#Mostly because Sera could fly/fight/fall again

[deva-arts]

In a distant and unexplored future we see Sera doom spiral in real time. No, they do not lay eggs.

Nathaniel didn't expect a question like that. From Vincent? Probably. But Sera? He is trying his absolute best not to cry laughing.

He is experiencing the thorough breakdown of his paradigms regarding conception while also experiencing the miracle of life etc etc

He also refuses to move because the same hands that he has crushed pumpkins and skulls with are holding a tiny living squeaky thing and that kind of petrifies him.

What didn't happen:

[dragonofnevarra]

Hey there! Kinda weird question... Can you tell me all about your inquisitor and your Hawke? I'm working on something special for you 😊😊

Fuck, I’m so sorry I didn’t get to this before! I’ve been a bit under the weather lately and didn’t notice it. I’ll put it under a Read More because I have a feeling it’s gonna get long.

My main timeline Inquisitor is Tyla, First of Clan Lavellan. She was chosen to be First because Keeper Istimaethorial saw in her the ability to make hard choices when pressed and her deep compassion. Her magical inclination was pyromancy, but she studied ice magic in order to promote self-discipline and finesse. Her life was fairly standard for the most part. She studied magic and the elvhen histories, she fell in love with a bowman named Seryas, and helped keep the clan safe from Templars and bandits alike.

Her life sort of turned about when she met an outcast of the Neverran clans named Elian. She found him passed out from a high fever in the ruins of a temple of Sylaise. They became fast friends, teaching each other what their clan’s didn’t know. They’re friendship fell apart when Elian led to the death of Seryas.

After that, Tyla lost a lot of the faith she had in her gods and much of the idealism she had as a young woman. When the question of the Conclave arrived, she volunteered, not wanting to lose any more of their dwindling clan. The rest is history.

Tyla is a deeply emotional woman who takes on too much responsibility upon herself. She tends to lash out at people when she feels helpless, but she will always put herself in danger’s way before others. She had a short-lived friendship with Solas (which ended when it became clear that she didn’t reciprocate his feelings for her), had to deal with the news that her clan was almost wiped out, had an ill-advised fling with Cullen (another disaster ending when she found out how he truly felt about mages), and eventually fell head over heels for Sera, who helped her realize that she could relax without the world falling to pieces. Sera is the only person in the Inquisition who Tyla allows to see her as anything other than a stoic leader.

She begins to grow as a person again as Inquisition goes on. She and the survivors of Clan Lavellan build a new home in Skyhold. They unite outcasts and races across southern Thedas. When the Inquisition inevitably disbands, they set up Clan Ameridan in Skyhold, a place for refugees, cast-outs, and those who’ve no other place to go.

You can find what she looks like here.

Now, my main timeline Hawke is Lochlan. He’s primarily a creation mage with some backup primal spells and specializations in spirit healing and force magic. He’s primarily a diplomatic person who uses humor to hide when he’s furious. Despite how much Carver pushed him away, he only ever wanted to help his brother. One of his greatest regrets is taking Carver down into the Deep Roads where he inevitably succumbed to the Blight.

Lochlan chose to become a smuggler to get into the city of Kirkwall because it already suited his abilities. He’s very good at hiding things and lying on the fly, he keeps a keen eye on his surroundings, and he’s a natural at blending into the crowd. He has very rogue-like qualities which he worked on to hide the fact that he’s an apostate. His staff is shaped to look like a spear and he heavily relies on melee, saving his mana for healing his friends.

Despite being wary, Lochlan has a good intuition when it comes to people he can trust. And so he made easy friends with the Kirkwall group. Anders was the only one to give him pause, mostly due to the horror stories he had heard about abominations, but they soon bonded over trading healing spells and techniques. They became as close as brothers.

Fenris was the one who he ended up falling for. They would drink together in Danarius’ manor, the quiet atmosphere lending itself better to Lochlan. It seemed that Fenris would only smile around him and so it became a challenge to find new ways to make him happy for small moments at a time. The conflict with Hadriana caused a rift between them for a time. And when Fenris needed time to process, to come to terms with things, Lochlan let him, with the assurance that he would be there should Fenris need anything from him.

When the Chantry blew up, Lochlan had never felt more helpless in Kirkwall. He had tried so hard to keep mages safe and he knew, as he watched the sky light up, that this was all the Templars needed as excuse to kill any mage they could find. He was never so devastated by a friend than upon realizing that Anders hadn’t trusted him with the truth. He had Anders fight with them, defending the mages until their last breaths if need be. After the battle, he vanished. Sometimes, letters still reach Varric, Merrill, and Isabela. As far as they can tell, he wanders Thedas with Fenris, killing slavers and freeing captured peoples.

