The landing Solona has braced for doesn't arrive. Instead a miasma surrounds her body, a swirl of whispers she can feel as much as hear. But the pain in her body is gone. Or… maybe not gone. Just distant. Very, very distant.

"Fuck," Solona grumbles. I hate the fade.

The whispers, always nearby but muffled, separated, as though coming from the next room, are now everywhere. Inside her ears, her thoughts. She can almost taste them. One stream in particular stands above the rest, a pitch of its own distinct frequency and volume.

There is no body attached to Solona's awareness, no skin upon which goosebumps could form, but the effect is the same.

Solona spins around and focuses on the scene around her. The fade is a tapestry of changing orange and green, broken intermittently by images shimmering in and out of existence. Figures in armor older than anything she's ever seen move like ghosts around her. One moment, the landscape appears to be a barren vista of hills, the next moment there are familiar stone walls enclosing her, making up halls and rooms. The soldiers rush through, hauling flailing bodies, and then they shimmer away like mirages in heat.

Solona hones in on that one loud frequency and quickly she feels it sharpen as it turns its full attention on her. It knows she knows. Solona sighs and calls out,

"Just show yourself. I don't have time for this."

Warmth slithers up behind her, curling under her hair and behind her ear like a tongue.

"Time?" purrs the voice. "There is no time here."

Inwardly, Solona searches for the silver tether to the pain that means her body-mostly cut off from her mind, but not enough to dilute the sensation of other wardens around it, frantically moving in strange patterns. The connection to her body strengthens as she holds the awareness of these figures. Her friends. A scene comes rushing back, riding waves of the adrenaline she'd been feeling moments before. Arrows in her chest. Battle broken out in the Keep's main hall. Bann Esmerelle and a Crow assassin. Whatever happened is still happening. If it wasn't, she wouldn't still sense that distant pain.

But now she is stuck here. And a demon found her—fast.

She sighs, swallowing down the rising panic in her throat. She needs to get out of here and get back. But she's been through this enough to know that the demons here won't make that easy.

"This isn't my first time in the fade," Solona says to the presence, and she turns to face the demon.

Undeniably alluring, the desire demon's exposed torso is lean and perfectly proportioned. Only the nipples of her breasts are covered and delicate, shining chains drape to connect the few coverings, their lines accentuating the body's movement and curves. Solona knows better than to look into the desire demon's eyes. Their dark depths can be mesmerizing, casting a glamor over those who get caught in her gaze.

But the desire demon has other tricks, and she works quickly. Solona's senses awaken, flaring to life like a flame catching kerosene. The woodsy, musky scent of a man brushes against her like warm flesh, reaching into the breath of her while tingles of an almost imperceptibly soft touch caress up her body. Warmth blooms involuntarily between her legs, pooling in her belly— or what would be if her body were actually here. She's aware of what should be every hair on her flesh standing on end. It's an assault of such immediate pleasure that the urge to melt into it is almost overwhelming.

Solona breaths deep, and the desire demon allows her the sensation of lungs filling with air..

"Time…" the demon's voice is low and melodic. "Time is an illusion, but if it is the illusion you seek…"

"Speak plainly," Solona says, struggling to hold her thoughts through the storm of sensations. "Riddles just piss me off."

"There is no riddle. You know how time works here. It either does, or it doesn't."

Solona rolls her eyes, latching onto the spark of irritation in order to center her.

"You need not concern yourself with what's happening there…"

In response to the demon's words, the distant pain grows closer, slicing through Solona's mind. But as quickly as it comes, it falls away again.

"Time is what you ran out of once. I could give you more."

Immediately the male scent evokes a face, golden and chiseled. Solona gasps, a non-existent breath catching in her absent throat. Soon the face is more than just an image. It's a hand, square and strong, clasping her waist. It's the hard length of a hot body pressing against hers, the hills of muscle firm yet velvety. A stubbled chin brushing against her neck as his voice croons into her ear.

"Sol, I've missed you so much."

Alistair's voice is like a stake through the heart.

