A/N: More Dreams! Please enjoy!
Chapter inspiration: Daylight's End (League of Legends)
Field of Ruin
On this night, Feynriel discovered Suledin in a large room with walls covered in ancient murals portraying the rebellions of Fen'Harel. The elf was studying a painting that portrayed the Dread Wolf removing the vallaslin of his grateful followers. The rest of the space around them was washed out and faded with blinding light, but the somniari felt he knew this place: The ancient ruin of Solas' old base. If only the Inquisitor knew how close she was to touching her beloved.
The mage waited behind his pupil patiently while she traced the cracks in the decorated wall. She wore rich armor with two daggers strapped to her back. Her fiery hair was twisted into a bun to keep it away from the blood splattered upon her clothes, which he presumed was from the dead Qunari at her feet. Despite this apparent echo of the past, he spotted Fen'Harel's jawbone necklace hanging heavily from her neck. The Dread Wolf had hidden himself well, and her growing frustration was palpable.
Finally, Inara turned to him expectantly.
"I have fought long and hard to reach him, Feynriel," she stated, a slight edge creeping into her resonant voice, despite the neutrality of her face. "You have helped me a great deal, but what chance do I have of finding him, truly? What if Morrigan is right, and I've lost him for good? If I find him, will he greet me as the Inquisitor, or as…?" She cut off, blushing and forcing herself to maintain eye-contact. "I sense you have come with purpose."
Feynriel paled even as he spoke the news out loud.
"I'm afraid this may be our last meeting, at least for the purpose of training," he whispered, to Inara's obvious distress. "My sponsor, Caylis, he… He was murdered last night. He was in the middle of writing a speech against the Archon's handling of the current crises…and they killed him! The Archon sent an assassin to murder him."
He spat out the last sentence with uncharacteristic venom. The Inquisitor did not appear surprised by his outburst. If anything, she seemed to become calmer the more he escalated. She truly was a leader.
"Are you sure it was Radonis who sent the assassin? It would be convenient to put the Magisterium into a greater state of disarray. The rebel slaves are rumored to be killing officials in their own homes," she tried to reason, waving at the blood on her armor, which disappeared obediently. "And placing one of the Dread Wolf's allies in the Magisterium might greatly benefit his cause...I assume you would be in line to replace Caylis. The rebellion may have happened eventually, even without encouragement, but the timing is a little convenient, don't you think?"
She paused, allowing Feynriel to realize that she had confirmed the connection between the slaves and the Called elves. No smirk could have been more graceful. Despite the mage's inability to share all he knew of Solas' current activities, he was happy to see her uncovering these little traces of the god's plan. She had proven herself to be exceptional at deducing his secrets on multiple occasions now. It was…impressive.
"I now know that the slaves' champion is the same man the Solasans herald as one of their commanders – the Blue Wraith?" she continued. "That's why you don't like talking of Hawke here in the Fade, because it all leads back to Fenris."
Feynriel hummed with consideration of whether play the fool. He hadn't told her. He hadn't shown how much he knew of the Solasans' movements, nor how many pots they currently stirred. It was a dangerous game he played, but he wanted to help Suledin.
"How did you discover this information?"
"I have friends in low places. But I thank you for confirming my suspicions." The half-elf contemplated whether to deny it, but such a refusal would risk losing the woman's trust and ruining his own hope for a gentler future. Accepting his subtle nod, Inara returned to the original topic. "So, not the Solasans or the rebels?"
"Certainly not," he scoffed, feeling his stomach give a jolting lurch at his fate. "And Radonis as much as admitted it. He…congratulated me and said he would expect to see me in my master's seat at the next Senate meeting. You assumed correctly; I am to be a magister."
"I suppose congratulations are in order, then," Suledin spoke evenly, her eyes communicating their condolences. "And I understand why you wish to step away from these additional duties. But I know I still have much to learn."
He laughed lightly at the thought, drawn out of his melancholy.
"Solas was right. You have a rare and marvelous spirit. You have a gift, a rare talent for walking in Dreams, especially considering it should not be possible. You were not born with magic, yet it is part of you now."
"Raw talent will only get me so far," the woman grumbled.
"I suspect that your previous ability to open and close rifts may not be completely lost. It's not something I can assist you with, but it may at least help your search for Hawke."
Inara nodded vaguely at the advice, rubbing her hands together nervously.
"And you won't tell me where Solas is?"
"I cannot. I have made a promise I cannot break. And I beg you to not ask me his location again. I will help as I can, but that is something you must find on your own."
The anxiety was suddenly replaced by a glint of mischief.
