.22.
-The price demanded, the price we pay-
.x.
Solas was undone.
As around him battle waged, he collapsed to his knees beside Evelyn, looking so unlike herself, lifeless now. Elvhen warriors and human soldiers whirled about him but they did not intrude upon this hell, this tableau of savagery and sorrow. Some strange, uncanny instinct led them to keep a wide berth so that Fen'Harel could mourn. Trembling hands reached for her but halted, clenching, because to touch her was to know she was gone and that was a truth that would break him. He touched her anyway, palming her cheek, turning her head so that sightless eyes gazed skyward and he fragmented—felt it deep within, a part of himself lost, a part he had never known was so vital to simply existing. His thumb stroked over her cheek, hating how gaunt it was, hating how frightened, how desolate she looked. It was his final damnation, that expression, the hammer that pinioned him inescapably to his final and most unforgivable transgression.
Evelyn. His lips formed the word but there was no sound, no point in vocalizing because she could not hear it. His mouth continued to move noiselessly as his hand stroked upward, wishing to feel the thick, soft texture of her hair and instead encountering bare flesh marred by cruel lines. Vhenan. I am so sorry—
"No… oh, Evelyn, no."
Dorian. He stood over them both, leaning hard on his staff. He bled from a gash in one shoulder, blood staining the blue of his robe almost black. Tears wet his face, dripped from his chin as he dropped to a crouch on the other side of her body, as he touched her tentatively on the shoulder as though he meant to gently rouse her.
"It shouldn't have come to this," the magister whispered minutes later, wiping ineffectually at his face with his sleeve. "It should never have come to this."
Solas' hands had found Evelyn's, cold and stiffening, nearly unyielding as he curled her fingers around his own. No, it shouldn't have. I should have left you alone, vhenan. I should have tried harder not to love you. I should have made myself forget you.
The battle had ended. The combined forces of the Era'Adahlen, Tevinter, and Seekers had triumphed—a bitter, costly triumph, but a victory regardless. Those still standing moved with purpose, recovering the bodies of their fallen comrades, taking prisoner any enemies who still lived, though as before none intruded upon what transpired between magister and High Keeper.
"This is what your all your grand plans led to," Dorian said said in a sudden growl, lifting his head to stare at Solas. "This is the sum of your proclaimed affection!"
There were no words he could hurl that Solas had not already heard, his internal recriminations as much a part of him now as every other thought he'd ever had. His eyes remained fixed on Evelyn's inanimate form, on the pale curve of her fingers crossing his palm.
"She was free of you! You loved her—why couldn't you have just let her be?"
It was because I loved her—
"Ah, but anything was worth risking for the politics of the Elvhenan, hmm?" Dorian's voice cracked and he caught his next breath on a quiet sob. "And you risked it all."
I lost it all. Solas raised his head. Dorian's face blurred in his vision. It was as though he'd spoken that thought aloud, for Dorian's face twisted in a display of angry, ravaged grief. "You lost her, but you still have what matters, don't you? Your nation, your city, your alliances…"
Alliances, yes, such as the tenuous one the two of them had formed after the Mien'Harel's slaughter at the coast, after Geldauran had taken Evelyn. News of her disappearance had spread swiftly and through arcane means, for Dorian and his company had arrived from the northwest within ten days, Cassandra and the Seekers three days after that. By unspoken agreements all prior resentments and tensions were shoved aside with the intent of focusing wholly on the search for Evelyn. They'd found her, only through merit of their fragile partnership—they'd found her and—
I will find a way. Words he had written to her only days past, in the earliest hours of morning by light of a lantern, bent over the small table in his tent. I will find you again. Words he'd written out of desperation while still clutching at filaments of hope that grew more elusive day by day. I will find a way. The hand not holding hers flexed, his nails digging into his thigh as he was suddenly bombarded by a purpose he'd strove to keep at bay because to give it attention then was also to give substance to the unspeakable, the unthinkable. The unspeakable had happened. He'd lost her.
I will find you again.
"What?" Dorian demanded, watching the play of doubt and fear and speculation ripple across Solas' face, such a change from the stark lines that anguish had etched there mere moments before. Solas shook his head, said nothing, masking his thoughts though he was unable to slow his suddenly racing heart. Evelyn still looked to the sky, the color of her eyes dull even by the bright light of morning. Her fingers against his hand were colder now than they had been. She was no longer here.
But she was somewhere.
