Solona's lungs emptied as the door latch fell into place, a metallic thunk as palpable as the thundering of her heart. The thick slab of door at her back suddenly felt like a shield, protecting her from all that lay beyond it: soldiers, guards and guests, everyone glaring at her with expectant eyes. So many questions thickening the air, whispers issuing from dark corners as one foot fell before the other, each step carrying her closer to peace. Of course, the whispers and questions had no catalyst on this homecoming, other than the strangeness of her party splitting and arriving back on different days. The weight of expectation had been her constant companion for nearly two years now, making itself known at unexpected moments and threatening to crush her into paralysis. Solitude was its only cure. Solona filled her lungs again with the room's stale air.

Silence.

Her gaze flitted over familiar furnishings. The bed, with the lavish quilt she'd been gifted by Bhelen of Orzammar, beckoned her to collapse upon it. The bed seemed so innocent and innocuous there, half lit with flickering shadows. But the item she'd been thinking of all day remained tucked beneath the bedframe, tugging at her mind. A small marble container, rounded and smooth. Inside, all that remained of Alistair. Ash. Flecks of burnt skin and hair, wood and bone. All that remains.

It had been hardly a full 24 hours since she'd stumbled into that shop and learned that eternity with Alistair had never actually been possible. And fewer hours still since she found solace in the arms of another. Somehow, in a single afternoon, she'd lost them both.

The memory of Anders' sabotage tightened her jaw, setting her teeth to a grind. Anger still flared bright and hot in her chest, despite the understanding she and Anders seemed to find in the night. Yet it was hard to blame him too harshly, knowing now how he was just as adrift in the world as her. That confidence he exuded apparently was little more than a well-worn mask. But still, Nathaniel had fled from her in anger. And then regarded her with devastating neutrality when she'd finally located him in the courtyard, after thanking Anders for assuming care of that poor kitten. Nathaniel had already gotten to work on his weatherizations, and was perched upon a roof in the Keep village, hammering away at a slate tile. Solona approached meekly, fully aware that she was more at fault for everything than Anders was. She had left Nathaniel alone in the rain and gone to Anders's room. The point had been to squash the complication of her growing feelings for Nathaniel, to replace something meaningful with something empty and preserve her heart for Alistair. It was stupid, and also pointless, though she hadn't known that then. Still, that had been Solona's choice, and she'd chosen badly.

Do you have a moment? She'd asked Nathaniel and then waited, ignoring the twitch of dried mud on her cheek, the wet breath of winter billowing into her robe. Looking up at him, it was impossible not to admire how the labor had flushed his cheeks and loosened black flyaway tendrils from his braids. Each blow of his hammer arced gracefully through the air, hitting its target with measured precision. It was absurd how every little thing he did attracted her so, when only weeks ago she'd barely noticed him. He glanced at her quickly, and looked away again just as fast. Silence reigned as he merely shook his head, and then stood and walked to a more distant section of rooftop, disappearing from sight.

A gaping, cold cavern seemed to open somewhere deep inside Solona's chest. She'd nodded as she turned to walk away. It was about what she expected, even though she'd dared to hope a night's rest might have put him in a more receptive and forgiving mood.

Solona shook away the memory of his cold stare as she stumbled to her bed and watched the patchwork quilt come up to meet her. A fire crackled in the fireplace, begun by the servants once she and Anders had been sighted by the Keep's watchtower. A bath also occupied the furthest corner of the room, its water no longer steaming. Solona's eyes fell disinterestedly upon it, thoughts slowed by the heavy hollowness permeating her bones. She'd get in at some point, and wash the mud from her hair. It was an act she'd always found perversely pleasant, picking the chunks of dried dirt off her scalp. With the tips of her fingernails she'd isolate a little pebble, and slide it down the strands it clung to. Often it hurt, but the sting of pulling hair follicles somehow never surpassed her ability to bear it. And so each time she pulled with a little more ruthlessness than before, testing the limits of her own threshold.