"You can't tell me where to find him; very well. However... The first time we met, you brought me to a temple in your dreams. You disguised yourself as him, standing beside an eluvian. Where is that temple?"
"The lost Temple of Solas," Feynriel replied without pause, chuckling at the loophole she had discovered. His smile then fell away as reality reminded him of what he faced tomorrow – funeral preparations and his new duties as a magister. "I have shared all I can, and we are running out of time. Find him, Suledin."
"How?" she whispered, frustration returning to her eyes.
"The best way to find something can simply be to let it find you. But be cautious, my friend. The more malicious of the spirits are always awaiting an opportune moment. Dareth shiral, lethallan."
With a respectful bow, the man faded into nothingness as he departed her dream, leaving Inara alone to study the Dread Wolf's paintings. Though she knew it to be unwise in the Fade, she allowed her mind to wander.
She wondered what direction her Dreams would take without Feynriel's guidance; she had gained much control, but she was no master. She wondered what her next step might be to find Solas. With how long it had taken her to gain this much proficiency, what hellscape might be created by the time she reached the ancient rebel? She worried that she might be too late, and she imagined what horrors might await.
A frigid blast of air hit the back of the elf's neck, and she knew her straying thoughts had met their reward. Bracing herself, Inara turned to face the blackened battlefield that now stretched beneath her boots – the result of her own anxieties.
Night had fallen long ago. Storm clouds and a putrid smoke blocked out most of the sky. The Herald shifted her feet in discomfort at the sensation of a warm, sticky substance seeping into her soles from the blood-soaked earth. She was in the middle of surveying the slaughtered bodies of men, elves, dwarves, and Qunari when a deafening roar reverberated overhead. Inara couldn't help but duck as a dragon swooped from behind, its eyes set on something on the horizon.
Despite knowing that she could shield her presence from any wandering spirits, the rogue chose a more aggressive route to investigate this scene. Slipping her dual daggers from her back, she summoned her own allies. Having seen them so many times in her early dreams, the wolfpack was one of the most familiar things to her in this place. And now, rather than see her as prey, they followed at her heels in a protective circle.
The stench of rotting flesh became nearly unbearable as Inara picked her way through the carnage. Distant sounds of battle were carried by the icy breeze, but there was no one to be seen. The demonic red glow emanating from the oozing ground guided her guarded footsteps. Eventually, she began stumbling across slain ogres, hurlocks, and giant spiders piled among the fairer creatures. Her wolves passed through them effortlessly, snarling at every hint of noise.
The Inquisitor paused at the shriek of the dragon, suddenly much closer than anticipated. Her companions froze, hunkering down and ready to pounce. A gust of wind abruptly cleared the smoke ahead, unveiling the great blue dragon, which was thankfully a safe distance off. It wasn't the massive winged beast that took her breath away, however.
A lone mage stood before the hulking creature, wearing gold armor with a thick fur wrapped over his shoulder. In one hand, he wielded one of the Foci, its surface slick with blood. In the other hand, he held a black staff that crackled with electricity. Mounted at its top was a twisted figure made of red lyrium that matched the description of the idol Solas allegedly now possessed.
A wolf's bark momentarily drew Suledin's gaze away from the imminent duel. Approaching cautiously on her left was another watcher: A silver-haired male elf with glowing tattoos bearing a massive two-handed sword. He stopped short upon noticing her. She was sure the man was not part of her own imaginings, but she couldn't be sure whether he was a spirit or a dreamer. Then she spotted the red cloth tied around his wrist. Fenris.
The two fighters warily regarded each other for a moment, Fenris eyeing the half-dozen wolves surrounding the woman. Neither made a move to attack, but it was mutually understood that now was not the time to talk. He likely had no idea that she was even real, let alone how he had been drawn to her nightmare.
Before daring to turn away, Inara briefly studied the Blue Wraith. While Solas was certainly more her type, she could see what Hawke found so appealing in this warrior. Fenris' roguish appearance exuded raw passion and strength. His tired eyes prowled the landscape, echoing untold torments and a painful longing. That look in his eyes was familiar, and she quickly realized why. She recalled the unbridled power and agony of the Dread Wolf – the look of a man on the road to death.
With an unspoken agreement, they turned back to the dragon and its challenger. Veins of crimson pulsed on Solas' exposed skin, and his eyes flashed white with power as a swirl of emerald magic emanated from the Foci. The ground rumbled tumultuously, causing Inara to briefly stumble onto one knee. Though she bounded to her feet immediately, the rogue could now feel that sticky wetness through the protective fabric against her leg.