I don’t have any screenshots of Lochlan, but if I had to pick a faceclaim, he’d look like Will Yun Lee.

[kpssmithwrites]

Your Dragon Age Protag and Varric for 11

11. Things you said when you were drunk

Fun fact: Varric’snickname for Demenli Adaar is “Duckling” because when the Inquisition began,she followed Cassandra around like…well, a duckling. She’s also rather fond ofsplashing in puddles when she gets the chance, but he didn’t find that outuntil much later.

Another Fun Fact:Demenli did not handle going into the Fade well for numerous reasons. This ishow she decided to cope.

Fic under the cut!

          Varric, surprisingly, didn’t headto the Herald’s Rest very often. While he enjoyed a good drink now and then,every time he stepped into the tavern he half expected it to become the HangedMan before his eyes where he’d see Hawke waiting for him at their usual tabletrying to play Wicked Grace with their usual crew. When he blinked and theHerald’s Rest remained, he was disappointed. It wasn’t that he had anythingagainst the Iron Bull sitting sprawled on his sofa in a corner, or listening toSera flirt with scouts that had wandered in, or patrons humming to theminstrel’s (sometimes extremely depressing) songs, but it just wasn’t home.

         However, it was comforting that hewasn’t the only one who didn’t frequent the tavern as often as people thoughtthey would. In the eyes of Skyhold, Inquisitor Adaar needed a stiff drink morethan anyone here but she rarely visited the place, except when she was comingto visit Bull, Sera, or Cole. Otherwise, she kept clear of the place. Some ofthe scouts and soldiers said it was because she had a private collection of thefinest liquor stashed somewhere in Skyhold, but Varric didn’t believe that. Hefigured it was just because she didn’t like the taste.

         Then, Demenli went into Fade. Sure,it was her second time, but it was the first time she remembered. Varricassumed that it had been rough. He hadn’t been there. He wanted to be, butDemenli had chosen others to travel with her and meet with Hawke and her GreyWarden Agent (who Varric figured was Stroud—he was relieved to find it to betrue later, then saddened by the result).

         Apparently, the trip was hell.Varric hadn’t been surprised. Varric had been in the Fade once. It had been anexperience that he didn’t want to repeat, and after hearing Cassandra recallwhat had happened in it, and the aftermath, Varric was glad that he wasn’tthere for the trip. Hawke was safe, and that’s what mattered—and while he feltbad for Stroud, the fact that Demenli and her chosen companions made it back inone piece overrode any guilt, mostly. She had made the right decision.

         Still, Varric found himself wakingin a cold sweat one evening, and really craving a drink to help him sleep. Hisown personal stash was empty, so he got himself situated and wandered down tothe Herald’s Rest from his room, figuring that it was quiet enough at such alate hour that maybe he could just grab a drink and go.

         Lingering outside the door for a moment,preparing himself, Varric took a deep breath and pushed the door open. He waspleased to find that the place was mostly empty. Most of the scouts had gone totheir watch or to sleep, and even the Iron Bull’s hulking form was missing fromhis usual spot. Then, he turned to the bar. The barkeeper, Cabot, was quietlycleaning a few mugs with a dirty rag, and making what sounded like interestednoises at a lump sitting on one of the stools and slumped against the bar.

         Much to Varric’s surprise, it wasDemenli. He recognized her so quickly only by the fact that she was huge incomparison to everyone else—and was much too small to be the Iron Bull. Herhair was tangled and fly away, strung up awkwardly and stuck twisted around herhorns in some places, and it looked like she was in a nightgown of some sort.Her feet were bare and she looked cramped on the little stool meant for humans,elves, and dwarves, but she made it work.

         “Another,” she said hoarsely andslid a mug as big as her head to Cabot.

         “I think you’ve had enough,Inquisitor—”

         Demenli slammed her mug, like achild demanding more juice. “Another!” she repeated. Her words were slurred andquiet, so garbled that Varric barely understood her. “What else do you get paidfor?”

         Cabot scowled before he glanced at the door tosee Varric. “You, Tethras,” he said, pointing a fat finger at him. “Dosomethin’ with her. She’s been like this for an hour.”

         Demenli turned, focus off of thebartender. She blinked sleepily at Varric and she scrunched her nose.

         “Varric?” she asked, lost. “Tellhim to give me Maraas-Lok. I-I know he has it…gives it to Bull all the time…”She slammed her mug again, frustrated. Then, she said something angrily inQunlat, sounding fiercer than the Arishok. If Varric remembered correctly withhis limited experience with the language, she effectively said, “This isbullshit,” but he wasn’t certain.

