The Dread Wolf raced through the unformed dreams of the Beyond, passing through territories staked out by powerful spirits, nothing but a blur. Never before in his very long life had he ever moved this fast. Miles passed with each bounding leap he took as he used his power to compress the distances, allowing him to travel far without effort. But he had hundreds of miles to go, and only seconds to get there. It would not be enough.

"Fen'Harel!" the anguished cry came again, and he would have snarled had he possessed the breath. It was just like Wisdom, calling for him to save it. But it was no spirit, but Feynriel who cried out in despair. Something had happened in Tevinter. Something that put his young student in mortal danger - and Fen'Harel could not ignore the call for help.

After long minutes - to long, much too long, far, far too long - Fen'Harel found the place where the cry originated. A small hole in the veil. Too small for spirits to slide through, but quite large enough for Feynriel to scream.

Without a pause, quick as a thought, Fen'Harel pushed himself through, sealing the gap behind him, and found himself crouched in a gilded room, the once impressive murals soaked in blood.

The room was filled with more than thirty mages, arranged in five concentric circles, facing outwards, their staffs at the ready, spells trembling on their lips. At the center, bound hand and foot, Feynriel screamed as a venatori agent took pliers to his fingernails.

"Call him!" another agent demanded. "Call for your god!" he brought a hammer down on one of Feynriel's feet, crushing it into pulp.

Fen'Harel, outside the circle and crouched in the shadows, let out an impressive growl and the whole room turned as one to face him. As soon as he had them distracted, he stepped forward through the fade, reappeared at Feynriel's side, and laid his snout gently across the boy's exposed torso. Tugging at the veil, he brought the boy with him bodily into the Beyond, and into the waiting arms of a spirit of Compassion, who immediately began to make use of the healing supplies Fen'Harel conjured for it.

He returned to the room, stepping back into the exact place he had left it - the middle of the room, facing the table to which they had bound his friend. They were still turning to look where he had gone. He growled, deep and slow, then stepped back into the Beyond to avoid the barrage of spells sent his way. Reappearing at the edge of the room, he watched as the spells continued past where he had been, to the agents on the other side of the circle. It was interesting to see what they had cast.

Some agents began to scream as their blood caught fire, other were crushed under a ton of rock. Still others were bound by a purple band of energy reminiscent of the Nightmare that seemed to suck the very life from their bones. The first three rings of agents went down under the barrage, and while the others looked on in horror, Fen'Harel began his attack.

He ripped into them, claws and teeth flashing, his growls echoing around the walls of the room. He was merciless, forgoing artistry for speed, his only concession to defense a paper thin skin of the Beyond lying along the outline of his fur, absorbing the brunt of the attacks. Mages were not hand-to-hand warriors, for all that most of them had blades affixed to the ends of their staves, and they whistled harmlessly about his head and ears as he crushed their skulls with his teeth.

Every whirl of movement, every flash of his claws, sent eddies of snow swirling about the room. Once he had earned a little space, Fen'Harel paused just long enough to throw his head back and howl, the roar of a blizzard answering his call. Wind whipped through the room, ice formed on the ceiling, and the visibility dropped to zero. Flashes of lighting cut through the white, drawn to the metal of buckles and buttons. Screams rose up, and the stone under his paws grew slick with blood. Within minutes, it was all over.

Panting with effort, Fen'Harel allowed the wind and snow to die, pricking his ears at the sound of footsteps. Three young mages - venatori acolytes? - clustered in the doorway, too frightened to enter the room. They stared around with wide eyes, taking in the destruction he had wrought so easily. He drew himself up, and their eyes fixed on him, equal parts awe and terror.

"Fen'Harel," one of them whispered. "He came."

Between one breath and the next, the Dread Wolf faded away.


Back in the Beyond, Fen'Harel shifted to his elvhen form, kneeling beside the broken young man. "How is he?" he asked Compassion, unwilling to interrupt its work.

"Dying."

Fen'Harel nodded, held out his hands, and called upon healing energies, determined to guarantee the young man's survival. It took hours, relative to the physical world, and some small part of himself fretted about abandoning his vhenan as he had. But the need had been great, and he was sure that she was physically fine. Certain to be furious with him, but safe at least.

