A/N: Well, my computer tried to die on me, but I saved my writing and we're back in business! Thank you for the continued support of this story, and please enjoy!


Seeing Red

"Mother, I realize that I am effectively at your whim; however, I would request the courtesy of a more timely hour for your visits."

Morrigan prepared herself to give Flemeth the most annoyed look she could manage before turning to face the new arrival. A whisper of magic had risen her from slumber and driven the witch to an abandoned southern watchtower on Perivantium's outer wall. She was not pleased.

As the woman turned, however, she noted there were in fact two sets of footsteps approaching from the stone staircase below. Her anticipated frown transformed into a simple raised eyebrow at the sight of a white-haired warrior with lyrium tattoos. And not just normal lyrium tattoos, if such a thing was possible. The silvery pattern on one bare arm seemed infused with a pulsing ruby glow, fading once it reached his chest – red lyrium eating slowly through his body like a poison.

"Oh, lovely. You brought a pet," she simpered dryly.

Fenris, as she knew this rebel to be, reached the shelter of the watchtower and immediately paced to the nearest window with a furtive glare at Morrigan. Mythal made her appearance next, wearing her traditionally subtle dragon armor. In one hand she cradled a perfectly spherical, pale green stone.

"Did I not tell you this was bigger than your spontaneous revenge spree, elf?" chortled the ancient goddess to her surprise guest.

"You did not require my assistance," grumbled the male in return.

"You are correct! But, after getting himself killed in that explosion, only the grandest of distractions would blind them to a dragon swooping into the fray to claim the Archon's stolen treasure. You were the perfect choice. Hard to miss."

"And now they will think the Blue Wraith assassinated the Archon."

She merely shrugged at his brewing anger.

"For a time. Until they discover that it was his own pride and stupidity that triggered his demise. It's just enough doubt to give us a head start." She began caressing the Foci fondly. "Thankfully, neither his power nor his ambition were enough to create another Corypheus." Her voice dropped to a hissing whisper. "My wellspring of power, out of reach for so long, was finally unlocked by a mere mortal. Unfortunate…yet necessary. Amazing what can be accomplished when one knows where all the pieces fit."

With a satisfied sigh, Mythal drew her right hand away from the Orb's surface. Seemingly activated, the crystalline surface rippled with electricity that shot painlessly into its rightful owner's palm. And, just as the current began to intensify, she closed her hand and the Orb fell silent.

"You did not take all the power within?" Morrigan asked with uncertainty, eyes widening when the ancient closed the distance between them and transferred the stone into her daughter's hands. "Mother?"

"Power is meaningless in the hands of the unwise. I have business with an old friend, and it wouldn't do for his eyes to see that artifact. Keep it safe until I return for it. I refuse to be leashed." The old crone then turned on a wary Fenris, who seemed more likely to draw his blade with each passing second. "As for you, my glowing friend, our business is not finished."

"Our business never began, witch," he countered. Bold, but foolish. Fortunately for the elf, Flemeth was in a good mood.

"You may not thank me, but I will have saved your life twice over. In return for assisting me tonight, I will grant you a gift. But not yet. You and I both have tasks to complete tonight, Little Wolf." The former slave observed her suspiciously. "You said yourself that they will suspect your involvement due to your presence outside the estate directly after the explosion. When the guards don't find you, who will they turn to?"

With a curse, Fenris charged down the stairs and into the night. Morrigan watched the lad go, knowing that Captain Fabria would advocate for the rebel slave delegation, who would likely be accused next – though this incident could create some untimely distrust between the parties.

"You never cease to surprise, Mother," the younger woman chuckled, spotting the last trace of Mythal disappear into the ether. Visiting a fellow god in the Fade, perhaps?


"You once were one with the shadows, old friend; now you consume them. Or do they consume you? Tell me which, and I will be at peace."

