A/N: Ready for a little spice? ;) Also, as a heads up, I'm probably going to now be shooting for weekly updates on this story. With work getting more intense again and my great desire to do the Solas/Lavellan epoch the justice it deserves, I don't want to rush anything. Thank you and please enjoy!

Chapter inspiration: Bees (Ballroom Thieves)

And the words she aches to hear pour through my canyon
And they're singing in the caverns of my limbs
And though I do my best to try to understand them
They only follow me like vultures in the end

Desire's Curiosity

The dust of battle was beginning to settle as Solas knelt before the shattered Foci in horror. The scent of sweat and blood hung thick in the air in the Valley of Sacred Ashes. Only he and the Inquisitor remained on the grounds where she had defeated Corypheus by using his own machinations against him. The others had yet to fully realize their victory.

"Solas?"

"The Orb," he whispered brokenly from where he held the lifeless, fractured stone.

"I know you wanted the Orb saved," Inara sympathized from behind him, unaware of the depth of the mage's sorrow. "I'm so sorry."

No, she did not know. How could she? So many times, he had been prepared to tell her everything, only to lose his nerve.

"It is not your fault."

It was his own fault, like everything else. This entire reality weighed heavily on his shoulders with the stolen legacy of his people.

The Herald studied his face for a moment as he stood to face her. She could see his despair, but she could not comprehend its magnitude.

"There's more, isn't there?"

Solas would have found humor in her astute words, had he not felt such anguish in this moment. Without his Orb, he knew what atrocities he was now fated to commit. His alternative plan was so much more vile, violent, and painstaking; yet it was necessary. He had done this to himself – all of it, including the pain he was about to inflict on the woman who had somehow stolen his heart. It was his burden alone.

"It was not supposed to happen this way."

He was supposed to be in control. The world was not supposed to be like this. The elves were not supposed to fall. Corypheus was not supposed to survive the Orb's power. Inara Lavellan was not supposed to receive the Mark. She was not supposed to be so real and so marvelous. She was not supposed to enthrall him with her indomitable spirit – a mistake he could not bring himself to regret. He was not supposed to fall in love with this world. He was not supposed to fall in love with her.

"No matter what comes," he continued, deliberately looking away, "I want you to know that what we had was real."

If he met her gaze now, she would see the brokenness. She would want to help. By merely looking into those eternally understanding, engulfing eyes, he would risk faltering in his destiny, or perhaps tell her everything. The realization of his path was too fresh, too sore, too open a wound to let her see. She couldn't see the monster; it was kinder to leave as the man, even if it broke her heart.

Inara's brow furrowed in confusion, but she did not have time to question him as Cassandra bellowed from nearby to make sure the Herald was still alive. The rogue followed the call of duty, leaving Solas trying to convince himself to walk away. He had to walk away.

"Was it?"

Solas blinked at the Inquisitor, who had turned back to face him with an amused twitch of her lips. This was not how it happened. He had watched her leave. He had watched the warm greeting she received from her loyal followers. Then, he had disappeared into the night, alone.

"Was what?" he indulged the spirit cautiously. He remained wary when the woman meandered towards him, somehow managing to look playfully coy in her full armor.

"What is real?" She chuckled at his scowl and nudged the shattered Orb with her foot. The sound of cheering at the bottom of the staircase indicated the Herald's victory was being celebrated. "This isn't what you wanted, is it? I waited for you, you know."

"So I have heard," he grumbled tolerantly.

"You hear, yet you do not understand."

"If you had just told me."

The memory of her pleading voice resonated from the stairs behind the teasing spirit. The cheering had been replaced by a faint melody that had no place on this battlefield. Fen'Harel gladly brushed past the hollow replica of his vhenan to see what lay ahead in this Dream. He paused before reaching the threshold of the ruin, however.

"This is not how it happened," he repeated aloud. "I left her to her victory in peace. Word spread of the grand celebration in Skyhold after the defeat of Corypheus. I would not have spoiled it for her with the truth of my identity, nor my ultimate purpose."

He ignored her mocking tsk and stalked through the crumbling archway that now stood silent. As his feet met the first step, the Dreamer found himself no longer at the scene of battle, but rather in the heart of Skyhold.

