AN: I'm toying with the idea of stopping completely and simply directing readers of this story over to my AO3 account once we reach a certain point (not for a while yet), to streamline things so it won't be so wonky trying to edit out the adult bits. I'm getting much more of a response on that website as well so it makes sense to eventually funnel everyone over there. Thoughts? Would this be hugely troublesome to people?

And onward!

Chapter 9: Actions/Reactions

It was three days later, and Errol was pacing.

Dorian had appeared that morning, timing his arrival so perfectly she wondered if he hadn't been lurking somewhere eavesdropping on their conversation. The moment she said she wanted to go to the mages instead of the templars: Bam, there he was, like a fancy knight in fantastically shining armor, mustache a'twirl.

She turned and began to pace back, her feet long having since worn down the snow. She was just outside of the Chantry, near the back off of the war room where no one would see their Herald pacing like a maniac. She felt sick to her stomach.

They were leaving the next morning for Redcliffe to meet with Alexius, the crazed Magister who wanted her dead. She, Solas, Cassandra, and Dorian were just going to waltz into Redcliffe and divert Alexius long enough to kill all of his Venatori and take his mages. How the hell was this plan going to work? What was she going to do?

For the 3,457th time in the past six months, Errol looked to the heavens and groaned: "Why me?"

"Errol?"

She spun around to see Cullen eyeing her tracks. "I see you've been over this path a few times," he said. "Anything you want to talk about?"

She heaved a huge sigh. "I think you know. Tomorrow's the big day."

He approached her quickly. "There's still time to change your mind," he said in a low, urgent voice. "Nothing's been set in stone yet. You can still choose to go to the templars, it's safer…"

He trailed off. She was shaking her head. He ran a frustrated hand through his hair. "Maker's breath, Errol, why are you so set on this course? It's reckless and it's putting you in more danger than anyone!"

"You heard what Dorian said," she said. "Time magic? Tevinter cults? And the mages are now slaves to these madmen? I can't just walk away from that."

"Yes you can," Cullen said, looking very much like he wanted to grab her and shake sense into her. "The mages sold themselves to the Magisters. They started the rebellion and they made the alliance. They are paying the price. Let them deal with the consequences. The templars are good people, I promise you that. They can help us."

She stepped back. "But the mages are my people, Cullen. As close to people as I have here."

He looked inexplicably hurt. "You have nothing in common with those mages save your ability to use magic. The Inquisition - we're your people."

Errol hated that she was making him look so sad. "I'm sorry, I don't know what to say to make this better. Only, I have to do this. If the templars are good people, then we'll still be able to deal with them after this is over. But I can't just ignore the mages. They need me."

"We need you," Cullen said. "If you die, the Inquisition dies with you, as does any hope of closing the Breach."

"I won't die," she said firmly. "We have a plan. I'll come back."

He looked at her, jaw set, like he was about to say something else, then changed his mind. He exhaled, some of the fight going out of him, and broke her gaze, looking past her at the tree line. "I spoke with Leliana."

He didn't have to say what about. "When?"

"A few days ago. She wasn't very happy, but… I think she was also a little impressed."

"She hasn't murdered me in my sleep yet, so…"

He half-smiled and rubbed the back of his neck. "You remembered. Very well, actually."

"I'm just as surprised as you are. I really needed to hear what you said that night." He nodded and turned as if to walk away. She couldn't help herself. "Cullen." He stopped, but didn't turn around. "The Inquisition… they're my people too."

He turned, briefly, something searching in his eyes. He nodded again. "Best get rest. You ride out at first light."

She's in Haven, which is a first. It's empty, the snow falling thickly, and the Breach is huge and luminous above them. For once, it doesn't start with a memory, but she knows she's in the Fade, because of how still the air feels, and because she is an elf.

"It seems we've just returned and again we're leaving."

She turns to him and smiles. They're standing in the courtyard but it's clean, no tents, just snow-covered cobblestones and thickly-coated trees.

"No rest for the wicked, as they say in my world."

"Ah, but that is the question," Solas says, drawing nearer to her. He wears the same robes he always does in the Fade, and they drag slightly behind his bare feet as he walks, covering his footprints. There is something very regal in the way he carries himself, no matter where he is. "Is it really your world anymore?"

She stares at him, wide eyed, and then turns away. "I'm not…" Her voice cracks. She isn't ready to answer that question. It's been haunting her for days now. Maybe weeks.

"And what do you think of our new ally?" he asks, smoothly changing the subject. She seizes it gratefully.

"Dorian? I like him. He knows who he is and he isn't afraid."

"I wouldn't trust him so easily. He's from Tevinter. They're known for abusing blood magic and are conquerors at heart."

