He remembers.
All these years later, he knows the shape of her lips, the feel of them against his, warm and chapped, marked with the makings of a slave.
Her hands, her magical, wondrous, hands, always grasping, hoping for more than he could give.
Her eyes, and how they would crinkle with disappointment for a moment when he stopped her, then crinkle again in sad laughter as she kissed him, holding his face to hers. Kisses that, more often than not, tasted of salt they agreed was sweat but knew it wasn't.
Her voice, high and clear as the bells of Arlathan. The voice that shook when she said she loved him, and again when he said he couldn't love her.
Her laugh that condemned him to death the moment it came, startled as a yearling doe, at a joke from a dwarf he forced himself to forget long ago.
By the Void, he remembers her, and how her lips shaped his name, and her smirk when she faced an opponent that definitely outclassed her but she knew she could beat anyway. How she breathed magic like air, how she insisted to a dark human bedecked in gold that she had to wear feathers to Halam'shiral because she's Dalish, and the Dalish come from the Dales, and the Winter Palace is in the middle of the bleeding Dales, so she can wear whatever she damn well pleases, how she whispered vhenan in the space between their kisses, and the way her brow crinkled when she read a word in Elvhen she didn't understand.
It's been too long.
Too long to remember her name.
He always called her Lavellan, vhenan, Inquisitor. Never by her name, as she had always insisted and he had always refused. It would be too personal, knowing her name. It would hurt more, in the end.
Now, when he knows the precise color of her eyes, and how her hair would shine in the Frostback sun, all he's left with is a vague sense of beauty at the thought of her name.
The books have long since crumbled, the Fade too confused to be of much help-no one else called her by her given name either, and the spirits who play the parts of Skyhold know not what details they miss.
He had thought it would be easier to avoid learning her name, if only so he wouldn't have to force himself to forget later.
He knows everything about her, from her chipped front tooth to her favorite dress, he could draw her in vibrant color from memory if the need arose, but he could not label it.
He thought he would be easier to never learn her name.
Oh, but what a fool is Fen'Harel. Pride, indeed.
Now, too far in the future to have any hope of retrieving her from the Beyond (why did he not do it when he learned of her death?) he would give all of his progress, all of his atonement to hear it once more.
He would give even more to hear it from her voice.
He adds it to the list of things he will never get the chance to experience again.