Summary: Post-Trespasser. Lavellan survives the end of the world, but her solace is in the past, in memory of what was. Strangely, so is Solas', still.

If you're the type that likes to listen to music as you read, this was inspired in great part by 'Ryan Star - Losing Your Memory'.

Losing Your Memory

Wake up, little girl.

She felt so small in this new world. Out of place, didn't belong, didn't fit. She lived alone, travelled often, refused to integrate into Elvhen society. She hated it. The glorious restored empire built upon the broken bones of her people, the prosperous soil fertilized with their blood. His new Arlathan, propped up by the lives of her friends.

It hurt so much to remember them, even after so many decades, but she was terrified to forget.

She'd lost most of them in trying to stop him from tearing down the Veil. The first had been Cullen, ambushed alone for straying too far into Elvhen ruins on her behest, searching for anything they could use; information, artefacts, anything. What he'd found was one of Fen'Harel's strongholds, and paid for it with his life. The Wolf sent his body back to her. To this day she wasn't sure whether it had been a kindness or a warning.

Sera and Blackwall went out together, successfully taking out another stronghold in the process with a supremely flashy, Red Jenny-esque explosion. Sera, smarter than anyone ever gave her credit for, managed to get hold of Qunari gaatlok and modified it some; Blackwall had protected her as she'd set the charges. It levelled the already crumbling ruins and left a lingering aura of blood lotus in the air, ensuring that any elves attempting to build there even now would start to hallucinate and walk away in a state of confusion. A permanent scar on the landscape no one could ever forget, 'yeah, that's our land, knobbers'.

Varric had been assassinated, something she'd thought he would never be capable of, but Kirkwall's elves were very much part of the Resistance, and their Viscount's death had sown just enough fear and doubt in their ranks for Fen'Harel to get the upper hand in the Free Marches.

When the Iron Bull and the majority of his Chargers had been taken out in a bloody, brutal skirmish over a then neutral eluvian, cold hate had settled in Dorian's broken heart. He'd never forgiven her for sacrificing his love for the sake of hers, and she'd never expected him to. But it was at that point she made the decision to kill the Wolf rather than save him. Dorian was her best friend, her brother, her lethallin. Seeing him so broken hurt her too much, after everything, everything they'd been through, all that pain, death, suffering, was too much. Some things could not be forgiven.

She would kill him.

Vivienne and her mages had tried to carve a path for her, to get to him, and of course they had not failed. It was her failings that let him get away, her weak heart. The two of them had cut down everything that stood in their way, no mercy, every agent of his that tried to stop them fell to their spirit blades. They met in person for the first time in seven months, since he'd left her again at the base of that eluvian. And again he lied. He'd talked instead of fought, and she was foolish enough to have listened, to be given hope he would change his mind. He'd pretended to be having doubts about his path, pretended to be swayed by her presence, just long enough to cut her off from Vivienne. The Enchanter was killed right in front of her. She'd seen red, and turned on him, desperate to end this. His sentinels got in the way. She at least took pride in the fact that she had taken many immortal lives that day before Fen'Harel himself stepped in to magically subdue her.

Then she was his prisoner for a while, and she wished he had just killed her instead. Her freedom was one of the most precious things to her, and he took it because it inconvenienced him. Hypocrite.

Harding had been lost in setting her free, and Briala had been gravely wounded, succumbing to her injuries a few agonizing days later, after passing control of the few eluvians she'd clawed back over to her. She didn't understand why everyone still seemed to have such unshakable faith in her, to put the fate of the world in her hands again.

It didn't matter, in the end. She failed them.

Cassandra and Cole fell in the final siege, upon Skyhold. That was where he used Mythal's Foci to tear down the Veil. She'd been there, and had even managed to follow him into the rift he'd opened. They came to blows in the Fade, physically, and fought for what felt like centuries. She'd survived only because he refused to kill her. She kept attacking, and he would just deflect, shield himself, knock her back without ever striking for a fatal blow until she'd become so exhausted, her hurt and rage and hate and love were the only thing keeping her going. Eventually he'd put an end to it, taking advantage of her fatigue, snaking a perfectly timed winter's grasp under her freshly eroded barrier. She'd fallen, half frozen, half dying, and he'd at least had the decency to check she would be alright before he tore her world asunder.