"He abandoned his home and his friends to come and warn us of this."

"He could be leading us directly into a trap."

"Well, only one way to find out."

She's still not facing him, but she can sense that he is watching her very carefully now. "You trust people too easily."

She shrugs, and wonders again why they are at Haven instead of in the forest; it's so empty and eerie, the snow falling but not touching her skin, and above her the sky in rent in two by the Breach. "I follow my instincts."

He's just behind her; she can feel his body heat. "And what do your instincts tell you about me?"

"You're… a mystery," she says honestly. "There's a weight to you that I can only feel when I'm here, something that you're masking." She expects him to draw away, to deny, but he doesn't, so she keeps talking. "I think there's far more to you than meets the eye. I haven't figured out yet if that's a good thing or a bad thing, but despite it you're still—"

Errol gasps as he snakes one arm around her stomach, then uses that arm to gently turn her, so that she's clasped tightly to him. He tilts her chin up with one finger. "Still?" he asks, and the expression on his face isn't one she expected to see: he looks amused, and proud, and possessive.

She licks her lips unconsciously. "You're still Solas," she says, and then his hand is in her hair and he is kissing her.

The whole situation is so strange that she's not sure how to react. She never expected him to show that kind of interest in her, and a large part of her brain is shouting that he's not the one she wants kissing her right now, but his lips are soft and he's very good at it. Still, she twitches, intending to push him away, but he moves his hand from her hair and brushes his thumb in a very firm, precise stroke across the elongated edge of her ear.

Oh, God, Maker.

She realizes now why he had that look on his face the first night she appeared as an elf in the Fade and touched her ears. It had felt pleasant then, like a gentle tickle, but the way he is using his finger and thumb to rub and gently pinch her left ear ridge makes it very clear that this is a highly erogenous zone. Her knees go weak, heat coiling between her thighs, and as he pulls her tighter she moans into his mouth. He uses the opportunity to deepen the kiss, his tongue moving against hers.

It isn't until he pulls back, looking satisfied, that she realizes instead of pushing him away her hands have fisted themselves in his robe, tugging him closer, and that whatever he did to her ear has made her embarrassingly turned on.

She flushes bright red. "What was that?"

"That," he says softly, "was something I perhaps should not have done, but I cannot bring myself to regret. It was a…" He pauses, brushing her swollen bottom lip with the pad of his thumb, and she hates that she leans in a little bit. "Goodbye, of sorts."

Her eyes widen. "You're going somewhere?"

He laughs then, low and throaty. "No, how could I? But as we travel to Redcliffe and approach these unstable rifts and time magic Dorian warned us about, it would be wise to stay out of the Fade. We will soon be surrounded by rebel mages and Venatori and who knows what else. I believe we will be sleeping lightly and taking no chances for the next month, and during the day, as always, we are but Herald and apostate elf, companions who travel together but speak little."

"A barrier you inflict on yourself."

"It's as it must be. For now."

"Hmmf," she says, frowning at him. "I think there are things you and I really need to talk about."

"I agree," he says, but only pulls her in for another kiss, this one chaste and quick. "After Redcliffe, after the Breach is closed, I promise we will have all the time in the world to speak. There is much to discuss."

If she's going to say something, she should say it now. "Solas, I'm not sure—"

A loud pounding comes from nowhere and echoes around Haven's empty courtyard. "I believe," Solas says, smiling slightly at her. "That someone is knocking at your door. It is daybreak, Herald, and it is time to wake up."

The snowed turned to rain as they made their way down the mountain on horseback. It was still early and they were wreathed in mist, turning all but the closest riders into shadows.

Dorian brought his horse up next to hers. They hadn't spoken much since his arrival the day before, but she was inclined to give him a chance, if only in solidarity as two people out of their element in a hostile world.

"I don't know how you Southerners stand this weather. Absolutely miserable. I'm soaked down to my small clothes."

Errol pulled her waterproof jacket around her, glad she had kept it all of these months. "Please, Dorian, it's very early and I'm very tired. I don't need to imagine your wet small clothes."

"You could imagine what's under them," he said, waggling his eyebrows, and she laughed, because being from Earth she picked up on certain obvious truths far more quickly than people from Thedas. "But come to think of it, you're not from the South, are you," he continued. "Or so they say. Are you really from another planet, or time, or… something?"

"Reality is more like it," she said wearily. "A world with no magic, no Fade, no other races besides humans, lots more technology, yes it's very different, no it's not inherently better or worse than this world, yes I miss it, but I'm glad fate led me here."

"Answer that question a lot, do you?"

She grinned fakely at him. "So what's it like in Tevinter, Dorian? All blood magic, all the time? And remind me, are you a Magister? And how do you keep your skin so soft, baby sacrifices?"