From the landing halfway up the staircase to the main hall, he could see the signs of festivity on this fair night. Soldiers, servants, refugees, and pilgrims danced, drank, and laughed jovially to the cheerful ditty of a fiddle in the torchlight below. Many toasted the health of the Herald of Andraste.

The Dread Wolf's heart leapt into his throat when he turned to find two women in quiet conference just outside the massive double doors. The tone of Leliana's report was uncommonly sympathetic.

"If he does not wish to be found, there's likely nothing we can do. But I will keep looking."

"I just don't understand," Inara replied, her carefully tempered voice shaking. The tone was not at all fitting for such a glorious occasion for her people. "He didn't even say goodbye."

"The two of you were close. Perhaps he had no choice? He might return at any moment."

The elf took a moment to compose herself, forcing her mind to have confidence in the Spymaster's words. There was, after all, an entire room full of guests that would expect their hero to be all smiles and glory. As always, her own desires would have to be her last priority.

"Maybe."

Solas spent a moment openly observing the courtyard celebrations as the conversation moved indoors. It reminded him of victories long ago and lost; the times changed, but the glory of a war won never lost its exhilaration. Whatever spirit had sought out this memory, he wondered how true it was to what really happened on this night. The Inquisition had earned their revelry.

Curiosity getting the better of him, the Dreamer ultimately entered the brightly lit main hall of Skyhold. Unseen or ignored by the guests within, he leaned against the wall to watch the party unfold, simply glad to have a pleasant distraction for once. He watched Inquisitor Lavellan flit from one dignitary to another, her smile welcoming and her laugh infectious. The only sign of her discomfort with the crowd was how she consistently rubbed the fingers of her left hand together, itching to escape.

Like a moth to a flame, she was most drawn to her close companions; only then was she genuinely relaxed. She jested with Varric, reassured Josephine of the food's sufficiency, and sympathized with Cassandra over the continued politics of the Chantry. Solas noted how fondly Commander Cullen's gaze seemed to linger on the elf, but the former Templar had always been too much the gentleman to pursue her when Inara's eyes were on another.

The Trickster enjoyed the scene before him. It was the first time in over a year that their company did not have the imminent destruction of the world hanging over their heads. They were all content to forget their worries for at least a while – aside from Josie, who continued to fret over whether the wine did not meet the guests' expectations. Or rather, all were all evidently happy save one. Where had the Herald slipped off to?

The mage found her in the rotunda he had called home during the Inquisition. For a moment, the frescoes appeared vandalized and shattered; but in the blink of an eye, they were whole again - the tricks of the Fade. Considering the current state of the real Skyhold, it was not surprising that a flicker of reality would seep into this place. The demon of Regret, manifested by his own guilt, had all too recently despoiled his old fortress, right after his most recent visit there. He was a little relieved that the attack now left the place nearly deserted, considering his plans.

He found Inara sitting alone at his desk in the middle of the room, her delicate fingers cradling her head, her eyes closed against the soft light of the veilfire. Solas dared to approach and reached out to touch her; but, before his hand could come to rest on her shoulder, she spoke.

"You came back."

The woman swiveled in the chair to look up at him with wide eyes. That sad smile was just wrong enough to make him realize its insincerity. He guessed it was the same spirit who had taken her form only a short time ago on the battlefield. What did it want?

When the Dreamer failed to answer, the spirit arose, close enough for him to feel her warm breath against his skin.

"You came back," she repeated, her voice nothing but a breathed whisper and a wish.

Despite knowing that it was not the real Inara standing before him, having her this close left him motionless. He had his mission, his duty, his purpose in life that could not be stopped. But he secretly craved her presence. He missed her wise questions, her melodious laughter, the bottomless depths of her eyes, the lush and sonorous tones of her voice, and the simple comfort of her hand on his arm.

Hearing of her political conquests over the past year left her feeling distant – the mere figurehead he knew she feared to become. Even the detailed information he gleaned from his spies had much to be desired concerning her true wellbeing. He wanted to visit her again, but at what cost? She had already caused him to falter once before.

Seemingly reading his thoughts, the spirit slowly reached both of her hands to press against his wrists, her eyes fixed lazily on the wolf jaw pendant hanging from his neck. A shiver ran down his spine as her tantalizing fingers trailed gently up his arms and over his shoulders before coming to rest against his chest. The Dread Wolf remained still, studying every curve and crease of her downturned face. He had memorized every feature, every tell, every expression, down to the clustered trio of freckles on the right side of her jaw. Even that was present.