Any who were not elves suffered then. Many humans, non-mages, got sick and died. Dwarves had to retreat underground or be sent mad. Qunari fared little better, and remained isolated and weak. No one could resist the return of the Elvhen. Divine Victoria held out admirably, her agents stopping assassination attempts at every turn, but then Josie was kidnapped and used as leverage in an attempt to control the Divine, and thus, the armies of the faithful. Leliana stirred in a pinch of deathroot alongside some sweet honey into her wine.

Tevinter was the last nation to fall to the new world order, Dorian being Archon for just a few short weeks; he joked that that much should surely be enough to appease his father, as he lay dying in her arms. Minrathous – finally conquered – was ash, everything was, everything was burning – how could ash burn? – and the most important person in her life was dying slowly. 'Too slowly, vishante kaffas, this hurts'. Please don't go, please, please. I need you, there's nothing else left for me, I can't-

Gone.

She'd screamed. That much she remembered, because the sounds coming from her own mouth had scared her.

But Dorian could not have been allowed to live, not when he was so close to a breakthrough in manipulating time magic safely. The Wolf could not have them going back in time to take his victory out from under him.

And so she was alone.

She had changed. Her hair had lightened with the stress, and she could no longer recall what shade of red it used to be. The light strawberry blonde was at least a little less conspicuous. It didn't truly matter; she stayed far away from civilization, never wandered across the other Evanuris' territory. She stayed safely within Fen'Harel's jurisdiction, as much as it disgusted her. With Mythal's aid he was strong enough to keep the others in check, even collectively. Some days she wasn't certain why she carried on; it would be an easy thing, to end her own life, and maybe, maybe, the Maker really was waiting with her friends to receive her. But she was one of the few who remembered the world as it used to be, and more importantly the people that used to be in it, and who would remember them, if she didn't?

But she was losing her memory. Time eroded at the detail in the mental images, and it terrified her. Some days she could not recall their faces with the clarity she could in others, and she would cry herself to sleep those nights, hoping to be exhausted enough to dream of them instead.

Her dreams were her solace, ironically. She didn't know if he was discreetly manipulating them in a pleasant direction for her, but the nightmares only came when she pushed for them, to remind herself of all she'd done. She deserved to be in this much pain.

For so many decades. She had changed, yes, but also not. She had not aged. Cursed with immortality now. Trapped, like this, forever.

She didn't know if she could do forever. But she'd certainly try. For her friends, there was nothing she wouldn't do.

They were dead, and it seemed it was not enough for her to have learned. For even now she relied on him, for her safety on his land, for her peace of mind in dreams. And it was this that allowed him to track her down so easily.

He came to her at sunset one day, as she admired Sera's handiwork from a safe distance. It was sadly the only place that reminded her of home. She didn't react as he lowered himself to sit beside her in the too dry grass.

"It mars the beauty of the landscape." He pointed out unnecessarily, "Sera would no doubt be very pleased."

"As am I." She murmured, a small but genuine smile quirking her lips, even as it was accompanied with the usual pang in her chest.

He wisely did not reply to that.

"It has been many years since I last saw you." He said instead, again pointing out the obvious, "I have worried for your wellbeing." She would not give him the opening.

"One of your spies saw me a month ago." She responded, deadpan. He sighed.

"That was not what I meant, as you well know."

She finally looked over at him, tired. He did not seem to have changed much, at least physically. He'd forgone his usual gilded armour; she didn't truly care whether it was for her benefit or not that he looked closer to the man she fell in love with.

It hurt to look at him, regardless.

Yet she persisted, "We did not exactly part on good terms."

"Ah yes," his mouth twisted into a wry smile, "you tried to kill me."

There were many sentiments she considered responding with, from dark humour to scathing insults, and in the end stayed silent for too long.

"There are some days I wish you had succeeded." He confessed quietly, glancing away.

"I thought you were meant to die when you tore the Veil?" she inquired before she could stop herself.

From the way he smiled again, it seemed he too was reminded of her inquisitive nature, more pleasantly so than she was, "I thought so too. It was Mythal's essence that saved me."

"Oh."

They lapsed into silence for a while. She had never really been good at social interaction before, and now she'd been alone for so long she had quite forgotten how to do it.

But she was reasonably certain it was not at all acceptable for him to reach over and touch her.

