Intervention

"Blasted, girl! Why can't you be more careful?"

Inara chuckled hollowly at Dorian's rebuke. He nudged her onto the library couch, where Leliana was already waiting with supplies to clean her wound. Her laughter cut off, however, when the straight-faced Spymaster roughly grabbed her jaw to survey the damage. The trio remained silent for quite some time after that.

The mage grumbled and retrieved three glasses of brandy; he downed his portion immediately and left again, only to the return with the entire bottle. Meanwhile, Leliana attentively cleaned the cut across the Herald's jaw, tsking at her foolhardiness and commenting that it would likely be slow to heal. Lavellan remained obediently mute, wincing when her friend deftly imbedded half a dozen stitches into her flesh.

Finally, the other woman dropped the stained rag into the blood-tinted bowl of water on the table and retrieved her own brandy. Inara couldn't help but see the tense jaws and lines of anxiety on both of her companions, and she instantly felt embarrassed for not telling them about her recent ventures. In fact, she had barely talked to either of them about anything but official matters ever since her last visit to the Magisterium.

"That wound will likely scar, as I assume you don't want to risk explaining its existence to one of the local healing mages," the Nightingale said evenly. Her expression quickly softened, however, at the Inquisitor's apologetic eyes. "I know you feel guilty about saying no to the magisters. But going completely the opposite direction and aiding the slave rebels right under their noses is not the way to solve things."

Inara stammered for a moment.

"You knew?"

"Knew?" the archer sniggered darkly. "That Feynriel contacted the rebel cell on your behalf the very day you gave the Senate your answer? That you have snuck out for these underhanded missions three times in the past week? Yes."

The Inquisitor avoided eye contact with her Spymaster for a moment. Of course they knew. She was deluded to assume otherwise.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to worry you. But I had to do something. My Dreams as of late have been…disturbing since Feynriel's appointment to the Magisterium. I had to do something to distract my thoughts."

"But why go this route? We can't afford to lose you, in body or mind," exclaimed Dorian, who halted his pacing behind the opposite couch and forced himself to sit for another refill of brandy.

"Without the magisters' full support, what chance do we have of gaining enough power and resources to stop Solas? I bear no guilt for refusing to endorse the slavers, but I risk everything for it. I failed them – everyone who called me a hero."

"You did not," the man growled, but Leliana stepped in with a quieter approach.

"You did what you have always done. You do not compromise what you stand for to achieve your ends."

"And what do I stand for?" the elf sighed, leaning back and unbuttoning her overcoat. If Leliana had been in charge of this endeavor, they probably would have set the world straight a month ago. "Against Corypheus, all was clear. Against the Dread Wolf, the Qunari, and whatever other hell might soon break loose…things are less certain. I once stood for what was right, just, fair, and good. I disbanded the Inquisition because it was failing to hold to its original purpose. The world continues to evolve into a creature I'm not sure I can stand against. What if I tire of being the hero?"

Dorian swirled his drink restlessly.

"Inara," he began, pinching the bridge of his nose, "I know you wish to keep your friends safe, but it pains me to think you wouldn't tell us of your plans." Inara opened her mouth to interrupt, but he held up a finger to silence her. Leliana departed to dispose of the wash basin. "I am not saying I do not condone your intentions. In fact, I fully endorse the effort to free the slaves, as my own political efforts have yet failed."

He dropped his hand and looked at her, warm and worried. Lavellan stared into her drink as they waited for their third companion return. She begrudgingly admitted to herself that she had been turning inward more with each passing day. Ever since their arrival in Perivantium, things had changed. Feynriel had handed her the world of Dreams on a silver platter, and she had accepted it whole-heartedly. The politics and torments of the Magisterium and their unsatisfactory progress in the real world had driven her further into the Fade. But the Fade had bitten like a waiting serpent the moment Feynriel stepped away, leaving her feeling even more detached from her purpose.

With both of her personal warfronts seemingly impassable, Inara had begun allying herself as an agent of the slave rebels just to feel useful. She had to feel useful in something. Only a week into this fresh ambition, her friends were already here to intervene on her behalf. She should have included them the moment she considered secretly aiding the slaves. It was only with their help that she had defeated Corypheus; and it was only with their help that she could stand now.

"We only ask that you trust us, as you always have," Leliana requested coolly while taking a seat at the window-side table.

"I know."

"We know the pain which has instigated this recklessness," Dorian persisted. "I wish I could be of more help in that regard, but I can at least remind you that you are under no obligation to him. You owe the Dread Wolf nothing."

"And yet, here I am." The elf finished her drink and tried in vain to wipe away the exhaustion that now appeared to be her perpetual companion. Maker, she needed sleep… "I have no doubt that I must continue my search for him, but I fear I have lost sight of my purpose."

The woman twitched in surprised as Dorian quickly switched to a place at his friend's side and rested his arm against the couch behind her.

"Why did you start down this path in the first place?"

"Because a dear friend is bound to lose himself if we do nothing."

The woman stroked the wolf jaw against her chest.

"You've been trying to find a way to save him and the world. Not exactly an encouraging task."

"And I'm not sure I can do both. I admit, I am glad there are others taking up the mantle for the greater good. As for me, I think my path is becoming clearer." Leliana's gaze, which had been focused on a fresh report, locked onto the Herald. "I have to go back to the Fade. I can't let my fears stand in the way."

"I will stand by you, whatever you choose, but I will not let you destroy yourself. If there is anything you require, you need only ask." Dorian looked to the Spymaster, who nodded in agreement. "Just promise me one thing: No more secrets. We care about you too much for nightmares and a few stubborn mages to be the end of you."

"I promise," Inara conceded, lounging against her friend's chest. Relief bloomed at the reminder that she really wasn't alone; her friends would always have her back. She only hoped to never give them cause to regret it. "In that case, I should probably tell you about the demon who wore my own face."

The Inquisitor spent nearly the next hour detailing her most recent dealings in the Fade, including her doppelganger punching a red lyrium-infested Solas through the chest and realizing that she was dealing with a demon. She left out nothing. In the end, she apologized again.

"You would think I'd have learned to trust the two of you implicitly by now," she laughed self-deprecatingly.

"We know nothing could stop you from aiding any one of your friends, most of all him. In matters of the heart, logic does not always rule," hummed Dorian, wrapping his arm comfortingly around her waist. "Sometimes, the greatest comfort is knowing you are not alone."

Inara suddenly tensed and sat up.

"That's it. Dorian, you're a genius!"

"Though that was obvious previously, do elaborate."

"People keep telling me that I was what gave Solas pause in his plans. Until then, this world did not seem real to him. I think I know how to reach him – the same way you reached me tonight. He must know he is not alone. I have to show him." The woman tapped a nail impatiently against the table, her wearied mind desperately trying to wrap around her renewed zeal. "We must save our friend from himself. If we can."

Dorian threw his hands in the air with a bark of laughter, to the amusement of both females.

"Brilliant! We're going to defeat a god with the power of friendship. What could possibly go wrong?"