A/N: Two in a day! Please enjoy!

Winged Creatures

Inquisitor Lavellen laughed as she ducked to avoid the thin practice staff aimed at the side of her head. Her breath trailed visibly in her wake against the bitter cold; sweat slicked her back under the sturdy jerkin; and her muscles ached from activity. But she was glad Leliana didn't go easy on her. These practice sessions kept the women grounded and prevented them from going soft in the midst of world-reaching plots. She tried to ignore Dorian's words from her first days in Tevinter: You're not a fighter anymore, Inara.

"Perhaps I should consider abandoning the dagger for a staff. It fits the hand well."

The Spymaster twirled her pole expertly while backing away, her left arm courteously folded at her back. The rare grin gracing her beautiful features made the human appear much younger, and Inara knew her own cheeks matched the ruddy flush of her friend. The normally knife-wielding rogue circled the practice yard while steadying her own breath, the staff propped against the back of her arm in a comfortable grip. This was a good thing.

They had been in Perivantium for over three months now – two months since their formal alliance with the Imperium, which had thankfully not broken any of their other ties. The campaign continued as ever, but the more they learned of the plots of Fen'Harel, the more mysteries appeared. The Inquisition had done its due diligence to make up for what they could not offer Tevinter with their slaves, and the Qunari were sure to keep them plenty busy. The Qun continued to spread and had nearly enveloped the northeastern coastline.

The magisters were not exactly welcoming, but at least they finally believed in the Dread Wolf's existence after the official emergence of the elven forces. An ancient town in the west had been utterly swarmed by an army of barefaced knife-ears in pursuit of some artifact the local politicians deigned to not share with their foreign guests. Rumor said hundreds of elves had simply materialized out of nowhere, pouring over the hills with feverish purpose and no remorse.

Inara worried that the Solasans were becoming more brutal in their zealous pursuits for the return of Arlathan and the continued cruelty of their self-proclaimed overlords. Every movement for renewed control by the human population seemed only to come across as revenge and oppression, no matter their good intentions. War was never a pretty thing, but frustration made monsters of all sides.

A certain young magister made his way to the outer edges of the practice yard, which was stationed at the back of his mansion. He greeted the Inquisitor's six guards, who watched the scuffle by the side of an open fire, before turning toward the women. Their fluid dance did not cease on his behalf, however. The wood staves clacked together in a sharp, unforgiving rhythm, from one side of the clearing to the other. Dorian beamed at the sight, even as he stomped his boots on the packed dirt and rubbed his hands together.

While he pulled his thick coat tighter around his shoulders, the rogues seemed untouched by the cold in attire more suited for a hot Antivan summer than this Blight-blasted chill. Tevinter could be nippy in the winter, but this increasing frost had only been worsening for the past four months. It reminded him too well of Emprise du Lion. Would they next see red lyrium bursting through their own cobblestones?

With a grunt, the Nightingale locked her own staff with her competitor's, attempting to use her superior weight to knock the elf to the ground. But Inara would not go down so easily. She braced her weapon firmly, the tawny muscles of her intact arm straining. Only then did she look to the new arrival.

"Ah, welcome home, Master Pavus!" she breathlessly cheered.

Without further pause, the Herald lunged forward and linked the stub of her left arm under Leliana's shoulder. In the same movement, she twisted her leg around the other rogue's knee and pulled sharply. Both women went crashing to the ground in a panting heap, Inara laughing as she lounged shamelessly over her friend's waist. The Spymaster remained motionless for a time, shaking ginger bangs away from her amused eyes. Dorian found the scene encouraging. After everything she still endured, at least the Inquisitor knew how to have a little fun. Iron Bull and Sera had always been good for that.

The mage scoffed as he drew nearer. Leliana had finally rolled free of the elf, who sat cross-legged on the dirt and watched a few spiraling snowflakes whipping past her vision. Both of them had already begun to shiver, no longer having their sparring to keep the sweat from chilling their bones.

"What's the point of practicing with your fists and sticks when you expect your foes to have magic?" he barked good-naturedly. For his trouble, Leliana knocked him in the back of the head with her staff as she passed, leaving the man rubbing an already-forming bruise.

"What news of our Tevinter contact?" the archer pried while bundling herself into a thick cloak and stepping toward a second fire.

"You mean the honored Captain Gideon Fabria, the hero of the Siege at Ventus and the biggest pain in the backside of the Magisterium? He may have gained some renown, but he favors his own counsel above that of the politicians. Only last week, he went galivanting after some elven relic before finally bothering to save one of my esteemed colleagues from his own bad luck against a drake."

"I thought the Captain was rather charming."

"You only liked the leather armor," Inara teased from under her hood, nudging closer to Dorian to steal whatever warmth he would relinquish.

"I got the impression Dorian was already acquainted."