Gently he extracted his hand from hers, squeezing gently as he did so, foolishly hoping even now for some manner of reaction. He reached up to undo the clasp of his cloak and after rising to his feet, swept the heavy, lined length of green off his shoulders and draped it over her body. He hesitated before covering her face, her visage arrested eternally into one that damned him beyond any hope of absolution. When he had finished the fabric was darkened by the droplets that fell from his face, tears finally manifested. He straightened, aware of Dorian's sharp scrutiny. He glanced quickly around the battlefield, unable to see clearly, unwilling to see the bodies strewn about, yet another disastrous culmination resulting from his plans.
A hand settled on his shoulder before quickly falling away. Solas turned to see Abelas. The commander of his armies said nothing, but gestured to the nearby body of Geldauran with a single thrust of his chin.
"Burn it," Solas said thickly.
Abelas nodded. He turned to carry out the command but halted when Dorian abruptly countermanded, "No. Don't."
As both Elvhen looked to him, the magister elaborated curtly, "Take the body back to the city. There are some that will need to see it." Into the silence that followed, he continued, "The dignitaries of both Ferelden and Orlais may be more understanding after looking upon the body of the leader of the Mien'Harel."
When Solas still said nothing, Dorian rose, bringing his staff before him and leaning hard upon it. "Let her death be worth something," he said brokenly, angrily, gesturing to the body at his feet. "Keep the peace you worked so hard to attain. The world cannot survive further needless violence."
Solas' eyes closed, a useless defense against truths and facts that no longer mattered. When he opened them again he gave orders in elvhen, orders that Abelas immediately responded to, bending and gripping the Evanuris' lifeless form under the arms and rolling it over. Solas did not watch as he began to drag it away.
Dorian asked, "Where will you take her?"
Eyes fixed on her covered, motionless form, Solas replied, "Era'Adahlen."
"Where will she lie?"
Solas did not give an immediate answer, ensnared again by thoughts perilous and forbidden. Dorian stirred and Solas responded belatedly, "The coast, with Thom and Movda. It is what she wished."
"Is it?" the magister asked in an odd tone. His question went unanswered. Solas stepped forward, inhaling deeply, before kneeling and sliding his arms beneath the body. He lifted her slowly, carefully, with the reverence she deserved, the reverence he had failed to show her while still she lived. His arms shook. He turned, took a step forward, and wanted suddenly to collapse, to fall to the earth cradling her, to shut out the world and everything in it. He could not. He took another step and stopped as Dorian moved in front of him.
"What will you do?"
"What is left to do."
Dorian's gaze was keen, honed by loss and rage. His eyes raked over Solas before he shook his head, taking a step back. "We will be accompanying you," he said. "I will see her laid to rest."
Solas said nothing, inclining his head in acknowledgment. The magister stepped aside, allowing him to proceed toward his waiting horse, carrying everything and nothing in his arms.
.x.
Cassandra Pentaghast was waiting at the forward scouting base, having been part of the rear company meant to prevent any covert, tactical attacks the Mien'Harel may have devised. She stood tall, arms folded, dark eyes surveying those that rode back into camp without expression. Her countenance cracked upon seeing Solas and the shrouded form he cradled in his arms as he rode, fractured even further as her eyes skimmed over Dorian's face.
"My friend," she murmured a short time later, standing over the body laid out upon a cot in Solas' tent. She had pulled the cloak down in order to be able to look upon Evelyn's face, had gasped upon seeing vallaslin and shaven head. Gloved fingers hovered over a tattooed cheek, trembling, and only touched briefly before they withdrew. Hand fisted firmly at her side, the Seeker shook her head, voice husky, "This is not the reunion we were meant to have."
Dorian stepped up beside her, pulling the cloak back up. Cassandra turned to address Solas, who stood near the eluvian located near the rear of the tent. "Is there nothing free of your chaos?" she asked, voice strident. "Is there nothing you will not destroy?"
Solas said nothing. She took a step toward him, unaware that her right hand had fastened upon the hilt of her sword. "For ten years she hid from you, forsaking everything she had and everything she was. For ten years she hid because of you! We lost our friend and the world lost a leader. It should have ended there. You should have let it end there. Why couldn't you?"
"He has no answers," Dorian said bitterly, "at least none that we wish to hear. Love, he might say. Love is why he sought her out."
"What terrible love," Cassandra whispered, her rage sapped momentarily by despair. "It would have been kinder to show her hate."
Solas swallowed hard but held her gaze, uttering words that rang hollow to everyone present. "I never wanted this."
