CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
"I begged you not to drink from the Well!" Solas yelled.
Cullen could see his silhouette inside the tent, pacing back and forth. He could also see Myra's silhouette, arms crossed, feet planted firmly on the ground.
"Why could you not have listened?" Solas cried.
"It's elven history," Myra said. "Remnants of a time my people were not diminished to 'ignorant forest dwellers'—"
"I apologized—"
"—Alienages, servants, and slaves! Back to a time when magic was really alive."
"You don't understand!"
"—As First to the Keeper it is my duty to preserve—"
"They're fighting again," Cassandra murmured to Cullen. She had stopped sharpening her sword, but the couple stood so engrossed in their bickering, they had passed the point of caring who heard them long ago.
Cullen listened.
"You gave yourself to the service of an ancient elven god!" Solas cried.
"You don't even believe in the gods!"
"You don't know—"
"Then teach me!"
Cassandra spoke again. "This is the third time today."
Solas sighed. "You are Mythal's creature now. Everything you do, whether you know it or not, will be for her. You have given up a part of yourself."
"To preserve Mythal's legacy."
Cassandra sighed. "Why don't you tell her you love her?"
"I ca—I mean, I don't know what you're—"
"Drop the act, Cullen. I saw your eyes when you danced with her."
"It wouldn't be right," Cullen said. "She's happy—"
Myra left the tent, wiping at her eyes furiously.
Cassandra stood. "No, she's not." She went to Myra's side and led her away from camp.
Solas charged from the tent after Myra. He stopped upon seeing her gone, cursed in elvish, and stormed back inside the tent.
Myra did not return for an hour. Cassandra gave Cullen a pointed look before wishing them good night and turning in. The Inquisitor pulled out her pipe from a pouch and filled it with spindleweed.
"Smoke?" she asked Cullen.
"Please," Cullen said.
Myra filled it to the brim. She snapped her fingers and lit the pipe. It continued to smoke when she passed it to Cullen.
Cullen took the pipe. The wood was weathered, but the wear made it smooth. He put it to his lips, but hesitated to toke. "Are…you okay?" he asked.
"No," Myra said. Her voice trembled.
"Do you…want to talk?" Cullen asked.
"It would be best not to dwell on it…" She murmured in elvish to herself.
"What are you saying?" Cullen asked.
"Nothing," Myra said.
Cullen took a few tokes, then handed the pipe back to Myra. She blew perfect smoke o's, he knew she'd practiced. He wondered how long she had smoked.
"Inquis—Myra, are you happy?"
Myra sighed. "Ask me again in the morning."
"Myra, I…" The words caught in Cullen's throat. He saw Solas's silhouette move, his head tilted to face the tent's closed flaps. He shut his mouth quickly. Myra did not move.
"I want you to be happy," he finally said.
"Ma serraanas, falon," Myra said. "But I believe you are the only one who wants that."
The days and nights of travel began to run together in a sleepless blur for Myra. She knew this insomnia wasn't sustainable, but her fights with Solas made her reluctant to sleep in their shared tent.
Solas began joining her and Cullen by the fire. Myra and Cullen smoked together, but Solas always declined.
"Pass me the pipe," Cullen said.
Myra obliged. He toked for a few minutes. Myra watched the way he closed his eyes as he inhaled and relaxed into the exhale. She was glad to share this simple pleasure with someone. He passed it back to her.
"Darrell used to blow smoke rings," she said.
"The Grey Warden at Adamant," Solas supplied for Cullen.
"I blow them in his memory," Myra said.
Cullen nodded and watched her blow more.
"Do you hold onto any memories?" Myra asked.
"We can never let go of what is lost," Solas said.
"Cullen?" Myra asked.
"I try not to, but they still haunt me. Staying in the present helps," Cullen said. "Focusing on the now, and the future."
"Wise words," Myra said. Solas squeezed her hand. She looked to him.
"Da'len," Solas said. "Will…you walk with me?"
"Depends, will you lecture me?"
"That is not my intent."
Myra saw Cullen eye them warily. She placed a hand on his shoulder and handed him the pipe. "Peace, falon. I will return."
She stood and walked into the woods with Solas.
"He cares for you," Solas said.
"He is my friend," Myra said.
Silence fell between the two of them. The crickets chirped in the grasses, looking for mates. Winter was approaching.
"My birthday is soon," Myra said.
Solas looked to the sky, but the stars lay hidden behind the branches overhead.
"You are correct. Wintermarch approaches."
They walked in silence for a moment. He led her across a small stream that had frozen over.
"Wintermarch will mark not only a new year, but the anniversary of the Inquisition's birth."
"And the birth of its Inquisitor," Solas said. "How did you celebrate with your clan?"
"I always made an offering to Sylaise or Mythal. This year would be Mythal…I suppose desecrating her temple isn't much of an offering."
Solas sighed. "It did not deserve its fate."
"Part of me regrets, but part of me is grateful." She looked to Solas, her passion gleaming in her eyes. "I carry a part of her in me now. They're just whispers, but I can hear them, voices of a time long past." Myra saw Solas's troubled expression. Her gaze landed at her feet. "Ir abelas, I know you don't approve, but this could help us restore the past, restore what was. The Dalish won't have to chase after myths anymore. I have the power to change things!"
Solas tilted her head up and kissed her. It was a whole genuine kiss, not the half-hearted ones they'd exchanged the past week. Myra melted into it. He held her steady, pulling her closer to him.
"Ar lath ma," he said. "Dir'lath da'len."
"Hahren," Myra kissed him again. "Please."
"Please?"
"No more fighting, please."
Solas's gaze saddened. He caressed her face. "Da'len…"
"I know you want to help me, guide me on the right path, and that's fine. But please, be gentle, be kind." She embraced him. "I love you, but my heart is fragile. It cannot take your scrutiny time and time again."
"I only wish to help—"
"I know, but be gentle. Be kind. Help me remember you love me."
"Vhenan…"
Solas kissed her. The clouds parted overhead, blanketing them in the light of the full moon. He held her in the kiss for long moments.
When they parted, he caressed her face once more.
"Myra…" he began.
Myra looked at him attentively. His brow furrowed and he would not meet her gaze.
"What troubles you?" she asked.
"I…would not know where to begin."
"Solas, you can ask anything of me."
"It's…not something I would ask of you…It's something I would tell you…"
"What is it?"
But Solas hesitated. She could feel his hand trembling on her face, so she held it tightly with her own.
"You can tell me anything."
Solas glanced at her quickly. He kissed her. She knew he was hiding something.
"You are so beautiful, vhenan. Come, the winds are chill. We will be warmer by the fire."
Solas never told her what he was hiding, what he had hesitated to divulge. All she knew was that he loved her, and for now, that was enough.