.9.
Our circular tread
.x.
When Boone next went through the Eluvian to visit Movda, she left the armlet behind. The old woman would have questions and comments that Boone wasn't prepared to think on, let alone answer. It was the easiest option and a part of her was ashamed that she'd chosen it. There was a threshold to just how much her mind could tolerate in regard to surprises and changes. Four nights prior—the night Solas had gifted her the armlet—she had crossed that particular threshold.
And so, of course, there were more changes awaiting her at Movda's farm. She found her friend in the yard, feeding exotic looking chickens that hadn't been there just a few days before.
"A gift from His Royal Lordship," Movda explained, scattering the last bits of grain in her hand. The chickens, secure in the re-purposed goat pen, ran amok in a frenzy to claim the last of the feed. "I thought perhaps this was your doing?"
"No," Boone replied, suitably mystified. "Was there anything else?"
"Yes. Come."
Boone followed her friend across the yard to the stable. In the back corner of one of the unused stalls was a stacked pile of bulging hessian sacks. "Grain," Movda said, gesturing to them, "and seeds for every kind of vegetable under the sun. I don't think most will even grow here, but he said to try it anyway. He said I might be surprised."
"He? Solas was here?"
"Oh yes." Movda leaned against the worn, faded planks of the stable wall. "He and a couple of his men. Brought it all through that mirror three days ago." Movda frowned, peering closely at Boone. "You knew nothing about this?"
Boone shook her head. "And was this all he brought?"
Movda hummed, shaking her head. She pushed herself away from the wall and ambled out into the yard, turning to head through the compound's gate with Boone at her heels. She came to a halt, pointing. "He brought that, too."
There was a hobbled horse grazing several feet away. It was a draught breed, tall, muscled and broad. It was liver chestnut in color save for the white of its wide blaze and its feathered fetlocks. It wore no halter and turned its head to gaze upon the two women, large ears pricking forward. Movda whistled, low and sharp. The horse immediately plodded in their direction.
"A gelding. His Lordship said he's to replace your mare." The horse had stopped before them, dropping his big head to snuffle first at Boone's pockets and then at Movda's. Movda smoothed his long forelock before patting him on his thick neck.
"I call him Hob," she said. "Obviously he didn't come through the mirror, but one of His Lordship's henchmen brought him later that day. I was told he's broke to plow and safe to ride."
Boone held her hand out for Hob to sniff. The long whiskers on his muzzle tickled her skin. She asked, "Did you call Solas His Lordship to his face?"
"His Royal Lordship," Movda corrected. "And yes, I did. Repeatedly."
Boone's laugh sounded very much like a giggle. To stifle it she pressed her face against Hob's neck, running her hand along his withers. His big sides heaved as he exhaled deeply and shifted his weight from one side to another. He'd turned his head; she could feel him lipping at the back of her dress as he continued his search for hidden edibles.
"He said this was all for recompense, for what had happened to me after the Breach."
"Ah," Boone said, suddenly understanding. She stepped away from the horse. "I gave him my first book. He knows."
Movda said nothing as she considered Boone. Boone met her gaze evenly. She truly did believe she'd done no harm in letting Solas read the first of her chronicles. Finally Movda shrugged. "If you thought it best," was all she said.
The two women made their way back inside the compound, leaving Hob to his grazing. Solas had been clever, Boone knew, in offering compensation to Movda in the form of useful things. Had he attempted to offer her money or some other type of wealth, the old woman would have turned him down flat. Solas had chosen to appeal to her sense of practicality rather than affront her pride, a strategy that had worked where most others would have failed.
"Stay and have lunch with me?" Movda asked. "Or do you have some kind of fancy dinner plans back with the elves?"
"I've a ball later tonight," Boone said teasingly, elbowing her friend as they walked. "And yet another tomorrow."
The look Movda slanted her was comically unamused. Laughing outright, Boone slung her arm over the older woman's shoulders. "There's nowhere I would rather be than right here."
"I should just let the elves have you," Movda grumbled, but snaked her arm around Boone's waist anyway.
.x.
She'd found the city's barracks by accident. Intent on discovering all of Era'Adahlen, Boone had taken to going for long walks, venturing further and further from her temporary home on each outing. She'd visited the market with Irithala and had been impressed by its size, as well as by the wide variety of goods available for purchase. What impressed her most, however, was that a great many of the merchants behind the stalls had been human. She'd engaged some of them in conversation, asking with frank curiosity how they liked doing business in Era'Adahlen. The answer was always the same: they were treated fairly in the Ehlven city and it had proven a prosperous destination worth revisiting.