She flinched and pulled back, but her hair was long enough that it just wove between his fingers instead.

"Your hair..." he murmured, sounding mournful. She blinked. He had destroyed her world and he thought it was appropriate to worry about her hair?

He continued to wind it around his fingers it as he spoke, "Redheads are so very rare, and the colour of yours was unlike any I had ever seen. Perhaps it is best it has faded; Andruil would have been positively envious."

That drew a somewhat amused huff from her, if she could feel such a thing anymore, "It is not my hair Andruil would have been envious of." She gave him a pointed look.

She thought maybe there was a hint of mischief in his eyes, but then he let his hand fall away and he could no longer look her in the eye.

"They do not know of you." He assured, even as he frowned in worry.

"That won't last." She told him, causing his frown to etch deeper, "Nor will they continue to concede to you; they're likely plotting to overthrow you right now."

"I will keep you safe," he promised, raising his gaze to hers again, "They would not dare cross me, not after the lengths I went to in order to defeat them last time."

She looked back towards the horizon, and said nothing.

So he had to make the leap again, "I came to ask if there was anything I could do for you."

It took a few moments for that to sink in, for a spark of genuine anger to finally ignite within her; was he deliberately trying to antagonize her? She would not rise to the bait, if so.

"No." She said simply, determinedly focusing on the darkening sky, trying to remain as impassive as possible.

He sighed as if dealing with an unnecessarily stubborn child, "Luthori, this is no way to live. I could hel-"

"I don't live." She cut him off, her tone stinging like the crack of a whip, "I survive. And I don't go by that name anymore."

She could tell he was frowning in concern as he spoke, though she refused to look, "Why not?"

"Luthori Lavellan is gone. She died with her friends."

"I refuse to accept that." He spoke curtly, but there was a curious edge of panic in his voice.

"Irrelevant." She commented shortly.

There was a short, charged pause before he spoke again, "She cannot be dead as long as I remember her, and I swore never to forget."

"You swore?" she intoned softly, "And who is that? Fen'Harel would surely never hold room in his heart for such a sentiment, and you cannot be Solas. Solas is dead too. Fen'Harel killed him slowly, little by little, alongside each loss of our friends. Each person lost to his goals."

The temperature seemed to drop, and with it she realized the sun was now out of sight. She lay down to look at the emerging stars instead, as she so often did. He followed her lead and lay beside her; she could not imagine what he was thinking, but it was not altogether surprising when she felt his hand rest atop hers hesitantly. When she did not pull away, he laced their fingers together. Though she didn't squeeze back, he held on tightly, and as she turned her head to look at him she could feel the tremors in his arm. His eyes were closed and his brow furrowed, his breathing seemingly strained. She realized he needed this, then. He had probably needed this for a very long time, and denied himself.

Did she need this?

"Is that how you cope?" he whispered hoarsely, keeping his eyes closed as though he couldn't bear to look at her, "You separate what was from what is; separate the man you loved, from the monster that destroyed everything you loved?"

"I suppose that's an adequate summary, yes." She responded tonelessly.

He looked like he was going to cry, "I...we..." he took a moment to collect himself, "But what if some part of Solas and Luthori remain? And they remember each other? They cannot die then."

She thought about that for a short while, "Maybe it's best they forget, so that they don't hurt each other anymore."

He was shaking his head in the corner of her eye, "I cannot let her go."

She extricated her hand from his, "You already did."

You're losing your memory now. She rolled onto her side, turned her back to him. She could hear him sobbing, a dam finally burst, and it made her cry too, but there was nothing else she could do.

Through the haze of her grief she picked up on him speaking, some of it nonsense to her ears, some ancient elvish she had never bothered to learn, and she was glad of it because the words she did understand fractured her repeatedly broken heart. He clung to her like she was his last vestige of hope, "Ir abelas, vhenan, ir abelas. You were right all along, I was weak, I was foolish-" every few words his speech was punctured with heart wrenching sobs, "I was wrong. I raised my people from the ashes of yours and I am still alone. I'm sorry. Please. You are all I have left, even now. I'm so sorry. I should have listened to you. What I have done has not erased my mistake, only exemplified it, doubled it, and I- I need-"

He buried his face in the crook of her neck and continued to cry; she could feel warm, wet tears trailing down to disappear into her hair, or down her collarbone. She cried openly too, because she was hurting to see him hurting, and it hurt even more that that was still possible.