Between the two of them, Feynriel slowly stabilized, though he remained mostly incoherent from the pain. Fen'Harel pulled his hands away, exhausted as he sat back on his heels. He'd had to expend a large amount of magic to heal Feynriel, and was finding it hard to summon enough energy and control to absorb what he needed from the fade. He managed to pull just enough to shift back to wolf form, a cart and harness appearing on and around him. Compassion lifted Feynriel carefully, arranging Feynriel's limbs or optimum comfort and security.

"Go quickly," Compassion told him, and faded away.

The return trip took much longer than the initial one did. Partially for care of his charge, and partly from fatigue. Fen'Harel hadn't the energy to zip through territories, and was forced to pick his way the long way around. Even so, they made it back to the glen in about fifteen minutes. He stood, for several long moments, gathering his energy for the next shift through the veil. Behind him, Feynriel groaned his way to consciousness.

"Fen'Harel?" he asked, words groggy with pain.

The Great Wolf grunted in acknowledgment, and pushed, willing the boy, the cart, and himself all to manifest in the physical world. He was shuddering with the need for sleep, but still possessed enough awareness to give a sharp bark to cover Ellana's startled yelp of his chosen name. He looked at her with pleading eyes, and she nodded her head, swallowing her anger - for the moment.

"Fen'Harel," she said instead, moving towards them.

He woofed, and looked pointedly behind him, and Ellana stepped to the side and peered at the battered youth groaning on the cart. "Fhendis!" she cursed, then spun on her heel and ran to gather the harts. But they would only get so close with the Great Wolf nearby, and she looked at Fen'Harel helplessly. "You'll have to shift back, they won't come any closer."

He nodded, and tried, but yelped in pain. He'd pushed too hard, too fast. He couldn't make the shift without damaging himself or the veil. He hung his head, closing his eyes.

A touch on his shoulder, and Ellana leaned against him softly. "Hey, it will be fine. I'm sure you're just tired, right? Looks like you saved his life." She pulled back and studied the straps crisscrossing his body. "How about I unhook you, and you go stand back a ways. Then they'll come closer and I can hitch one of them up."

He grunted tiredly, and stood still as she undid them. She smoothed his fur down with care, and he soaked in her motions with gratitude. He was so tired. Once he was free, he moved away, lacking even the energy to give himself a good shake. He moved as far away as he could and stood, facing the wall, on trembling legs. He knew that it would be best if he could manage to lay down - that would calm the harts more than his simple inattention. But he also knew that, should he do so, he might not get up for hours. And there was still the trek to Skyhold to be made.

He had no idea what he would say to Feynriel. Or Ellana.

He heard her speaking softly. Urging one of the harts closer, soothing it as she hitched it up, speaking to Feynriel in gentle tones.

"We're done here. Fen'Harel?"

He turned.

"Do you want to lead, or shall I?" She was seated on the saddle-less back of her hart, the leading reigns of the other clasped in her fist.

Pride told him to have her go first, to follow and guard. But he was in no shape to do either, and the harts would feel safer if they could at least see him. So he took a deep breath, braced himself, and struck out at a painful lope for Skyhold.

They were only halfway there when Ellana called for a rest. She could see how hard Solas was pushing himself. He desperately needed to lay down and sleep - possibly for a month. But Feynriel was in bad shape in the cart and needed medical care fast. He was only just barely stable.

She got down off her hart, commanded the pair of them to wait, and walked up to where the Dread Wolf quivered in exhaustion, his tongue lolling out of his tongue as he took great gasps of air. "It's magical fatigue, isn't it?" She asked him softly, hand on his cheek.

The sound he produced was somewhere between a grunt and a whine.

"All right. If I give you a zap, think you can manage to shift back?"

He paused to think about it, then nodded his head once, sharply.

She moved around to his side, placed one hand on his shoulder, one on his hip, and poured as much unformed magic into him as she dared. His shivering slowed to a stop, and he turned his head, swiping his tongue up the length of her arm.

"Oh. Oh that is gross," she objected, wiping her spit-covered arm on his fur. His tired eyes were full of mischief when she looked at him.

He took two steps away, shimmered with green light, and was finally once again a man. She never thought to be so happy to see his bald head. He staggered forward, and she caught him around his ribs.

