A/N: Many thanks to BLR-Crusher for your review! I know the wait was a little longer, but it's a longer chapter and I reeeeally wanted to get it just right. More Solas, anyone? Enjoy!
Chapter Inspiration: The Wolf (Phildel)
Wolves and Mirrors
Feynriel circled his pupil approvingly while she lounged on the Inquisition throne in Skyhold's main hall. The room was empty, but light filtered in through the stained-glass windows, giving it at least an illusion of life. With more experience, she would be able to populate the place with occupants of her choosing; though it was also possible for demons or spirits to invite themselves regardless.
In the two weeks since their visit to the shadow of Haven, Inara had embraced her Dreams, consistently experimenting with what her imagination and the gifts of the Fade could yield. Together, they had followed a golden halla across the Exalted Plains that turned out to be a curious Spirit of Honor; it had disappeared the moment Feynriel pointed out its true form. Together, they had explored the reflections of their present physical realm, racing through the streets of a much younger Perivantium during an especially bloody slave rebellion.
The half-elf found it a little odd that they had yet to encounter a demon together. It wasn't altogether unusual for the man to go a few weeks without having one of the more aggressive spirits integrating themselves into his little world. Considering his charge's unique circumstances and her ever-expanding power, however, it was odd that an opportunity to guide her through such an experience had not yet been presented.
Perched on her throne, the Inquisitor held a much greater air of confidence compared to their first visit. Her waist-length hair fell in a majestic tangle around her shoulders. Her practical attire, with somber tones of blue and red, was likely meant to reflect what she would have worn while occupying this very seat. The elf portrayed a surprising level of grace, beauty, and command; no wonder the Dread Wolf had caught her scent. She raised an eyebrow as he came to a stop before her.
"You're a natural," he commended.
"Flatterer. I have a good teacher."
"Hardly. I gave you but a small nudge. You took what little counsel I provided in a short amount of time, and you began making it your own. It has become quite apparent during our last few visits."
"We are simply in a place where I am comfortable." Pulling her hair over one shoulder, the woman stood and walked to the nearest fireplace. "I never wanted to be a leader. It was the people around me that made it easier. They made this home."
"One way or another, you seem more at peace. That's good," the mage conceded. "Are you ready for the next step?"
Inara breathed deeply, inhaling the scent of the ancient building, which had taken on a notable tinge of parchment, spices, and smoked wood. She deliberately folded her hands at her back before nodding. Any time she was in control, she was sure to have both arms intact, and she gained more control with every passing day.
"I am."
"When was the last time you saw him?"
Feynriel didn't need to specify who; the elf glanced down at her left extremity, her forehead creasing ever so slightly.
"Since I lost my arm. In reality, at least. There have been many times when I caught him out of the corner of my eye in my dreams, and a few moments when I was certain he was standing right in front of me. In fact, if not for him telling me to wake up on one occasion, I likely would have had my throat slit by an assassin."
"You wish to find him still? After everything he has done?"
Inara turned her head to stare at her companion, taking a moment to study him. He had to wonder how much she suspected. While she had dropped the subject of Feynriel's involvement with the Solasans, he knew she was watching for some hint of his connection to Fen'Harel.
"I intend to save him from himself. But it is also my obligation to stop him from tearing down the Veil, for the sake of all who call Thedas home." She narrowed her eyes pointedly. "If the Veil falls and I am still able to redeem him, I will consider that a victory. Others will not feel the same, I am sure. There is still a man beneath the god, and I will not give up on him."
"If your allies force you to choose between killing him to save the world and allowing him to complete his work, what will you do?"
"I have a feeling that will be a decision made by other heroes," she commented elusively.
"You are the Inquisitor. The world expects you to stand against the Dread Wolf. You have to make a choice, regardless of others' involvement."
"I made my choice," the woman hissed, glaring at the fire.
"No, you haven't," he countered confidently, pushing her farther. "You can't stand with both this world and his. You can't have both."
Anger broiled in those pretty eyes as Inara glared up at him, her voice gravelly and threatening.
"Watch me."
With a satisfied nod, Feynriel decided she was ready to continue, and he gestured toward the door that led to the Inquisitor's quarters. The elf flinched in surprise at his abruptly relenting attitude.
"Then find him."
Scowling at his unpredictability, Inara strode to the door and nudged it open, revealing the staircase beyond. Upon reaching the top of the first set of steps, the glittering light failed, and the space was plunged into darkness. The Herald nearly tripped at the sudden transition to night before steadying herself against the stone wall. A flicker of light could be glimpsed at the top of the stairs, but the lack of torches made ascending more of a challenge.
"That was not my doing," the Herald stated, her voice still low from her earlier annoyance. The lad only smirked.
"I told you to find him. We are simply on the Wolf's trail now."
"And his trail leads to my bedroom?"
"Apparently," he muttered evasively.