         Instead, he said, “Fancy seeing youhere, Duckling,” and sat down next to her. Demenli’s eyes were glassy and red,nose looking irritated like she had been crying. Normally, she’d greet him witha smile, but all she could do was scowl at the barkeep for trying to change thesubject. “How much have you had?”

         “Not much,” she slurred, headdrooping slightly as if she were trying to hide her drunkenness. “Just alittle.”

         “Four whole mugs,” Cabot replied.“I tried to cut her off at two but she managed to wrestle the tankard from meand get it herself and emptied the last of it. She’d probably get more from theback, but don’t think she can walk now without falling on her arse.”

         Varric chuckled lightly, andDemenli scowled fiercer than before. Cabot went to take the mug from her butshe held it to her chest and mumbled, “No, mine,” and then slipped from thestool completely, falling flat on her back. Surprisingly, she managed to notknock anything over, but she curled up holding the mug like a teddy bear andrefused to budge.

         “She’s been like this for howlong?” Varric asked, surprised.

         “I’d give it an hour,” repliedCabot. “I figured she’d wander off but as you can see…”

         Varric got off the stool with agrunt and crouched next to Demenli. Demenli looked at him and said, voice softand serious, “Meravas itwasaam.”

         “I don’t know what that means,Duckling,” Varric prompted gently. “You know most people don’t speak Qunlataround here. Hell, I don’t think even you speak Qunlat fully.”

         “Do too,” Demenli replied. She shuther eyes and Varric saw her whole body quake. “Don’t feel good, Varric.”

         “Well, if you’re drinking that junkthat Bull always drinks, I bet your nerves are shot,” Varric replied. He helpedher sit up, and she sagged against his shoulder. He narrowly avoided gettinghis eye poked out as she sat back, horns veering dangerously near his face.“Let’s get you to your room, okay? Can you walk?”

         “Mm. Just gonna stay here,” shereplied.

         “You can’t, Duckling. People willbe walking here tomorrow morning, and Cabot needs to close up shop. Come on,I’ll help you. One step at a time, right?”

         Demenli shook her head but tried tostand. She used the stool to help steady herself  her body unfolded and she swayed once on herfeet. Varric only came to her waist so he wasn’t sure if she could really leanon him. There was no way in hell he could carry her, either. He wondered for amoment if he needed to go get Sera, who was probably fast asleep upstairs, or eventry and find Cole, when Demenli decided to start wandering out of the Herald’sRest on her own accord. Each step looked like she was going to topple over,tipping dangerously from side to side, and the steps were so small that Varrichad no trouble keeping up with her.

         “Hey, hey!” he said, waving hishand and trying to grab hers. “Easy, you’re going to hurt yourself.”

         Demenli snorted but did not soundhappy about it. She mumbled something under her breath and Varric slowlystarted to guide her towards the main bulk of Skyhold, towards her rooms. Itwas a lot of stepping, stumbling, and having Demenli be oddly quiet.

         “Y’know,” Varric began, his voicebreaking the silence, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this wasted. You don’tdrink normally, do you?”

         Demenli made a non-committal noisein response and nearly smashed face first into the stairs leading up to themain hall. Varric caught her by the nightgown and she tipped back, stumbled,and landed on the ground with a surprised, “Oof!” Deciding this is where shewould stay, she flopped onto her back and refused to budge.

         “Oh for Andraste’s sake—Duckling,come on. We’re almost there.”

         “Too many stairs,” Demenli replied.“Not gonna.”

         Varric sighed and sat down next toher again. Above on the ramparts, he could see a guard watching. He waved themdown, hoping that he recognized them or possibly could buy their secrecy tosave the Inquisitor’s image. “Well, sit tight. I’ll find someone to carry you.We’ll get you to bed. You’re going to have a hell of a hangover tomorrow.”

         “No bed. Don’t wanna sleep,”Demenli replied. She turned her head to look at him seriously. “Bad dreams.Don’t wanna go back.”

         Varric, surprised, shook his head.“They’re just dreams, Duckling. Sure, you’re dreaming and you go to theFade—but you’re stronger than that. You can fight anything if you put your mindto it.”

         “Can’t fight the inevitable,”Demenli replied. For a moment, she sounded so old, staring up at the night sky.“Can’t fight what you see and can’t get out of your head. Can’t get it out ofmy head…should’ve stayed. Everyone should’ve run and should’ve stayed, could’vestopped it, couldn’t I?”

         “Uh…” Varric was quiet before heshook his head. “We’ll chat about this later, okay, Duckling?”  The scout had arrived—some fresh-facedrecruit who was ogling Demenli for several reasons, none which Varric liked.“You, kid. Go get the Iron Bull. You know what he looks like. Huge, graymuscles, horns that could poke your eye out.”

