A/N: Another chapter that ended up way longer than intended, so it has been split into two. Take care!

Insomnia

Over a week without truly Dreaming. Inara wasn't sure how much longer she could keep the others from worrying, though they likely were already. She had only intended to avoid the Fade for a night or two, but… Every time she closed her eyes, she could see her mirror image in the Fade, white robes tangling around her ankles, untouched by the bloody ground – plunging her fist into Solas' chest. Her own soul seemed to have been lost behind the unforgiving duty of the Inquisitor.

Is this what you feared? This is but the inevitable – the wolf against the Wolf. There is no escape.

She had tried Gianna's herbal concoction and the Archon's recommended tea for a few nights. They had indeed supplied sleep – deep, dreamless, and uneventful – but she awoke feeling hollow, unsatisfied, and guilty of her blatant avoidance. The slumber was sweet, but a part of herself was missing without the Dreams. Despite the danger, they had become a familiar comfort. And now, fear of that demon seemed to make a coward of her. Either way, she was at a loss.

The woman had since abandoned the herbs and set about to avoid unconsciousness altogether – not an easy task. Reports and letters were more than up to date, her quarters had been reorganized, and she had polished off yet another book from Dorian's library. Her willpower was not enough to prevent her from dozing off in the wee hours of the morning, however.

Lavellan's addled mind was assaulted by a grueling medley of visions. Demons hunted her through darkened corridors, usually wearing her own face. She saw Solas tear down the sky with blood magic before being swallowed by a dragon. She tripped through exploding battlefields over the bodies of her dead friends while hulking Qunari dogged her steps. She chased after a black wolf with six eyes, only to have it turn on her and tear her apart. Her great anxieties harassed every waking moment.

Inara begrudgingly remembered Feynriel's warning of the dangers of the Fade when despair, fear, exhaustion, and anger were at play – and she had a cocktail of the entire list. She despaired at finding Solas before it was too late; she feared losing her friends, and she feared being hunted by a demon in her own skin; her body ached from stress and fatigue; and she was angry – at herself, Solas, the Archon, and the world. The grand Inquisitor was supposed to have a happy ending after saving Thedas. A poor reward this was.

Determined to escape her thoughts tonight, Inara dressed in sturdy clothes with a thick coat to guard against the night's chill, and slipped down the stairs of House Pavus. All the servants had turned in long ago. She cringed as her foot landed on one of the creakier steps and quickly redirected her weight. This was not the first time she had sought a distraction outside the mansion in secret.

Upon reaching the first floor and emerging into the foyer, the rogue paused again at the argumentative tones of Dorian and Leliana from the back library.

"You would think that tea should ensure at least one night of restful sleep," the mage worried. "Gianna knows her herbs. I suspect she only pretends to drink it for our benefit; you know she doesn't like us to worry."

"I supported her learning about these Dreams," the female's grumbling voice trilled, "but this is getting out of hand. She's fading from us."

"She's finding herself. It that really so bad?"

"You've seen how distraught and wearied she is! She's becoming obsessive. We can't risk losing her."

"And what would you ask of her? To give up on him? To harden her heart and become everything she is not? To kill a dear friend with her own hand? To become the monster?"

"Of course not!" Leliana snapped. "I only worry for her safety, in body and spirit."

Inara never learned how her friends' conversation ended as she slipped out through the well-oiled front door and into the restless streets of Perivantium.

After midnight was the perfect time to scout the Tevinter streets. It was a shame tonight was not moonless, but it could not be helped. The Blue Wraith had counted himself among those dispatched to Perivantium on this occasion, calculating patrol routes and spotting new targets that might further cripple the cruel nation. If Danarius could see what his 'little wolf' was doing to his precious home… The elf relished reminding himself of the sensation of the magister's heart being crushed in his fist.

The old guardian, Abelas, wanted the city mapped out for the purpose of relieving Archon Radonis of one of those strange orbs. Fenris didn't enjoy the idea, knowing that these artifacts were magical in origin, but it gave him the opportunity to take his anger out on more mages. It was a fair trade thus far; however, he would not pass the opportunity to kill this Dread Wolf as soon as he was finished avenging Hawke's death. Little mattered anymore. The world was coming apart with or without his help; at least this way, he could take a piece of it down with him. But recent events were making him question his goal, though he refused to admit it yet.

The warrior pulled his collar closer to his chin as he paused on a noble's rooftop. It wouldn't do to have the markings give him away. He was not here to fight, though his bloodlust preferred it, but rather to pick up a package – a tip from one of the Solasan's sources. The southern slave market was nearly rebuilt, and he made note to have it demolished the moment they finished their reopening ceremonies. It was then that the former slave noticed a lone, cloaked figure slip down one of the darker side roads, away from the torchlight of the main cobbled street. Perhaps his contact?

The slender form of the wanderer paused just within sight of the market construction and leaned against the wall of the man's perch. She appeared to stare at the half-erected auction platform for a time, then turned back to the darkness. What could a lady in such fine clothes want here at this hour?

Fenris stealthily shadowed her movements as the woman reached the dim road closest to the city walls. Likely the homes of servants and lower craftsmen, rock hovels lined the wall within a stone's throw of the finery of several noble houses. Yet, without the light, security, and patrols of the main thoroughfare, these residents were sure to bar their doors and windows against the criminals out for easy prey.

