, wings flexing.

Corypheus’s tone was final. “So be it. I will begin again, find another way to give this world the nation - and god - it requires.”

Suddenly, a flare bloomed in the distance. A burst of orange light, searing through the dark. 

Lilith’s heart seized. They made it. The people of Haven were safe.

Corypheus turned to her once more. “And you ,” he said, “I will not suffer even an unknowing rival.”

A sharp inhale cut through the silence. From the side, Astarion stepped forward, posture suddenly tense. “Oh, now hold on,” he said, a sliver of sharpness in his voice that hadn’t been there before. “You said you only needed the Anchor.”

Corypheus didn’t so much as glance at him.

“She’s mine ,” Astarion continued, more forcefully. “You will not break what I intend to keep.”

Corypheus finally turned his head, his gaze impassive. “Your claim is irrelevant.”

Astarion’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous. She isn’t your rival. She belongs to me - and I will see her tamed.”

Lilith’s stomach twisted.

Corypheus looked between them - between the seething vampire and the woman half-buried in snow and ash - and made no move. The mountain groaned above, the storm still churning. And in that razor-thin pause, Lilith moved.

“Your arrogance blinds you - both of you ,” she spat, rising to her feet. “You expect me to fight, but that’s not why I kept you talking.”

She looked Astarion dead in the eye, one hand gripping the sword, the other reaching for the trebuchet lever. 

“Enjoy your victory,” she said, voice low and shaking. “Here’s your prize .”

She kicked the lever with all the force she had left, and the trebuchet fired. The boulder struck the mountain above and a rumble tore through the night. Then came the sound - a vast, terrible crack as snow and rock sheared free from the heights and thundered down. 

An avalanche.

Corypheus stepped back, eyes narrowing in anger. He raised a hand, summoning the dragon. The beast crouched, its muscles bunching, and they vanished - rising into the sky as the avalanche raced toward Haven.

Lilith turned to run. Her legs burned, lungs screaming, the Anchor pulsing wildly in her hand. The avalanche thundered behind her, devouring everything in its path.

And through the chaos and the howling wind, his voice cracked through the world like lightning: LILITH! YOU BELONG TO ME!

She didn’t look back, she just kept running. 

Suddenly, a groan echoed beneath her and the earth cracked open at her heels.

With a gasp, she pitched forward, and the world dropped out beneath her. Ice, rock, and snow collapsed in a deafening roar, and Lilith tumbled into the dark, her body slamming hard into something cold and unforgiving before everything went still.

Silence.

Except for the Anchor, still flickering in her hand like a heartbeat refusing to die.

Notes:

well! that certainly happened!

thanks for reading! pls let me know if you’re emotionally stable after this chapter so i can study you in a lab. kudos & comments = love, validation, and temporary relief from the void.

and as an fyi, next chapter may or may not be heavy on the flashbacks 😉

appreciate you all!! ❤️

Notes:

Thanks for making it to the end! If you want to scream about this story, descend into Solavellan hell with me, or just share memes, catch me at tumblr.com/brainwqshed - Come hang out! (I'm not super active or fandom content-heavy, but always lurking with the likes lol)