"Whoa, hey there. Take it easy." She draped his arm across her shoulders and between the two of them managed to get him to the top of a nearby boulder. His skin was clammy and pale, his eyes growing more unfocused. She snapped her fingers in front of his face, and he revived somewhat.

She jumped down off the boulder, glad to see him sag but not fall, and hopped back up on her hart. Clicking her tongue softly, she walked it up to the side of the boulder, and Solas slid gratefully onto its back, his head coming to rest against her shoulder.

They took off at a brisk trot, and while Solas's bones objected to the bouncing, he was grateful nonetheless, for it kept him awake enough to speak. "Feynriel. Dream Walker. Heard his call...through the fade...venatori."

"Venatori? I thought we'd kicked them out of Orlais."

"You did. Tevinter."

She tried to twist, to look at him incredulously, but he objected to the movement, clasping his arms harder around her waist and burying his face in her shoulderblades. She settled for placing one hand on his arm. "You went all the way to Tevinter, freed Feynriel, healed him, and brought him back in...three hours? Fendhis, but you're amazing."

Solas grunted. "Knows my first name, not my second. Look different. Don't let him talk."

"I promise. You'll get first crack at him - with me there, of course."

He smiled against her, as he slipped away into the fade. "Of course."


Solas awoke all at once, his heart pounding in his chest. It took him several long moments to place his surroundings, and in that time he scraped about for his magic, the well that once had run dry. He found it, pulsing painfully, overused and abused, but undoubtedly there and that fact alone eased his fear.

He finally recognized the room as the personal quarters of the Inquisitor, and he wondered what had possessed her to haul his unconscious form up all those stairs. He sat up gingerly. Physically, his body was fine. But inside, where his magic dwelled, he was scraped raw. It would take him at least a week to overcome this. Magic was drawn to magic, and mana regenerated faster when there was still something left inside. But he had drained it all, even the portion Ellana had poured into him, to shift back into a man, to stay conscious long enough to speak to her. Given how little had managed to return to him, it had probably been a full day.

He saw the lyrium bottles placed conspicuously next to the bed, and he traced a finger down their sides, listening to their songs. When he found a new one, he picked it up, intending to add it to his collection. He did not, would not, drink lyrium. But he would honor those whose essences had gone into making it.

He was heading on unsteady feet towards the stairs when the door at the bottom opened and quick feet beat him to the top. He slipped the bottle into his pocket.

"Oh!"

It was the Inquisitor, a tray of hot food balanced in her hands. He stared at it hungrily. If he would not give it lyrium, his body demanded food in its stead.

She smiled kindly, and walked over to her desk, where she set the tray upon the papers scattered on its surface. She watched, but did not help, as he made his way slowly over to her. He was grateful for the concession to his pride. He settled onto the chair with a soft groan, and picked up the piece of bread, so fresh it must have just come from the ovens. It burned his hands and mouth as he tore into it, but he did not care.

Ellana perched on the edge of her desk, one leg upon its surface, the other braced upon the ground. "Let me tell you what I've manage to figure out, and you correct me."

He nodded rudely around his mouthful of food.

"You said the veil is thin in that grotto. So even though you weren't in the fade, you still heard Feynriel calling for help. The doctors say that he was tortured badly, possibly for hours. So it's either you didn't hear him because it took that long for the call to cross the distance from Tevinter to Orlais, or he held out that long before...responding. Yes?"

Solas considered as he chewed. He hadn't put any thought into it, but it seemed a logical conclusion. "Likely," he told her. "But I do not know for certain."

She accepted his answer and continued. "He knows you, your original name," she skirted the bounds of saying it and he was grateful, "but not this one, or...even that you're here?"

He nodded encouragement, and took a bite of hard cheese as she continued.

"So you've probably been teaching him, trying to get him to lose his fear like you did with me. And it must have worked, if he was willing to call to you for help."

"I hope you are right."

She flashed him a smile. "So now, all we need to do is get him to agree to keep your name a secret." She studied Solas intently for a moment. "How does he treat you?"

Solas understood what she was asking. "He does not call me hahren, but it is a near thing. I have spent months teaching him to fade walk, and he is learning fast. He is an eagle, and has taken to dropping stones upon my head."

Ellana chuckled. "I would pay to see that."