At the chamber's main floor, Feynriel nonchalantly took his place beside his apprentice. She in turn was trying to take in the entire room at once, looking for something amiss – but there was nothing. A wisp of a fire burned on the hearth; the desk in the corner was piled high with documents, maps, and aged texts; and the memory of the Inquisitor herself lay slumbering under the pile of blankets on her bed, curled tightly on her side to guard against unseen dangers.
"If we're on Solas' trail, why do I only see myself asleep? What am I missing?"
The mage stared pointedly up at the balcony overhead. Inara followed his gaze and froze at the sight of the aforementioned god leaning against the railing, blanketed in shadow. Solas looked down upon the sleeping woman from his perch, covered with a dark cloak that only left his face visible to the dreaming watchers. His eyes glowed hungrily in the light of the dying fire; however, he considered, the Wolf had perhaps met his match. While the Herald's attention was fixed predatorily on her sworn enemy and lover, the trainer observed her with increasing interest. Though their discussions and explorations over the past two weeks had avoided directly addressing the topic of Fen'Harel, little else could have existed in this moment.
Inara's brief enthrallment was broken as Solas' eyes briefly burned white with power before he looked away with an expression of shame. The slumbering Inquisitor shot out of the bed with a gasp, and suddenly, the room was empty.
"His eyes. If this really happened," the elf whispered, stepping closer to the fire, "then I am clearly not the only one to have considered the possibility of…" She sighed and left the sentence unfinished. She clearly noticed that the Dread Wolf had considered ending her life on that night. Her next words seemed not meant for Feynriel's ears. "In another world… Then what should happen in this one?"
The half-elf enjoyed the silence that followed while his companion mulled over her fatalistic thoughts, but it was not to last long. The Fade was not a stagnant thing, and tonight was intended to show Inara more than a lingering hunter. Tonight's lesson was not over.
"Suledin," he called quietly, catching her attention and nodding to the corner of the room that held the Inquisitor's bookshelves and desk. "Look."
A ghostly Solas, now in furs and golden armor, materialized before them. He grimaced before passing through the desk and into the shimmering eluvian that had appeared, nestled between two of the bookshelves. Inara gaped at the new development, still unaccustomed to the surprises of the Fade.
"That shadow we just saw…what was it? How do I distinguish what is a memory, a fellow dreamer, a spirit, or a demon? How will I know when to run away or when I have found him?"
She approached the desk, her fingers caressing the open page of a gold leaf illustration of the Great Betrayal. Feynriel appeared at her side and pointed to the eluvian.
"Sometimes, there is only one way to find out."
So. What delicious little creature dared to enter his domain? Destruction and death were common threads of a dreamer's thoughts, but these two were different. He had been exploring the name of Pride, and Pride had an excellent taste for the spectacular. Towers of red crystal rose up on all sides, encapsulating the ancient ramparts that had seen the initiation of this delightful chaos. The once shining, snow-covered mountains in the distance were melted and lined with demonic cracks. The fortress itself had been turned into a prison – its five tenants confined in cells within the chasm that had replaced the main hall. Red lyrium coated the pit, its reinforced power keeping the ethereal beings contained.
His guests appeared on the top of the stairs overlooking the crumbling courtyard, the woman openly staring in horror at the scene. He smiled at the sight of her; this presented an entirely new layer of entertainment.
"Are we still in…?" the Inquisitor breathed, her revulsion growing as she spotted the prisoners.
"If your guess is Skyhold," her clearly more practiced companion noted calmly, "you would be correct – or rather, it is a reflection of Skyhold, as seen through a very specific point of view." He paused long enough for the Herald to bring her full attention to him. "Never forget that the Fade is only a reflection of the physical world. Everything you see is based upon perception of the one who commands it. A dreamer in his own memory will only see what his emotions dictate. If a spirit or demon controls it or invades the realm of a dreamer, what you see is ruled by that spirit's limited knowledge of reality. Spirits may also latch onto the imaginings of people or recollections of a nearby place. In a moment such as this… I would guess we have stepped into the realm of a spirit who found interest in someone's dream – a single perspective of Skyhold's future."
"It's like the future I saw in Redcliffe," the Inquisitor grimaced. "Time-manipulation magic brought Dorian and I forward in time, and we saw the world as it could have been if Corypheus was left unchecked. But this…" She returned to the top of the stairs and looked down into the pit. The other Dreamer's expression darkened as he joined her. The prisoners were pacing like rabid dogs, writhing with pain and hatred, helpless to escape. "They look like elves, but..."
The owner of the space chose this time to introduce himself. In a whisper of the wind, he travelled to the landing on the stairs below his guests, materializing into an appropriate shape.
