Advocate

After a week of tentatively exploring the safer corners of the Fade, Inara once again had control over her Dreams – as much as was possible, at least. Another week was spent discovering the memories of their present residence and otherwise practicing her magic-induced skills. There was still no sign of Hawke. Hopefully, by the time she did find the missing Champion, the Herald would be able to have something concrete to offer – a way out.

For a few nights in a row, Leliana had joined her on a scouting mission to find safe passage for escaped slaves through a network of ancient underground tunnels in Perivantium – marking the vague crossroads that led to freedom. It was refreshing to be out in the field again, actively doing something for a cause she knew to be just. According to Feynriel, there was a growing, stable network for their effort across the nation, though he declined to divulge names or any further connections with the Solasans. The proper Solasan camps were still spotted occasionally by scouts, only to disappear within a day – it was no longer a surprising occurrence.

In the open, the Inquisition members continued to collect intel on ancient arcane artifacts, the Qunari, and sites of red lyrium deposits to be destroyed. Divine Victoria had offered a few locations as a potential new base, but their forces' constant movements at least gave the illusion of keeping the Dread Wolf off their scent. All of the new information was funneled through a third party to be delivered to Captain Gideon Fabria, their alleged contact. The captain's missions kept him from making a personal visit, which was perfectly fine.

Though well-rested and confident that her friends had her back, Inara's worries for Solas only escalated. After so long of not seeing the real him in her Dreams – even being robbed of the little glimpses of his presence from those first few months – it was difficult to hope. She longed for her beloved more than anything, and the memory of him walking away from her after that last kiss ate away at her conscience. He had wanted to tell her everything. He didn't want this. She had to show him another way, if it existed. Perhaps the Veil would fall, but it did not have to mean the end of all things.

But first, she would have to understand him, and that meant finding him. Feynriel had taught her much. The spirits had taught her more. Her determination had been renewed. The Herald was afraid of what she might find, afraid of that demon tracking her down, and afraid of how Solas would react if he saw her now. But those fears could only reinforce her ability to remain hidden – and she was determined to use that fear while it lasted. Unfortunately, she was unsure how far she would be willing to go in this quest. Regardless, it was time to do a little reconnaissance, thanks to a note from Feynriel.

Find me tonight in the Fade, but remain hidden. I will show you the Dread Wolf's trail.

What was the Inquisitor up to? She had seemed so desperate to reach him before, but there was little sign of her in recent months. The Dread Wolf had tried keeping his allied spirits away from her – no need to give her more of a trail than necessary – but a few had ventured to meet her, namely Valor and Innocence. He had heard whispers of her escapades in this place, and the reason for it was standing before him now in the Fade.

"You were supposed to keep her from being possessed or getting herself killed," Solas scolded, pacing along the oceanside docks he had chosen for their meeting tonight. Encouraging the boy to teach Inara about her Dreams was supposed to decrease his distracting concerns for her; it had backfired. "I do not believe my instructions included mastery over the Fade. Even the spirits I call my friends find her presence too alluring to avoid."

Feynriel folded his hands patiently, an eyebrow arched to show he was not intimidated. The half-elf had come a long way since their first meeting; his abilities as a somniari meant he saw more of the Trickster's true thoughts than most. The new magister didn't see a god or a commander as so many did; he saw a teacher and a friend. Solas was not sure whether that pleased him. The beings of this world were not supposed to be…important.

"I would hardly call it 'mastery'; she would need years more practice before I could call it that. Would you rather her stumble in the dark?" the lad replied coolly. "You know as well as I that Dreaming cannot end with merely learning to survive. The lure is too great. And you cannot avoid her forever." His eyes twinkled with a moment of mischief. "You should call on her."

"I think you underestimate her sense of duty, lethallin. It would put her in an impossible position. And I cannot risk her choosing to use such a visit to stop me. She must move on, for her own sake."

"Must she? You really think that?" Feynriel scoffed. "As you must wallow in self-pity? You follow this path because you feel you have no choice. You may deceive yourself, but you cannot deceive me. I have seen both sides of this coin." Solas glared at the boy, regretting his decision to allow him such free reign. Unfortunately, he was the only agent he could rely upon within the Magisterium itself. "You know all you would have to do is ask."

"Ask what?" the older mage growled, disturbed from his musing.

"For her to stand at your side."

"I will do no such thing. I would not wish this path on anyone, least of all her."

"So instead, you leave her thinking you care not for her, with no path but the one she forges for herself?"

"It is better this way."

Feynriel tsked.

"What do you want from her, Fen'Harel?"

"Nothing."

"I thought you never lied, Trickster." Solas' glare deepened, knowing the boy's agenda, yet not wishing to admit it. "What do you wish for her?"

"I wish for her happiness. I wish for her to have a long life enjoying what is left of this world before my plan comes to fruition."

