All that was left of his effects fit into one wooden box, but for the frescoes on the walls. Fen'lath wrapped the last of the brushes and pigments in the dropcloth he had sometimes used as a blanket and placed it on top of the clothing, books, and knick-knacks that were the only evidence that Solas had ever existed.

Fen drew in a shaky breath, and placed a final item in the box. One of the Dalish women from the clan in the Exalted Plains had sent along a beautiful blanket made from halla wool gathered from the previous year's fawns, soft and light, perfect for a baby. She ran her fingers over the branches of Mythal's tree that patterned the cream background in lovely navy blue, the empty ache in her chest echoing the hollow feeling in her belly. The cramping and bleeding had stopped over a month ago, and her Abelas'Solas rested under a new sapling in Terasyl'an Tel'as's gardens.

It hurt to think that perhaps, if she'd been able to carry him for just three or four more weeks, he would have had a chance. The Anchor sparked in her palm, and her whole hand tensed around it, the muscles cramping in protest. A pained hiss escaped Fen and she attempted to stretch it out. Tears welled in her eyes.

Glaring at her palm, she considered going to the armory and trying her hand at cutting the cursed thing out of her, once and for all. As far as she was aware, all the rifts left after Corypheus's defeat had either been closed before she realized she was pregnant, or had collapsed and disappeared shortly after the final battle. All the damned Anchor was good for now, it seemed, was reminding her of Solas, and reminding her that it had killed her son.

If she had only known she was pregnant sooner! But how was she to know that Solas would disappear like that after Corypheus was slain and the orb shattered? The glorious week that their son had to have been conceived, when they were traveling to Crestwood, was only a month before that battle. That was too soon for anyone, even the best Spirit Healers, to tell a woman had fallen pregnant. Fen was confident that if Solas had known she was with child, he never would have left. He would not leave his child, a bond between the ancient elvhen and the elves of the modern world.

Fen hunched over the box, the pain in her palm subsumed by the ache that swelled and radiated from her chest. Her shoulders shook as she tried to hold in the sobs. She had sworn she was finished crying when she had buried her heart with the little boy who would have been the living image of his father, down to the pointed chin with the dimple in it.

Teeth bit into her lower lip, and a strangled noise escaped her. Though Josephine had quietly warned her, she didn't want to acknowledge that it was likely Solas was never coming back. There had been no response to the letters sent out begging him to come save their child. He had most likely entered Uthenera again, and she would never see him except in her dreams. Fen fell to her knees, forehead against the side of the box, and made a liar of herself as she wept, sobbing Solas's name into the echoing rotunda.