The night before they left, she dreamed.
Cullen's frustration still pulsed between them, alive and savage, and her knowledge of her own secrets kept her guilty and on edge in his presence. Their days were like traveling in a strange room in the dark, full of things to stumble over that she sensed but couldn't see. But true to his word, he'd come to her the first night, and the second, and in bed they could push those feelings aside and simply love. She was grateful. With him, the new, harder pieces inside faded, and she came back to herself. His touch and need closed the rift inside of her and made her Evelyn again, if only for a while.
She was afraid of what would happen when she was too far away for that touch. She slept with one hand on his arm, her own anchor to keep herself closed.
The Fade overtook her slowly, bleeding in from the edges of her mind. She tried to stir, to escape it, but it came relentless as always. She prepared for the shadows, for a dark and dry forest where she would hear the sibilant voice of her darker nature come out of a living statue. The dream always lived in the woods.
Her dream-self blinked when she saw, instead, the mural room. Its colors were more violent here, the pictures feral and challenging. She wondered if she only saw them that way or if the Fade had stripped them to their true essence. Maybe that's what the Fade was, the reality underneath the world, showing the good or bad. Or was it all bad? Her hands clenched until her nails marked the flesh of her palms. The anchor flashed in warning, the green light casting shadows across the wall that made the drawings appear closer and more distant at the same time. Like the parts of herself, but with a trick of light instead of a tearing of soul.
"Come, my friend, the Fade holds whatever you bring to it. It has no morality of its own, only feelings. Only when you add the complexity of the living do they twist into evil."
Solas's voice. In the hazy way of the Fade, he appeared in front of her while having been there all along, as if the light from her hand had revealed a secret. Without thought, she raised her hand to strike him, whether in surprise or anger she couldn't be sure. Her hand caught in the air and held, and the green sparks screamed in her ear in protest. He didn't move, only stared at her with cool eyes. "You disappoint me. I thought you wished to remove violence from the world, not carry it inside your pockets wherever you go."
She lowered her hand gingerly and rubbed her wrist. "People change. So is this the real you, or is it a dream of you I'm conjuring?"
"A distinction without a difference when you speak of the Fade. Justinia should be proof enough of that. And even if I answered, would you be able to trust it?"
Her mouth curved sourly. "You sound like him, at least. Vague and unhelpful still, after all this time." She huffed a breath upward, and her gauzy dream hair fluttered above her in a halo. As it settled, the questions poured out of her. "Where are you? Why did you leave? Were you helping Corypheus the entire time? Were you his spy? Did you learn all you wanted from us before you vanished and left me to fend for myself?" Her voice broke.
"Did you do this to me?" she whispered. "I thought you were my friend."
The coolness in his eyes faded. They became more what she remembered. Kinder. "Ma falon, I didn't come to this place to answer questions. It's better that you don't know these things. I walk a path meant for one, and I would not have you join me even if you could. I came to tell you that I know what the elves have asked of you. I implore you not to help. Or if you do, not to go yourself. Please."
"How could you possibly know anything about it?"
He slashed the air with his hand. "It doesn't matter. I know. Will you do as I ask?"
"Why ask? Just alter my mind, like you did with Cole. Make me forget it ever happened, or change my decision to what you want. We're in the Fade, your home ground." She crossed her arms.
"I'm not a god. I cannot overlay my will onto yours. Cole is special, his connection to the Fade unique. Moreover, he is a spirt that can bring forgetfulness. I simply reflected his power, like a mirror, and now he is happy to believe me well and I am happy to have him safe. Would that it were so easy with you, Inquisitor."
At his words, her hand burned with inner fire. She screamed and clutched it to her chest, sinking to the ground. The flesh of her knees felt like stone and cracked underneath her when she fell. The magic seared itself into her unmarked hand and made her weak with pain. She heard a tearing sound, like making bandages from a shirt, and realized the room around them was tearing itself apart. The edges unraveled like an old tapestry, and she vaguely wondered if the forest was tired of waiting for her to leave this dream.
Then Solas was there, his hand on her head, whispering elven words she didn't know. The Fade quieted around them as the room mended itself, the pain faded, and he knelt beside her. He took the hand that held the anchor and ran his fingers, sparking with magic, over it. Whatever he did soothed the fire and reduced it to its normal, faint glow. He stared at it expressionless for a long time until he leaned back and looked at her face. His eyes were no longer cool or kind but dead with grief.
She was tired and heavy, but she reached her other hand up to touch his cheek. "Abelas," she said groggily. "I'm sorry." Too much sorrow, even if he was no longer friend.
He grimaced and placed his hand over hers. He looked at the wall behind her. "Yes. Ir abelas, ma falon. It seems I am too late in my request. Perhaps I always would have been. Things have not moved in a predictable way in some time now."
She had no energy to answer, but he was already continuing. "I withdraw what I asked. I think you must offer your help. If I know you, you've already done so." He lowered their hands and bowed his head. "Oh my friend, what this world has demanded of you already. I'm afraid it must ask still more."
"It's okay," she whispered. "That's my job."
He smiled. "I would entrust the fate of the world to no other." He straightened. "I must leave. But before I go, no more bad dreams." He pressed his hands to the sides of her face, then kissed her softly, once on her forehead and then her mouth. Something cold slipped away inside of her, and peace replaced it.
She blinked. "Solas, I… Cullen is…"
He stood and pulled her to her feet. "Yes, Cullen. Your love is good, what is needed for you both. You will heal each other and grow strong for many years if the gods are kind. You are not my heart, nor I yours, but there are many kinds of love, and I carry yours with me."