"Which could be much sooner than you might hope, if the magisters quit their bickering long enough. They may force your hand, leaving far less chance for your vhenan to grow old and forget her love for you. You really wish for her to move on? Perhaps her old commander – Cullen Rutherford, was it? – would step up for that challenge. I sensed they had quite the bond. Or the Iron Bull, or any one of your former acquaintances could provide a distraction." The half-breed smirked and drummed his fingers thoughtfully against his arm. "Though I confess, I have become rather attached to her myself. I can see the attraction."

Solas ceased his pacing, scowling rigidly at the churning seawater at his feet. What had begun as a simple report on the Magisterium had devolved into this, what he suspected to be his companion's true purpose for this visit. Inara had that effect on people – gaining loyalty where none should exist. He knew Feynriel was trying to goad him to anger, and it was working. He desired Lavellan's happiness, but the thought of her in another man's arms was not so easily accepted. Feynriel noted his superior's agitation and continued with a further gibe:

"You think of her as prey? A toy for only you to play with?"

His mind flickered to his encounter with the Desire demon taking her shape all too recently. Her warm breath tickling his chin, her eyes begging him to come hither, her curves pressed against him...

"I do not!"

Solas shifted his feet at his own outburst, feeling the flush of his cheeks. Instructing Feynriel to tutor Inara in her Dreaming – another thing that should never have happened – was supposed to distract her from reaching out to the Wolf. It was supposed to keep her safe and allow her to focus on her own real-world tasks, such as the Qunari. He had not anticipated his underling's ulterior motives.

The Inquisitor was supposed to move on and become nothing more than a fond memory and a vague threat. She was supposed to fade back into the shadow of this world that had seemed no more than a hollow reflection of reality when he first awoke. But she had changed everything, and there was no going back. Every move he made to further his plans, every step he took away from her, was pure agony.

"Good," Feynriel sniffed a laugh at his friend's frustrations, ever undeterred.

Solas closed his eyes, feeling his anger melt away, only to have it replaced by a dull ache of regret.

"What do you want of me?"

"I want you to stop lying to yourself! When you remember Suledin, do you recall the Inquisitor, the Herald of Andraste, the great victor over Corypheus, the lone soldier? Or do you picture the woman you called your vhenan, who pulled you into a world you never dreamed of?"

He recalled that evening on the balcony in Skyhold – how he had plied her with questions, trying to discern some logical explanation for being drawn to her so strongly. But she had been the only answer – her wisdom, her kindness, her spirit, her touch.

So what does this mean, Solas?

It means I have not forgotten the kiss.

Good.

Solas opened his eyes, thinking he had imagined the gentle pressure of her hand on his arm. He glanced down to confirm it had only been his mind playing tricks on him.

Don't go.

"Your presence haunts me, vhenan," he whispered before turning again to face Feynriel. The other man's amusement had vanished, replaced by a deep, sorrowful concern.

"I have seen her Dreams – her hopes, longing, and despair. She fears she has lost you."

"Or she never had me,"

Feynriel glanced to the side, brow furrowed.

"You truly do not wish to see her?"

"No. Not like this. It can never be." He straightened, forcing the lines of worry to flee from his face. "I thank you for your work among the magisters, Feynriel. Alert me the moment they have their third Orb, and I will begin preparations to relieve the Magisterium of their burden. What is done cannot be undone."

When Fen'Harel departed, Feynriel remained in the Dream, retaining the memory of the oceanside docks. He sensed he was not alone. His note had advised Inquisitor Lavellan to find him tonight, and his pupil did not disappoint.

The half-elf breathed in the sea breeze, feeling both accomplished at his own plots and sad for the subjects of those same schemes. He wished for Solas to succeed in returning magic to the world, but he did not wish for his master to destroy his own self in the process. And there was no one who wished for his redemption more than she.

The man bowed his head apologetically at the rouge's hollow sigh. He was certain Solas had sensed her presence at some point, but not enough to imagine she was really there. He didn't speak to her, but the somniari did catch a glimpse of Suledin standing but a pace behind where the Dread Wolf had just been stationed, her hand vainly reaching out. She looked terrified and sad. It was a dangerous game, but having her see her beloved was necessary, no matter the cost.

This great dance was only beginning. The players had been wandering without a song for too long. But the music had commenced. The red lyrium sang, and the spirits caressed their cruel instruments. It was up to the Dreamers to find each other amid this cacophony.

Suddenly, Inara whirled around, shuddering with fear at an unnamed horror before she disappeared altogether. She had known the risks, and she was willing to pay the price. Suledin would find her vhenan, but the journey was far from over. Solas had made that clear.

Finally alone, Feynriel peacefully watched the waves, contemplating the implications of his actions with a conscience that was hardly clear. They would all have to live with their decisions, and many would die by them. There was no going back. The pieces were set. The game was already being played.

"Ir abelas, Suledin."

Thank you for reading, and please do follow, favorite, and review! I know I've been doing a lot of 'set-up' chapters lately, but they're kinda necessary for what I have planned. I'm so excited to share what's coming soon!