         “Y-You want me to g-get—why—b-but—”

         “Because I sure as hell can’t carrythe Inquisitor, and neither can you. She’s not feeling too well.”

         On cue, Demenli turned on her sideand threw up. She lurched and hacked up what looked like dinner and a lot ofthe Maraas-Lok she had drunk. Varric helped her sit up, held her hair, andrubbed circles into her back until she caught her breath. Then she fixed astare at the scout and snarled, “GO!” in the loudest voice she could muster.The kid practically shat himself as he ran to find help.

         “That feel better?” Varric asked, afinal pat just landing between Demenli’s shoulder blades.

         “No,” Demenli replied. She leanedagainst Varric again and he made sure that she didn’t stick her hand in thepuddle of vomit. “Varric? Does it get easier?”

         “What, drinking? Sure,” Varricreplied. “It just takes practice—“

         “No. This.” She gestured ateverything around her. “All of this. Does it? Pretending? Hiding?” She blinkedblearily and rested her head on Varric’s shoulder. “It was in m’head, Varric.Knew my thoughts. Pickin’ at it piece, by piece, by piece…pickin’ at everyoneelse…”

         “It sounds awful, Duckling,” Varricreplied softly. “But it’s all right. That fear demon can’t hurt you now.”

         “I hear it,” Demenli said, eyesclearing for a moment. “I can hear it, on the edge of my dreams, in the fade.Stroud fighting it. Echoing…” She closed her eyes, and sniffed. Her hands roseand covered her head. “It won’t stop.��

         Varric sighed. “I know, kid. Iknow. But for now…” He looked up and saw the Iron Bull (thankfully, wearingpants) striding across the courtyard, followed by the jittery guard. “Look? It’syour favorite Qunari! Inquisitor?”

         Demenli had curled up and refusedto budge and talk. Then, he realized that she had passed out completely.

“          What the hell happened here?” theIron Bull asked, crouching down beside them.

         “She got into your stashof…mass-lock?” Varric said, squinting a little. “She said it once or twice butit’s kind of hard to say.”

         “How much did she drink?”

         “Four whole mugs. Big ones.Like…your mug, big.”

         “Shit. She’s gonna be half deadtomorrow. Better make sure to tell Josephine to clear the calendar because theboss won’t be getting out of bed for at least a day.”

         Varric pushed Demenli into the IronBull’s arms. She went limp and her head bounced against his shoulder. Then,silently, the two started towards Demenli’s rooms. The trip was awkward andquiet, a mixture of their discomfort and just lack of conversation minglingwith exhaustion.

         Demenli’s rooms looked completelyuntouched since she had returned home to Skyhold. The bed sheets had beencleaned especially for her arrival but a thin layer of dust had settled on herdesk and furniture, and the hearth was cold. The Iron Bull got her situatedwhile Varric started up a fire. When he gazed around and saw Demenli’s pained,pinched face in her sleep, he sighed.

         The scene felt oddly familiar tohim, and it made his heart ache.

         From the bed, Demenli grumbled. TheIron Bull pulled up the covers and brushed some hair from her face, which madeher fidget and curl up tight in a ball. “Better make sure she has some water byher nightstand,” he said. “And lemon. Sometimes that can take off the punch.”

         Varric nodded. “Yeah, yeah. I’llmake sure to get that set for her, she has a pantry of sorts up here.”

         “You stayin’?”

         “Yeah. Just for a while, to makesure she doesn’t need anything.” Varric nodded at the Iron Bull, who noddedback in understanding. Varric watched from the corner of his eye as the IronBull headed back downstairs, probably back to bed. Varric looked around andwarmed his hands on the fire for a moment. He got the water set up, found somedried lemon, and left some bread on the nightstand before he settled atDemenli’s desk. The desk was huge, and his feet couldn’t touch the ground whenhe sat in the chair. Still, it was comfortable. He dusted off the inkwell andquill, and found some blank parchment, and decided to write. He kept watchuntil morning and tried not to grimace when Demenli whimpered in her sleep, andwaited for the night to pass.