"Indeed," sighed Master Pavus, putting an arm around the freezing elf. "His father was an old family friend. I met him a number of times when we were younger. Good lad, if a bit headstrong."

"Lad?" Leliana sniffed. "He is only a few years younger than any of us. But I digress. I will be sending his agent an update of our scouts' latest discovery on the morrow. They spotted a fortress hidden in a mountain range outside Orlais that appears to perhaps be a hub for the Solasans – hundreds of elves under the banner of a wolf with six eyes." Inara fidgeted with the jawbone retrieved from her cloak pocket, her lips twisted with uncertainty. "You do not wish me to send that report, Inquisitor?"

"Hm, what?" The elf looked up in surprise at her companions. With constant activity, she thrived; in moments where she was left to her own thoughts, her mental state was less certain. "No, of course you should send it. We can't afford to lose their trust. But caution the Captain that we know not more than the location and numbers – not their true purpose, nor their fortifications. Hopefully, he's smart enough to not simply send an army blindly into the mountains."

"Of course, Inquisitor. But you appear to have more to say. Or are my eyes deceiving me?"

"We have done our due diligence by our dear Captain, but I think it's time we uncover something for ourselves," the shorter lady mused. "Dorian, are there any old elven temples in the area? When he was with the Inquisition, Solas was always hiding in plain sight, more so than we ever imagined. What if he tries that tactic again? The Tevinters may be on the trail of these larger elven forces, but I sense that it may all be a smokescreen. We have heard nothing of those red lyrium shipments, nor Varric's idol, for some time."

Dorian hummed in thought.

"There are tales of a few hidden ancient temples, including one outside the old city of Solas – I believe your latest report stated the town was all but abandoned. The stories claim the temple there is underground, though the mentions of it are vague at best. I can show you the other locations on a map. What of your quest to find him in the Fade?"

The Inquisitor's pale lips thinned at that.

"I think he sensed my presence last time when Feynriel…" She cut herself off before finishing, a guilty expression passing over her face. You truly do not wish to see her? The other two narrowed their eyes at the near slip of Feynriel's involvement. She still kept his true loyalties a secret, for Dorian's protection as much as anyone else's. Should the Archon find a Solasan spy among his own, let alone that the Inquisitor and her host were connected to him, there would be hell to pay. "He's hiding."

"And the demon?" the archer nudged.

"Still on my trail, but I've had a few distractions, and I try to pursue the dreams of others rather than risk my own, where it is more likely to trace my steps. Mythal visited me last night. Or Flemeth. Or whatever you wish to call her. She showed me an ancient world, lost to time. I'm still not sure how to describe it, except…it was beautiful, peaceful, grand, and magical – crystal towers, flower petals of shining stone, glassy floors high above the ground." She cocked her head, trying to not show the fascination in her glittering eyes. "Another piece of what I saw in Tarasuvun. She said it was a world that had been and could be."

"A world without the Veil."

"That's not all. What was it she said? 'Without the Veil, worlds will collide, and magic will descend on the unwary. Favor will be upon the elven people, but the troubles of this current world will continue.' But what disturbed me most was when she asked how many Archdemons exist in legend."

The elf frowned at the reminder of Flemeth's counsel. If Archdemons were to add to their problems, perhaps contacting the Grey Wardens would be prudent. Leliana, meanwhile, cringed at the sour taste that accompanied the notion of Archdemons and magical worlds, but Inara was lost in thought again as she considered Mythal's parting words in her Dream:

"Suledin. 'Tis such a pretty name with a dozen implications. But what does it mean to you?"

"I hope you have not told the Inquisitor all of my involvement in your divulging mood, Mother," the witch sighed into the blazing fire under the cover of some Maker-forsaken ruin. There were few places so near society for two shapeshifting dragons to meet. "I know you are determined to play matchmaker, but the conflict over the Dread Wolf may come to a head sooner than you might wish."

"I simply gave her a nudge, dear girl," the old woman scoffed, smirking at Morrigan.

"Why do you tiptoe around him? What loyalty does Fen'Harel own over you?"

"The lines between spirits and mortals were not always so distinct. Solas was not always as he is today. I needed his wisdom, and he gave me his trust." Her voice dropped nearly an octave at the next sentence, only to soar into an excited whisper. "His current existence is ultimately my responsibility, his sins also mine. The pieces are already moving, and nothing can stop the flood that is about to drown the world." A smile grew on the old woman's face even as her voice hardened again. "We may not be able to build a dam, but we may yet direct the current. You and I still have work to do."

"What of the Inquisitor? What part is she to have in this?"

Flemeth cackled in amusement.

"There are those who will need a life raft, Morrigan. Then there are those who will simply learn to fly and must only see that they have wings. Which do you believe Suledin to be?"