A/N: Thank you so much for the feedback on the last chapter! Always supremely appreciated. More Dorian, anyone?


Ghost Stories

Dorian leaned against the doorpost of his library, watching his best friend pour over a mountain of scrolls, texts, and tomes. He was sure at least half of the pages before her were not part of his original collection; whether she had borrowed, bought, or treasure-hunted for the new additions was unknown.

Oh, how far the Herald of Andraste had come. She had returned from her journey to Solas two nights prior, yet Dorian hadn't found the time to hear more than a quick overview of their failure. Despite her relinquished responsibilities as Inquisitor, Inara seemed even more preoccupied than ever before. Clearly she had slept, yet Gianna notified her master that the elf had been perched in the library very nearly the entire day. Perhaps it was to avoid the glaring lack Spymaster Leliana's presence. Dorian attempted to break the news gently when the girl returned to find the Nightingale's room cleared of all belongings.

"Where is she?"

"Gone. I believe she intends to reorganize the remains of the Inquisition under her own banner as the Left Hand of the Divine."

Inara stared blankly at three raven feathers left behind on the desk.

"…good."

Then again, Dorian had not fared much better. The magisters were panicking over the Qunari practically on their doorstep and the Dread Wolf – the formerly denied threat – stealing all but one of their precious Orbs. He had spent the entire day fighting against the Archon and his minions to demand fair treatment and compensation for the rebelling slaves. Any day now, Radonis could have him killed.

Another reason for the magister's inability to truly catch up with Inara was last night's alternative sojourn. He knew Cole would have some miraculous insight into this whole mess, but he had hoped for a bit more…encouragement.

"I want to be able to tell her that everything will be alright, Cole. To say for certain that her beloved will come sweep her into his arms and never leave her side again. Or that he is beyond saving. I want to give her some semblance of certainty. Not false hope or despair. She's had enough of either."

"Wisdom knows enduring is pain. He hurts for her, another of many he couldn't save. He carries necessary deaths." Cole paused and looked sympathetically at his old friend. "He is not a tame wolf."

"So…no certainty. Is there ever?" Dorian sighed. "Then what can I do? I want to help her, but I don't know how."

"She is Suledin. Help her endure."

"Well, aren't you a busy girl?"

Inara's tired eyes lit up at the sight of her friend in the doorway. With one sweeping glance, she could see his haggard demeanor under the magisterial robes he still wore from the day's work.

"You look tired."

"You're one to talk," he scoffed, taking a few steps toward the roaring fire. "You've seemed…distracted. Have you found him?"

"Yes and no."

"Isn't that just delightfully cryptic? You do know how to tease a man." The mage fought his exhaustion and pasted on a most winning smile as he joined Inara on the opposite divan. Gianna, ever perfect in her timing, chose that moment to sweep into the room to deposit a tray of tea and biscuits. Seeing that an interruption was being forced upon her, the elf shifted one of the paper towers aside to retrieve a cup. "Were you able to discern whether you're facing Solas or a spirit?" She blushed a little at that. "You don't think I would have forgotten that detail, do you? Just because I erected those wards and can no longer hear your nightmares does not mean I'm not aware of them."

"I did."

He tsked at her lack of elaboration.

"Don't you dare shut me out, my sweet thing. Bull told me about the ambush, and about how withdrawn you've been. Going it alone will not make finding your wolf any easier. It will only make your road all the more dreadful."

"T'would seem the only way to win the heart of a predator is to allow the hunt." She paused guiltily. "It is a spirit. I think... I hope it might have answers."

"Do you?"

"I know it is not Solas, but..."

He scowled, fully aware of how treacherous spirits could be, and fully aware of how heartbroken Inara had been after the Council.

"You're just lonely."

"Because that's clearly my only problem."

With a laugh and a dramatic sigh that successfully pried a grin out of the girl, Dorian leaned back with his tea. His smile became somewhat strained at the idea of the risk she was taking.

"I suppose it is all my fault."

"You have been rather neglectful lately," she bantered.

"Just don't let these special abilities of yours go to your head. You may find this spirit to be more devious than you think. And I'd hate to see what would happen if you were possessed or killed in your Dreams."