Before the dragon could summon its strength to react, the magic surrounding the Orb and its owner exploded into a blinding cascade of light. By the time Inara recovered her vision, the dragon was gone. In its place was a man – a broken elf, collapsed and beaten, yet radiating an ancient power that she was not sure she wanted to comprehend.
Fen'Harel stood over his motionless foe in victory, but his soulless eyes sought out the Inquisitor. Suledin found herself helpless under that gaze while her mind tried to wrap itself around the horror of it. He was no longer remorseful, nor sad, nor regretting, nor tired. There was no reluctant antihero, only the villain. She looked into those dominating eyes, seeking the man she loved and longed for so dearly…and she found nothing. Her greatest fear was realized. Solas was lost to her; only the Dread Wolf remained.
"I would not have you see what I become," his words echoed across time. "I cannot do that to you, vhenan."
She thought this would be the worst of her surprise torment tonight, but she was wrong. The Solas of this Dream broke eye-contact to face another figure that had emerged from the smoke. The Inquisitor's own mirror image appeared at the Dread Wolf's side, decked out in rich robes of dazzling white that somehow remained untouched by the carnage at their feet. She bore no weapons, and her auburn hair spilled wildly over her shoulders, but her eyes were lifeless. Inara couldn't help but stare at the spectral green arm extending from the stub of her left shoulder.
Fen'Harel did not appear threatened by the new arrival; however, neither did he greet her with any warmth. They stared at each other vacantly, a dreaded understanding passed between them as the she approached. The Inquisitor and the Great Trickster – figureheads facing the inevitable. The Betrayed. The great tragedy coming to a head.
After a torturous moment of nothing, the mirror Herald effortlessly plunged her magic fist into Solas' chest. The mage grunted in pain, staring dazedly at his attacker while she crushed his heart. Finally, the woman ripped her hand free, and the Dread Wolf fell. It was over.
Inara dropped to her knees with a bitter gasp, cringing at the squelching of the blood that pooled from a nearby dwarf. One of her wolves brushed against her hand, and she securely gripped the fur at its neck. Her left arm was lost to her again, empty and worthless nothingness in the place of her Mark of power. Fenris had vanished from the corner of the Dreamer's eye after voicing a grumble of apparent satisfaction at the god's demise.
The elf's doppelganger turned on her with a raised eyebrow. Is this what you feared? This is but the inevitable – the wolf against the Wolf. There is no escape.
She desperately told herself this wasn't real. It had been her own fault for letting her mind wander so loosely. It was some demon latching onto her fears. The churning despair that now choked her was only the result of a demon. Not the real Solas. Not her real self. Not reality. Not the future. It was only her fear. Only despair. Only a demon. That was what she told herself.
Inara lost track of the time it took to compose her racing thoughts. Remembering Feynriel's advice, she imagined soft grass under her feet rather than the blood-covered battlefield; the sound of singing birds instead of humming flies; the smell of trees rather than decaying corpses. It was not a demon taking her own shape that approached her, but a shy halla nosing through the underbrush.
The Inquisitor rolled out of bed with a sigh, relief washing over her. The demon had been unable to latch onto her mind and keep her there, thank the Maker. As the relief faded, however, Inara realized that the spirit could potentially track her again. If it considered her an interesting enough target, she very well might find herself running from visions of Fear or Despair the moment she next closed her eyes. It wasn't a very encouraging thought.
On the other hand, she wondered, if she was able to find Solas' dreams, it was unlikely that a demon would dare to follow her there. Perhaps this was merely a hidden opportunity. She had learned enough; she knew how to control her presence in the dreams of others; and she desperately needed to see her vhenan on his own turf. It was the one dream she longed to see most – a dream where she might be free of her own false terrors.
She would still perhaps have to face a demon on her own, but that was a problem for the Inara of another night. After the haunts of tonight, however, she considered stepping away from the Fade for a day or two; she was sure Dorian would have a poultice to provide her with a few dreamless sleeps.
On the positive side, her fears had helped clarify a few whirling theories and suspicions of how the Dread Wolf might use the lyrium idol or the Foci. As Feynriel had reminded her countless times, it was only a reflection, a perspective, but it was better than nothing. She was suddenly even more curious about the Orbs being tracked by the magisters, their power and potential.
And then there was Fenris. If she played the game just right, she might be able to catch his attention and find in him an ally. Perhaps Hawke had not been findable to Inara because she was chasing the broody warrior. For now, he wanted the Inquisitor dead. But Feynriel had said that there was still perhaps power left in her to open rifts. If that was even possible, there was hope of resurrecting the Champion. At least one wrong could perhaps be remedied.
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