"No," Dorian countered, "but you did everything possible to ensure it would happen. Your lies, your machinations, your ambitions—you knew they would have a cost. They always have. She is the price you paid. And we are all of us less for it."
"And Blackwall," Cassandra's voice shook with feeling. "There was no better man, to stay with her as he did. Now he is lost to us, so too the woman that took them both in. Your arrogance consumes the lives of innocents—"
"Yes," he interjected,his admission surprising her. "Yes. There is nothing you can say that I do not already know. I did this."
"Undo it!" Cassandra shouted, slamming her fist against the tent's central support pole. It looked as though she would advance on him but instead she bowed her head, breathing deeply. When she had regained her composure she looked at him directly, pinning him with her glare. "You will ensure she's given all proper respects."
Solas' voice was soft. "Yes."
"Not as the Inquisitor," Dorian said, shaking his head. "She would hate that."
"Yes, she would," Cassandra agreed, glancing at him with a small, sad smile. "But she must be remembered for who she was—the woman we all knew."
"You said you will lay her to rest near Thom and Movda?" Dorian asked Solas. "You said that was what she wanted?"
"Yes."
"She told you this?"
"No. But they were her family." Both magister and Seeker stared hard at him with mirrored expressions of doubt. He sighed. "I told you I sought her out in a dream shortly after she was taken. She requested that I lay them to rest together on the coast, near the farm. I have no doubt that is where she would want to be… near those closest to her."
Neither Cassandra or Dorian could refute that, the former asking after a moment, "Will you take her through the eluvian?"
"Yes."
"And you," she said, turning to Dorian, "you will go with him?"
Her unspoken question was comprehended by all. "I will," he assured her. "I will make certain it is as it should be."
"As will I," she said, "but I will take another road. We Seekers will join the others in escorting the prisoners back to Era'Adahlen. I will rejoin you then." She gave Solas one last withering glance before turning. She stopped before Dorian, her expression softening as she laid a hand upon his shoulder. He covered her hand with his briefly, a gesture of mutual compassion that reflected the grief they both felt. She stepped away from him, moving to the cot and the body upon it, pausing there to whisper something in Nevarran. When she'd finished she exited the tent, leaving the men to regard each other in silence.
Solas broke it. "I must take her back."
Dorian said nothing but moved aside as Solas approached the cot, as he lifted the body yet again. Solas said as he turned, "You may follow now, if you wish, or later if you prefer. The eluvian will remain open."
"Where will you put her?"
"In the Keep," Solas said. Dorian did not miss the waver in those words. "Until…"
"Until," Dorian echoed. Solas lowered his eyes. The magister said, "I will instruct my officers to accompany the Seekers. I'll return to the city once that is done."
Solas nodded. Dorian watched as he neared the eluvian, as it activated in response to his presence. He stopped before it and lowered his head, shoulders rising with a deep inhale. He stepped through, returning Evelyn to her gilded cage yet again. At least this time, Dorian thought as the sorrow he'd so temporarily subdued flooded over him again, she would be oblivious to it. No longer would she suffer through the designs of any other. No longer would she have to hide. Anguish knotted his throat and the sound he made then, alone to contend with this loss, was small, piteous, raw. Over the course of four years she had become his closest friend. He'd lost her before, of course, but that loss was minuscule because he'd known all along she was still alive, had known that someday they would reunite—and then they had. To have her back was such relief, such joy, even though he'd worried for her, mired as she still was within the treacherous footing that were Solas' grand plans. And now the woman he had spent ten years missing was lost again and it was final. Absolute.
If there is another life, dear one, if there is anything… I pray you are finally at peace.
.x.
A simple touch and Fen'Harel had been able to halt the process of decay. It was not indefinite. The body would eventually begin to deteriorate, but it would grant him time. Time to think. Time to prepare. Time to doubt.
The Vir Dithara held many answers, though pursuing them often led to even more questions. The hours he had spent there, engrossed in research, were nearly incalculable. He had learned so much. He had rediscovered so much, concepts and lessons lost to his memory and shrouded by time. He had remembered how to be as he once had, though to truly live as he had then would require a miracle he had already tried and failed to accomplish. Still, he was who he was—Fen'Harel, once deity and now, millennia later, the closest thing to it in all Thedas. If anyone were to have even the remotest chance of succeeding at this…
He had to try. It was a simple fact. Every other option left to him would be only the echo of what he wanted. What he needed. He had no idea the consequences beyond his goal. It could and very possibly would be disastrous. If he failed… well, then he would welcome calamity, would seek it, embrace it. He had done what he had intended to do and those long years spent plotting the restoration of what he had singlehandedly decimated had come to fruition, albeit not entirely as he'd envisioned. He had done his best, had done the impossible, so perhaps if he were to fail here and now…
Perhaps if he were to lose himself as he'd lost her…
Perhaps that would be the ending he was meant for.
