When I looked at her my heart ached with an unfamiliar pain. It was pain and suffering and bliss and sadness all in one feeling. A feeling concentrated to my poor heart. She made it soar, made it sink, made it feel so much more than a heart could ever feel. It was something impossible.
She was nothing that I had imagined her to be. She was an elf like me, but Dalish. I foolishly thought she was going to be like all Dalish – traditional and blind. But she was none of that. Every day she made me question everything I have ever known and will know about the Dalish. The world. Her wisdom proceeds her, makes her glow even brighter.
She is beautiful, to claim anything else would be a lie. Even with the old slave markings covering her face, she is beautiful. I often wonder if it's right to tell her the truth about those markings, or whether I should just spare her that pain. But that would go against all of my principles – knowledge and the truth has and should be shared with the world… most of the time, at least. And maybe I am letting her down by not telling her the truth, I do think she would understand if I told her. She has surprised me in so many ways, I almost believe anything is possible.
And maybe that's the truth. Maybe this aching in my heart really is possible, as impossible as it is. She had done such outstanding things, been the leader in such difficult decisions. She had shown the world, and me, that what you least expect, the impossible, was never that. Or maybe it was only this Dalish woman that stood before me that was able to alter reality in a way I have never witnessed before, alter it so that we saw the world in a different light.
I did question her being. Because how could she exist? She should be impossible, not only the mark glowing green on her hand, but the whole of her. Brave, strong, wise, and impossible. The things she has set in motion, the things she has done… all of those things… impossible.
But still she stands here in front of me now. The brown hair touched by the slight breeze. It is not the chill in the air that makes me shiver. Her eyes lock with mine, and she leans her head to the right. Curious, always so curious. She was not afraid to ask the hard questions, to ask the impossible. There was a thirst to know in her so strong I thought she was going to explode at times. Indeed, I have seen her sit on that uncomfortable bench in the gardens, reading for hours at the time. I have seen her re-read the same chapter over and over again, trying to figure out its secret.
When she would spot me there in the garden, watching her, she would always smile and say my name. Solas, she would say. And my heart would ache with a pain unbeknownst to me, and I would smile back. In those moments I wanted to do nothing but to take her in my arms and hold her until we were no more. Solas, she would whisper in the nights when she spots me on my strolls over the grounds. And then she would tell me about her dreams and nightmares. Solas, she would say. Solas.
The aching gets worse by every moment. And when she now reaches out her hand to touch me, I feel nothing but a fire burning through me. I have to tell you something, I say to her, and she looks confused but also curious. And maybe a little scared. Guilt floods through me, but I know I have to do it. So I tell her about the markings on her face and I tell her what I can do, and I can see her hurting. I hate myself for it, but I know it's what I have to do. Then she does the impossible again – with a face reborn she touches my lips and the aching rises in my chest. The aching turns into full bliss and happiness and we are soaring together, me and her.
And so I tell her it can never be. It couldn't be. Not a mistake, but impossible. But she always does the impossible, so she holds on to me. To us. And a flame of hope is born inside of my aching heart. She is the impossible made possible. Ma vhenan, I whisper.