"Please vhenan," he choked out, "This world is meaningless for me without you, there is nothing else."

He kissed the tracks her tears left down her cheeks.

Did she need this?

She turns her head to capture his lips with hers. They both whimper in relief. Yes, she did. She wants this memory.

They kiss passionately, each eager to be lost in the other. He lifts the hem of her dress and she unfastens the ties on his breeches. He stops, raised on his elbows above her, and places his hands on her face so he can slowly swipe his thumbs beneath her eyes. Kisses her sweetly once, twice...thrice; slowing down. Pulls back to look into her eyes and make sure they are both present.

"Yes?" he asks simply. She is sure her gaze is molten.

"Yes."

He mumbles something more in elvish as he slips inside her, but it is lost to the sensation. She clings to him because it feels as though the ground is rolling out from under her.

"Solas." She breathes, and he moans, buries his face in her hair so he can whisper her name too. Over and over again.

Remember who I am in the morning.

Wake up, it's time, little girl.

She awakes with her head pillowed on his bicep, his hand in her hair, the other arm across her waist, his even breathing on the back of her neck. She'd half expected to wake alone, and wonders if she should leave him now. He deserves it. So does she.

Her friends surely wouldn't begrudge her doing what she had to in order to carry on?

You're losing your memory now.

Wisps hover nearby in the tree line, whispering, almost gossiping from the sounds of it. Deep purple, soft pink, and bright blue drift closer to her face. They emit a comforting aura, if she'd let them soothe her. The added light wakes him, and he presses half asleep kisses to the nape of her neck. The pink wisp gasps in delight, and he chuckles, lazily lifting his hand for it to contentedly settle in his palm. The sound makes her heart ache; makes her think of the first rift they had ever closed, of Varric's introduction and his nicknames. The memories are so sharp when he is here. It is not necessarily a bad thing. The other wisps dance around for a moment before choosing to satisfy their curiosity; the blue one moves to gently lift strands of her hair and the purple one settles on her hip, over where Solas' hand comes to rest. Solas. The most recent memories are intense heat coiled in her belly. The pink wisp hovers by his ear, whispering. After a moment he hums in agreement.

"They think your spirit is very beautiful," he murmurs to her, "but also very sad, and they usually cannot stand to be around you for very long."

"Oh. So that's why they keep visiting me."

"They say I am the same." he confides, "Though they also say the pain is duller, now."

The blue one is still stroking her hair, while the pink one whispers and the purple one looks on sadly.

"There are many spirits in Halam'Arlathan, vhenan, whom I know would like to meet you." He tells her, pressing his body into her back, "Spirits of Compassion-"

Oh, Cole.

"-of Wisdom, and Love. If you would come with me to-"

"I can't." She shoots down the notion immediately and without mercy, "I won't."

She may be unbelievably selfish, in this unhealthy moment of weakness, but she is not about to drag the memories of her world through the mud any more than she already has. She has lost enough.

Solas is silent for a moment, before he moves his arm from under her head to better prop himself up. He stares down at her with a strange expression on his face.

"We could rule the world together." He states, matter of fact, and then his tone deepens, "But that is not what you want."

She closes her eyes and slowly shakes her head. "I want no part of it." She intones roughly, and opens her eyes to smile at him gently, "Except you."

There was nothing else, after all.

His expression softens, and he leans down to kiss her languidly.

"Ma nuvenin, vhenan." He whispers against her lips, and she smiles, genuinely, "Anything you want."

"Ar lath ma." She breathes, feeling the truth of the words settle in her tired bones. She prays the dead can forgive her. She hopes she can forgive herself. They both know he will receive no forgiveness from anyone.

He kisses her again in answer, dislodging the wisps as he uses an arm to draw her impossibly closer. They grumble softly at the both of them, and she chuckles into the kiss. In this moment, she is happy.

Yay for a sort of happy ending? I'd appreciate it if you could leave feedback, please and thank you; I'm trying to refine my writing style, as it seems to depend a lot of what type of story I'm writing, if that makes sense. Please note that the transition from past to present tense was intentional, and hopefully not too jarring.

Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed it.

- LaWren