In the Raw Fade, nothing stood between Asha'bellanar and her query – only the white mist waiting to be painted with Dreams. It seemed the Dread Wolf no longer cared to hide his presence here, at least from her. But was it pure recklessness, or a secret call for intervention? It was difficult to decide. He knew merely letting Lavellan hope for his redemption was a risk – he was weak to her influence; they both knew that – yet he had not crushed that hope.

Perhaps the spirit and the man beneath the god still existed after all, buried under a blind, foolish sense of duty. Unlike his ancient peer, he hadn't had the time to adjust to the new reality. Flemeth herself had become fond of this world; however, if the Veil was brought down, she would adapt yet again.

"My role is nearly accomplished," he replied heavily.

Fen'Harel finally turned to face the woman, giving full view of the damage he had done. His eyes were bloodshot. His veins glowed with an eerie crimson that confirmed he had been using red lyrium to amplify his power. At what cost?

Flemeth shook her head disappointedly. They were all children – impish, foolish, misguided children.

"I can help you, Solas. But only if you let me."

"Your help is not what I need. Not unless you intend to forfeit your Orb."

"Heard about that, did you?" She narrowed her eyes as her companion drew closer, but did not shy away; there was nothing he could do that she had not already considered. "Your spies are even more prolific than I thought."

"I was watching. I have a…personal interest in ensuring that all Foci are collected. Unfortunately, you appear to have outmaneuvered me." His body tensed and his cheek twitched in annoyance, yet Solas still managed a courteous smile. It was too much to hope that one missing Foci would give him pause, knowing that every Orb short meant more chance of his not surviving the task. And he was running out of time. "Well done."

Flemeth sighed tolerantly, knowing that her old friend was beyond her reach. In a sense, she was the enemy, after all. But she had to try.

"You do realize that you will lose everything – all that precious taste of mortality. If you wish to capture the Evanuris, you will need every drop of power from those Orbs. And in order to harness that power, to withstand it, you could lose yourself." She sadly studied his diseased countenance. He seemed downtrodden, hopeless, but not surprised. He already knew the man would become a monster, should he succeed. "I don't think this is what you want, Solas."

"It has never been about what I want. I destroyed the world, and it is my duty to fix my mistakes – there is no other way."

"And how has that gone for you so far? Every mistake you solve only deepens the riddle." Solas scowled, but didn't rise to the jibe. "You have to become the Dread Wolf – everything that the People feared and loathed will become truth. But you already know this. I can see the changes even here."

Grumbling at this impossible lad, Flemeth summoned a chair to sit on – well, a throne, really. It just happened to be identical to the fiery seat of the Inquisition's main hall of judgment. Before she could claim the spot, Fen'Harel's own imagination added a spectral elf to the picture – the Inquisitor, commanding yet brow furrowed with the burden of the heavens.

"Let me help you, Solas."

"You may not listen to me, Dread Wolf," the witch mused as the spirit mimicking Inara Lavellan evacuated her chair. "But, by some miracle, that Dalish has you by the ear. Did you know that she never stopped believing in you – the real you behind the mask? I wonder…"

Solas was clearly making a bold effort to remain stoic at the reminder of the little rogue who had slipped under his skin. He failed, and his face twisted with pain.

"She wants to believe I am shelter. But I am merely the storm – something she should fear and hate." He bowed his head, clearly regretting his choice to allow Flemeth to find him. Any moment now, he would flee. "I do not deserve her loyalty. I am not the elf she wishes to see."

Taking her cue, Mythal opened a portal for herself back to the physical realm, but not without one final sting:

"She wishes to see you."

The Dread Wolf's leather gloves creaked as he tightened them into deadly fists.

"She wishes for what I cannot give."

"Can't? Or won't?"

The elf refused to look her in the eye, but his voice had become a feral growl.

"Who are you to judge my path? What is it they call you? All-mother? Protector of the People? What is it that you have protected while I slept? I suggest you leave while you have the chance."


She hadn't seen him yet. Dorian took advantage of the moment to stand at the entrance to his home library and watch his beloved guest. Inara hadn't been the same idealistic girl he met all the those years ago for a very long time. Magic, war, gods, and disappointment had tempered her reality to something he no longer completely understood. But he did understand one thing: He would do anything to keep his little friend safe…and happy. She deserved that, at least. But how?