The day she found the barracks, she was out alone. Irithala, delighted with Solas' gift of the armlet, had decided to supplement Boone's existing wardrobe with clothing that had two full sleeves instead of one and a half. She'd declined a walk that day, eager to finish her tailoring. It had begun snowing in late morning, heavy flakes dusting whatever surfaces they landed upon. Boone had worn a lined cloak over her dress—a new purple creation of Irithala's with two sleeves to accommodate the magical arm—and walked with her hood pulled up and her hands tucked in her pockets for warmth. Her wandering was rather aimless until she heard raised voices amid the unmistakable sounds of combat. Curiosity firmly piqued, she altered her course in order to find the source of the commotion.
What she found was a huge cobblestone courtyard with a fenced perimeter. Mock battles were being waged here amid the falling snow, and Boone slowed to watch as Ehlven in burnished armor lunged, feinted and dodged in synchronized drills as their commanders shouted orders. Axes struck shields and cross-guards turned aside daggers as the soldiers executed each movement with military precision. Something about their armor nettled Boone. She drifted closer until she reached the fence, crossing her arms and resting them on the top rail. She studied the closest of the soldiers, running a keen eye over their armaments. Recognition came to her suddenly—their armor was very similar, if not identical, to the armor worn by the ancient Ehlven at the Temple of Mythal. Choosing a design that heralded from the age when the Ehlven were the greatest civilization in Thedas was a smart choice on behalf of the Ehlvenan. It presented a bold statement: the elves of Thedas had changed. They were no longer fodder — they were now a force to be reckoned with.
Boone pushed away from the fence and continued to walk. The snow continued to fall, a little heavier now. Beyond the battling troops, on the far side of the courtyard, some other type of activity was taking place. She followed the line of the fence, rounding a corner, until she was able to clearly see what was happening. She slowed as her eyes fell upon a line of Ehlven archers. They were all at full draw, and with the same regimented precision she'd seen with the other soldiers, let their arrows fly. As the projectiles struck their targets within split seconds of each other, the archers were already nocking their next arrows, every movement fluid and swift.
Boone had always loved the grace intrinsic to archery. There was something in the lines of an archer's stance that made her think of an ancient deity engaging in the hunt with all the creatures of the world as quarry. There was a timelessness to the bow, an elegance that other weapons lacked. It was the reason she'd gravitated to it in her youth as first a hobby and then, after receiving the Anchor, as a method of survival. It was also something she had missed terribly after losing her arm, leaving her feeling entirely defenseless, bereft of an ability she hadn't realized she relied on so heavily.
Leaning against top rail of the fence, Boone settled in to watch as the archers continued to practice. They varied their exercises, experimenting with different stances and grips. As they progressed, several of them took notice of Boone's observation. Some sent bemused glances her way, which she always returned with a friendly smile. She wasn't alone as a spectator; numerous passersby stopped to watch the soldiers go through their combat practice. She was aware of the other watchers the way she was aware of the clouds in the sky—they passed by, and she kept watching.
"Evelyn."
She inhaled quickly and deeply at the sound of Solas' voice; it was an instinctual reaction, one she had no control over. Arms still folded on the rail fence, she turned her head to see him approaching. An Ehlven man garbed in the same style armor as the soldiers she'd been observing walked beside him.
She nodded at them both, a wordless greeting. Solas' cloak was long and thick, made entirely of wolf pelt. It gave him an air of ancient sovereignty and she found herself thinking that he would look completely natural with a heavy silver crown adorning his head—winter's king, surveying his lands with impunity.
"You were right," she said as they neared. "Winter in Era'Adahlen is beautiful."
"I am happy you think so." Solas' voice was pleasant, his expression warm. "And so you have found our training grounds. Tell me, what do you think of our archers?"
Boone turned her head again so that she could see the bowmen. "They are disciplined. Precise. No movement is wasted."
"It is one thing to do as they do now, without opponents, without the chaos of battle. Do you think they would do as well in conflict?"
Boone's brow furrowed a little in confusion. It was an odd question for him to ask. "There is really no way of knowing until they're in the thick of it."
Solas looked satisfied. "Precisely. Do you still not agree, Abelas?"
Boone's startled gaze snapped to the man standing at Solas' side. His odd golden eyes, somehow commanding even without a hint of expression in them, met her own. He tipped his head briefly in her direction. "Andaran atish'an, Inquisitor."