A new and frightening resolve lengthened his strides as he navigated the corridors of Enansal Vir. Such was the hour that torchlight waned, his footsteps the only to be heard. Reason assailed him suddenly, bringing him to an abrupt halt, the hem of his robe swirling around him. What he intended to do was not yet fully realized; it was an instinct, an urge he was riding to try and mend the wound inflicted by capricious fate—and inflicted by himself. It was unprecedented, unwise, dangerous, and he was suspended for a moment in a web of uncharacteristic uncertainty. An intrusion of sound snapped him out of it and he turned to see Dorian behind him. The magister said nothing at first, standing in the wavering glow of a torch, looking haggard and strained even in the weak light. His stare was direct and probing and finally he took several steps forward, stopping within arm's reach.
"Where is she?" he asked, voice hushed.
"Below."
Dorian's eyes narrowed and he leaned closer. Solas endured his continued scrutiny silent and unmoving.
Dorian repeated his inquiry from hours earlier. "What will you do?"
He had always been perceptive, something that Solas had not considered lightly years ago when maintained secrecy had been paramount. That insight had availed him now. He suspected Solas' intent. When no answer was forthcoming, he quietly repeated, "What will you do, Solas?"
He found his answer in the other's gaze, direct and unwavering and containing within it a vortex of emotion. Involuntarily he took a step back, astonished at the brazenness of the very notion, angered by the hubris. Except it wasn't presumption, he reminded himself—it was grief, stark and inescapable. It was desperation and a loneliness exacerbated by time, honed by the paths Solas' conviction had taken. It should be impossible. It was sacrilege, but it was also a solution. It was an answer to an ending that should never have been written, an ending undeserved.
It was, above anything, hope.
Dorian's eyes had widened and when he spoke his voice was scarcely a whisper. "What will it require of you?"
"An exchange." Solas paused, his gaze faltering for only a moment. "Everything."
"And are you willing…?"
Again, no answer needed to be spoken—it was there in Solas' face, his eyes, in the way he held himself. He was a man defeated entirely by the loss of one person when nothing in the course of thousands of years had been able to do the same.
"I can't stop you, can I?" Dorian shook his head, lifting a hand to pass it over his eyes as he sighed. It was a sound of concern and disbelief and fear. "I'm not certain I want to."
"I must go," Solas said, an undercurrent of urgency in his words. He began to turn but Dorian caught him by the arm.
"If you do this… if you succeed…" He trailed off, shaking his head once again. "Please do it right," he finished. "Please."
Solas' voice shook slightly. "It is all I want."
"Go," Dorian said, hand falling away. "If you fail—"
"—then I join her."
Without another word, Solas turned and strode off with swift strides. Dorian watched, one hand rising to fist against his chest where equal amounts of hope and dread resided. He wanted to give chase, to watch, to bear witness, but knew that in this he could not interfere. All he could do was hope with a fervency he had never done before, plead with deities he didn't believe in though he was more than willing now to throw his lot in with any higher power willing to listen.
He began his silent prayers as he turned to retrace his steps back to his quarters, starting with one in particular he'd always loathed. Maker, please…
.x.
Her body had been laid upon a stone table with anguished veneration. He stood over her now, bereft of her shroud, frozen in time and free of its ravages. All torches were alight, casting uneven shadows as he looked upon the lifeless form before him. Alone and at the mercy of his own thoughts, he touched two fingers to her wrist, a hesitant and almost fearful gesture. She was cold, as he'd known she would be, cold and unresponsive. Gone. He spoke to her in a cracked whisper, transferring his touch to stroke it over her brow, spoke to her of all the things he had been too stubborn, too proud, too foolish to say. Her eyes were still open and empty but they pierced him all the same. Tears had long been a rarity for him but they found him easily of late, slow droplets marring his vision as he straightened and tilted his head back.
I have done this. I ended you, Evelyn. You knew it would happen yet you loved me regardless. He wondered if he would ever be able to breathe again without feeling this ache, this void, centered directly over his heart. He was broken, he knew, sundered as thoroughly as he had sundered the world. It was as it should be. It was as he deserved.
