"You don't think I should go."

Not a question, a statement. One she clearly demanded an answer to. Solas dropped his supply pack onto the wagon. "I did not hear you approach, Herald."

She stared at him with lips slightly parted, an expression he had grown to associate with a hollow feeling deep in his abdomen. "Why does it matter what I think?" he asked quietly. "Your advisers have quite made up their minds."

"I respect your opinion, as much as theirs."

Solas sighed. "I think that it is a clear trap, one they are not even bothering to conceal. I do not know why Commander Cullen thinks it is such a good idea to send you right into the heart of danger."

"It is a necessary means to an end. Without my response, we may never learn what Alexius is plotting."

"Even if it means running the risk of losing our greatest asset against the Breach?"

She stared at him evenly. "Is that what I am? An asset?"

"Among other things, yes." He watched the frown form, the deep crevasse between her eyebrows. "It would not do to lose you. Not now." He idly wondered, not for the first time, what it would feel like to smooth away that furrow away with the pad of his thumb.

"Then come with me." Her shoulders squared and he squashed his inappropriate thought down like an unpleasant mushroom.

"I had already planned to, Herald."

In the months that followed, he would think back on that exchange; turning it over in his head like a puzzle box, trying to discern if there had been a way to prevent these events from unfolding. Perhaps if he had stayed behind, he could have found a way to stop Alexius. It would have still meant the Herald's death, but perhaps he could have saved the others….

The portal had opened the moment Dorian struck at the amulet, completely dissolving both the Tevinter and the Herald at once. The miasmic cloud was gone in an instant, leaving behind no trace of either. Alexius, in a rage at having his elaborate plan foiled, had struck Cassandra as she charged forward, her face a mask of shock at the disappearance of Evelyn Trevelyan. Chaos erupted in the throne room. Solas dispatched three approaching guards before being felled by the hilt of a blade from behind. The merciful blackness of those next few moments was a memory he clung to when things were unbearable. To remember that unconsciousness brought mercy, that sleep removed pain, these were secrets to hold dear.

He awoke hours later in a cell containing a cot, a table with a small lantern, and a large thrumming shard of red lyrium. For the first few weeks, he thought they planned on using the lyrium to develop him into some sort of weapon. After the first of the villagers were harvested, he no longer held that belief. They had not figured out his purpose, nor his identity, barely cared he was an elf or a mage. They simply saw him as another vessel to bring about their great uprising. A font of lyrium for harvesting until his body finally gave way.

Not that this stopped the questioning. Screws, burning pokers, needles of all varieties, threats of dismemberment, forcing him to watch as they dismembered others… all were eagerly employed. When he was unmoved by the cries of refugees as they were slowly rent apart, they began more creative means.

He recognized Minaeve's voice before he could see her face. She was disemboweled. When the elf woman's death failed to move him, they turned to Adan. Someone must have mentioned that he often spoke to the alchemist late into the night.

"Where is Trevelyan? Pavus?" He kept silent, the haunting memory of two lives snuffed out before him stilling his tongue. When they refused to let this particular line of inquiry rest, it gave rise to wonderings.

Could she still be alive?

Six months into his stay, the questions stopped. He was left alone in his cell, marking the hours by the footfalls on the great stone steps above. The descent at midday, the ascent at midnight. The siege outside had finally quieted, either because the Inquisition forces had given up hope or had simply extinguished their numbers. Dreaming into the Fade to answer this question was too dangerous. The Breach had spread until it left tendrils of itself everywhere around them. The veil was tissue thin, permeable, likely to dissolve entirely. He was both filled with dread and awe to imagine what that sight would be to finally behold here, in this nightmare world.

Scraping at the door, bread shoved through the bars. "Eat, elf."

Solas turned on his side on the cot, facing away from the guard. "Suit yourself. Starve, then."

He woke to shouts and rent metal, bright light and a moment of rushing air before he lost consciousness again. His eyes opened to firelight, warm and golden, the familiar weight of a blanket on his side. He tried to sit up, found his hands and ribs bandaged. "Try not to move. You're safe."

Tears stung the edges of his vision as he gingerly rolled onto his back. The roof was thatched, familiar beams above high shelves lined with glass bottles, dried herbs.

No. No, it can't be.

"I thought you were dead," her voice was thick, choked with emotion. "My men broke into the cells at dawn, I heard the call and pushed through the ranks. To see you lying there, so…" she trailed off, raised one hand to her face. "I am so sorry, Solas."

