A/N: Thank you so much for the feedback on the previous installment! It's nice to see my Solas/Lavellan craze is shared. Going forward, if you see quotes and a note regarding "chapter inspiration" at the beginning, I made a writing playlist for myself for this story and am sharing recommendations as appropriate. Whether you choose to look up the song as a result is totally up to you. Enjoy!

Tea and Qunlat

Inara took a sharp intake of breath as the sword cut her arm before she could fully dodge to safety. Leliana and a few guards burst into the room only a few seconds after the assassin dropped to the ground in a bleeding, inert heap.

"Inquisitor!" the Spymaster called, rushing to her side. "Are you alright?"

Inara shrugged her off.

"I'm fine. Who is he?"

"We'd know more if we could have taken him alive," the older woman growled, nudging the body with her boot.

"He didn't give me much choice," Inara snapped back wryly, but their shared smile gave away the emptiness of their irritation. "And here I just had this floor cleaned. Shame."

Leliana laughed, her musical voice tittering against the stone walls.

"I'm sure the servants will appreciate at least having something to do, despite circumstances. With our remaining forces scouting for new allies and signs of Fen'Harel, they don't have too many people to clean up after." Despite the lightness of her tone, she studied Inara's exhausted features carefully before glancing at the teasing hint of dawn on the horizon. "Come on. Let's get that cut cleaned and make sure no poison came with it. I take it you won't be wanting any more sleep tonight."

"Are you sure you can't read minds, Leliana?"

Another laugh.

"Hardly, my friend."

Inara stared into the snapping fire, nursing her hot cup of tea. The cut on her arm stung under its bandage, but at least his blade hadn't been poisoned. A sweep of Skyhold's grounds had verified that no more assassins would be attacking before the sun rose. Leliana joined her in the silence after checking her traps around the perimeter. Before settling on the bench with her own tea, the woman had taken the time to adjust Lavellan's modified coat around her shoulders. Inara fought the urge to be annoyed, knowing her companion was only helping, but the thought of her missing limb caused more emotions to surface than preferred. It reminded her of how much she had changed over the years, even simply because of her arm. It was a constant reminder of that day – the day everything had been turned on its head.

"The fortress is much quieter these days, no?"

Inara hummed her agreement.

"Were you able to find anything on our stab-happy guest?"

"The assassin was an elf in garments often seen worn by Qunari operatives. There is always a chance he could have been from the Cult of Fen'Harel, however. I found this in his pocket." With that, she handed over a crumpled piece of parchment. The graceful penmanship was in Inara's own ancient tongue, an odd sight even without the context. Make it quick. "Most orders we've found are either in the Common Tongue or Qunlat. I've noticed the written form of Elvish is appearing more often. Wasn't that knowledge thought to be mostly lost? Clearly, someone has been busy."

"It wasn't the Cult."

"Can we be sure?"

"Look at the writing on the back margins," Inara pointed out, folding the parchment in half to better see the faint scratching in the firelight. "Those words are quoting writings from the Qun. I doubt a Solasan willing to risk his life for an elven god would be memorizing phrases from the Tome of Koslun."

Her friend wasn't fully convinced that the Cult wouldn't also be sending assassins, but accepted the proof. This time. Leliana was right about the written Elvish, however. So much of Elven culture had been lost since the fall of her people, and now it was spreading like wildfire. Old legends and traditions, twisted and forgotten by history, were now being rekindled all over Thedas. Word was spreading of the coming salvation of the Elvhen. Only one man could have opened their eyes so far in so little time.

"You're still dreaming about him, aren't you?" Leliana had been studying her carefully, and followed the other woman's gaze to the spot where Varric had once perched by the fire, waiting for worthy banter to come along. She missed everyone. "Much has changed, hasn't it? I'm sorry."

Inara turned back to Leliana with a confused scowl.

"Sorry?"

"We have all required much of you. You always exceed any expectations place upon you, but I know there is a cost to being the hero."

"I'm not a hero," Inara scoffed lightly. "I simply do what must be done."

"And what do you think a hero is, exactly? You brought together a bunch of squabbling misfits and advisors to create one of the greatest organizations Thedas has ever seen. You inspired the world to defy Corypheus. You disbanded the Inquisition to prevent it from becoming the very thing it set out to destroy when no one else wanted to make the decision. And you are now creating a network spanning across half a dozen countries to quash the world-destroying plots of a god – the very man you claimed to love."

"You make it sound so romantic. I did love him," Inara whispered, looking back at the fire. "I do love him. It's like there are two versions of me: The hardened Inquisitor plotting his destruction and the broken elf searching for her lost beloved."

"They are one and the same, are they not?" the Spymaster questioned mischievously. "You are stronger than you give yourself credit for, Inquisitor. I know there is more going on with your dreams than you care to admit. You are not as devious as you may think."

"And yet I must trick the Trickster."

"Your affection for Solas may be the tipping point to defeating him. Or saving him from himself. I cannot guarantee that I will not try to kill this Fen'Harel if given the chance. If your wish is truly to save him, however, I will stand by you; though I'm sure it will be a much more difficult task than simply slitting his throat."

Inara held back a flinch at the thought and finished her tea.

"Enough idle talk. I think it's time we discussed our allies in the North."

Leliana hesitated.

"I'm no expert on the subject of dreams and the Fade, but if there really is more to your nightmares, maybe you can learn to take control of them. You may not be a mage, but it is your dream and you do have a connection with an old god, who also happened to be a Dreamwalker. 'Tis something to consider. Perhaps you can ask Dorian the next time you talk."

"You sound tired, my girl. I thought not running an entire Inquisition would be less strenuous."

"It's good to see the Magisterium hasn't dulled your charm, Dorian." The man's rich bark of a laugh rang clearly through the sending stone in Inara's palm. After a long day of plotting and planning, she was finally back in her freshly-cleaned quarters. Dorian proved to be the perfect distraction from actually going to bed. "I'm not the only one who sounds tired, old friend."

The young Magister sighed.

"The delicate politics of Tevinter were difficult enough to manage before we heard there was an armada of Qunari on our doorstep. Now, the focus has changed significantly."

"You're…not going to the front lines, are you?" Inara could feel her chest tighten at the thought of losing one of her closest confidantes, but her voice didn't betray her. She leaned over the north-facing railing, looking over the dark mountains. "I'd hate for you to risk missing one of our chats."

"Don't you fret, you gorgeous thing. I have no intention of dying any time soon." He hadn't answered her question. "Now, do tell me more about Varric's last letter."

Stay safe and take care, everyone!