This was an experiment of sorts and it ended up being far more poetic that I'm used to, so feel free to tell me what you think!
She still dreamt of him.
Even after all the years passed, she still remembered his face, surrounded by the black and gold of the Inquisition's banners, by the beautiful snow of Haven, by the greens of the forests they trekked. It was painful in many ways, but not without beauty. Never, never without beauty.
He had disappeared after the defeat of Corypheus, without a warning, without a trace. One minute he was there, hers, her hahren, her vhenan'ara, Solas- the next he was gone, gone before the dust could settle after the fall of a would-be god. Gone, while the memory of him still lingered so painfully. He had distanced himself from her in Crestwood before, and she had thought that so abrupt. He left her with only her bare face and trembling heart after pulling away, her vallaslin gone with him, his words echoes of a sorrow she could not understand.
She had been so naïve then- so young and stubborn. She had deluded herself into thinking it was not without hope to hold on to him, had pushed on with grim determination, sure in her belief that he would chose to stay with her, once the threat to the world had passed, once their purpose was achieved. A new world, forged through their blood and sacrifices and will to live; and they would endure, they would make it through, so help her the Creators; and they would have all the means to start afresh, they would rebuild. He would want to start a new life, with her. To think she was so prideful to assume she knew anything of his heart.
He had always been so careful in his manner and tone; he had made it so clear, under the dark of the sky, over the noise of the waterfall, and then again, in the ruins, the shattered orb in his hands… oh, how her skin tingled when she remembered, how her sadness shattered her again, born anew.
Had she listened, she would have recognised the absoluteness of the farewell he had given. He had made up his mind months before that last fight to close the Breach. She had lost him, utterly, before the end of Corypheus. Had been too blind to see it.
She had been so foolish. His goodbyes had been offered, and she had taken it as a cruel jest - a test, even, a challenge- had not heard the finality there. She had underestimated the significance of that one quiet moment, of his words, of the gravity in his eyes.
She had denied it, refused it- fought against everything that so plainly warned her of the inevitable end.
So starved for his love was she that it was only when he was physically gone that she awoke from her delusion, and not even then could she truly let him go.
There were so many years, so many resources, so much energy spent in finding him before she could accept that Solas did not want to be found, that the precious memories she'd gathered were all that would remain. Something died inside her that day, something fragile. She cradled it close to her chest and pieced together what she could. She moved on. She endured.
She was the Inquisitor, the Herald of Andraste, no matter what she knew to be true. She was the Inquisition, and the Inquisition was strong and proud, for it was the force that steered the chaos and set new order to the world.
The Inquisition had no time for scarred elven women or broken hearts, and neither did Inquisitor Lavellan.
Often – much later- she wondered if maybe it had been better that way.
Even if she had found him, would it have mattered?
It would have mattered then, but she knew better with time- she knew later that she was destined to lose him anyway. Just like she had been destined to lose everyone else.
The Mark- it never burnt out, never dimmed, and neither could she. She wondered, at times, what he would have thought of it, how he would have reacted to know more than half a century later she was still alive, still unchanged, still bound to a destiny she had never asked for.
She walked the Fade alone, seeking out and holding on to old memories. It was a lonely thing, after all, to be lost to the ages, and while she would have loved nothing more than to have her heart with her, she-
If she had found him, would it have mattered?
He would have been gone in a blink of an eye anyway, just like the rest.
Humans, Qunari, elves and dwarfs alike, some gone before forty years had passed- it had terrified her, made her ache feel hotter, made her cry out for him in her sleep.
She could stay nowhere, she belonged nowhere, she knew it. The Inquisition took a life of its own only in a couple of decades. Her problem was made obvious after only ten short years by the white in Cassandra's hair and the lines around her companions' eyes- by her figure made out of marble, unchanged and unblemished. They had tried to help her, to unravel the secret of the Mark for many years. She felt his absence even more acutely, then, and wondered…
What would have Solas made of it? Would he have been surprised to know the results of her bond to the strange magical anomaly? Would he have known what to do, as he often did?
Vivienne used all of her connections and consulted with all the mages in possession of great magical knowledge, Dorian spent years away from his goal back home for her.
When he at last could spare no more time, she let him go with a smile, with no struggle. The Iron Bull went with him. Cassandra and Josephine remained until the end, lived a good, long life full of achievements worthy of legends. Leliana was elected Divine soon after the Corypheus incident. Cullen retired after many years of service, having built the Inquisition into a force to be reckoned with. Some scattered, some returned, all eventually left, in some form or another.