Rolling over the furthest edge, Solona hung over the side of the bed and pulled the quilt up from the floor, exposing the green canvas pack that sat beneath. She tugged it loose and slid it close. Straps and buttons resisted her fumbling to undo them, but after a burst of annoyed yanking and digging, her fingers hit the smooth rock. It was heavy, though the weight came from the marble and not its contents. She brought it to her chest and rolled back to the center of her bed, the heavy stone cradled against her ribs. Alistair's face floated behind her eyes, though his features seemed blurred. She tried to recall that little half smile he'd flash her nearly every time she looked at him. And the crinkle at the sides of his eyes when he laughed. It seemed more difficult than ever to conjure up the details of his face. Had it already been so long she was forgetting what he looked like? There'd never been a chance to have him pose for a portrait, and she doubted anyone at Redcliffe would have cared enough to have one made in his youth. Never again would she be able to refresh the memory of his image, and someday it might fade away completely just as her mother's had. The urn itself was plain, just a heavy, cold, grey cylinder, requiring Solona make an effort to recognize its significance. This is all that is left of my love.

Turning to her side, Solona curled her body around its cool weight, conscious that she was still wearing her muddy boots, that the dirt clinging to her hair was now dusting the pillow beneath her head. She was soiling her bed, even though there was a perfectly full tub just meters away. But her limbs were too heavy, her chest too hollow.

Even with Alistair's remains in her arms, her mind went floated habitually back to Nathaniel. To his calm, confident manner in the tavern, and how he'd slid that glass of water toward her with a frown of concern. Strange that so soon after receiving such devastating news, she could find herself so deeply soothed simply by being in his company.

But it wasn't just his company, was it? For weeks now he was the only one who'd ever showed her any real concern, and somehow, he managed to do so without making it feel like pity. He offered his help and wasn't overbearing with unsolicited advice. He'd offered his arms, his protection…

I see you, he'd said.

Solona's heart fluttered in her chest. The stone against her ribs felt like merely that: stone. Whatever other meaning it might have held escaped the reality of its lifeless form. The void inside her beckoned her to sink beneath the covers of the bed and not rouse again, to sleep away the awareness of loss that pierced her mind with each intrusive thought. And yet there was more that Nathaniel had said. I try to stay focused on the here and now, to save my energy for the things I can affect.

But Solona felt no energy left within her, only the desire to withdraw from consciousness.

Nathaniel's touch would help. The way he'd lightly draw his fingertips over her skin, or look at her with a sharpness that was startling. Was there anything here and now that could be affected?

Of course there is.

Before she could suppress the impulse, Solona sat up like a shot. The urn still hadn't warmed despite how she held it; it radiated cold and stillness. It was Alistair she'd hoped to remember when she'd pulled it from under her bed, but suddenly her mind was running ahead, thinking of things she could do. If the present situation was so unbearable, then what about it could be changed? What would Nathaniel do?

Throwing her legs over the side of the bed, Solona rose and strode toward the fireplace. A bare spot on the mantle seemed a natural place for Alistair's ashes. If this was all that remained of a love she could never recapture, why hide it away? There, at least, she could see it. She could greet it in the morning, offer her memory of Alistair the acknowledgment it deserved.

But for now, she would do the one thing she could think of and find Nathaniel again. Demand that he listen to her explanation and not blow her off like he'd had less than an hour ago. Nodding to herself, Solona turned and pushed her way through the bedroom door, back out into the hallways she'd been so eager to escape moments before. Alistair was gone, but Nathaniel was here, now, somewhere. Perhaps his opinion of her could still be saved, especially now that she was sure of her feelings.

The memory of his lips against hers made the floor turn to jelly for a moment. Solona swooned as she walked, making her way back toward the buzzing of the main hall. Surely he was still out in the courtyard, hammering at a rooftop, sealing a leak that would have let in the winter rains. Eyes scanning the multitudes of bodies for dark leathers and black hair, Solona hardly heard words spoken in her direction. A few eyes connected with hers as she walked, and she offered an obligatory nod in their direction. Aware that she remained streaked with mud from her travels home, she tried to comb her fingers through her hair, but only felt the tug of tangles and caked-in dirt. She sighed. It didn't matter. What mattered was what she had to say. What mattered was that she tried to put things right.

