Your Face
Solas stood staring into the Elluvian, grateful that the doorway did not show his reflection. His eyes were blank as he tried to recall the last sight he had of her, before she slipped through the portal, forever. He could not face himself. He had broken two hearts to see the world end. It did not make him happy. The sadness he experienced, the losses he had sustained. It was too much for him to bear. He sank to his knees and wept. He cried shamelessly.
By some unknown strength that was surely not his own, he rose. He remembered her own tearful eyes, imploring him, communicating to him all that he felt in his heart, but could not embrace. He was shameful and bitter. Solas did not know if this would kill him, in some part of himself, he hoped it would.
Hope.
She brought him hope. Even gone, hating him, broken by him. His Lavellan still gave him hope. He would destroy the world for her. He would not destroy her. He could not, this he knew.
With resolve Solas promised himself; he would fix his mistakes and she would be the most important of those.
...
In Skyhold, high atop snow-capped mountains, the sunset was achingly beautiful. Lavellan looked across the endless peaks, strong and secure. They reminded her of Solas. Cold and steady. As the orange sun painted pinks and reds across the sky, she also remembered his passion. Standing here was almost too much to bear.
Not for the first time, the pain of the anchor in her hand and arm was outweighed by the sorrow in her heart. She understood, but she could not let Solas go through with his mad plan. She hoped desperately that she could make him see, somehow.
Lavellan knew herself, she would go down to the library later tonight. She would cry herself to sleep on his chair, surrounded by the beauty he had brought into her world. Later, Dorian would find her, console her and take her back upstairs. She smiled at the memory of Dorian tut-tutting at her in the dark.
Dorian was a good friend, all her companions were good friends. None were like Solas and she longed for his mind and his touch in equal parts.
She was overcome with fierce determination. Her fist slammed into the rail. She would save him, from himself, and this world altogether. She was the Inquisitor. She would save him, somehow.
The last of the glorious sun had disappeared over the peaks. Slowly, she made her way down to the library, seeking solace among the books.