"Perhaps, one day, you will." Solas sat back, his stomach blessedly full, the tray of food empty but for crumbs. "Thank you, vhenan. For trusting me. For believing me. For taking care of me."

She smiled and reached out to trace the lines of his face with her hand. "It was my pleasure."

He reached up and caught her hand, pressing a kiss to her palm. He stared up at her, and they shared a quiet moment.

He waited as long as he could, but was pressed to ask, "has he spoken?"

Ellana shook her head, pulling her hand away to sit up straight. "Not yet." She paused. "I didn't know what you wanted to say. How you wanted to explain his appearance, bloody and broken. I dropped him off with the healers and came up here with you. I've been avoiding everyone for almost two days now. The good news is that I didn't even have to ask the healers to keep him sedated. They say he will likely lose the foot. And they have no way to restore his fingernails."

Solas sighed, and scrubbed his face with a hand. "I suppose I should simply be thankful that he is alive." He looked down, considering. "We will make it known that I am a Dream Walker. I never meant to keep it a secret, I simply saw no cause to announce it. Given that Feynriel is a known Dream Walker, that will explain the connection. As for his appearance...we can say he escaped, and was fleeing the Venatori. A small cell, overlooked. I can set up a decoy for your spymaster to find later. He got close, no more than a few miles, and I heard him through the fade. We raced out to find him mostly unconscious, deep in the woods." He shook his head. "This is risky. I will not be able to set up a believable venatori nest for quite some time. Perhaps a month. And by then it will be too late. Leliana's people will have combed the forest, found no evidence of Feynriel's flight or of the Venatori. The others will believe the story, but not your spymaster."

"Must we keep it from her at all?"

Solas hesitated. "It is...dangerous...to admit to being able to walk freely through the fade. This is how the blights began, after all. Mortals walking physically through the Beyond."

"I understand that. But as you said, you cannot make the lie believable to her. And having her doubt us is just as bad as providing no explanation at all."

He nodded slowly, coming to terms with it. "You are correct. I wish it was not so, but…" he sighed. "We must speak to her before we go to Feynriel. I wish I had reached him faster."

Ellana slipped from the desk to kneel at his side, reaching up to wrap her arms around his shoulders. "You saved his life. The healers could tell what you'd managed to heal before you got him into that cart. A massive concussion, a ruptured eye, internal bleeding - they say his organs were probably like soup. They're only badly bruised, now." She shook her head, nuzzling into his arm. "You are truly amazing."

"Thank you, vhenan. Your words soothe me." Solas raised his arm, and laid it across her shoulders. With her kneeling, and the arm of the chair in the way, it was awkward.

Ellana loved it all the same.

"I'll go summon Leliana. The sooner we speak to her, the better."

Solas nodded, and Ellana tromped down the stairs, returning minutes later with the spymaster in tow. Ellana perched on the arm of Solas's chair, an arm around his shoulder for balance, and Leliana stood before the two of them, arms folded casually behind her back.

"I am sorry, Leliana. But we have another secret for you to hold." Ellana began softly.

The Nightingale straightened, her feet locking into place. "Do not trouble yourself about me. It is my duty. I will hold whatever you say in highest confidence."

A smile fluttered on the Inquisitor's lips. "I know you will." She turned to the Dream Walker at her side. "Solas?"

He nodded. "It is my secret, spymaster, that I ask you to carry."

"Oh?"

"Yes. It concerns Feynriel, and how I managed to save him." Solas paused, but all Leliana did was nod. "You know that I am a Dream Walker, what the Tevinter call a somniari. It is not something we have told any but the inner circle. It is not something you need continue to hide, but the precursor to the more dangerous truth." He drew himself up, as tall and regal in the Inquisitor's chair as a king. "Ellana is not the only person to walk physically in the fade and survive. It is a skill that all Dreamers possess, even if they know it not. I have spent countless hours in the Beyond, both physically and asleep."

Leliana drew in a sharp breath, but held her silence.

"We, the Inquisitor and I, were in a place where the veil is thin. I am a strong Dreamer, and though he was in Tevinter, I heard Feynriel's call for help clearly. I abandoned her," Ellana made a sound of protest, but Solas continued on, "and went into the fade. I ran, as fast as I am able, and rescued him from the Venatori that were torturing him. I pulled him into the fade with me - he is a Dreamer as well - before killing the ones who held him captive. I brought him back to the Inquisitor, healed him with my remaining energy, and we retreated to Skyhold."