"No darling, it's virgin blood all the way, never the babies," he deadpanned. "But I get your point. Still, you can't blame me for being fascinated. We don't get many other-worlders around here."

"I know." She sighed. "Sorry for being a bitch. We can talk about it sometime, if we survive. I'll let you pick my brain. Not literally, of course."

"If we survive," he said, and let out a bark of laughter. "Chipper one, aren't you? Well yes, if we survive, I'll ask you all about it and even buy you a drink. I hear you have something called a flush toilet."

Errol only sighed again. Dorian angled his horse closer to hers and reached out to touch her hand.

"Thank you," he said softly. "For trusting me. Without your help, Alexius might…" He trailed off. "As a 'Vint', I didn't expect such support… any support really. You have my gratitude."

He started to pull away but she took his hand and squeezed it lightly. "We'll stop him, Dorian," she said. "And then you'll buy me that drink."

He smiled a little. "Fair trade, lady Herald."

She dropped his hand and closed her eyes, letting the horse guide her. She didn't want to think about what lay ahead of them at Redcliffe so instead she dwelled on the more trivial issue of the men in her life.

If that was even an accurate way to put it. She slumped on her horse, the rain a steady drumbeat against her hood. She liked Cullen, a lot, she had from the very beginning. There was something charming about him, how he was fierce in battle but shy in person, how he cared too much and worked too hard and blushed too easily and always rubbed the back of his neck, how easy it was to coax the hint of a smile from him but how difficult it was to make him smile fully. But she had no idea if those feeling were reciprocated beyond friendship or if perhaps he only saw himself as her advisor. He was older than she was (though not as old as Solas, she was sure of that) and, as Leliana had said, had seen and done many dark things. Perhaps he saw her only as a naive, silly girl, someone who couldn't understand him, and a mage as well. A potential threat, something he'd have to destroy if she ever became an abomination. Maybe that was why he resisted getting close to her. Or maybe he simply didn't notice her infatuation. She only saw him in short bursts anyway; most of the time she was on the road, far from Haven.

As for Solas… she had spent considerably more time with him than with anyone, every night in the Fade as he continued to teach her and show her old ruins and history and sneak into her memories. He was attractive, she'd noticed that before, perhaps not in a typical way, but he was lean and tall and stronger than he looked, and there was something regal in the elegant angles and flat planes of his face, his long tapered ears, his ice-blue eyes and full lips. Yes, he was attractive, but she had never seen him outside of a mentor capacity despite (and she looked back in time, kicking herself for her stupidity) his little touches in the Fade, his banter, the way he sometimes looked at her when she did something particularly well or asked the right questions. She wondered, not for the first time, if he had anything to do with the fact that she always appeared as an elf in Fade with him, because it was only with him, not in her own memories, and not when she was alone. Something about being with him changed her, and that was frightening, more frightening than the other, underlying fear: Will he want me in the real world? Could he want a human, or does he just want to pretend in the Fade?

He wasn't telling her things, that was clear. There was something very old and very deep running below the surface of him, something she had sensed from their first moments in the Fade together. He was something more, and it made her nervous, that this something more had taken such an interest in her. Was it because of her, or because of the Mark on her hand? She distrusted his intentions, especially after the way he had so skillfully manipulated her the night before. She knew he had felt her begin to draw back, and had purposefully touched her in such a way that she was overwhelmed with sensation. He knew just how to draw her in, and yet…

Errol cast a furtive look in his direction. He was sitting on his horse with his hood up, his back perfectly straight, as if the rain didn't bother him in the slightest. There was a certain thrill in knowing that he wanted her, and she had enjoyed the kiss. She wouldn't mind it happening again. He was a mystery she was dying to unravel. Maybe they would talk about it when all of this was done…

An image of Cullen sitting with his hand on hers on Haven's roof, and unlacing her shoes when she'd had too much to drink, stopped her in her tracks.

She let out a little groan deep in her throat. Maybe they'd die at Redcliffe and this would all be a moot point.

"Man problems?" Dorian asked, and she looked at him sharply. He grinned wickedly. "Oh, I'm right. I was just joking but I'm right. It looks like we have much to discuss."

"Dorian," she said wearily, "get us through this alive and I'll tell you anything you want to know."

"Oh, now I can't die," he said, spurring his horse along. "Besides, someone has to return to Haven and deliver justice on whoever cut your hair."

She laughed a little, trotting to catch up with him, and they continued to talk. It was refreshing to laugh; it eased the sickening knot in her stomach, and there was something comforting in Dorian's bravado, especially since her other companions seemed content to sit in icy silence.

He never said a word, but she felt Solas' eyes on her back the whole time.