Even after all this time, her response to him is instinctual and automatic. She leans into the sensation of him, the welcoming embrace of his arms, his thighs parting to fit her leg. The cradle of his hips is a magnet, drawing hers against him, pressing into the hard length of manhood bulging from its center.

A groan snakes from Solona's throat. Her focus dissipates into the barrage of sensations. A deep part of her mind chastises her for not resisting, for allowing this to overtake her so quickly.

Girl, come on. Don't make this so easy for her. But it feels as real as anything has ever felt. It feels exactly like him — the very experience of him that she'd spent so many nights trying to drown the memory of.

"Alistair," she whimpers and she expects to feel the warm wetness of tears on her cheek, but it doesn't come. Yet the sadness wells up like an ocean of poison, mingling with the pulsating need between her legs. Her chest feels tight, her body aching to bury itself within the specter of the man before her, not caring that it's an illusion.

Movement on the periphery of her awareness… wardens. Her wardens. Her friends. Racing around her injured body. They're there, so close and yet across an unreachable gulf.

"Wait," Solona says as she steels herself. Her hands fall to fade-Alistair's chest, ready to push. Radiating warmth and rising and falling with rapid, excited breaths, the curves of him seem inflamed with life. For a moment, Solona hesitates. If it feels real, looks real, smells real, why can't she just let it be real?

No, so many people are relying on her right now. And desire demons never give anyone what they want out of the goodness of their hearts.

"Stay with me, Sol. Please?" Alistair's voice cracks and Solona falters. She pushes, but emerging from his embrace puts him fully in front of her and within her vision. There he is, the stunning image of him as perfect as the reality once was. One blond brow furrows over his warm brown eyes. Solona holds the moment, taking in the smooth, strong neck, his angled jaw, the little tufts of his hair that never lay down exactly like he wanted them to, no matter how much time he spent in the mirror.

Solona allows herself to reach for his face, to feel the scrape of his jaw against her palm. She soaks him in, the sight, the warmth, the velvety softness of his skin. She inhales deeply again and there it is, the very essence of him and him alone. Trying to etch every line of him into her memory, she grits her teeth and backs away.

"Damn, you're good," Solona says to the demon as she turns to put Alistair behind her.

"You can have as much time with him as you want," the demon saws, a low vibration resounding in the deepest registers of her voice. "You can have the forever that was stolen from you. It's yours, Solona. You would merely be accepting what already belongs to you, what you deserve."

Frozen, Solona glares hard at the demon and tries to parse out her thoughts. The moment stretches as awareness of Alistair wars with her struggle to focus. As if sensing this, Alistair steps around her and even his gait, his posture is a perfect copy.

But that's all it is. Solona shakes her head, trying to force everything out and away. She's not good at… this anymore, not like she used to be, back before the archdemon. Though her magic has gotten stronger, her resolve, her willpower has weakened.

"Yes, but you'd never know it," the demon says, reading her thoughts. "I can remove that little voice of doubt. If you believe it's real, then it is real."

"What is it that you want from me?" Solona asks finally. "Is there some…some quest you're going to send me on? What do I need to do to get out of here?"

"Oh, my dear Solona," the demon purrs, her body curling around as if made of smoke. "I'm merely here to offer you exactly what it is you've been aching for. All that you've wanted can be yours…"

"Sure, in exchange for what?"

"You will never miss your corporeal form, Solona. It won't matter who inhabits a simple vessel of meat and bone that doesn't belong to you anymore-not when you can spend eternity at Alistair's side. Or under him. Or over him. Wrapped blissfully in his neverending embrace."

Alistair steps toward Solona again, his hand finding hers and wrapping around it. The heat of his skin is undeniable, his flesh solid. His eyes glint while a pale pink spreads over his cheeks. Solona recognizes the look he is giving her, the look of all-consuming lust that used to have them pulling each other behind trees, coming up with reasons to stop the traveling party in the middle of the day. It's like he's devouring her in his mind already. The sensations coursing through her intensify again. That look used to turn her knees to jelly and it's lost none of its effect now.