Still wearing her tunic from last night, when the magister had fled the house in a panic, Lavellan stood before the half-dead fire, tracing the stonework of a three-inch wolf statue he kept on the mantlepiece. He wanted so badly to support her – and he had done just that for months – but had the time come to tell her that she had done enough? Could she see that the Wolf would drag her with him into the Abyss?

The twilight hours had been a long, disastrous nightmare. The residence of Archon Radonis was demolished in the explosion. Dozens of lives were lost. Radonis himself was nothing more than charred flesh and bone. And the final Foci…was nowhere to be found. Naturally, accusations had flown all directions. Several magisters were currently having a heated discussion with a few city guards and a newly-returned Captain Fabria. But Dorian needed a break, and the general session to discuss the Magisterium's next move was to begin in a few short hours.

"Dorian?"

The haggard mage drank in the sight of her beautiful lips and those soulful eyes. Inara closed the distance between them, called to Gianna for coffee, and guided Dorian to the nearest couch.

"You didn't sleep, I suppose," he mused at her mussed hair, but she wasn't deterred.

"Dorian, what happened? Are you all right? When you didn't return last night, I… I was worried." She bit her lip. "I was afraid of leaving things the way they were…if something happened to you."

"Enough of that," he mumbled lethargically, taking her hand. "The important thing is that we care and that we are there for each other when it counts. If not…"

The man heavily sighed, massaging his temple abruptly at a vision of the pulverized mansion. That could have been him in the rubble of House Pavus. It could have been Inara, or Bull, or Gianna. Between his best friend losing her grip on reality, the pressures of his position, and the political system in an uproar, he was feeling quite overwhelmed. And insignificant. If Solas succeeded, would any of this matter? What mattered was that he couldn't bear losing the one person who understood him...even if he was no longer sure he understood her.

"Dorian, what's wrong?"

"Do I matter? Do we matter? Any of us." He made eye contact with her. "To you. To whatever gods or spirits that hold the fate of this bloody disaster of a world."

"Dorian…"

"I'm sorry, that was unfair of me." The mage patted her hand and stood, contemplating a little lie-down before his exhaustion-addled mind made him say something regrettable. His proud shoulders slumped in defeat. "The Archon is gone, Inara. The Orb is gone. Whatever organization or advantage the Imperium had against Qunari or the Veil's end…is gone."

"That may be the case," Suledin whispered from behind him, her lilting voice soothing, "but you must remember what is not lost. You returned to your homeland to redeem centuries of corruption. I came to redeem my ancestors' worst mistakes. If I can fix a god and you can fix your country, we might as well be gods ourselves, in another life. Imagine. In a hundred years, worshipped by some unsuspecting devotees who thought we could control the stars by blinking. Your handsome features would be legendary."

Master Pavus chuckled, then twitched in drowsy surprise as the elf stepped in from of him, forcing eye-contact. In spite of the dark circles under her eyes, she held his gaze unforgivingly, kindling with a kindness, wisdom, and mischief he had come to adore.

"Inara…"

"You and I have faced much despair in these recent days. When I awoke and you were still gone, I realized that I have come to take my greatest consolation for granted. And I'm sorry for that." Pursing her lips, she reached up to rest her trembling fingers against his cheek. "Let us not allow an apocalypse to tear apart the best of friends."

Too tired for words, the magister threw his arms around the Herald of Andraste, holding her delicate frame close – his lifeline. Hot tears sprang from the woman's eyes, staining the dusty robes over his chest. The Dread Wolf would not take her; he refused to allow even a god to taint this precious creature.

The silent duo stood in the firelight, their simple contact conveying every apology and hope they had held back during these past months of Dreams, wars, and politics. Dorian found himself shaking as he realized how terrified he was of losing her.

You are my dearest friend, perhaps my only friend. That will never change, no matter where we are.