A/N: Another longer chapter after a couple weeks' break. Real life has been a weeee bit crazy, but generally in a good way. Thank you to everyone following this story! It's all coming together (*cue maniacal laughter*). Please enjoy!


City of the Dead

The ancient stone buildings of Solas rose up silently on either side of the time-smoothed cobblestone streets. Since news of its mysterious evacuation spread, none of their party was surprised at the deadly silence of the place. An occasional rodent bolted across the path; a few birds shrieked their curiosity at the visitors; but no people were present to lift the sense of dread.

"I was under the impression that the evacuation was temporary," Gideon wondered. "Yet these doorways bode of ill and utter abandonment. What could have provoked such fear?"

He noticed a stiffening in his elf companion's shoulders, but no explanation came.

It took nearly half an hour of passing through the whitewashed maze to reach the main square, the clopping horse hooves echoing painfully against the stone. A likely once-bustling market stood as yet another testament to the city's lonesome state. Wooden carts and stalls lined the walls of the innermost sector, a modest number of wares left behind due to either neglect or panic. At the center of the square was a statue of a mighty wolf, standing nearly ten paces high with ruby eyes staring across the emptiness. But, while the statue caught three of the travelers' immediate attention, the farsighted Qunari had his sights set on the street branching to their left.

"I heard someone mention in the inn that the Cult of Fen'Harel had been spotted near here," Inara mused, cocking her head as she noticed how the ruby eyes seemingly watched their movement.

"Rumors. Nothing more," Morrigan brushed away the suggestion.

"Are you sure about that?"

They finally noticed where Bull's vigilant attention had gone.

"Now that you mention it…no."

Where citizens had previously walked, figures of stone decorated the trail South, which they followed in befuddled silence.

The small army consisted of elves from what seemed to be every nation and class, from bold-faced, sturdy Fereldan Dalish to long-beaten Circle mages. The trail ended at the agape southern gate, the locks of which had been utterly melted. While his companions continued to study the combat stances and horrified expressions of the pillars, Gideon pointed to the thick armband they all seemed to bear – two wolves circling one another around an eye of flame.

"Where once stood a raging, unorganized hoard," the Captain grimaced, "a new force has arisen that has become an increasing nuisance to my comrades near the Nevarran border. You asked about the Cult of Fen'Harel." He frowned at the Herald, who appeared nauseated at the thought. "This is the Cult."

"Whatever brought them here, clearly it was not in line with our old friend's plans, if it was he who petrified them. What purpose would they have here?" the elf wondered, eyeing the armbands.

"Perhaps they wish to save Solas from himself in their own way. A wolf following a wolf. Yet they do not follow Fen'Harel in subservient obedience – rather an ideal from which their god has gone astray and must be tamed. They think the Wolf to be trapped within a mortal coil."

"What?"

"Unfortunately, the philosophical soldier boy is right," concurred Morrigan as she tapped a fingernail against an archer's forehead. "I have heard of the Cult's return, but hoped they would remain but a minor annoyance. They support the return of Arlathan, but believe the man behind Fen'Harel must be leashed. Where the Solasans function under a banner of control and a clear purpose, these brigands thrive on disorder."

"That could explain why they wanted to capture and sacrifice me. Perhaps it was more to draw him in than to truly seek his favor. Revenge for not being summoned by the Call of the elves?"

"Hm. Perhaps they think it will somehow 'release their god from his mortal shackles'. T'would not be beyond their level of insanity."

Inara shook her head to mask a shiver at the thought of the Cult's resurrection. They didn't need more problems.

"Let us continue our search and circle back to the square. I imagine our best chance lies with that stone idol. If we find nothing by nightfall, we can make camp in the square."


The Black City. It wasn't nearly as terrifying within its gates, wandering the charred, indistinguishable streets. It wasn't even really a proper city – not anymore. It was merely a key. A lock to guard the forbidden beyond.

Snow drifted from an unseen cloud in the rusty sky, landing softly beneath the traveler's boots and muffling her steps. Yet when she looked at the downy carpet, t'was not snow that covered the streets…but the ash of her ancestors.

Tarlike tendrils of charcoal seeped from the cracks of what were once halls and temples to would-be gods. Veins of pulsing crimson branched around the immortal pillars and across the towering walls of cracked marble. The Taint leaked from the Void with an unquenchable thirst that nothing could possibly satisfy. The echoes of tormented screams clawed from behind doors and from under the deepest foundations.