Solona turns away again and his grip on her hand tightens. He steps closer, his breath hot and sweet against her neck. Solona reminds herself that she can't really be as breathless as she feels. Yanking her hand away, Solona pushes against the feeling of him, demanding space around her. She could run? Looking around, Solona sees she is within some old version of the Keep. Before her eyes, more shadows of long dead soldiers continue on their mindless actions, rushing, sparring, hauling prisoners. She watches them, trying to gather up as much of her mind as she can before the demon's next assault. A sharp stabbing twinges in her chest as Alistair speaks, but she squeezes her eyes closed and shuts out his words. With deep breaths, she calms her fade form, trying to force it to feel that there is no real body here. There are no hormones coursing through her veins, there are no body parts to ache for contact. She needs to pull herself together and figure out how to get out of this. Get out of this and back to her real body.

"Perhapssss…" the desire demon slinks back into view, "Alistair is no longer enough. Perhaps you need more."

Before she's done speaking, a dark figure resolves itself at the edges of Solona's vision. Tall, with long, black hair, Nathaniel strides toward her, and his voice rumbles close, tickling against her earlobe. Alistair's clean woodsy scent is replaced by Nathaniel's warm leather and tea.

"Solona," he says it in that breathy voice he's used before, a voice so infused with desire that it seems he can hardly speak the word. A shiver travels the length of Solona's body, rippling through the surge of heightened sensations still swamping her ability to think. Solona turns and looks at him openly and it's as though the demon has plucked the true Nathaniel out of the Keep and deposited him here before her. Nathaniel's gaze stays trained on hers, ignoring Alistair and the demon, focusing entirely on Solona. "I see you," he says.

And she remembers now, realizing not for the first time that this is what was always missing from Alistair's gaze. Alistair saw her through the filter of his love, as innocent and optimistic as it was. He saw the bright and shiny Solona that lived on the pedestal in his mind. He never saw the shadows and dark places inside her, or if he did, he just assumed he could love them away, that he could brighten them with his overpowering light. But once that light was gone, the shadows reclaimed their place, darker than ever.

Nathaniel had no such filter.

Stepping closer, the sharp decisiveness in his eyes flays her bare. She shudders helplessly as his mouth seizes hers, his soft lips demanding and urgent. It's somehow even easier to accept this manifestation than it was Alistair. If she had fallen effortlessly into Alistair, she now wants to fling herself into Nathaniel, to bash herself against him. A fierce urgency that verges on a rage wells up within her as her fingers claw at the supple leather clothing his body. For a moment it's like they're back at the tavern, but the crushing crowd is gone and she is living again within that first kiss.

No, she remembers something important—the real Nathaniel is with her too. He's back with the pain. Somehow she realizes that it was him that caught her before she hit the ground. It was him that called for Anders. Why did he do that? Of course. To heal her. To help her.

The threads of thought are all tangled, all lost within a cloud of physical sensations. The lean length of Nathaniel clasps her desperately, his dark intensity magnitudes greater than Alistair's golden beauty.

But no, Nathaniel is capable of softness too, of the same tenderness that Alistair had in spades. And her body is back there, with him right now. The pain, as excruciating as it is, is a waypoint, a guiding light. The little sliver of awareness within her seeks it out and tries to grab hold. But treading through the barrage of pleasurable feelings within and surrounding her is like wading through mud. The desire demon is strong, and Solona realizes now she's already let the demon in too deep. Oh, you stupid girl, she thinks. There was a time when traveling the fade without getting sucked into one of these demon traps had been a piece of cake. Back when her relationship with Alistair was still budding, and her sense of duty to the Wardens hadn't yet been complicated by selfish desires.

Solona breaks the kiss with Nathaniel and stands back, their chests rising together with heavy, impassioned breaths. Solona closes her eyes to the irresistible image before her and steps away. She keeps stepping, backing fully away from Alistair, from Nathaniel, or trying to. They follow, as does the demon, until it feels like Solona is just walking in place, no ground moving beneath her. She holds onto that little spark of pain and tries to clear away everything else. None of this is real. It's all the demon's doing. The feelings, the scents, the images. Solona looks up at the demon's face, careful to keep her gaze on the creature's luscious mouth and not her eyes.