Bursting out of the main doors, she was greeted by a milky grey sky and fat drops of icy rain. The courtyard, dingy and abandoned, was a dreary sight. Guards hunched under awnings, and puddles collected between patches of brown grass. Sending out her Warden awareness, she scanned the proximity for the sensation of other Wardens. Two registered behind her, deep within the Keep, and one within the Keep tavern. Another somewhere before and below, and like a tracking dog zeroing in upon its prey, Solona's head turned in its direction. The basement.

Without giving herself a moment to think, she sprinted through the rain and pulled the basement door open, her body carrying her toward the sensation effortlessly. Images of a reconciliation clouded her thoughts, her chest clenching with the hope of gaining Nathaniel's understanding, and maybe, if she said the right things, another kiss. She almost smiled at the thought, her body suddenly streaming with anticipation. She pressed it down. No sense getting ahead of yourself. He hadn't even cared to say a word of greeting while on the roof.

Nails cutting into her palms, Solona crept carefully through the dark of the basement. Somewhere up ahead a lit brazier glowed, casting off just enough light to allow her to sidestep crates and refuse. The air still stank of death. Solona shivered as she recalled killing her way through ghouls and darkspawn shortly after her arrival at the Keep.

The presence grew nearer, and Solona held its location in her mind, recognizing the moment it became aware of her in return. She made her way down hallways and through storage rooms, until at last she realized her destination. The trophy room. Nathaniel had mentioned once that he spent a lot of time there as a child, reveling in the tales of his father's heroics.

Nathaniel's eyes were trained upon her the moment she stepped into view. Sitting on the floor of the trophy room, he had an opened book in his lap. All the room's braziers were lit, warming the room with an orange light. Nathaniel didn't look happy to see her. Swallowing down the lump in her throat, Solona continued forward and lowered herself beside him, unsure where even to begin.

Nathaniel was motionless, his furrowed brows casting his eyes into shadow.

Trying to summon up the resolve that had propelled her from her room, Solona cleared her throat. Suddenly faced with him, everything she could think of to say jumbled together into a big mess. She sighed.

"If you've come to apologize, it's needless," Nathaniel said. "You've always been free to do as you please. I've overstepped on many occasions and that is no fault of yours. It is I who apparently cannot take a hint."

"Nathaniel…"

"No, it's fine. If Anders is your choice, then I respect that. In fact, I can see how the two of you are a more appropriate match. Either way, I'll keep my attentions to myself from here forward."

"No, Nathaniel, that's not what I want. It was… I have never perceived this to be a choice between you and him. I never…"
Pausing, Solona studied the lines of his face. He was so beautiful that it almost hurt to look at him. She dropped her eyes down to her chapped fingers, her nails still caked with mud. "I never put much thought into… well into really anything I've done over the past weeks. Months." As she said it, she realized how unflattering such a confession was. Especially to someone as mindful and collected as Nathaniel. Sitting there beside him, she realized for the hundredth time how she'd been sleepwalking her way through life in Amaranthine, and how as a result, people's lives were affected in ways more deeply than she'd ever bothered to notice.

Unexpectedly, Nathaniel laughed.

"That much is clear."

Resisting the impulse to grab his hand, Solona sighed again. This is the moment. Alistair is gone, but Nathaniel is here, now.

"I don't want you to keep your attentions to yourself," she muttered. "I know I've done many stupid things. Things I haven't even begun to really process, and I know I don't deserve your attention now. But I want it anyway. I want you."

"And yet, your actions indicate differently. I'm not in the habit of wasting my time on people who aren't straight with me," Nathaniel answered. "At least, I didn't used to be. To be honest I am still not so sure why you've had the effect on me that you have. I've done things wildly out of my own character for you. And in return, you've toyed with me."

Desperation surged through her. Obeying her impulse, she grabbed his hand and pulled it toward her.

"I'm sorry, Nathaniel. I'm so sorry. I never wanted to hurt you. Anders was… I don't know. It was stupid. It was you I wanted, it was you in my mind the whole time. I wasn't acting at the tavern. I'm so sorry."

Nathaniel was quiet for a long moment. Heart blaring in her ears, Solona adjusted her grip on his hand, hoping that at any moment he might close his fingers around hers and hold her back.

"I believe you," Nathaniel said. "I believe that you are sorry. Despite the fact that you still stayed the night there with him. And then gifted him a kitten upon your return, even after the horrible things he said."