Inara Lavellan allowed her feet to lead her to the heart of the City. Spires of once-silver twisted in glorious intricacy that now only appeared as devilish pikes jutting from their founders' dead legacy. The Golden City was dead – rotting – reborn to outmatch the horror of every nightmare imaginable. As the greatest and blackest of the temples towered before her, the elf was drawn to an artifact at its base.

A ghostly voice crept through the air with an aching despair, its pure, melancholic tones bringing tears of sympathy to the Dreamer's eyes. The mirror stood untouched amid the twisted contamination of its surroundings, its crystalline surface somehow seeming even more daunting. The woman stopped mere inches from the abysmal glass, attempting to stare beyond her reflection to whatever waited on the other side.

As Inara looked into the eluvian, she was sure something was gazing back. Bitter. Lonely. Hateful. Hungry. Broken. Powerful.

"They are trapped in their own madness, their souls split in two."

Lavellan jumped at Asha'bellanar's approach and was sure to give the old witch a scathing look of a disapproval for sneaking up on her. When the elf looked back at the eluvian, the imagined watchers were gone, but the hunger and hate remained.

"You speak of the Evanuris, I presume," the rogue hazarded a guess, watching the armored goddess out of the corner of her eye. "I presume this is simply a recreation, and not the actual Black City."

Flemeth's answer was to stroke the curves of the mirror with restrained fondness.

"When each Archdemon is awakened by the creatures of the Blight, they scream with a madness that can only stem from one thing…"

"The Evanuris. So they are linked."

"Two pieces of a very fractured puzzle, young one." Flemeth snatched her hand from the mirror as if stung and studied the invisible injury. "The Wardens can kill the Archdemons. But at an incomprehensible price. During the last Blight, I attempted to capture the soul of the great dragon through a ritual performed by my daughter. But the ritual was never performed; the Hero of Ferelden perished; and the soul was lost forever. When a Warden kills an Archdemon, part of a soul is extinguished; their madness is secured. Every Archdemon slain is another of my people who can never be whole again."

"I'm not sure I understand."

"No one does," the old woman shrugged carelessly. "You do not understand. I do not understand. Solas does not understand. We're all in the dark together, waiting for the curtains to part and reveal a new dawn of blood," she waved with a half-crazed smile.

Inara shook her head as she tore her gaze from the mirror and surveyed the oozing city around her. Had it been blackened already when the ancient magisters arrived, as Corypheus insisted? Was its beauty already lost? Did they crack a lock that was never meant to be trifled with? Did their meddling release the Taint from the Void, forever cursing Thedas? Did the Evanuris whisper to them through their Dreams drawing them to the Fade?

"I confess, I find this all…difficult to comprehend."

"Don't we all. Humans, dwarves, elves, Qunari… The species matters not. We are all creatures of habit. We expect the rules to remain as they are; yet, once the Veil falls, reality itself must change."

"If the Evanuris are released…what then?"

Flemeth took a long breath, touching the surface of the eluvian and watching the ripples her fingers created.

"Do you recall the distinction between spirits and demons, child?"

"Spirits wish to join the living. A demon is that wish gone wrong."

"My kin wish to rejoin this world. They are locked away, yearning to return to their place of power and secure their escape, too long and too hatefully. The Archdemons were that wish gone wrong – a corruption borne from a rot both internal and from without. There is no alternative; there is no time. Their wish for freedom can end in nothing but fire and destruction. And when that day comes, your Wolf will be in grave danger. Yet you will find more power within yourself than you ever could imagine."

The witch slunk deliberately behind the charred frame as her voice lowered to a prophetic hiss:

"Watch for that moment. And when it comes, do not hesitate to leap."

Inara couldn't help but look down at her imagined Anchor as the goddess's words faded away. Sure enough, Mythal had disappeared by the time her mind ceased wandering.

More power than she ever imagined? Of all things in this world, that was not something she wished for – only enough power to fulfill her promises. If she saved Hawke, she would feel satisfied. If she saved Solas, she could die content.

Save Solas… What did that even mean at this point? He was a god, whose power had reached the incomprehensible. His schemes had spanned thousands of years of planning. He had faced one bitter disappointment after another. He had become accustomed to heartbreak and failure. How could one moment with a little Dalish hunter change that?