He stepped back and raised his hands. Lightning arced between them, and the room expanded outward. "I hope we meet again someday, outside of this place. If we don't, know that you are the only human I have ever called friend."
He vanished as the room blew apart, and she drew back into her body. Before she woke fully, she heard the rich, rolling laughter of the Inquisitor and realized for the first time it was not coming from inside of her. She tried to call to Solas, to warn him, but the dream was gone too quickly. She woke with a gasp.
Cullen stirred. He rolled towards her and studied her through bleary eyes. He propped himself on his elbow to slide his hand around her waist. "Bad dream?" he asked, voice rough with sleep.
"Just a dream," she said. "Not all bad."
"Do you want to talk about it?" His thumb traced slow circles on her back.
"Had a talk with an old friend. Then the room exploded a few times."
"Mm. So which part was the good one?"
She laughed and rolled him over, pinning him beneath her. She skimmed his collarbone with her finger. "If you're going to laugh at me, I'm definitely not talking to you right now."
A slow, crooked grin erased his fatigue. "That's what I was hoping you'd say."
They left in midday light, like characters from a children's tale. They passed through the columns of men at attention and caused whispers. Varric, the storyteller, with only his own story never told. Cassandra, champion of the Seekers and daughter of kings. Iron Bull, Tal Vashoth warrior spy. Dorian, the heir of and traitor to Tevinter's magic. Cole, the boy of shadows. Sera, the archer with quick arrows and a quicker mouth. And Evelyn Trevelyan, Andraste-touched savior who wore the Maker's blessing on her hand to heal the world.
All of Skyhold watched them go. Her advisors stood on the stairs like statues. Evelyn carried their good-byes close to her heart as she spurred her mount across the bridge. Be safe. The Maker watch and protect you. Return to me. The last with an ache in her heart that she would not allow herself to show.
Then she was past, and they were moving more quickly, giving chase to Harding's scout group a day ahead. Abelas and two lightly-clad elves swung in behind them. She felt the familiar stir of adventure and laughed. Sera answered with her own whoop and they flew down the path, ready to meet whatever came.
They traveled for a week without incident. They stopped in villages and provided what aid and service they could. She spoke to crowds of people while her group moved quietly among them, picking up information to pass back to Leliana. The presence of a holy woman always inspired a level of sharing rarely seen in Fereldan. Iron Bull, as always, got the best results. His familiarity with bars, his observant nature, and his willingness to sleep with anyone, whether they had information or not, were the three pillars of his spycraft. How he managed to ride his mount without collapsing in exhaustion or inebriation she never learned.
Reminders of the blight still showed around them, but the people were rebuilding. King Alistair had done well by them, and he and his queen were much beloved. Elissa had traveled among the people for a year before returning to the capital to marry, and they spoke of her like a friend if they hadn't met her, a sister if they had. And more than one Fereldan told her with pride how the king had resisted the Grey Warden disease and solemnly vowed that nothing would remove him from the throne before his work for the country was complete.
Evelyn doubted Alistair was capable of vowing much of anything, much less solemnly. Irreverent stubbornness was more his style, but she appreciated their need for stories of his strength. She sensed that they'd been unsure of this bastard king, the deposer of Anora, and it was Elissa's bloodlines and goodwill campaign that had won him any early support. She wrote as much in her report back to Skyhold after the week had passed. The signs of blight were increasing as they moved closer to their destination, the Kocari Wilds, and she included that as well.
Abelas and his companions settled, as always, a slight distance away from them. All were mages, but she was slowly learning that they approached their duties very differently. Abelas was grave and thoughtful, the most cautious of the group. Rina, a female whose knack for the wild places had found them more than a few comforts when inns could not be found, was no less serious, but she approached the world with determination and fire. Hurel smiled often, and he was usually the bridge between their groups. Varric and he traveled together, swapping jokes and trying to shock each other with true and untrue tales of their worlds.
As she watched, Hurel moved to sit across the fire, likely to start another tall tale contest. Iron Bull and Dorian would spend their time supporting or discrediting the dwarf at their whim. She was glad some trust was starting to form between them. Despite the fact that the ugly voice inside of her had dulled to a faint whisper since the dream with Solas, she didn't need it to know she couldn't afford to trust them herself.
She began writing again until she heard a low whistle from Dorian. "Well hello, sailor," he murmured, staring at the trees to her left. A slim figure stood in shadowed silhouette a hundred paces away, with obvious wiry strength running through his arms. His stance was aggressive, though his weapon still hung behind him, and the group instinctively reached for their own. When he saw he'd been noticed, the figure walked forward into the light of their fire until it was clear he was elven. His eyes glittered, matching the shine of the reflective tattoos he wore on his body. Dorian stopped his salacious appraisal of the man's body and shrank back physically, if not in spirit. "Ah. Fenris, I take it?"
The elf glared. Evelyn asked, hand still on her dagger, "You know this man, Dorian?"
"Not personally. Heard quite a lot about him back home. The Glowing Elf, The Wolf Demon. He's been freeing slaves all over, stalking magisters in the nighttime, things of that sort. A bedtime story to scare the grown-ups. At least, the ones who have reason to fear."
Fenris looked no more relaxed, but some of the contempt left his face, if not the hostility. "Keep your eyes off my body, Vint, and you'll not find out how true the stories are." He turned to Varric, then, and his voice dropped to a growl. "Now, Varric. Tell me this quickly and clearly or lose that silver tongue. Where in the hell is Hawke?"