[jentrevellan]

SUMMARY: Cullen’s POV to the events of Dragon Age: Inquisition. Cullen x Lyla Lavellan (Mage)! One-sided Solas romance! Some in-game scenes expanded! Plus lots more to come! Reblogs, likes and replies are loved. ^^

**Updated every 2 weeks!**

FIRST | PREVIOUS | NEXT

-> Read on Ao3 -> Read on FF -> Artwork by @anafigreen​

CHAPTER NINETEEN: Abyss

The march across the desert is hard and subdued. Gone is the light-hearted banter and chatter that left Skyhold. Now it's quiet with only the sound of boots padding on the sandy ground, pants as the sun glares down on us, everyone warm and sweating in their armour. We pass many old Grey Warden checkpoints on the way, all of them derelict and crumbling in the desert after hundreds of years of neglect. It's a sobering sight and one which makes some pause whilst others march on with renewed determination.

As the sun sets, the temperature cools but once over a large sand dune, the tallest towers of the massive fortress come in to view. It is an impressive sight to see this old Tevinter stronghold still standing amidst the desolation of the desert. But even from this distance, I can already see the weak points where attacking would be the most advantageous. The maps and drawings I've studied over the last few weeks do little justice to the sight and might of the fortress. Once we're less than two miles away from Adamant, I call a halt to marching column of troops behind me.

I gallop up and down the line, viewing each regiment, my eyes blinded as the setting sun reflects brightly off gleaming armour. The Inquisition forces stand to attention when they see me coming, and the standard bearers come forward. I speak with a few of them, gauge their nerves, but mostly, now that we've reached our destination, it's nervous excitement that pulses through the body of soldiers. They are anxious, keen to get started, but wary to fight unknown hoards of demons. For all we know, an army of demons could be waiting for us inside the fort.

As the final regiment appear over the dunes, I see Lyla and her Inner Circle gallop through the ranks, where the Inquisition forces cheer and applaud when they see her ride hard. Usually, she would wave politely, pause and speak with some, but not today. She leans forward in her saddle, her hair flying behind her back as she rides with determination. The inner circle branch off behind her, going to their respected positions, until it's just four figures riding towards me at the front.

"Woah," Lyla speaks to her white mare, patting its mane as they stop before me. I incline my head, knowing that we must both keep up appearances for the sake of the army behind us and ahead.

"Inquisitor," I say. "With the light failing, the archers on the ramparts won't have a clear line of sight. It's the perfect time to strike."

Lyla nods, looking at the gate. "I need to get through that gate," she says, almost to herself.

"The army will move forward with the siege equipment and-"

Alistair interrupts. "The gate is opening!" he exclaims, leaning forward in his saddle.

We all turn to watch as two small figures emerge, both on horseback. One holds a banner following the other. I look at Lyla.

"They wish to speak with us first, it would seem."

"Good. Perhaps we can avoid more bloodshed," she replies, digging her spurs into her horse and galloping forwards.

I signal to one of my banner-men on horseback to follow me as I go after her with Alistair. The four of us cross the flat distance in no time at all. As we get closer, I can make out the Grey Warden banner in the hands of a Warden mage, whilst astride a large black stallion is a Tevinter mage with slicked back hair as dark as the void and narrowed little eyes.

"Inquisitor Lavellan!" he says with a smirk. "So glad you could make it."

I peer up and analyse the fortifications, now we're up close. Lyla sits straighter in her saddle and replies cooly. "Magister Erimond: you are hereby ordered to open these gates so the Inquisition can discuss this peacefully and end this madness."

"Madness?" he repeats with a bark of laughter. "Inquisitor, the only madness here is you attacking Grey Wardens - the very same Grey Wardens who stopped the fifth Blight ten years ago!"

"Have you lost your mind?" Alistair retorts from behind me. "I happened to be there when the Archdemon was slain. I saw Denerim almost destroyed because of the Blight-"

"Then you know that the Wardens must do everything they can to prevent future Blights!" Erimond snaps, jutting his chin forward.

"Not like this!" Alistair shouts.

"Enough," Lyla says, not looking away from Erimond. His sly grin spreads, making my gut burn with hatred. She continues, her face a mask I cannot read. "We have no quarrel with the Wardens - simply let them go and then nobody has to die."

Erimond sighs dramatically. "Be that I could, Inquisitor, but I don't have the authority to. Warden Commander Clarel on the other hand does, but is not willing to."

"You cannot do this!" Lyla shouts, her cheeks red with anger. "How many innocent Wardens will die because of your deceit?"

But the magister turns his horse around and canters back through the gates, the Warden mage following. I take one last look at the fortifications, noting the archers lining the battlements, the low parapets, the rotting gates. I dig my heels into my stallion and gallop back to the vanguard, Lyla leading the way, glancing back once as she casts a protective barrier around us.

"I had hoped some would see reason," Alistair says bitterly as we slow upon reaching the troops.