Solas…

Left to her own thoughts yet again, the elf found herself hypnotized by the glowing Mark on the palm of her hand. With a gentle twitch, she summoned a warm emerald tongue of fire, which hovered comfortingly in the air as the minutes ticked by. Quiet moments like this, away from the realities of assassins and amputated limbs and politics, made her never want to leave her dreams, no matter how dismal they could be. Here, she could feel whole.

"What a dreadful meeting place this is," a rich tenor voice reverberated against the stone. Inara snatched the flame out of existence as she turned to face the Dread Wolf. He seemed almost deliberately softer in appearance; rather than the intimidating armor of a god, his threads were much more akin to his comfortable tunics in Skyhold. He wielded that apologetic smile easily enough as he nodded toward her hand. "You are learning to wield magic in the Fade. Remember, the barrier only exists in your mind."

Inara took a somewhat involuntary step back toward the eluvian when Fen'Harel closed in. He respectfully stopped a few feet away with a hurt expression that reluctantly turned to study the blackened buildings above them.

"You were gone."

"I apologize," he bowed. "There were matters that required my attention. As much as it pains me, there is work that must be done."

"Saying you would never leave… Was it a lie? Again?"

Her jaw tensed as his gaze found her. Lavellan wanted answers, and she wanted to hate him in so many ways, but his eyes seemed ready to consume her. The predator hunting his prey; but she was no normal prey. She was Inquisitor Lavellan, the woman who had defeated Corypheus and touched the heart of the Great Trickster.

He slowly prowled closer; she took a step back. And another. Something in those eyes… She could feel the electric shimmer of the eluvian at her back. She could hear the imagined whispers of whatever was trapped within. Any further, and she would pass through its horizon. It was not fear that caused her retreat. Something about him seemed…ever so slightly wrong.

She couldn't look away. Those grey eyes kept her transfixed. The space she had put between them melted into nonexistence. His arms encircled her, and she allowed them. His kiss was deep, passionate, and held the desperation of a starved beast. His touch reawakened the painful longing that she tried so hard to stifle in her waking moments.

With a gasp, Inara leaned away to look at him questioningly. What was wrong with this? She couldn't find an answer. His mouth was quirked upward with a mischievous smile, but no answer came. Then he pulled her closer again, and she couldn't even summon the slightest desire to resist. Solas was hers entirely. The rotting Black City looked down upon the lovers in disapproval, but it didn't matter. Nothing mattered.

His touch was gentler this time, and she recalled that night at Crestwood, when he had taken her vallaslin and broken her heart. It held the same longing and remorse, yet she could sense none of the reservations from that night. His hands slipped down her back, running firmly past the base of her spine. With a single step, they fell into each other's embrace, and passed through the eluvian into the beyond.


Solas glared at the crackling firepit, unable to distract himself from the Dream of only an hour prior. The Desire demon had returned – not as a distant observer, but again posing as his vhenan.

She had seemed so real at first. But she had been too forward, too predatory. Inara had always played the game, teasing him and waiting for him to respond. This creature had simply been seeking a reaction. His reaction. She had found him wandering the halls of Mythal's temple, alone and lonely in his thoughts. She had demanded an explanation for his abandonment before…

The mage pressed a finger against his lips, recalling the spirit's kiss – desperate, heartbroken, longing for nothing but his touch. He tried to forget it, but the sensation of his hands traveling along the curve of her back before he came to his senses turned out to be an impossible memory to banish. It wasn't real, of course. Only further torment in the prison of his own mind, teasing him with a reality he would not achieve on this path. It was a demon merely drawn to his power and anguish, which were growing in equal measure.

Was Inara in danger from this new creature? He had already driven away a demon of Despair, but more spirits would be drawn to her growing power – a power he could not control. She was lucky; most of the beings she had encountered were of the benevolent sort: Innocence, Valor, and Hope. But that could not always be the case, as was evidenced by recent events.

So, what was its game? What did it seek? Any normal demon would have either attacked or fled when its query proved immovable, when he had backed away and demanded she explain or depart. So why had she returned tonight, knowing she would eventually face disappointment and rejection? In fact, she had seemed almost happy when he pushed her away.

If it was not a normal demon… Such creatures did exist, consumed by exotic machinations of absurd vanity and complexity; but the Evanuris remained sealed away, for now.

That left…the Forgotten Ones.