Seemingly drawn by an unknown force, she plunged onward down the ghostly lane. After a few minutes of silent plodding, the lady froze. Both she and her watcher had heard the sound of a child's muffled sob. Fenris hunkered down under the shadow of a chimney, peering over the sturdy ridge of the rooftop.

"You came back!" a child's shaking whisper emanated from a makeshift tent under the cover of a bridge.

The woman rushed forward, handing a satchel to the bone-thin arms that reached from within the canvas covering. After a few seconds of scuffling, a boy and a girl of about eight years emerged to face their visitor. Each covetously held a half-eaten roll of bread.

"I promised I would," came her warm voice from the cover of her hood, "and I don't go back on my promises. Are you ready, all four of you?"

"Yes," the boy nodded, bright eyes shining through the dirt on his narrow face as he glanced back in the tent. "Is it true? Our parents are waiting for us?"

"You're being smuggled out of the city tonight. You'll see your parents soon."

Fenris twitched as one of his fellow hunters slipped beside him. One of the more zealous of the Called elves, Jien's talent for stealthy murder was his only redeeming quality. Otherwise, the boy did little more than chatter about elven history.

"Is that our contact?" the new arrival breathed, nodding at the peculiar meeting below.

"We will find out soon enough," growled the warrior as he continued to watch the stranger.

The woman had taken her empty satchel back and wrapped her cloak around a second shivering girl. Four elf youngsters to be picked up and delivered to the camp outside Perivantium, all accounted for. Their parents had been the slaves of a magister; when their parents were summoned by Fen'Harel, there was no choice but to leave them behind. The magister had effectively been holding the children hostage while he hunted for the escapees. Tonight, they would fully elude his grasp.

The Blue Wraith hadn't been told who they would be meeting. According to Abelas, he had coordinated with their contact in the Magisterium to sneak the package out of the mage's home. Another contact within Perivantium would mark their location with a lyrium crest after ensuring their safety. The children would be fetched and brought to the camp. End of story. But who was this new advocate? Clearly no one who wanted to be known; and now, with her cloak removed, he saw why.

Inquisitor Lavellan pulled her coat tighter, shifting her left sleeve more comfortably over her amputated arm. With a wary glance around and a few more words of encouragement to her charges, the rogue carefully placed a glowing lyrium-encrusted stone on the ground and slipped away. With the signal in place, it was time to rescue the whelps.

The man scowled darkly after the Herald, his hunger for revenge bubbling to the surface. Despite Varric's insistence to the contrary, he placed most of the blame for Hawke's death on this woman's shoulders. The rest of the fault was his; he shouldn't have let the Champion go alone.

"Is that…Suledin?" Jien gasped in wonder.

"It matters not. Let us return to the task at hand."

Fenris growled in irritation, dropping to the ground and terrifying their prospective rescues. His begrudging curiosity did not stop there, however, and he was driven to ignore his own counsel. Perhaps he could see with his own eyes where the Herald was residing and save himself a search later. While Jien was occupied with muttering instructions to their charges, he slipped after Lavellan and hid himself behind a large crate with a full view of the main street.

Suledin had successfully emerged into the better lit area of the city, but it did not prove any safer. She, Fenris, and Jien were apparently not the only hunters in the night with a mission. As she passed beneath the eaves of one of the plainer mansions, a black shape dropped from its hiding place on the roof and landed behind the woman.

The moment his feet touched the ground, the cloaked stranger unsheathed two daggers that crackled with white lightning. The Inquisitor, sensing the disturbance, swiveled around with her hand wrapped around the hilt of her own weapon. Unable to retaliate in time, she dodged backward to narrowly avoid death. The blade intended to cut her jugular only managed to slice across the jaw – a wound that was certainly not fatal, though it still sent blood streaming down her throat.

Inara had successfully liberated her own double-bladed dagger by the time the assassin sought another attempt on her life. Despite only having one arm, the rogue danced with grace in the heat of battle. Her expression gave no hint of surprise nor pain as she parried and blocked one attack after another. The assassin quickly grew frustrated, unable to fully gain an advantage.

Finally, however, the stranger's anger outmatched Suledin's tired passivity, and he leapt behind her. He was preparing to stab his target in the back when his body was enveloped by a pillar of blinding fire. The man stood frozen in place for several seconds of agony before the elf pivoted around and cut his throat in one fluid motion. He dropped into a smoking heap – dead. Inara was promptly joined by her rescuer, a human mage with dark hair and a well-oiled mustache. Fenris turned back toward the alley, seeing the excitement over.

"Well?" Jien breathed as the Blue Wraith returned to his waiting companions. "I heard battle. Is Suledin alright?"

"The Inquisitor will live to fight another day," the elf growled reluctantly. He had wanted this woman dead for losing Hawke. Now, she was an agent of Fen'Harel – whether she knew it or not – who was becoming almost revered by the local Solasans in too short a time. Word of her chastisement to the Magisterium and her refusal to help against the rebellion, coupled with rumors that she was now helping their cause from within the city, made his task less certain. "We should move on."