Silence fell, as Leliana absorbed the impact of his words.

"You walk in the fade? Physically, and with no ill-intent?" Leliana clarified.

"Often, and with no repercussions. I have never attempted to breach the black city, nor do I desire to. Distances are shorter in the fade; I use it to travel. And now, to rescue a friend. That is all."

Leliana nodded and began to pace back and forth, thoughts whirling in her head. "We cannot tell the people this. They will panic."

"I agree," the Inquisitor said. "Perhaps we could claim that he was somewhere closer? That Solas heard the call and we ran in to save him?"

Leliana nodded. "Perhaps. Where did you go?"

"The grotto in Crestwood," Solas said. "With the hart statues."

"I know the place." Leliana waved her hand as she spoke. "There is an old, abandoned hut not far from there, hidden behind a stand of trees and brush. There are skeletons there, left over from when the undead attacked. I can have my people burn it to the ground and claim that as the place where you found Feynriel."

Ellana breathed out a sigh of relief. "Thank you, Leliana. I don't know what we would do without you."

Leliana smiled, soft and fleeting, but honest. "It is my duty. And I am glad to help. Though," she turned to Solas, a twinkle in her eye. "Your game is up now, Dream Walker. I know how you keep slipping through my net."

Solas nodded. "Yes."

Leliana took in Solas's drooping form and excused herself to go organize the coverup.

Ellana looked down at Solas, ran a tender hand along his head. "Are you still up for visiting Feynriel? Or would you like to sleep a little more? The healers said he might wake within the next half hour, but I can have them give him a sleeping tonic while you rest. I know you didn't drink that bottle of lyrium." She traced its outline against his pocket.

Solas sighed, but did not address her statement. They'd had this argument before. "I would like to see him, if he is recovered enough. The sooner he is made aware of the situation, the better."

Ellana nodded and stood, moving across the room to retrieve his staff from where it was propped up against the wall with her own. He accepted it with embarrassment. He hadn't even noticed it was there. He was more tired than he thought.

"You are too good to me," he told her with gratitude.

She laughed and moved down the steps before him, glancing up often to check on his slow downward progress. "Don't say that just yet. I have about a million questions for you."

"I will answer them as best as I am able. But I do not know everything."

Her eyes grew wide, and her hand fluttered to her chest. They reached the end of the interminably long stairs, and Ellana flung the door open enthusiastically. "Varric!" she called across the Great Hall.

"Yeah, boss?" the dwarf came trotting up.

"Mark this day upon our calendar!" Ellana demanded imperiously, and Solas let out a pained groan. She ignored him regally. "Solas has just stated that he does not know everything. Make it a holiday throughout Thedas!"

Varric's grin went wide and wicked, "you got it." He turned and left at a brisk walk.

Solas stepped through the door and closed it gently behind him. "How you torture me so."

Ellana stepped close to him, close enough that he could steady himself on her should he need to. She matched her pace to his slow shuffle. "I thought I was too good to you?"

"I take it back," Solas said sourly, unable to hide the laughter in his tone. "I take all of it back. You are a horrid creature, vhenan. One full of malice and spite." He spoke low and quiet, her ears only. Vhenan was a private secret between them, they both agreed. Not to be shared with others. Not for shame, but for the quiet thrill of new love, found and shared.

"It is true," she said mournfully.

They made their way slowly down the Great Hall, Solas's face schooled into a blank mask to hide how badly he wished to simply lay down and sleep upon the floor. He was not recovered enough to march down to the infirmary. But he would do it anyway.

When they passed Varric at the fireplace, he was most assuredly scribbling in his pocket calendar. He looked up with a grin as they passed. "Good to see you up and about, Chuckles. We were worried about you."

"I am grateful for your concern, Master Tethras."

Varric shook his head. "Always so formal. How do you stand it, boss?"

Ellana shrugged as they moved slowly along. "I find it charming."

Varric scoffed, but lapsed into silence, letting them pass the rest of the way in peace.

