'I'm sorry'
Sometimes when he looked at her she could see something trapped behind his eyes and lips that he could never quite bring himself to tell her. She never asked him what it was; she feared to find out. Then he would smile at her, and she would forget for a while. His smile was so spontaneous, so wonderfully unselfconscious – nothing could hide behind such a smile.
But soon he would speak, and she would only be able to listen.
While he was working late into the night, Cole appeared, standing where he could not be seen. His soft voice floated across the room, deliverer of inescapable truths.
'She fears she is losing you. She does not know it yet, but the dread grows within her secret self, feeding on your silences.'
'Enough!' He turned on Cole, his hands clenched.
Grey eyes like souls blinked at him bewilderedly. 'I was trying to help – I wanted to help you take her fear away –'
His anger faded as quickly as it had come, leaving the bitter taste of regret. 'I know, Cole. But this is one matter in which you cannot help. Please, leave me for tonight. I have a need for solitude.'
Should she have known? Should she have seen that his eyes were too serious behind his smile, sensed his fingers on her cheek were a little too cold?
Perhaps the events at the Temple should have been warning enough. Her joy at discovering ancient elves alive and strong, her hope of seeing her people recover some of what had been lost, using it to rebuild, heal – that hope is hers alone. They are not his people.
Abelas, Sorrow, understood this. 'Elvhen such as you?'
'Yes. Such as I.'
He lets his hand drop from her face. Should she have feared a little more?
Her fingers go to her cheek. Already his touch is fading, her grasp slipping.
She waits, straight and proud – unsuspecting – for the blow.
These last words are inextricable from the lovers' tale. 'Solas' translates directly as 'Pride, to stand tall'. She had her pride too, like armour, but it protected neither of them from pain.