A/N: Thank you, lil kyuubi, for your review! This chapter ended up about twice as long as I predicted, so it's been split into two – next, more Dreams and more Solas. ;)

Secret Solasans

Dorian's servant had allowed Feynriel to enter without ceremony, stating that he was expected before escorting him toward the back of the mansion. The magister was apparently occupied with his official duties, and the Herald's other companions were nowhere to be seen. The half-elf stepped lightly in the servant's wake, and he was eventually deposited in the interior library. Finding the room empty, he turned to inquire when he would have company; however, Gianna had already disappeared behind the now closed door.

Feynriel hummed in puzzlement, but he took the time to casually investigate the central coffee table, where a steaming pot of tea with the usual dressings waited. Off to the side was a knee-high stack of books covering topics from Tevinter history to magical theory to elven mythology. He had just finished thumbing through the topmost volume when a voice emanated from between the two nearest bookcases before Inara materialized at his back. Feynriel resisted the urge to jump, certain he had glanced at that corner. It was easy to forget the leader of the grand Inquisition was also a proficient rogue.

"Hello there."

"You're full of surprises, Inquisitor," he breathed, attempting to regain his previously serene expression. It was difficult though, considering what she had inadvertently shown him during their last visit. Particularly when the elf's gaze looked so…predatory.

"As are you, it would seem," she returned evenly, walking around him and taking a seat on the opposite couch. "A Dreamwalker, a magister's apprentice, and a secret Solasan all in one." Inara leaned against her knee, lips curving upwards at her companion's attempts at neutrality. He admitted to nothing, but she was right. "I think you and I need to have a talk – no mask, no lies, and no deception."

"As I told you before, Inquisitor, there are things I cannot share, no matter how you may ply me for answers."

"I understand," she acknowledged briskly, pouring the tea and sliding a cup toward the mage. She then leaned back against the couch, staring patiently at the man while gently blowing on her steaming drink. Feynriel took great pains to appear relaxed while he added honey to the deliberately bitter brew.

"Should I take this as an indication that you wish to proceed with your training after all?"

"On one condition: Promise me you'll never do that again. Never try to trick me, and never use the Dread Wolf as one of your personal teaching tools. If I can't trust that I can recognize you in the Fade, then what's the point?"

"Of course, you're right. I again apologize, and I concede to you demands," he bowed his head humbly. He found himself more at east at the slight softening of her eyes. How many layers did this woman have? He had seen her go from a vulnerable and righteously angry, delicate creature in the Fade to a predacious and tactical delegate with as many agendas as a magister at yesterday's meeting. Her currently more open nature prompted him to ask, "Did you mean it when you said you would help the Archon with the rebellion?"

"Did I say that?" she scoffed off-handedly. "I believe I simply gave him the impression that I would inform him if I heard anything of import. Similar to his promise that he would tell me of the next time my matters may be attended to. I see now what a cunning man the Archon is, and I now only need to weasel my own agendas into his plans. He wishes to use the Foci against the Qunari? I think it unlikely, but there's a chance I may be able to use their disunity to my favor, given some time."

"So, you don't intend to help quell the rebellion?" Feynriel pried. Maker, no wonder this woman had gained so many allies in the Inquisition, with so many angles at her whim. Her countenance did darken, however, at those words.

"Dorian insists I can trust you, but we have quite a ways to go before I fully agree with him. On the other hand… The day I become sincere when agreeing to aid a society with quashing a slave rebellion, you are welcome to kill me in my sleep."

The man blinked at her matter-of-fact tone, but her eyes glittered with humor.

"I understand. Thank you for clarifying, Inquisitor. In the Fade, before…before the temple. You asked about someone surviving physically in the Fade. I believe you were thinking of Hawke?"

Inara's eyes narrowed.

"I would ask how you know anything about Hawke's current predicament, but I am quickly learning that you seem to know much more than you let on. And you may be the only person who can help right now. Several nights ago, I had a dream…"

Inara spent the next several minutes describing the Champion's visit – how her vision of Hawke's loss had drawn her to the human's memories and allowed them to briefly converse face-to-face in the Fade. She paused after mentioning her acquaintance's plea for help, her brow furrowed.

"Your encounter is intriguing," her companion mused with a smirk, "but there is something that disturbs you, something you have not shared…something you're not sure you can trust me with."

Lavellan curled her feet onto the couch and held her tea close, suddenly appearing much smaller and more vulnerable as she glowered at nothing.

"On the hearth in Hawke's room, there was piece of red cloth – it almost reminded me of a favor that a knight might wear in his lady's honor. Hawke seemed…entranced by it. I think whatever she wanted help with had to do with that red band…and now I have seen it in the real world. In the slave market, soon before the reported explosion, I was there. And I had my life threatened by a man wearing that band. I believe Hawke might know the champion of the slave rebellion." She scanned his neutral features. "And I believe you know something of it as well, so there must be a connection between the rebellion and the Solasans…"

Feynriel allowed their eyes to lock, giving a slight shake of his head.

"As you become more comfortable in the Fade, I can assist you in finding the Champion and helping her. I cannot, however, help your unfounded suspicions."

"Because you can't, or because you won't?" She waved away the question with an exasperated sigh. "Why do I bother? For now, it is enough to know you are connected to the Solasans, which would perhaps explain how you knew of Fen'Harel's appearance." Her lips ticked upward, revealing a new layer of gentleness in her features. "With all of the twists and turns this journey has taken, I admit it's almost a comfort."

"You have not told anyone of my secret ties, have you? I don't believe your companions would allow me alone in your presence, otherwise."

"I have not, and I don't intend to. Why would I chase away my best chance of finding my vhenan, who seems farther out of my reach with each passing day?"

"And yet, you seek to defeat him and ally yourself with the nation that effectively destroyed the remains of your people's history."

He scowled in confusion, but she only laughed.

"Do you think I would be able to unite so many in stopping the end of the world if they knew what I really wanted for myself? An elven damsel pining for her lost love doesn't quite have the same political lure as the stalwart Inquisitor sacrificing everything to stop an apocalypse."

"I think you can be both," he chuckled, allowing her laughter to draw him in. It felt good to know Suledin was beginning to warm up to him. "Haven't you read any of the famous poets or grand romance novels, or perhaps even your own Varric Tethras? But knowing what the Dread Wolf intends to become, you still pursue him?"

Her smile evaporated instantaneously, and her focus hungrily flicked to the little grey wolf statuette on the hearth.

"Always."

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