It was good that they had half an hour to make it down to the infirmary, for it took every bit of it for Solas to make it that far. Had Skyhold always had so many blasted stairs? Perhaps he could convince the Inquisitor to knock them down and replace them with ramps.

Feynriel was awake when they made it down, speaking softly to the healer, and Solas's heart jumped to his throat when the young somniari looked at him, recognition kindling in his eyes. But the lad simply returned his attention to the healer, and accepted a pain potion from her hands, downing it quickly.

"Inquisitor," the healer said softly, passing Ellana and Solas where they hovered near the door. "Don't tire him overmuch."

"Promise," Ellana responded with a smile, and the healer slipped away. "C'mon," she said to Solas, sliding an unwanted - but desperately needed - hand under his arm, guiding him to the chair set up beside Feynriel's bed.

Solas reached for his magic instinctively, to set up the privacy wards. But hissed in displeasure as the power bucked against his command. He shook his head to clear it, then glanced up at Ellana where she stood next to his chair. "Ir abelas, my love. But my magic...would you set the wards?"

She nodded, pressing her marked hand against his shoulder, and the ghost of his power was enough to soothe some of the burn in his mind. "Of course."

Solas looked at Feynriel, as Ellana secured their privacy. The lad's eyes were the size of saucers.

"My love?" he mouthed at Solas, incredulity in every line of his body.

Solas nodded, "I have been with the Inquisition since the breach was formed. Trying to find a way to stop it. And after, Corypheus."

Feynriel's eyes flicked to the Inquisitor, and Solas was proud of the boy's discretion. Solas waited for the wards to snap into place before speaking. "She knows the truth of who I am." He paused, trying to determine exactly how much to say. "She is the only one, and I must insist that it remain that way. We have devised a lie to cover the fade walking I had to do to retrieve you from Tevinter. We will say that you were being held in a hut not far from where Ellana and I were. I heard your call, and we answered."

Feynriel began to shake, but when Solas laid his hand on the boy's arm, the lad's other hand snatched out, gripping the Wolf's hand fiercely. "Where?" he asked, and Solas understood that this was a main source of the boy's fear.

"Skyhold. Orlais. The seat of the Inquisition's power, and far beyond the reach of those that hurt you." he assured Feynriel, his touch firm and his eyes sincere.

Understanding struck, and Feynriel's eyes snapped to Ellana.

Solas chuckled. "May I introduce you to Ellana Lavellan. Keeper of my heart, and Herald of Andraste." He paused. "And this is Feynriel…" he trailed off, allowing the boy the opportunity to fill in.

"Sabrae," Feynriel supplied softly.

"Feynriel Sabrae. Half-blooded elf and remarkably strong Dream Walker. I have been his tutor for months." Solas's eyes grew wicked. "Ever since he interrupted us in Haven."

Ellana snorted, while Feynriel looked on in confusion. She waved his look of inquiry away. "Welcome, Feynriel. You may stay as long as you like - or leave right away, if you so desire. Though I suggest waiting at least until all your wounds are healed. You were at death's door when Solas brought you to me."

Feynriel listened intently, his eyes cutting to the bald mage - Solas? Really? - when the Inquisitor said his name.

"You do not have to join the Inquisition. Nor are you required to do anything to earn your keep. All we ask is that you respect Solas's request for privacy and keep any personal details you know of him to yourself. He is Solas here. Fade-expert and Mystic advisor. Nothing more." The Inquisitor - dear Creators, Fen'Harel and the leader of the Inquisition were in a relationship - finished speaking and laced her hands together in front of her body, waiting patiently for Feynriel to speak.

Feynriel swallowed, and nodded.

Ellana poured him a glass of water from a pitcher nearby and handed it to Feynriel, who sipped from it greatfully. She frowned, "is he always this quiet?" she mumbled to Solas.

"No. I suspect it is the shock." Solas frowned, knowing that he dare not push Feynriel for any information about how he had been captured. Not now, perhaps not ever. He decided to address another issue, one that would be much easier for young man to deal with. "Just treat me as any other man," he told Feynriel.

Feynriel's eyebrows went up doubtfully.

