Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Author's Note: So, how about that Egg? (Also I don't have a f!Lavellan of my own yet, so I hope the person who consented to her use particularly enjoys!).
BEFORE THE END
He was tired of her.
That must be the reason for it, at least, with the 'it will never happen again' and the way he won't meet her eyes, perhaps to hide lies. That must be the reason he allows the distance to grow between them – what did she do wrong? – and that his voice has lost that timbre that was just so... him.
Solas doesn't even paint anymore, not since the end of... them. Sick and uninspired. Bohienne takes some solace in that, that he can't create like he used to because maybe, just maybe he's hurting like she is. That this is the only thing that makes it obvious that he's hurting, the lack of painting and artistic thought and –
Creators, since when was her mind consumed by him?
He doesn't need to walk into her dreams, he's already there. In memory, in fantasy, it doesn't matter. It doesn't matter how many times Bohienne scrubs her face, or pulls her black hair to try and shake him from her head. Solas is still always there. Grinning. Listening. Laughing. He doesn't leave and he doesn't allow her to forget, doesn't allow her to concentrate before the end.
She would hunt to clear her mind, like she did with her clan, but the nugs do not come up here and there is no birdsong.
The world is on the edge.
Varric notices the change. "Withdrawn, like a hermit crab going back into its fancy shell," he had said, and then emphasises how unusual it is to see his hard-won optimism fade back into nothing. As though he – and her, a little, apparently – have lost all inspiration and hope for the world, and only remain out of a sense of duty.
He had quickly corrected himself and said days ago, "Well of course there's hope."
Cullen once told her that she gave the world hope and the Voices from the Well agreed; but Bohienne had none for herself, and she could sure use it right now.
They march to what remains of the Temple of Sacred Ashes, ready to take down Corypheus, ready to seal the sky, ready to make it all end. And still she finds herself looking over her shoulder, waiting for his blue eyes to meet his – and they don't. They never do, anymore. And she thinks how that hurts more than when she began to learn of the shemlen's long history of cruelty to the elvhen. How it's perhaps more painful than when her entire, wonderful clan died before their time at Wycome.
Perhaps more painful than when the vallaslin became a part of her, and when she chose let it go.
She regrets it a little, letting that last tie to her culture slip through her dark fingers; but what she regrets more is letting someone bury so deep into her heart and mind. She won't say soul. She will never say soul. That is hers, Mythal be damned.
Solas promised to answer each and every one of her questions when this was over. But as she looks over her shoulder again, she can't help but notice how he looks like he's ready to run at any moment. Fear, she supposes, fear that Corypheus will destroy everything they have worked for, and each other. And that everything they ever did and everything they ever felt would be for nothing.
It angers her to think that now is the appropriate time to leave. That now, when she needs him the most, for his support, for his counsel and his love, he sees it fit to withdraw it all and keep it to himself.
Her Keeper once told her that men's hearts are bared true just before the crises, and that they are rarely good.
To be... betrayed like that. Bohienne almost feels like she could punch him right now, but she needs him – they need him – and they need to get rid of this ridiculous darkspawn magister. And if his explanations aren't good enough, then she'll punch him, and maybe cry. Maybe she'll even send him away.
To be left like that, at the end of all things, when she is still too frightened to admit that she's terrified, and yet too proud to suggest that she needs somebody holding her hand.
Corypheus' voice ruptures her thoughts.
Bohienne tries to remember dream-Haven, and how the sun burned like Elgar'nan's vengeance. She tries to draw strength from a time when Solas was happy to show he cared about her. She tries to remember his breath on her skin, and the joy in her heart, and the way he laughed.
She tries and fails, and stands in front of Corypheus with Cassandra and Varric at her side, and her bow suddenly feels like nothing in her hands before the end.
But Solas casts the barrier. And when she looks back this time, he finally looks back.
Creators, they are so tired, and scared.
She's so scared.