"Yes, Mother." Accompanied by an endearing eyeroll, Inara's smile finally warmed, even as Dorian's heart turned to ice at the thought of losing his friend to this cause of hers. "I promise I'll be careful. I have seen so much despair…is it too much to ask for a little happiness?" Before the man could react, she continued, "And what has taken your attentions so fiercely?"

"Unfortunately, I seem to have drawn some popularity among the younger magisters. Between the rebellion and one of their own guards being turned to stone, three more mages have asked to join my organization. There has been a push to open negotiations with the rebels after they burned the southern market for the fourth time. And, oddly, they can't seem to figure out how the rebels always slip past security."

"Truly?"

"Yes! They are clueless!" he crowed victoriously. "It seems your hard work paid off. Ah, I wish you had been there for my speech. Quite inspiring. And, apparently, the younger minds have been rather enamored by the more garish legends of the Great Trickster. A certain best seller by one Varric Tethras has made its way here. Have you read the finished product?"

"I have avoided it, to be perfectly honest. The beginning was enough for me."

"Oh, but it gets even better. The Fade bits are my favorite! And then, of course, there's the charming and handsome best friend that you'll just love! Quite the rebellious magister."

With a shooing motion to Inara, he retrieved the book in question from a nearby shelf and summoned Gianna for a stronger drink. If it was a little happiness Lavellan wanted, a little happiness she would get.


The barmaid of the Sleepy Monk tavern rolled her eyes at the typically outlandish stories that reached her ear as she dried several tankards for the next customers. Being on the main thoroughfare for vagabonds and pilgrims alike meant for the strangest of conversations. If she were to write a book of all the tales she overheard in the village, the woman could buy her own inn.

Ever since the sudden evacuation of Solas, the ancient city practically a stone's throw away, she had run out at least three drunkards rattling on about elf armies, nug demons, and huggable dragons. Tonight, however, was exceptionally peculiar.

Grog, one of the bounty hunters who frequently prowled the highway and set up shop in Solas, was currently sitting at one of the nearer benches with a look of absolute terror. The seven-foot giant was hunkered over his third ale, waving a hand wildly as he described his near-death to the five retired miners who surrounded him. The terrible tale was more akin to the ramblings of a madman; but, coming from Grog, who was the picture of practicality and realism, Prudence was obliged to hear his words. Nothing ever rattled forty-year-old adventurer. Until tonight.

"So, here's how it happened: I's just leaving the market after I bought me potions. Business was boomin' as usual for that time o' day. I'd heard there'd been attacks happening by them wild elves, but they'd never made it through the gates…always knocked off by the watchmen. Anyways, I was just leavin' the market, headed toward the East gate, when I heard the screams. I saw at least a dozen cloaked knife ears coming through the South road, driving everyone out. Don't think they killed too many…was like they was looking for something."

"Is that what made everyone evacuate?" one of the grizzled listeners growled doubtfully.

"Lemme finish!" snarled Grog before taking a long draught of his ale. "Anyway. So, I got me axe ready and was just about to charge in when… You know that big ol' wolf statue that sits in the middle o' the square? The one that just kinda stares all creepy-like wherever you go? Well, it moved."

Another local cursed his denial.

"It's true!" Grog insisted. "The statue moved! The elves didn't really know what to make of it at first, and all the villagers had cleared out by then, so I just watched. The statue just sorta shifted to the side, and I saw this elf come out of the ground all proud-like. He had golden armor and furs around his shoulder and a bald head. The invaders just stared for a second. Then it happened. They started attacking the bald one, and he just walked calmly along. Every time one got close, it would turn to solid stone. And he just kept walking down the South street. I helped a friend pack her things right after, but I haven't been back since."

"Why not?" the same old miner scoffed. "Did he set up camp and invite friends?"

Grog shivered and stared at his drink with wild eyes.

"That place is cursed, I'm telling you. He looked at me before he disappeared. The elf who could turn a man to stone. I've seen killers of every shape and size. But that elf…his eyes were of death. Red with a fire of the Black City itself."