She suspected Solas was enjoying her surprise at seeing one of the Ehlven Sentinels here. It made sense to her now why the stances and rhythms of the archers had seemed vaguely familiar; she'd seen it all before, years ago, in the Temple of Mythal. "These are your men, then?" she asked Abelas.
"Some. Those that chose to swear fealty to Fen'Harel. The rest are recruits trained in our ways."
The emphasis he put on "our" made it clear that he spoke of training practices from thousands of years prior, when the Evanuris had ruled and Mythal had still been alive. Spurred on by curiosity, she asked, "And those that did not swear fealty?"
Abelas had been watching the soldiers. As she spoke his eyes flicked back to her. It was unnerving, how very little she could read in his face. She'd thought Solas adroit at masking what he was thinking, but trying to gain insight into Abelas was like attempting to peer inside a block of stone.
"Ghilan'him banal'vhen." he said in response to her question. His voice was stony, his words clipped, and though she didn't understand what he'd said the implication was clear: he disapproved greatly of those that had not followed Fen'Harel.
She had seen the fleeting, mildly reproving side-eye Solas had given Abelas. Turning his attention back to her, he explained, "Upon reforming the Ehlvenan, Abelas agreed to command our forces."
"It appears you have done well," she said to the Sentinel. "I have never seen such exactness or commitment, not even within the Inquisition's army."
"Ma serannas." Abelas inclined his head to her again. "There is much to do and the day runs late. Dareth shiral, Inquisitor." He spoke briefly to Solas in Ehlven, who replied with only one word, before turning and moving away with brisk strides.
Solas stepped closer to Boone, mirroring her stance by leaning his elbows on the fence. His head was bare and he seemed not to mind the heavy snowflakes that landed upon it, melting instantly before running in thin rivulets down his skin.
"Abelas is not one for conversation," he told her, "not even among his own kind."
"I can understand that," she replied. "He trained all of these people?"
"He and the other Sentinels, yes. After so long spent guarding Mythal's temple, such regimented activity was all they knew. I think it helped them adjust to life outside to teach others the skills they had spent centuries honing."
"Were there many of them? The Sentinels?"
"Barely a hundred. And as he said, some did not wish to share our future."
"What happened to them?"
Solas shook his head. "I do not know. They deserved the freedom to choose their own paths after being bound to Mythal's will for so long. Wherever they are, whatever they have chosen to do, I hope they have found peace."
They said nothing for a while, both observing the archers as they ran through drill after drill. The snowfall had increased, the air filled with gently falling white wisps. She tilted her head back to look skyward, smiling a little as smaller flakes alighted upon her lashes. She blinked them away and turned her head to look at Solas. He was regarding her with an intensity that reminded her so strongly of the night he'd kissed her palm that she felt her heart flutter momentarily in her chest.
To chase the moment away, so laden with their mutual unspeakable craving as it was, she held her artificial hand out, palm up. "It is remarkable," she said, striving for an even tone that would not betray her thoughts, "how I can feel everything with something that is not true flesh."
"That was my intent," he said. He too was watching as snowflakes landed upon her hand, as she flexed her fingers and tilted her palm so the moisture could drip away. "And I am most pleased I succeeded."
Within the training arena, those in command had called a halt for the day. The soldiers began leaving, heading toward the barracks in groups. Boone pushed away from the fence, feeling the stirrings of hunger; she had not eaten much for breakfast and had skipped a midday meal. On the verge of telling Solas she was about to leave, she instead remained silent as he began to speak.
"It has been a very long time since I have seen you look as content as you did when I first saw you here, watching the archers."
She tilted her head. "And?"
"And I wondered, what was it you were thinking of?"
"A bow," she replied. "My bow. The way it used to feel in my hands. The tension of the string, the ache in my shoulder from pulling it, the way the arrow felt as I slid it through my fingers. I was remembering."
"You miss it."
"Every day." she said quietly.
She watched guilt flit over his face, fleeting and faint, and read the apology in his eyes. She shook her head. Today was not for the tethers of regret that bound them both. "I am hungry. I think I'm going to return to my rooms."
He held up a hand to stall her. "There is something I would like to ask you."
"And that is?"
"First, may I escort you back?"
She nodded and together they began heading back across the city, toward her residence and the keep. She waited for him to phrase his question, wondering why such a small, insignificant thing could cause her to feel ripples of anxiety.
