A/N: Things super busy again…still…yeah. Part 3 should hopefully come soon, but here you go for now! Enjoy!

Our hearts we have sold
For diamonds and gold
But hey, baby, take a look
We have it all

And haven't you heard
Hearts turn to dirt
Along with the rest of your body
It's all claimed by the earth

Shelter in Storm: Part 2

The seven wolves, each with the fiery eyes of a Pride demon, had circled the Dreamer for some time after she charged into their midst. They snapped at her armor over and over, only to disappear back into the shapeless blizzard when she retaliated. They were gone now, along with Solas, who seemed to have considered her only part of the dream.

With the immediate threat seemingly bored of her, the elf wandered through the building snowdrifts, shivering as the cold began to creep through her leather armor. She sheathed her blades and summoned a ball of flame between her palms, easing both the chill and the growing dim. As always, the Fade did not leave her aimless for long.

A black stone doorway loomed out of the storm, its watery reflection indicating an active passage. Supporting the blazing orb in her left hand, Inara gently ran her fingers along the rough edges of the mirror. She could feel magic and power behind it, and she tried to glean something of its nature through that simple touch. The eluvians were more than just a fast way to travel from one point of Thedas to another; they were connected to a world lost, a world that had known both the corporeal and the eternal. The more she learned of such magic, the better chance she had of reaching perhaps both Hawke and Solas.

All at once, the storm subsided. Suledin took two swift steps back as the crystalline surface came alive, rippling against the now nonexistent breeze. A voice rumbled heavily from the abyss:

"Ebasit kata, Itwa-ost."

A familiar shock jolted through the elf's chest at the sound of Fen'Harel's dusky, tired tones. Without further thought, she glided through the mirror. You swore you would save him. Her own guilt whispered in her ear during the brief seconds she was held suspended by the portal's magic.

The instant Lavellan emerged onto the warm cobblestone, she was driven to her knees by the searing agony that overcame her left arm, radiating to seemingly every cell in the body. She was losing control of the Anchor – but was it only in the memory, or reality as well? Crying out in pain, she was only half-aware of the Qunari barring the way. Their leader, the Viddasala, scowled down at the Dalish with a mixture of pity and disgust, hovering within a mere step of another active eluvian.

"Panahedan, Inquisitor. If it is any consolation, Solas will not outlive you."

Another wave of pain struck, sending the Inquisitor curling into a protective ball. Her own words from that chase rang in her ears:

"We have to save him!"

As the pain of the Anchor faded, Inara found herself alone on the cobblestone, save for the waiting mirror. The Dreamer felt no alternative but to follow. Gritting her teeth against the pain, she barreled through the watery depths.

And right then, I felt the whole world change.

Ghostly memories of battling Qunari against her old companions lingered in her peripheral vision when she emerged onto a wide stone bridge. An oddly placed archway sat in the middle of it all. Inara hissed at the shocks pulsing through her chest and raced on, passing through this third mirror.

You have not been what I expected, Inquisitor.

Another scene – memory? – the main hall of Skyhold during its height of power as her base. Dignitaries and soldiers loitered and chattered away, their words muffled and insignificant. Another eluvian rose up where her throne should have been. The Inquisitor did not hesitate, but ran faster as her own voice roared clearly:

"Solas needs help!"

What is the old Dalish curse? May the Dread Wolf take you?

At last, her running ceased. The last eluvian had brought her to a pitch-black cavern, lit only by a blood-colored shape deep within its grasp. Inara took a deliberately slow breath and touched the leather at her back to confirm that her holstered weapons were still at hand. The stinging pain of the Anchor had finally dulled and faded to a bearable ache.

I lay in dark and dreaming sleep while countless wars and ages passed.

She could hear the snarling of more wolves, the same seven wolves from the blizzard with the flaming eyes. Lavellan refrained from unsheathing her weapons, for their focus was not on her. They circled the source of the light, their coal-dark fur bristling with agitation at their unreachable prey. The shimmering crystal orb stood as tall a full-grown human and just as wide. Trapped within its core was a man suspended in time, bowed down on his knees with shards of red lyrium protruding angrily from his bare back. Was the orb intentional for protection, or was it an unintended prison? Was this a fear of the possible or an interpretation of what had been?

"Solas!"

The elf managed but a single step further, only to have a monstrous, rough-haired body collide with her own. She crashed to the ground and barely caught herself from going over the previously unnoticed chasm edge. The interfering eighth canine transformed before her very eyes as she attempted to gain a foothold on the sheer rock, most of her strength committed to not losing her grip on the slippery crag.

"Well, well. What have we here?"

"Ma ghilana, Asha'bellanar," Suledin demanded of the armored witch now towering curiously over the Dreamer. Was it the elven goddess herself, or a mere imitation? "Solas needs help! I have not time for your games."

Flemeth knelt down, holding her hand just out of reach.

"We stand upon the precipice of change. The world has fallen into the abyss. Champions old and new prepare to emerge. Yet you fret over a single god."

"What do you want that you have not already taken? What trick do you play?"

"You know you can't save him, girl."

"Maybe not!" Inara snapped without thinking. "But even a god needs to not be alone."

"Very well."

Inara gasped in shock when Mythal grabbed her arm and flicked it effortlessly away from its handhold. She fell into the black of the abyss, idly wondering where the Fade would next take her. She could probably control the scene to her liking or break free of whatever spirit ruled it, but it was in these moments of the raw Fade that she saw more truth and wisdom than any self-indulgent fantasy could hold. Tonight, she was beginning to regret that leniency. She could sense something watching, and she feared what it might be.

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

The rogue shuddered in horror at the sensation of fresh blood beneath her soft leather shoes as she landed softly onto a raging sunset-lit battlefield. Fighters of every race and class collided in the distance while two full-sized dragons circled menacingly overhead. The sky danced on the horizon with a kaleidoscope of color, and the Black City was just visible on the horizon. The Veil, it seemed, had been destroyed.

A hundred yards away, Captain Fabria and his contingent cut through a company of elven warriors bearing matching vallaslin. Farther off to the left, one of the dragons cooked a dozen charging Qunari before gracefully landing on the clotting red dirt. Even while it walked in Fabria's general direction, it transformed, shrinking in a black tornado of electricity that eventually revealed a grey-robed man with striking features. The shapeshifter sent a volley of firebolts toward one of the warrior's followers without breaking step.

Inara continued to wander the field, picking her way around abandoned spears and impaled war hounds. She was just about to bolt in the direction of a blood-raging troop of elven cultists when a tired sigh escaped the lips of the mage appearing at her side.

"I presume this is what may await the world? Looks a bit familiar, if I'm to be honest," Hawke hummed, leaning cockily against her battered staff and brushing raven bangs from her eyes. "Demons and dragons and immortal gods? Lovely."

"Funny that you should choose now to show up," quipped the Inquisitor.

"I do have a sense for dramatic timing. And great hair," the Champion winked. "Now, I feel like killing something, and those ogres over there look like the perfect target. Shall we have a little fun?"