She watched everything she knew and loved rendered unrecognizable by the passing of time, watched it lost, turned out of her reach. She took consolation in the lives of her friends for as long as they lasted, took comfort in their legacies after they ended.
After the news of Varric's death came the official announcement of Divine Victoria's passing, presented to her by Josephine's daughter herself, her blue eyes dark with grief and sympathy.
She left soon after- it was only fitting that they should announce her death eventually, and it would not be hard. She was already a ghost, had been hidden from the world for so long under long, flowing gowns, her face carefully covered, her voice so very tired and old.
She refused to allow the world believed her some sort of impossible creature, immortal, otherworldly- the woman underneath the icon had already been killed by the presumption of holiness, but there were still ways to save her memory. She would rather be remembered as someone who had achieved extraordinary things with the other great men and women of the Inquisition, not as a holy prophet, not as a divine agent, and certainly not as a goddess who had defied the laws of nature.
The order and relative peace they managed to create- what the Inquisition managed to do- was too precious and valuable, and made with the sacrifices of so many for so long. She would not risk it or the chaos the news of her condition would produce.
Her advisers, a stronger generation, better than many of the ones before, were unsure of how to react to her decision, but they eventually agreed it was probably time for the Inquisitor to be no more. There was no need for her anymore. The legacy she built was strong, had grown larger than her own self. The people left behind were fine ones, more capable than she was of handling the continuity of her ideals. They embodied them, after all.
It made her smile.
She walked out of the gates of Skyhold, standing tall, breathing deeply, for what felt like the first time in an age, with only the clothes on her back and her old gear at her side.
After being suffocated by so much, it felt good to have nothing again. She remembered the stories Solas used to tell, whispers of a world incredibly vast, waiting to be discovered.
Solas's smile, Solas's voice, the ache in her chest, they followed her wherever she went, though the man himself was no more.
Dead by then, most likely- a thought that still stung worse than a dragon's bite, it left her weak and hollow- she still had that to carry and keep, close to her chest. There was still beauty even in the most painful of things, she'd had to learn.
She took one long look at the sky, at the scar there, her hand stretched towards the sun, and walked away. Empty and cold as her insides were, the sun was warm.
Maybe she would meet remnants of his life in the Fade, sleeping under an ancient tree- maybe she would succeed in seeing him one last time, eventually.
She had time, she had all the time in the world to traverse the ancient ruins he was so fond of, to stumble over some trace of him, and she needed only that.
Solas.
There was lightness in her step as she disappeared into the horizon.
….
….
...
He still dreamt of her.
She was always just in the back of his mind, an image so bright and vivid he often wondered how he had once been strong enough to look at her directly, how her touch had not burnt him. How foolish of him to have let himself touch in return, when he knew he could have never stayed.
Her kisses haunted him, the memory of her skin under his fingers potent and intoxicating.
He listened to the whispers of her life, but they never spoke of her, never of the woman he knew, of the marvellous soul he knew laid inside her earthly body. They spoke of her deeds, of her power and growing influence. He heard of the fear and admiration she evoked. He smiled as he listened to the foolish humans praise her as she deserved.
She erected an empire, she, the once awkward young Dalish mage, capable of bringing gods, both imagined and real, to their knees. A flick of her hand and a quirk of her mouth held more power than they could even know. They should praise her, they should fear her, they should kiss the earth she walked on- she was so much more than what they could ever be.
She never took another lover, a fact that pulled raw at the threads of his heart. She did it all by herself, accepted the burden of solitude with a strength he wished he possessed. She was truly a beautiful soul, and in another world… In another world she would still have been too good for him.
The years passed like a dream, like mist.
Eventually, he heard of her death.
He was… not prepared for it, not the pain that ripped open his soul, the bleeding of a heart he thought bled out.
He spent days staring at the sky, caressing the stars with his eyes, though all he could see were old glimpses of her smile, her hair, her eyes.
He wondered what it would have meant to return to her, after the orb was broken, after he realised trying to restore the old ways was a hopeless dream, one he could not accomplish when he was so alone and weakened. He could have returned.
He wondered why he hadn't, though he knew the answer.
He had been afraid, afraid of what it would mean to allow himself a second taste of her light, of her love.
It had been so hard to leave the first time, to do it a second time would have been impossible. To watch her die- it would have killed him.
'The Inquisitor is dead, long live the Inquisition!'
For the first time in years, he wept.
Part II should be ready in a few days, though I can make no promises. Until then, thank you for reading!