"There is to be a dinner," he said as they walked, "a formal one. It will be the first of its kind. All the leaders within the Ehlvenan will be there, the Keepers within this city and those who have chosen to remain without. Its success is, needless to say, paramount. There is great potential for renewed unity within our nation and I hope to use this dinner to that end."
Boone knew what he was going to ask and desperately did not want him to. He went on, unaware of her dread. "I had hoped, in time, that you would feel at home here. I meant to introduce you to those I trust most, to those most influential among our people. I have been unable to for myriad reasons that keep me busy day after day. I would like to remedy this. It would please me a great deal, Evelyn, if you would accompany me to this feast."
No, oh no. The thought of appearing at a formal event meant for the heads of the Ehlven state made her feel more than a little nauseous. She hadn't liked those types of situations as Inquisitor; now, as she was, the concept was one she abhorred. She'd gotten used to the mantle of anonymity, of being able to live her life without drawing attention, without anyone questioning who she was. To appear at an Ehlven affair, so obviously human (and with a magical arm, nonetheless) meant she would attract intrigue and speculation the way honey attracted bears.
"I know you will be uncomfortable," Solas said, able to read her unease in her expression and striving to placate it. "And I know it will be difficult for you. But I believe, if you were to only give it a chance, that you might find the experience an enlightening — if not entertaining — one."
"I'm not …" she said, and faltered because there were just so many ways she could end that sentence.
"Sathan, Evelyn. Please. Let me show you what I have built, what my people have built. I wish for you to better understand this, all of this." He swept an arm out to indicate the whole of the city, the whole of his people.
Ah, shit. There was no way she could refuse now. "Very well," she sighed with such reluctance that she could feel it weighing down her every step as though there were anchors in her heels. "When?"
"Eight days hence."
It was too soon. She'd hoped — unrealistically — the answer would have been months or even years. "Very well," she repeated glumly, and pretended not to notice the wide, grateful smile he flashed in her direction.
.x.
Eight days did not pass nearly slow enough for Boone's liking.
She crammed those days full of activity in an attempt to keep from thinking about the dinner and the fact that she'd agreed to attend it. She spent many hours with Movda. She spent hours watching the archers train. She spent even more time reading, throwing herself into nearly every book she found in the keep's library. Despite her persistent attempts to drown out the doubts and anxieties she had about the formal feast, they always remained, lurking on the very periphery of her thoughts. She spent a great deal of time with Irithala as well, who had been incapable of hiding her excitement after learning that Boone was to attend the event.
"Oh, Hahren'asha!" she exclaimed. "How thrilling! I wish that I could be there to see it all."
"You are most welcome to attend in my place," Boone said dryly.
"Nonsense! And you'll need something new to wear!"
"Don't go to any tro —"
"Nonsense!" the Ehlven woman repeated emphatically. "It won't be any trouble at all. Oh, I've already got ideas — how do you feel about blue?"
Boone, laughing, had waved aside the question. "Make it whatever color you like, however you like. My trust in you is absolute. But, Irithala, you know you don't have to do this?"
Irithala sunny smile was nearly luminescent enough to light the room. "I know I don't have to, but I want to."
"Well, thank you," Boone said, grinning back at the girl. It was nice to know that at least someone would get enjoyment out of this entire ordeal.
.x.
Irithala did not disappoint. The gown she created for the formal dinner was indeed blue, a dark shade that reminded Boone of the waters of Lake Calenhad when seen from afar. It was similar in design to some of the others she had created, the fabric gathering just below the breasts to fall in straight, full lines to the floor. The neckline was modestly curved, the sleeves long and dagged. The cuffs and hem bore embroidery in a flowing, delicate silver pattern. As with the other gown, it fit Boone perfectly and despite her intense reluctance to attend the dinner or be seen by those she did not know, she had to admit that Irithala's creation flattered her in every way.
"This design," Boone had said after trying it on for the first time. "You've used it with some of the other dresses. I've never seen it before, though. How did you think of it?"
"The High Keeper described it to me," Irithala explained. "Once, when I asked him what the clothing had been like so long ago, when he was young. He said this was the way the noble ladies dressed."
"I see." was all Boone had said, unsure of how she felt to be wearing a dress that mirrored the style of the Ehlven women from Solas' youth.