Gradually, the woman raised her eyes to meet his. Noticing the intensity of his attention, her smile warmed, and her eyes grew hungry. Those hands moved again, firmer now. She ran her palms wordlessly back to his biceps, down to his elbows. Solas trembled as she grasped the cloth at his waist and closed the remaining gap between them. Her body was warm and soft. Her voluptuous lips hovered mere centimeters away.

Seemingly unsatisfied with his lack of response, she grasped his hands and guided them to her hips, her ravenous gaze never wavering. She pressed closer, reaching to caress his back as she breathed in his scent. Those lips brushed against his chin, inviting, teasing.

He almost gave in. He almost allowed his longing and loneliness to imagine for just a second that this fantasy was real, that none of the tragedy from the past three years had ever occurred. But it remained a fantasy.

The real Inara was never so brazen. She pulled him in, but she always waited respectfully, allowing him the choice and control she knew he craved in these moments that so terrified him. She drew him in, and he was helpless to resist. Their romance had been full of secrets, at least on his part, but they always allowed each other to lead – respectfully, cautiously, and trustingly. It only increased his guilt to know how much she had trusted him with her heart. He couldn't betray her trust again.

"I can't."

With a shake of his head, Solas broke away from the spirit's embrace, taking several steps to reach a safe distance and shaking off the memory of her sensuous touch. It wasn't her. The temptress stayed where he had abandoned her, cocking her head with a nearly bird-like tick. Her eyes were less enticing now, and more voracious.

"Isn't this what you wanted?" she purred. When he did not reply right away, the demon grinned with sinister glee. "She waited for you, you know. And she will continue to wait."

Solas straightened from his defensive stance, reclaiming the control and composure he normally portrayed in his Dreams.

"I know what you are," he declared calmly.

"As I knew you would," she chuckled, unbothered by the revelation. He scowled. Normally, once caught in their tricks, demons most often either attacked or fled; this one was doing neither.

"Then why did you try? What do you want?"

"Nothing," the spirit shrugged, sinking gracefully back into the desk chair. "Curiosity. You fear dying alone. It is only logical for you to desire companionship. And she…desires you."

"And how would you know of it?"

She ran her tongue teasingly along her teeth, still smiling. Her nose crinkled with amusement.

"I invite you to find out for yourself. I think you underestimate her, Dread Wolf, and the danger she faces."

"And you do not?" He crossed his arms, determined to get whatever answers he could. What did this spirit know of the Inquisitor? Why was it here? What were its motivations, if not to follow its singular nature? "I am aware she is not some damsel in distress in need of rescuing. She has faced danger, and she always prevails. She has allies, and she is wise beyond her years. I do not consider that underestimation."

"You underestimate the complexity of her loyalties," the woman corrected willingly, "and it could be the downfall for either of you. I look forward to seeing which."

As the demon brushed by him with one last alluring touch and disappeared through the doorway, Solas recalled Morrigan's words to him:

"I think the line between hero and villain is more blurred than you may think. You know that girl still waits for you, and she will continue to wait...and search."

Blurred lines. The complexity of loyalties. Lavellan's determination to save him from his own path. The underestimation of her danger. And then there was the strangeness of this singular vision. Desire demons did not lightly relinquish their targets. Like all spirits, they were driven by a nearly overwhelming instinctual purpose. So why did this one simply allow him to slip through its fingers? Despite the importance of his quest, this encounter had left him with a renewed ache for his vhenan.

"Solas, var lath vir suledin."

The memory would never leave him. Her loyalty, even in the face of the most terrifying revelation in the history of her people, had hurt more than any hatred. He could have ignored a threat or brushed off any anger. He was the villain. But she had asked to accompany him. She had asked to help him find another way. She had somehow remained steadfast in both her principles and her love for him; yet he feared that one or the other might break her one day.

A great shadow arose against the tower walls. A deep, rumbling growl caused the entire room to shudder with dread. Solas turned to find six burning eyes glaring down upon him, expectant and lurking eternally. His fate awaited.

"I wish it could, vhenan."

So as I try to breathe the air that she is breathing
And we dance a lightless dance upon my floor
I am burning to tell her she's all I'm needing
But I'm drowned out by all the noise outside the door

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