He closed his eyes, stood enveloped in stillness, gathering himself for what would soon commence. Magic was as much a part of him as blood and bone and he summoned it now, a gradually cresting swell that would obey his every whim. There were no certainties in what he was about to do. He would proceed blindly, trusting intuition and relying on the strength of his hope and desire. He would do what he could and welcome whatever punishment failure would bring.
When he opened his eyes he was no longer alone. He saw flickers of them lining the circular wall of the chamber, pale, shifting forms that watched him with varying degrees of reproach and concern. They were spirits, those that had drifted to the city after the eradication of the Veil, drawn here by the ancient, primal power he had gathered to himself. It thrummed, a quick and steady pulse indiscernible to all but those who inhabited this room. It pushed against him, invisible and incorporeal, and he took a momentary comfort in its familiarity. He lifted a hand, turned it, observing that it was afflicted by a fine tremor. He was terrified of what was to come. Once started, there was no turning back. He'd lost all and now he would risk all again. He could not risk spending any more time inwardly debating what was likely a loss of sanity. He stepped forward.
I will find a way.
He took a deep breath and began.
.x.
He parted the barriers separating waking from dreaming, living from death, unraveling threads of himself as he did so to send them forth, searching. In the absence of the Veil the Fade had altered but was still there, a harbor for souls unanchored, though not all arrived there. Some remained lost in a nebulous inbetween, caught amid the differing phases of existence, and he unfurled yet more of himself to search there too. In the time before the Veil he and his kindred had been more than flesh and blood—soul and spirit, thought and emotion, aware and in control of all of them. To attain such a state was no longer entirely possible, but he could still free himself from the limited confines of flesh somewhat, to stray into the places where dreams and nightmares and memories collected. Still tethered to the true reality he wandered, striving to locate her or what she had become. There were so many of them. There was so much in his way, recollections of easy death and violent birth, echoes of love and bravery and desolation. All of it battered against him, rolling over him as waves might, fighting to push him back to shore.
He stopped eventually. Time had no meaning here but it still passed in the waking, living world and as before it was still his enemy. He stopped and gathered the parts of himself he'd sent out, becoming a whole and singular point of energy that pulsed brighter than any others around it. He could not spend the near eternity it may take to find her thus. A different tactic was required. He flared brightly in this place of fragments and remnants, the core of him surrounded by a corona of coruscating light that swept outward with a speed beyond comprehension. It was a lure, a call they could not resist, life and all its vibrancy beckoning the lost and forgotten to him. They came as called, surging to him and against him and he let himself be enveloped. He felt them all, felt who they had been. Still he called and still they came, he a rock in this river that their current swept them up against. To withstand them all took the sum of his concentration, wielding his power as both shield and lure.
Around him, above him, the stones of Enansal Vir shook.
He let himself fray just a little, flaring brighter as to expand his search. Their lifetimes were his to read and explore but they were none of them what he sought. Their desperation to know his warmth was nearly overwhelming because they sought succor forever denied them now. He despaired momentarily—he sought a single rock on a mountain. He faltered and dimmed. And then—
—Solas—
Not a voice, not a thought. An echo, perhaps. He felt it, innocent and curious, slowly swirling around him in an examination. It was what he sought in its most primal form, energy held together by the faded aspects of what had once made it mortal. He focused upon it, drawing it closer, and prompted by the intensity of his call it manifested in flickers of what it had once been. He caught glimpses of her face and he nearly dissolved; she withdrew as his light faltered. He reinforced his resolve and she returned, carefully inquisitive, every rapid, flickering movement exuding an innocence that fractured what remained of his heart. This was Evelyn, her essence, the most fundamental part of her. She was free of shame and regret, free too of anger and sorrow. She was pure.
Evelyn. That whispered thought pulled at her attention and she drew closer still. The nexus of energy he had become was centered entirely on her. Around them both the others swirled in a slow frenzy, seeking what he'd beckoned with but were unable now to touch it. The closer she came to him the more definition she gained and he watched the transformation with such hope. His yearning had captured her; she'd recognized some part of herself in his blatant, desperate need and she hovered before him now, her form incorporeal but almost entirely visible. Evelyn, he thought again, watched as she tilted her head, as she studied him with such guilelessness that it pained him. She didn't know him, though she felt a connection to him. Death had erased him from her knowledge and bereft of that, bereft of every other recollection, she had at last found peace.