As before, Irithala had insisted on doing Boone's hair for the event. Boone had sat compliant and silent with unease as Irithala deftly braided, twisted, and pinned her tresses, chattering excitedly all the while. Boone had nodded her head and smiled absently in response, but was unable to muster up matching enthusiasm. Though it had been ten years, though she had managed to successfully sink into obscurity, she was still afraid that some among the Ehlven at the dinner might recognize her for who she really was. And what would happen then?
Despite her reservations, time marched inexorably on until she stood at the top of a grand staircase that descended to a large landing, which in turn led to the massive dining hall of Enansal Vir. She could hear the soft roar of many assembled voices and suddenly her lungs felt constricted at the knowledge that she was so close to so many. Her reluctance to proceed down the stairs was so extreme that she unconsciously backed a step. I could go, she found herself thinking, mentally retracing her path away from here, no longer trying to subdue the urge to bolt headlong after Irithala, who had escorted her this far. I could go and he could not stop me. He would not force me back.
Would he?
No, she knew. He wouldn't. Solas was no longer acting on his own imperative, by his own directives. He was the face of the new Ehlvenan and was beholden to his people by the duties and expectations that came with the mantle of leadership. He could entreat her to stay, could implore her to return, but he could not force her, not without losing face. Driven by that knowledge, Boone found herself retreating another step, and then another, and then another —
And then she saw him, stepping out from a doorway onto the landing at the bottom of the stairs. His attention was on the crowd assembled below him; for several brief instants he was oblivious to Boone. She found she could not tear her eyes from him — found, more disconcertingly, that she did not want to. She had never before seen him garbed thus, in fine cloth of gold and black augmented by strategic pieces of golden armor. Gone was the wolf pelt, the emblem of Fen'Harel; over that shoulder was draped a black cape edged in gold. He looked so unlike what she was used to, disparate from his usual self, projecting complete and undeniable authority.
That is not the man I know.
That thought struck her as an arrow might and she felt irrational panic then, clutching at her lungs as she took a breath, squeezing at her throat as she swallowed hard. She could still go, could flee from this place where she fervently did not want to be, could return to her rooms and spend the night pacing, confused and distraught and strangely afraid —
As though sensing her scattered thoughts, Solas turned his head to see her standing above him. A smile lit his face, a smile of such pleasure and warmth that Boone could not help but smile back despite all of her anxious turmoil. He turned to face her, his expectation that she proceed down the stairs to join him clear. I cannot, she wanted to tell him. I cannot do this. But her body disagreed and she found herself carefully descending the steps, the skirt of her gown lifted by her artificial hand to avoid treading on the hem.
She arrived at the landing and arm's length from him, unwilling to draw closer because as it was, she was shielded from the dining hall by a large stone pillar. The noise of the crowd was even more audible now, the hum having become distinct voices all speaking at once.
Solas spoke. "You look …" he paused, as though uncharacteristically unable to secure the words he wanted. There was such appreciation in his gaze that Boone felt her cheeks flush. "You are lovely, Evelyn."
It was the same compliment he had paid her the night of their private dinner, but there was a different weight to those words now, a deeper meaning with subtly exposed intent. She opened her mouth to divert the compliment, but knowing what her reaction would be he quickly intervened, smiling again as he did so. "And it is not all due to Irithala's work. She is talented, yes, but even she cannot be credited for this. It is entirely you."
The heat in her face was such that Boone was sure that it was blazing red, ready to burst into flame. She wanted to reply in kind, with artful phrases and sophisticated compliments. Instead, all she managed was a husky, "Thank you."
He nodded once in response before holding out his arm. There could be no turning back for her now, not now, and so with small, stiff steps she moved forward and slid her magical arm through his.
She was exposed in that moment to the eyes of the crowd and could feel their attention, knew that people were taking note of High Keeper Fen'Harel and his escort. She could not bring herself to look down at them and desperately held Solas' gaze, seeking reassurance and comfort, seeking the promise that it would be all right. What she read in their blue-gray depths was nothing of that nature. Instead she found only the stark, unmistakable light of apology.
What is it? She wanted to ask, but instead her eyes darted forward, to the dining hall and those assembled there. Her gaze roamed over faces, at first unseeing and then widening as realization sundered her. These were not all Ehlven gathered here, no — some were human. Many were human. As though from underwater, her vision swimming as true comprehension dawned, she could make out the insignias and coats of arms on their clothing, could recognize the standards and banners arranged at the back of the hall. They were the emblems of nobility from Ferelden, from the Free Marches, from Orlais. She saw the banner crown of the Imperium, saw the unmistakable heraldry of Par Vollen —
She tried to pull away. Solas twined his fingers with hers, pinning her arm against his side with her own. She looked at him, wide-eyed, feeling the flush drain swiftly from her face and leaving behind pale disbelief and betrayal.