From her lips, after all this time, his name sounded reverent as prayer. "Herald," he managed in a whisper. "It was not your doing. But how…?"

She laughed slightly. "It was meant, I think, to transport me to a time when I could be killed before I became relevant. Instead it sent me forward nearly twelve hours. We appeared in an empty room, sneaking through the shadows. Dorian and I… all we could do was wait. Wait and then step in, save who we could, gather our forces, prepare our assault." She paused and took in a shaky breath. "I hate that it took me so long to... it felt impossible. The men we lost, the blood and the smoke..."

Solas turned to look at her, wincing from the pain in his side. She sat in the chair he often used while writing, wrapped in one of the quilts from the chest in the corner of the room. She must be freezing, the snow on the windowpane was piled almost to the center. Her feet were quite bare. How long had she been here? How long had he been asleep?

"I had to save you," she said softly, glancing up at him, eyes catching the light of the fire.

"Who else survived?"

She smiled. "We had very few casualties from our ranks, all things considered. I managed to get most out of the castle. They are recovering nearby. Don't worry yourself, you should rest."

He leaned back again, head against the pillow. "I suppose I should thank you. You did not have to risk so much for an apostate mage."

"You are so much more than that. Don't you know?"

Solas pushed himself up onto his elbows. She stood, letting the blanket fall from her shoulders. Beneath it she wore one of his linen shirts, bottom hem brushing the tops of her thighs, neckline dipping dangerously low. Her hair was loose and wild, glinting in the dim.

"Solas, I was so blind."

He managed to struggle into a sitting position, her weight settling on him as she sat astride his hips. Her fingers brushed across his face, his cheekbones, his jaw, as her mouth met his. Her lips were warm, her breath honey and something deeper as she opened her mouth. Teeth clinked against teeth, hungry, desperate. Her hands were on his shoulders, pulling at him and he found his own hands seeking out the bare expanse of skin at her lower back, forcing her against him until she cried out. He flipped her beneath him with one fluid movement, ignoring the dry ache of his wounds. Her fingers found the knotted ties of his breeches and she began to pull them apart impatiently. Their eyes met, and she nodded slowly, teeth chewing her lower lip. Beneath him, she shoved her hips up in a manner that nearly caused him to lose consciousness again. He took her roughly, unable to control the animalistic urge she brought forth in him, realizing for the first time that this was what he wanted from the first moment he saw her, really saw her. Not to follow her, not to uncover the secret of who and what she was, but to possess her entirely. His and his alone. Her gasps of surprise gave way to baser, more guttural sounds and he was a man lost.

After, lying beside her with his fingers lazily tracing along the edge of her ribs, he thought to ask. "Where did you hide?"

She smiled down at him secretly. "I expect you know where."

He frowned. "I'm not sure what you mean."

"Go ahead," she said playfully. "Guess where I was. Where would I hide?"

Solas shook his head as if trying to clear away cobwebs. "I don't understand."

"Oh, you must have some ideas. Or do you need me to," she slid her fingers down his stomach, "help you remember?"

He caught her wrist in his hand, pulling it away from him, searching her eyes for that flicker, that spark of familiarity. "Who are you?"

The demon, for her part, was clever. She had adequately exhausted him before going after her true target, leaving him in a weakened state and unable to put up much of a fight. When the first burst of fire hit him square in the sternum, he felt panic. Was it the lyrium's influence that made him so weak of mind to fall for a parlor trick? Or was there something more sinister to blame, something lurking deep in his heart and mind that he had failed to properly repress, making him vulnerable? He managed a weak barrier before she rushed at him again, twisting Trevelyan's features into visions both nightmarish and painful. Inside his head he heard her fevered pleas to stop, the sobs of "Why?" as he struggled to separate the feelings such pleas gave rise to from the danger before him.

The vision faded as a gruff male voice yelled, "Enough." Solas found himself wishing very much that he had consumed that hunk of stale bread, sure that this was to be the last energy he would expend in his life. He lay on the floor, gasping for air and heard the voices around him through a thick fog.

"It's pointless, he doesn't know where she is."

"Bring up the dwarf again. Perhaps he's had time to think things over."

"And the elf?"

"Toss him on the lowest level. He'll at least feed a shard."

Dawn came, and Solas found himself on the stone floor of another cell. For the first time in all those long months, he wept.