"The red lyrium is the next step, along with the power of the Orbs," their host announced, parroting the musings of this dream's original source. The man turned to face him with deliberate neutrality, but the lady looked down upon him with eyes wide with grief. "The Evanuris have been in their cage for a millennia, soaking in the corruption. But the tainted lyrium, once perfected, has a chance of controlling them and locking them safely away. I will do all this and more. I will save our people."
"More likely, you are simply feeding their madness!" she growled. "Once unleashed, do you realize how impossible it would be to contain them, if they are so truly corrupted?"
"Not if done properly," the spirit countered lightly.
He stood a little taller, allowing the elf to take in his appearance. She was a fascinating specimen – no mage, but still powerful…and Proud. If not for her companion, there was a chance he could perhaps enthrall the Herald in this dream, trapping her spirit with him for as long as he pleased. But it was not worth the risk. Still, it was flattering how long her eyes lingered, and he enjoyed the appreciation of his attention to detail. He had copied every stance, every expression with perfect precision…and more. The power of the red lyrium was soaked into his flesh, giving it an otherworldly glow. His bloodred irises were hardened and calculating, consumed by purpose and duty.
"Solas…" The elf's voice broke to a whisper as she denied the tears clearly desiring to fall. "Just look at what it's doing to you."
The elf's guide gently took her hand, snapping her out of the moment.
"You told me you used to see him nearly every night in your dreams," the somniari nudged, "before your visions became more developed."
"But he always turned away," she answered, her gaze wandering back to the curious spirit.
"Are you sure it was him?"
"Yes."
"But…"
"Yes," she repeated, her voice low and commanding.
No, perhaps it was not her Pride that would be her downfall. The host sensed other spirits hovering outside his domain – hungering, lurking, waiting for their moment to strike. An interesting specimen indeed.
"Perhaps it was him then. But that…is a demon," the mage informed softly, his calculating eyes watching the spirit for any sign of aggression.
"What kind?" she shivered, forcing herself back into a more controlled state.
"Pride, I believe."
"He didn't want me to see what he became. Now, I think I might understand why."
"It likely latched onto this dream's more…extravagant aspects and began to make them its own. I find it unlikely that this is truly the original vision."
The spirit growled in annoyance at being ignored and stepped forward, demanding their attention.
"The Herald of Andraste. The grand Inquisitor. Suledin." He glared at her companion who had broken his half-hearted spell. It truly could have been entertaining, but there was no tempting these two together. "And the whelp. To what do I owe this unprecedented pleasure?"
The whelp smiled mildly, shamelessly, and stepped closer:
"Curiosity. Nothing more."
Enraged, Pride rose to the full height of his ogre demon form. How dare they insult him! How dare they look down upon him! How dare they treat him as some sample to be studied!
"Are you prepared, Suledin?" the guide shouted above the growing hurricane of wind being summoned by Pride's wrath. A mage's staff had appeared in the Dreamer's hand, and he twirled it expertly. Lavellan took one more look at her corrupted home and its unwilling residents. In the blink of an eye, she had changed from a diplomat's frock into sturdy leather armor.
With a roar, Pride charged at the intruders, willing to rip his own dominion apart if it meant being rid of these insolent pests. Suledin vanished the moment he crawled within reach, and his massive claws swiped at the empty air. The male Dreamer had leapt down to the courtyard, shooting a hailstorm of fireballs from his staff. The spirit turned on his visible foe and dropped to the ground, ignoring the stings of the mage's attacks. But as he hulked over his target, prepared to strike, he felt the rogue materialize overhead as she flew from the top of the landing.
"Fen'Harel ma halam!" the Inquisitor bellowed before sinking two poisoned daggers into his neck.
Solas blenched at the bitterness of his tea as he surveyed Skyhold's walls. Having grown tired of Abelas' disapproving gaze and the simultaneously suspicious and doting glances of his followers, the mage had chosen to focus on other aspects of his plans for a time. Two nights ago, before his return to Skyhold, an unexpectedly violent dream of what could be had left him unusually disturbed. Even the more pleasant wanderings on this night, safe in the depths of this tower, had not removed his unease. He only hoped the heavily steeped brew would help to chase away his doubts.
Inara's isolated quarters and the lack of her presence meant he only had to watch for the occasional servant with a feather duster. This was otherwise the closest he had come to a peaceful respite in months, despite the constant reminders of his vhenan's coaxing search. Without the Spymaster and Inquisitor's on the grounds, it had become all too simple to come and go as he wished. The men who guarded Morrigan's eluvian in the stronghold's lower levels were fully confident that no one could get past them. He allowed them to continue that illusion – for now.
Regrettably sipping his tea again, Solas sat at the Herald's desk, allowing his eyes to roam about his old home and bracing himself for the next steps. There was still much work to be done, but the time was fast approaching for the sky to fall.
I know my way through the night to your door.
You know, the blood that I'm owed is all yours.
The wishes I've made are too vicious to tell.
The devil, already he knows me so well.
And if it's true,
I'll go there with you.
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