She could say only, "You lied."
"Yes." He had turned to face her, so that he could hide his face from the crowd below. Still held by him, she could only do the same. His eyes were solemn upon hers, utterly remorseful but unrelenting in their purpose, too. "I had to. I had intended that we would reach this moment together, willingly, but too much has happened too quickly. I could not ease you into it. I had no other choice."
"All of this," she said with tongue and voice that felt numb, "all of this — at the coast, bringing me here … just to use me again?"
At was if she had wounded him somehow with those words; she watched as he winced, but that pain could not be genuine. He could no longer be genuine. "Evelyn," he entreated softly, "I would not have done this if there had been any other option. There mustbe peace between the Ehlven and the rest of Thedas. I needed to find some way to prove there could be unity between us all. I needed you."
"You needed the Inquisitor!" she spat. She pulled at his grip. He held her fast, with the same strength she used now to cling to her composure, to her dignity. "Have you forgotten I abandoned them? They will not care!"
He stepped closer. "They will. Despite what you think, you were always one of their own. Some never lost hope for you. Some would support you still."
She stopped moving. Her voice had dulled. "Let me go."
"I cannot."
She could no longer dissemble, watching him through eyes that brimmed with tears, with a face that conveyed only the most profound sorrow and disappointment. His voice, when he spoke next, cracked on the first words. "They have already seen you. Some have already recognized you. It will take only minutes before they all know who you are. Tensions already run too deep between my people and yours — if you run from here, if you run from me, what conclusion do you think they will reach? Some are already looking for the slightest provocation to attack the Ehlvenan and if they see a human woman —the Inquisitor — fleeing from me, they will react."
And there it was, his most cleverest of snares. And also the truest, she knew. It was why he had done what he had done so carefully, so intricately. Yes, she could fight against him now, she could scream at him and strike him as she so fiercely wanted to do, but in doing so she would strike a match beneath the bone dry kindling of strain, tension and resentment that filled the dining hall. Her struggle would become theirs. Blades would be drawn. Blood would spill. And the world would again be at war because of her.
She had not thought it possible for any and all of her affection toward him to become polluted so quickly and thoroughly. She knew now it was possible, knew that Solas, still gazing into her eyes, had just realized it too.
"Was I ever in danger?" she asked harshly, "or was that attack and that arrow your doing as well?"
Again, that wince flickering over his face, as though he actually could feel, as though he could actually understand what despair and tumult he was wreaking upon her now. "I swear to you, the Mien'Harel are a very real threat. I had hoped that I had found you first, but that day …"
That day. The day he had appeared at the coast, strode back into her life without qualm. His fingers, twined with hers, were squeezing tightly and she wondered, was he even aware of that movement? Was he trying to calm her through touch or was it an unconscious thing, a reflex? For a moment she wanted to fighthim, to throw herself at him and rake the flesh from his face with her nails, to eviscerate him as she should have done ten years ago. Let them all burn, she thought callously, let them war. Let them tear each other apart. It is all they've ever done, it is all they'll ever do. It's what we all live for.
He read her thoughts in the furious, taut lines of her face. His fingers meshed with hers tightened even more. "You cannot," he whispered. To Boone in that moment it sounded something like a plea.
And why not?
But she already knew the answer, had known it all along. She couldn't because she had already stepped aside once and had spent the decade following regretting it so intensely that it had become a permanent part of her, an unforgivable blemish upon her very soul. To atone she had punished herself by finding those that had suffered most and recording every word of their sorrow, with those same words etching themselves forever upon her mind — perhaps even her spirit — so that her guilt and shame would accompany her into the next life. She could not let others suffer thus again, and more selfishly, she could not bear to suffer like that again either.
"I cannot," she agreed, looking away from him. She turned again, schooling her expression until it was aloof, unreadable. She fixed her eyes forward, out above the throng of people - human, Ehlven, Qunari — assembled at the bottom of the final grand staircase. She would survive this night, of course. She would spend most it screaming inside, railing against both Fate and Solas for putting her here, but she would survive it. But a part of her, she knew, was already lost — had been lost the moment she'd realized Solas' game.
"Your guests await," she said in a voice both distant and cold. "Let us join them, Fen'Harel."
.x.
