Din'an Hanin was quiet. All around Solas were the signs of the uneasy passage of time: collapsed walls where intricate mosaics had once glittered in the candlelight; rashweed overgrown on the tarnished statues; the delicately woven banners had long sense been eaten away by moths and the elements. And, of course, there were the dead. The entombed corpses dated back centuries, while bodies of unfortunate travelers, tomb robbers, and soldiers decaying under rubble or slumped against the walls spanned the years since. Violence and death had worn the veil thin there, but Ahrue's efforts had strengthened it some. Hopefully the dead would rest on this particular visit; Solas didn't relish the thought of disturbing the slumber of the deceased, let alone fighting off walking corpses by himself.
He heaved a sigh of exhaustion at the sight of the rubble. If the artifact he was searching for was here, it would undoubtedly take a great deal of digging to exhume it. But he would do what must be done. If it wasn't here, he would move on to the next ruin, and the next. Surely at least one arulin'holm would have remained in working order and out of Tevinter hands. And wherever it was, Solas would find it. He had sacrificed too much to be defeated by a broken mirror.
He tensed at the persistent temptation to return to Skyhold and ask Ahrue to use the Inquisition's spy network to find one of the artifacts. With the Inquisition's connections, they could probably locate the artifact within months, probably find it gathering dust in a magister's private collection, the owner completely ignorant of its use. Solas closed his eyes. No. He would not use the Inquisitor or her resources any further. Regardless, even if he were to attempt to persuade her to help him, the trust was gone. Their last meeting in the fade had made that clear. He recalled her expression when he'd turned to meet her face, hurt and angry. "You knew?" she'd asked him. More of an accusation than a question. He wasn't sure precisely which pieces of the puzzle she'd been able to put together or what knowledge she was accusing him of having. He'd kept so much from her, it hardly mattered. In the months since, she had not sought him out in the fade, so it seemed clear she was decided against him. It was better this way, better that she stay out of his reach so that he might resist the myriad temptations she awakened in him.
He breathed deeply. Even at this great distance, staying away was difficult. Partly it was his fault. Of all the ruins he could search, again and again he chose to tread in the places that were alive with memories of her. Even as he pushed her repeatedly out of his waking thoughts, dreams recalled the times they had shared in these places. The entire forest seemed to sing with memories of their night together in the Emerald Graves. He could choose to explore ruins that she'd never touched, but when he considered it, he found himself unwilling to let go of those few faded connections to her. They were all he had left, and most likely all he would ever have, of Ahrue Lavellan. Just thinking of her made sleep pull at him.
He did need to sleep, but he would have to resist the urge to dream of Ahrue. The spirits in the area and the ancient memories of Din'an Hanin could give him some hint as to where he might find an arulin'holm, saving him months of digging in the rubble. He had higher obligations than nostalgia.
Solas looked around for a relatively level bit of ground. He brushed aside some bits of rock to clear a space for his bedroll. His hand bumped into something smooth. He regarded the object: an iron bark carving of a halla, with intricate etchings on its sides that depicted the story of Ghilan'nain and the hunter. He remembered the figurine. Ahrue had found it in a buried tomb in Ghilan'nain's grove in Dirthavaren. Her face had brightened when she'd picked it up. She'd tenderly blown the dirt from its crevices, a gesture that Solas repeated now. Then her expression had grown distant as she'd stared at it. Solas had put a hand on her shoulder to ease the homesickness that the figurine had inspired. She'd smiled faintly and stashed the carving in her pack. Months later, when they'd searched Din'an Hanin, she'd discarded it to make room in her pack for a more practical item she'd found in the rubble. He recalled the sad expression that fell across her face as she'd gently placed the halla on the floor. Sentimental as she was, practicality always won out.
Solas frowned looking at the figurine. He imagined another world in which he could bring this to her, perhaps place it on her pillow. Her face would light up seeing it there, and she would laugh in surprise and delight as she clasped the small thing to her heart. In another life, he could have spent his days bringing her joy instead of pain. Why not this life? She'd asked him that once, and he'd repeated the question to himself every day since their parting. Solas bent over to open his pack and removed his spare tunic. He unrolled the clothing and placed the halla at its center before rolling it back up and returning it to his pack. Foolish.
He spread out his bedding and reclined on the floor, using his lumpy knapsack as a pillow, half hoping he wouldn't be able to stay focused on his purpose, that he would be drawn back to their night together in the Graves. He was already in a deep sleep when the Venatori mages set about dispelling his wards.