"There is still hope for those inside," Lyla says, but seems to doubt her own words. "The warriors are not under the influence like the mages, as far as I can tell. They, at least, might see reason." Alistair doesn't reply, his face like stone. "I must get to Clarel, to stop this summoning," Lyla states, meeting my gaze. I nod in reply and unsheathe my sword, using my horse up and down the front lines.

"Inquisition!" I call, my voice ringing. "Adamant fortress is weak, and ripe for the taking! Stick with your units, your regiments and this battle can be swift and clean. The mage Wardens will be relentless, but the warriors may see reason - under the Inquisitor's orders, if any lives can be spared, then spare them.

"There may be friends and family among the Wardens, and this will be difficult. But breaching the gate is our top priority! Remain strong and fight for freedom, fight Corypheus, fight for your lives!" I point my sword forward and urge the attack to commence.

The trebuchets are the first to cause damage, as they fling giant rocks to the walls of adamant. As planned, they create a distraction as the siege equipment is marched through the ranks. The Inquisition's archers loose their first round of arrows, hitting targets peering over the parapets. They continue, providing effective covering fire as the siege equipment gets closer to the gates. I stay on my horse, the blood and adrenaline bounding in my ears as the soldiers march closer, chanting and stamping their feet. The air is electric with anticipation, and the call of blood and death, as terrible as it may be, beckons each of us forward. It's hypnotic as we reach the outer walls, knowing that our plan of attack is working. With renewed motivation, the Inquisition's forces forget that they've marched for days over a hot desert, instead focused entirely on the battle, and of winning. I grip my sword in my hand as I dismount, shouting orders to regiments and units to put more pressure on the Wardens.

"The Wardens do not know. Conflicted. Following orders. Is Clarel mad? Doubt. Is this how we stop a Blight?" Cole says in his quiet voice from behind me. Lyla stands ready beside him, her hands spread before her, as fire licks her fingertips.

Rocks fall from the battlements, as the Wardens realise our goal to break down the gates. They fling stones down upon the troops who are almost at the gates. I see a few soldiers fall, as their helmets do little to protect them from the weight of the stones. But, as their training shows, they must move on, and they do - stepping over the bodies of their comrades to continue on, to ensure the gate is open for the Inquisitor.

I raise my arm, pointing my finger to the sky, and signal the ladders. The troops who had marched quietly though the ranks had carried long ladders between them, hidden from view from the Wardens. With just a few feet away from the walls, soldiers mount the ladders and being to scale the stone walls. Our attack is so strong that the Wardens are already faltering. But none of that matters until the gate is open.

With three mighty thuds, the siege equipment does just that. Lyla, now on foot, runs with Cole, Solas and Blackwall in tow, weaving in-between the Inquisition soldiers who provide them cover. I watch as she peers out from the cover of a scouts shield, to throw a controlled fireball to the battlements, which sends Wardens screaming in panic as they are set alight. My gut clenches with a twinge of fear - that old fear of magic, but I stop myself, knowing that this is Lyla, and what she just did is no different than Varric or Sera plucking them off with their arrows and bolts. Her magic helps another ladder get its foothold and she continues under the cover of scouts, throwing one more fireball at the burning gates which does the trick of destroying them.

The soldiers cheer and once again their energy is renewed, I raise my sword, pointing it forward and order a hard charge. I deflect arrows and fireballs alike with my shield like second nature. It's been sometime, but I hate to admit that I relish it, once I'm here in the heat of battle. Nothing can quite match it, and my fingers tingle. But something is missing. I glance around me as I sprint to the gates, noting that the ex-templars are running harder, not breaking a sweat. With a pang of envy, I know that their lyrium is keeping them strong, to become the powerful warriors they are meant to be. I know I shouldn't, but at this moment I desperately miss that surge of energy, that surge of power, only lyrium can give me.

But then, as I approach the gates, past the siege equipment, I witness Lyla fighting Wardens and demons alike. Since the first time I saw her fight at the conclave, things have changed. She is swifter and faster in her movements and so much stronger. With one hand she twirls her staff, the magic igniting the end and crackling around her; with the other, the long magical sword cuts through the air, slashing easily through demons until the entrance courtyard is empty of enemies, the bodies littered on the ground and fire crackling around them.

"Pull back! They're through!" a panicked Warden cries from above as I run up to Lyla.

"Alright Inquisitor, you have your way in," I say formally, knowing that all eyes are upon us. "We'll keep the main host of demons occupied for as long as we can."

Lyla shakes her head. "I'll be fine. Just keep the men safe."

My hands shake, so I grip my sword tighter. "We'll do what we have to Inquisitor." I look to Alistair who's face is white as he looks at the dead Wardens before him. "Warden Alistair will guard your back and Hawke is with your soldiers on the battlements - she's assisting them until you arrive," I explain our plan once more. It's the plan we'd come up with together, but reiterating it, and saying it to her helps stop my hands shaking, helps stop the nerves and I hope it helps Lyla remain focused as she nods in reply.