Nathaniel's hand slipped out of hers. He closed the book in his lap and set it aside. Solona let her head hang. Shame raged up into her cheeks, burning them despite the air's chill. She shook her head, fighting the urge to descend into self-pity.

"I know that doesn't look good, but I hope you'll believe me when I say nothing happened in the night. We had no choice but to stay. And the kitten wasn't a gift. He was relieving me of a burden."

"He certainly seems to think it was a gift. But it doesn't matter, does it? None of that matters. As I said, you are free to do as you please."

Solona felt darkness closing around her vision, a buzzing firing up in her ears. Sitting in silence for a long moment, the drive to do something, the inspirational burst from remembering his mantra of putting her energy into the here and now, slowly began to drain away.

Nathaniel took a deep breath.

"Sol, I know you're not malicious. But you are careless, with yourself, and with the people who care about you. I do believe that you are sorry, but I don't trust that you won't act so carelessly again. You seem to need a savior, and I have, despite my better judgment, tried to be that. But what kind of a real relationship could possibly come from such inequality anyway?" Nathaniel laughed again, but his voice softened. "You are… so lovely. There is something about you that enchants me in a way I've never experienced—"

Solona looked up, a flame of hope kindling somewhere deep in her chest. His face, illuminated in soft firelight, bore an expression of adoration, his gaze piercing her in that sharply attentive way she'd come to crave. Lips parted, Solona was seized by another impulse. That kiss at the tavern. It had spoken volumes, hadn't it? She'd felt then, how right it had been? How many deep emotions it had stirred in her? Had it not done the same for him? Had he not felt how perfect it was?

Energy coursed through her, her breath catching in her throat. In the short moment of silence, Solona made a decision. Lunging forward, she slipped her palms against the course stubble of his jaw and clamped her mouth to his. Immediately his lips parted, head tilting to return her kiss as if drawn by some irresistible force. Solona exhaled, feeling her body magnetized to his, pressing forward for the familiar curves of his chest. Caressing his cheek with her thumb, she mapped the terrain of his face. A deep well of longing opened up in her gut, clenching with a physical pain around her heart. Eyes squeezed closed, she poured her desire into the kiss, savoring the soft contours of his lips, the warm fragrance of his neck, the silken strands of hair whispering over her fingers. Not bothering to hide the desperation coursing through her body, she crawled closer, drawn to his lap.

His hands, one resting warmly against her ribs, the other cupping her shoulder, stopped her advance. He ended the kiss with a sigh and pulled away.

"But…" he said with finality. The searing heartache in her chest flared as she took in his set jaw, snuffing out the hope she'd been clinging to. He pushed her gently back. Pliant and despondent, she sank back to the floor, her body cooling with every second she waited for him to finish. Though there seemed little point. It was too late. That fact was written all over his face.

The words came, and she heard them, but they landed upon a cold, dead surface. Solona glanced around the room as her brain fuzzed out the pain of his rejection. Broken mountings on the walls where trophies had been pried away. Shards of glass where frames had fallen to the floor and cases had been shattered. Weapon racks emptied of their swords, picture frames coated in blood spatter. The here and now in which Solona had brought herself was littered with the remnants of destruction.

"Solona, I thought for a while there, especially back in the tavern, that you and I… that we might be able to make this work. Maker knows how fixated I've been on that possibility since you arrived here. But it turns out that what happened outside the tavern is probably a good thing. It made me acknowledge some things that I've been willfully blind to. I know you've experienced loss and pain. I know it's not your fault that you act out the way you do. But it's like you're constantly poised to throw yourself off a cliff, or into a horde of darkspawn. And even after I pull you back from the brink, or down off your watchtower roof… you turn around and climb right back up there again."

Solona sat up, her eyes connecting to his with alarm. His words replayed in her mind, echoing with a mind-numbing realization. All those mornings of waking in her bed after passing out on the roof…

His expression was apologetic, but his eyes were determined. The warmth from his kiss lingered on her lips, but his demeanor communicated steely resolve that overrode the memory of his touch. Solona felt her body rising to a stand. Turning to exit the room, she let herself be drawn into the darkness. His last words echoed through her mind for the rest of the walk back to her room.

Why should anyone be expected to save you, when you don't want to be saved?