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Phantom Soulmates

"I don't like that she insisted on taking such a strong sleeping draught. What if something happens and she can't escape?"

"You know, technically the stories are still following Lady Lavellan, even after her part as hero is over," Gidon mused, deliberately ignoring the other man's fretful tone. "Many elves consider her a hero, even those among the Dread Wolf's ranks, so I hear." He leaned back in his chair. "Suledin. Perhaps I should have utilized her popularity with their number to quell some of the elven conflict. Too late now, I suppose."

"How are preparations coming?" Dorian pursued the topic, determined to distract himself from worrying.

"We are ready to march on the city of Solas the day after tomorrow. Our allies from Ferelden, Nevarra, Orlais, and the Qunari will meet us there two days after that."

"I suppose the Cult is still causing…"

Both Archon and Commander froze at the sound of swordplay down the hall.

"Is that…?"

"I hear it too."

"So that's it? I just…walk through the mirror back into the real world."

Inara laughed, cutting herself off again with gritted teeth. Her companion faced the eluvian, staring skeptically into the reflection.

"Too easy?"

"I've been here long enough. Nothing is ever that easy in the Fade. There is always a price or a trick."

"No trick. You've already paid your price, and I am paying mine."

"The spirit who saved me. Will she…be forced to come as well?" Hawke shook her head at the whispering encouragement from inside her own skull. "I'll not be an abomination."

"I have no more an answer than you. There's only one way to find out."

The Champion's shoulders straightened, her mind made up. But she still noted Inara's weakened state. The girl was pale, her face twisted with pain, and the green glow of the Anchor encompassed her arm, seemingly consuming it.

"Will you be alright?"

"No." She cocked her head at the elf's flinching smirk. "But that was always the case. You're just making it worth something."

"It was always worth something, Inquisitor," Hawke insisted on the title, shouldering her staff confidently. "You gave Thedas the chance to fight another day. Remember that."

"Stand aside, mercenary. I will not ask again."

Fenris glared down at the injured assassin, who insisted on placing himself between the intruder and his query even after receiving a deep cut across the chest. How was Lavellan still sleeping through all of this?

"I am afraid I cannot comply, my friend," Zevran politely declined. "And the Iron Bull will likely be breaking down the door in a moment, I should warn you. He won't take kindly to you killing his old comrade. In fact, he would not take kindly to me allowing it either. I'll take my chances."

"Maker, Zevran, do you have a death wish?" a new voice piped up. Sure enough, Archon Pavus and Commander Fabria appeared at the doorway, shadowed closely by the hulking Qunari.

"It has been known to happen," the other elf quipped, placing a hand over his wound in an attempt to slow the bleeding.

"Fenris," Dorian insisted on the Blue Wraith's attention, remaining at a distance. This was going all wrong. He prepared himself to kill everyone in the room, if need be. He would not go quietly. "You don't want to do this."

Sneering, Fenris dropped his dagger and slowly grasped the hilt of the two-handed sword at his back. Four against one. The two warriors stood ready, while the mage held his hands out pleadingly. His markings flared to life, giving his skin a fiery aura that not even his thick armor could hinder. So be it.

"Give me one good reason, mage."

"I cannot, but there's someone else who might."

A light footstep at his back. The rustle of fabric. The knock of a staff on the wooden floor. The sigh of someone long dead.

"Fenris." Time stood still at the teasing chastisement. His heart stopped, his chest ached, and his limbs trembled. Never again did he believe that silken voice would caress his ears. "What was the first thing you said to me?"

He turned. The shimmering mirror fell silent, leaving the lone woman standing between the bookshelves, leaning heavily against her cracked staff. Her armor was worn, patched, and tattered. Her muscular arms bore scars old and new. She had maintained the same choppy length of her dark hair, yet her bright eyes were weary and guarded. But there was no mistaking who stood before him: The Champion of Kirkwall – to him, the most important woman in all the world.

"Hawke…"

His voice broke as the name passed his lips. She held up a stern hand to stop him and repeated her question, tears brimming and breath coming in barely restrained gasps. It seemed neither of them could quite believe their eyes.

"What…was the first thing…you said to me?"

The warrior relaxed his stance, forgetting that his foes from a moment ago even existed. He dared to step closer.

"I…apologize."

"Bloody right you do!" Abandoning her staff, Hawke launched herself into his arms. "Don't you dare let me do that again."

"That I can promise." Pulling away, Fenris cupped her face between his hands, running his thumb along her elegant jawline to her lips to convince himself that this was real. "If I could, I would have charged into the Fade itself and hauled you over my shoulder to bring you to safety."

"I know," the dark-haired beauty breathed as she pressed her forehead firmly against his.

He was just about to kiss the woman he loved for the first time in four years when one of the bystanders awkwardly cleared his throat.

"I suppose I should apologize ahead of time for fainting during this romantic moment, yes?" Zevran crooned from the floor, tunic stained red with his own blood.

Hawke didn't waste a moment, kneeling beside her old acquaintance with her magic at the ready. Fenris refused to take his eyes off her for even a second, but he was aware of the other men in the room watching him for any further hostility, and he couldn't blame them.

"I'm no healer, but I can at least make sure you don't bleed out before you can reach one," the mage reassured the injured party. Zevran's pained groan turned into a moan of pleasure as a white glow penetrated his wound.

"Ah, Champion. You always did have a tantalizingly light touch."

Seemingly satisfied that Fenris was no longer on a rampage, Iron Bull stepped in to haul the assassin to his feet and headed for the door.

"I'll get you there, big guy. Not gonna have you die on me yet."

With Zevran and the Bull gone, the room was finally beginning to feel less crowded. Wiping the rogue's blood from her hand, Hawke nodded toward the unconscious Herald.

"Is she alright?"

A now less guarded Master Pavus stepped behind the couch, hovering over the Inquisitor with a furrowed brow. He pressed his hand against her forehead with a gentleness usually reserved for a soulmate, then looked up at Fenris with a pointed sigh:

"She may slumber the rest of the night or awaken within seconds. With the strength of the sleeping agent I procured, there is no telling how her body will react, ultimately. She has been working toward this for a very long time, and she was determined that nothing would stop her from returning the Champion of Kirkwall to the waking world on this night, no matter the cost." He paused with a smirk. "Since you are here, however, we do intend to march on the Dread Wolf's base shortly. You're welcome to tag along. After you have…recovered."

"Recovered from what?" the Blue Wraith growled suspiciously at Dorian's waggling eyebrows.

"I suppose the Champion has just endured many trials in the Fade, but if you had something in mind... There's a spare guestroom upstairs. Third door on the left. I expect you two have some…catching up to do."