I'm about to say more but I'm interrupted by a cry from the battlements. In unison we all look up and see an Inquisition soldier fall from the battlements, landing with a heavy thud on the ground, their eyes wide open in terror, their face white as the life slips out of them. I feel cold all over, despite the heat of the flames around me when I see a demon screech down at us. I remember Kinloch Hold with demons and abominations running rampant, and that demonic scream is so familiar, that a knot of terror grips my stomach. I swallow and look to Lyla.

"There's too much resistance on the walls," I admit, not anticipating this many demons already summoned. "Our men on the ladders can't get a foothold… if you can clear out the enemies on the battlements, we'll cover your advance."

Lyla looks to Alistair who nods in reply. "Very well, Commander," Lyla says formally, twirling her staff in her hand. She turns to her companions. "Let us hurry."

I run back to the vanguard, barking orders as Lyla's small unit disappear inside the fortress. Ladders are raised and footholds are gained and just moments later I see warriors stand down as Lyla approaches. I'm too far away to hear what she says, but my chest swells with pride as some of the Wardens listen to sense. Despite the death and destruction around us, lives are still being saved, due to her compassion. I shout as much to the troops around me, who are spurred on to hoist more ladders against the walls. I witness Hawke throwing her daggers, Lyla and Solas casting spells back to back. I watch them scale the battlements as the small group cut down demons one by one.

"They're through!" the cry echoes through the ranks and I assume Lyla has made it to the centre and to Clarel. I gather my men in my unit and we follow in Lyla's steps, helping any injured Wardens, getting them out of the way to safety whilst cutting down any stray demons. As I step over corpses my gut churns at the destruction: Lyla and her inner circle are just as ruthless, doing the work of a small army, rather than that of a few individuals. Not for the first time, her power and her magic tugs at my concern, my still-present fear of magic that's been hammered into me since I was a teenager. I shake my head and continue through the fortress, ordering healers to assist the wounded.

And then I hear it. A deafening screech in the sky that sends my blood to ice. With dismay I look up, silence falling as the beast cries again. No, not here, not now, not again. The Archdemon perches above on the upper lever and my veins burn inside me as I realise the terrible beast is breathing not fire, but red lyrium.

"Protect the Herald!" I cry, running forwards, everything a blur. "Protect the Inquisitor!"

They rally around me and we cut through a new wave of summons demons behind the walls of the fortress. The trebuchets out on the field fire their burning rocks to attack the creature, but the dragon is clever and doges easily, breathing down onto the inner courtyard. It takes flight, circling low, screeching it's terrible cry. A few of the troops falter and watch it attack some stragglers. I push them onwards, cutting down demon after demon, my steps light and practiced, only thinking of getting to Lyla and stopping Clarel.

The Warden Commander appears on the battlements above, sprinting after the magister and a leap of hope spreads through me. Has Clarel seen sense? I spot Lyla sprinting after her with her small group hot on her heels, dodging the red lyrium of the dragon and sidestepping demons as she catches up to the top level of the fortress.

I'm sweating under my armour, feeling exhausted, wanting nothing more than the cool blue lyrium to give me the strength I need. The ex-Templars in my unit don't even break a sweat as they charge forwards, now fighting side-by-side with Wardens who are well enough to help combat the demons.

"Don't let them flank you!" I call, and an Inquisition mage sets ice-runes on the ground, trapping demons in place as warriors cut them down easily. Finally, we reach the upper battlements, where the fortress is at its weakest - the age of the stonework straining under the pressure of the trebuchets. The walls are crumbling, the flagstones are shaky under our feet.

What I see at the top makes us all come to a halt.

Clarel, bleeding and dying on the ground casts an incredibly powerful shocking spell, flinging the dragon backwards, the floor beneath us wobbling. The Archdemon goes flying, bringing down the fortress on the far end with the sheer force of the magic. It feels as if all the air in my lungs has been pushed as the flagstones fall away; Lyla and her small group desperately sprinting, but lose their footing. An electric bolt from the dragon strikes Lyla down, as she scrambles to get to her feet, but the heavy stonework pulls her down, and soon the others follow. I cry out with horror as I watch them fall.

An empty silence. She's gone. Maker's breath, no, she can't be. Not again.