Ellana slouched over Solas's shoulders, rubbing her hand across the other mage's bald head in rough affection. "No, really," she assured Feynriel cheekily, while Solas adopted a sulky attitude. They played a game, trying to set Feynriel at ease. "No one else knows, so they insult him all the time. Sera tried to steal his breaches and got pink hair as a result." Ellana craned her head down to look at the top of Solas's head. "I think she liked the pink, actually. Not much of a deterrent."

Solas sighed gustily. "Her sense of fashion is horrid."

"Says the man who wanders around in wolf pelts. Scraggy hobo," Ellana teased. "Not exactly subtle, dear."

Feynriel laughed weakly, and Solas and Ellana shared a satisfied look.

Abruptly serious, Solas pulled free of Ellana's touch, and bowed his head to Feynriel. "I owe you an apology. Ir abelas, my friend. I should have made it to you faster. It pains me to see how much you suffered on my account."

Feynriel shuddered, took another sip of his water, and spoke. "You warned me about the Venatori. I heard whispers that they would be approaching my Master soon. I thought I could find out more about them for you. You said their leader was your enemy. I never thought my Master would tell them about you. He'd always kept you a secret before."

"Nevertheless, I am sorry."

So much had happened to Feyrniel in so short a time. Taken from his master's house in the night, tortured by agents of the Elder God, whoever that was, told over and over to call for Fen'Harel until his mind almost snapped. He shuddered, unwilling to think of it. His memory went hazy after that, and he was unsure how he had been saved. All he knew was that the man he knew as Fen'Harel was sitting physically at his bedside, looking drawn as Feynriel had never seen. And he was in the heart of Orlais. He latched onto the easiest thing he could handle. "Your hair?" he asked, gesturing at Solas's shining crown.

Ellana looked down at Solas. "What about his hair?"

Solas grimaced. "I use is a low-level consistency spell to keep it from growing."

"You mean you're not bald?" Ellana asked in excitement.

"No. It is a choice."

"It's...interesting," Feynriel said with as much tact as he could muster.

Solas's eyes twinkled, and that more than anything caused Feynriel to relax. Fen'Harel was serious - usually. But there was an air of mischief about him that he'd never attempted to suppress while they were in the fade. He'd known the part about pink hair before had been an act crafted to comfort him, but this was true emotion from the bald man before him, and in it he saw the Wolf he had come to trust.

"What you mean to say," Fen'Harel - Solas, Feynriel reminded himself - said silkily, "is that I look like a ragged, unkempt, hermit apostate with no two coppers to rub together."

Feynriel thought about that for a brief moment, then broke out into a wide grin. "I mean to say," he acknowledged.

Ellana snorted. "He'll fit in here just fine. Sera will love him."

Solas groaned.

"Sorry Feynriel, Solas. But I need to get going. I'm sure Josie has a list of things longer than I am tall that desperately need my attention," the Inquisitor said.

Solas shifted in the chair to get to his feet, but Feynriel's hand shot out, grabbing onto Fen'Harel and tightening to the point of pain.

"Fen - Solas! Don't leave," Feynriel bit his lip, to keep from spewing his fears. "Please. I...have questions."

Solas's face softened, and he shared a look with the Inquisitor. She nodded, brushed the top of Solas's head with a kiss, and left with a casual wave and a, "catch you two later!" The privacy wards popped as she stepped through the door.

The two men stared at each other. Feynriel with acute attention, as he tried to find the differences between this man's fade form and his physical one. Solas, with as much patience as he could muster, being studied so closely. Silence reigned, until Solas gently freed his hand from Feynriel's tight grip.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Feynriel said, flushing to the roots of his hair. "I didn't realize…"

"Do not concern yourself," Solas told him mildly, flexing his fingers to regain feeling.

An awkward pause. They both knew that there wasn't much that could be said, since all the things either of them wished to discuss could only be said behind wards neither of them were in position to place. And Feynriel didn't want to admit that he was afraid of being alone. Solas was kind enough to feign ignorance.

Feynriel grinned. "You look like shit."

"Such language you speak," Solas said mildly, relaxing back into his chair. "It is on your behalf."

Feynriel nodded painfully. "I am grateful."

Solas waved his words away. "You owe me nothing, Feynriel. My strength will recover." He looked at the bandaged hands of the young somniari. "It will take time, you understand. But when I am restored, I will do my best to speed your healing. You will be whole again."

Feynriel swallowed thickly and looked away.