"You don't have to choose," the demon says, her body undulating as it floats closer. "You can have them both."

It takes a moment before Solona finds a response.

"No."

The demon's posture changes and Alistair and Nathaniel disappear. The sensations filling Solona's mind begin to fade away. The desire demon tilts her head as she approaches. "Fine," she says, her patience apparently gone.

In her new clarity, Solona reaches for a magical barrier, and one bursts easily around her, snapping into a glowing orb. The demon says nothing, but her intent is clear upon her face. Solona won't be enticed into giving over her body, so the demon intends to next use force.

How many times has Nathaniel stood over her as she slept? It was an intrusion to be sure, grabbing her up from places she'd willingly put herself and tucking her into bed, but too many horrible things could have happened to her if he hadn't intervened. This time hardly feels different, except that he's not alone and she's not unconscious because she drank herself that way.

Anders's hand falls gently onto Nathaniel's shoulder but, wisely, he says nothing. They've already said everything there was to say.

The arrow is out and she's healed, so why isn't she waking?

Because she's lost too much blood.

So put more blood in her.

How exactly do you propose I do that?

With your magic! How the fuck is this healing her if she could still die!?

It doesn't work like that. Her body needs to rest now and make its own.

It's as grim as a wake in the room now. Nathaniel registers Sigrun sitting behind him, her foot twitching nervously. Anders paces from a book on a table in the corner of the room over to a collection of potions and herbs beside the fireplace. Velanna and Justice hover just beyond the doorway, overseeing the cleanup of the hall beyond.

Nathaniel can't seem to bring his body to move at all. Cold, stark fear has frozen him in place as he tries to talk himself out of his anger, one side of his mind warring with another.

This is what she wanted. This is what she's been trying to do to herself for months.

That's not fair—she didn't ask to get shot with an arrow. She's made real strides lately.

She drinks too much.

When was the last time you saw her drunk?

Well…

Exactly. Give her some credit. She's been working hard around here for a while now.

But this probably could have been prevented.

Why didn't YOU do more to prevent it? It's just easier to be angry at her, isn't it? She finally returns your feelings and you realize how much it could hurt to have that taken away, so you push her awa—

Shut up.

Shut up shut up shut up.

Nathaniel stalks away toward the door, but his warden sense of her dims dramatically, reminding him how weak she is, how tenuous her situation. With a sigh, he turns around and resignedly approaches the bed again, until the warden sense strengthens, filling his mind with her essence enough to be a comfort. At least it's still there. He shivers at the thought of feeling it extinguish completely. That wouldn't be pleasant for any other warden, but a presence that's usually as strong as Solona just suddenly dropping off his radar? They'd be left rudderless, a ship without a captain.

With a sigh, he drops into the empty chair beside her bed. He releases some internal barrier and the full impact of his worry washes over him. He takes a shuddering breath to try to loosen the knot in his guts.

"Can you give her some of mine?" he asks, breaking the room's heavy silence.

Anders stops pacing. "Your what? Your blood?"

"Yes. Isn't that something that doctors do? Put a tube from my arm into hers and let her have some of my blood? That would help, wouldn't it? Bring her back from where ever she's gone?"

"Yes, but it could also hurt."

Nathaniel snorts in irritation. "She just took an arrow to the chest, I'm sure a needle wouldn't—"

"That's not what I mean. Not all bloods mix well together." Anders paces back to his book. "Also, she's almost certainly in the fade."

"But…that's a bad thing, right? The fade is dangerous?"

Anders shrugs. "It can be. It's full of demons who are just ready to pounce—especially on a mage as powerful as Solona."

Nathaniel rises and follows after him. "Okay. So we need to get her out of there. What would happen if the bloods don't mix well?"

"It could kill her faster," Anders says. His mouth pulls in a terse line but his eyes are warm and sorrowful.

"How could we find out?" Nathaniel asks impatiently. A niggle of worry in his brain whispers that if this were an option, he was sure Anders would have thought of it already. "Is there a way we could test it? See if our bloods are…compatible?"

At that, Anders goes still and distant. "Actually, there might be. Hold that thought."