I gather my wits as quick as possible, lingering by the doorway. The once top-part of the fortress has fallen away, but the rest of Adamant appears sturdy enough. I turn to those around me. "Search for survivors, now!" I order, chest heaving. I curse everything, everyone under my breath and storm back through the fortress, cutting down the odd demon there as if in a dream. I step over fallen comrades and Wardens, not even glancing at their open eyes, their pained expressions. For the first time in my life, I wish I were one of them.

Lyla can't be gone… just can't be. I have a twinge of hope that she survived the fall, along with Alistair, Hawke and the others. But I'm deflated, that hope being diminished by every moment. It's as I pass my troops that Cassandra runs up to me but her words are empty. I know she's speaking quickly, demanding a report but I just look at her without really seeing. I think of Lyla and I can't get that pained expression of when she was hit before she fell out of my mind. I saw panic in her eyes, I saw her fingers scramble desperately at the falling flagstones.

Cassandra slaps me.

"Commander! Pull yourself together!" she shouts. I blink at her.

"Lyla…The Inquisitor fell." My voice sounds hollow, it doesn't sound like me.

"Wh-what?" Cassandra stammers, her eyes widening.

I regain composure. "The Inquisitor fell on the other side of the fortress. I've got scouts searching for survivors."

I walk briskly, Cassandra at my side as we make our way around the outside of the fort. There are already scouts present when we arrive, their faces pale, none of them willing to meet my eyes. I approach a lieutenant who salutes.

"Commander - we've, ah, got a strange situation here," she says.

"Are there survivors," I cut across.

"Yes ser - the Tevinter Erimond has been captured. He's barely conscious but is restrained by some of the mages."

I push past the lieutenant and stride towards a small gathering of mages. They part to let me pass and I look down at the small, smarmy man who's only got a small cut on his temple. I draw my sword and point it at his neck, my arm shaking. I burn with embarrassment at my quivering hand, but do not pull back.

"What happened." I command, my voice low.

Erimond chuckles, blood spitting out his mouth. "She fell. My master will have a fine reward for me indeed."

I press the tip of my sword into his throat, a small trickle of blood escapes. Erimond whimpers, tears in the corners of his pathetic eyes.

"Commander," a scout says. "There are no bodies or other survivors at the bottom of the chasm."

I glance at the scout who salutes. "Then where are they?" I demand of Erimond.

He laughs again, but it's a snivelling little snort that repulses me. "She fell into the Fade, to be lost forever. The Elder One will triumph with her demise! All will worship our new god!"

"Gag him," I say to the mages who oblige. I sheath my sword, Cassandra watching me with concern I cannot bear. How is he spared when Lyla and the others are gone?

"What do you think he meant?" Cassandra asks, arms folded. "How could the Inquisitor fall into the Fade?"

Feeling helpless, I turn to the scout. "Are there any other witness-?"

"Curly!" Varric shouts from behind us. His crossbow is in his hands, splattered with blood and Sera runs with him, tears streaming down her face.

"She fell! No, no no she can't do that! Fuck!" Sera is saying.

"Did you see what happened?" I demand when they halt before me.

Varric nods. "We saw the whole thing from our position. The dragon fell first, and the path crumbled. The Inquisitor and Hawke fell after but I think Lyla opened a breach with the anchor - she fell through that."

"She's fallen into the Fade," Dorian says, running up behind Varric and Sera. "Lyla saw a tear in the veil and opened it with the mark - I'm pretty sure they are all now, physically, in the Fade."

"Then they are lost," Cassandra says, deflated, hands on her hips, looking at her boots in the sand.

My mind tries to wrap around the situation, my narrow-minded view of magic unable to comprehend what's happened. all at once, I want to be away from here, as far away as possible but I remember that once again, even if Lyla has gone it cannot be in vein.

"There are still demons in Adamant," I remind them all quietly. "The battle is not yet over."

"But-" Dorian begins.

I hold my hand up to silence him. "We must continue. It's what she would want. Do not tell the rest of the troops about… about what's happened here, not yet. We need to continue the momentum to control and win the battle."

They all nod in agreement and separate into units. "And the prisoner?" one of the mages asks.

"Ensure he is bound and gagged. We'll take him back to Skyhold for questioning."

They move out, all marching back to the bulk of the army and the crumbling fortress. I think I'm alone and let out a shaking sigh, clenching my fists so tight they become numb.

"She wouldn't want this," Sera sniffs suddenly beside me, tears streaming. She glares up at me through her bangs. "How can you continue fighting knowing that she's lost! I thought you loved her!"

"Sera," I say quietly, my voice breaking. She pauses in her huffing and tilts her head to the side.

"Oh," she gulps. "It's all a mask, innit? This Commander stuff."

I nod and look to the chasm. "Lyla came out of the Fade once before - perhaps she will do so again."

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