He chose in that instant to let her remain. He chose to leave her here in a place that could not harm her, that would simply let her be. He chose to let her stay a memory, one that had shattered him so completely and one that he would never relinquish. He made this choice, dimming and drawing back, because if he remained he would rethink his decision. He would reach for her and damn her again. She followed as he receded, driven by impulsive inquisitiveness. He retreated, but not quick enough, not nearly fast enough, because she reached for him suddenly, touching—
Their connection was an explosion. The ground upon which Era'Adahlen was built trembled. Solas was immobile, held thus by the strength of the exchange between them. In touching him she had unlocked the truth and it funneled into her, a deluge of voices, gazes, and touches and she was helpless beneath them all. This exposure to reality rendered her further and he watched as her form took on color, faint swirls at first that both sharpened and deepened. Those memories chased the viridity from her features and it broke him further to see it, to see all peace and contentment wither away. He could not bear it. He reshaped himself until he could put his arms around her, until he could pull her closer, until he could feel her spirit as it wavered against him.
—Solas— she cried, confused and afraid and hurting. She clung to him and her feelings bled into him. Among the chaos there was a single, shining spark: her love for him, tarnished and worn but still there. Still there, still persisting. Still real.
Evelyn, he told her, and she softened to hear him speak. He gathered her closer and she nestled to him, to the shelter and reassurance he offered. It destroyed what remained of his resolve. Do not be afraid, he whispered. I will bring you back.
It was a partial question. She recognized it and he waited, agonized, to hear what answer she would give.
—Yes—
He flared again, blinding light that scattered the other souls. He retraced his meandering, arcane path through the division in realms and states of being, drawing her along with him so gently, so carefully. He pulled her from the beyond one step at a time, returning to his physical self bit by bit until he saw out of his true eyes. She had followed this far willingly. Her presence incited the spirits that had gathered in the room to a frenzy and they clamored around him, beseeching and entreating.
Compassion asked him softly not to proceed. Wisdom begged him to rethink his decision. Love spoke of unending sorrow. Faith and Hope, however, differed in their discourse, hovering around the mist-like apparition Evelyn had become. He ignored them all, summoning his power with great concentration because he existed now both as spirit and man, suspended between them both. He had never used his magic thus. He had never channeled from one world into the next, using himself as the focus. The amount of energy it would require was incalculable. He was not even certain he could achieve this but he would try. He would put all he had into making it so.
He placed one hand on her body, centered over her chest, an anchor to flesh. The other was still insubstantial, ghostly, and it still held onto her. The transference began and it was unlike any magic he had ever wielded before, potent and unruly, refusing to bend easily to his whim. He fought against it, against the natural order, with every bit of determination he had. The two realities he occupied objected to this disturbance and they filled his body with pain, searing along every vein and nerve he had. Jaw clenched, every muscle tightened, his head fell back as he pulled from one place what no longer belonged in the other. The effort began to consume him—he could feel himself failing and realized, suddenly, that what he was giving was not nearly enough. This was an exchange of energies, a bargain that must be struck between life and death. Only he could pay the price demanded. And so he surrendered completely, giving in to the demands of this hybrid sorcery, letting it wrench from him the necessary catalyst. He gave his all, his body convulsing as magic coursed through it, until finally it was too much. A wave of energy exploded forth from him, rocking the room, extinguishing the torches, scattering the spirits. The rifts he'd opened between planes of existence closed.
In the sudden dark he fell to the ground, fully embedded in his physical form once again, fighting to breathe. He lay there for minutes, unable to do anything but think and feel. Every part of him was awash in suffering, stabbing pains and throbbing aches. The task of getting to his feet, when eventually he tried, was arduous and he could not do so unaided. He gripped the edges of the stone slab that held her body and pulled himself up slowly. His body rebelled against his directives, weak and trembling. She lay where she had before, motionless still, and he steeled himself against a flood of despair. He dragged one hand upward slowly, his tired eyes defining her outline in the dark. Bowing his head, he settled his hand on her chest.
It moved.
His breath left him in a ragged sob and he half-collapsed, one arm draped over her, the other gripping the edge of the table. Beneath him her chest rose and fell as she breathed evenly, deeply, and he wept to feel it. He was able to stand again after a time, his shaking legs reluctantly proving up to the task. His hand clutched at one of hers and he felt the warmth of the living, so welcome, so impossible. He wished to look upon her fully and so he half-turned, gesturing to the torches in order to set them ablaze. They did not light. Solas stared at them for a heartbeat. When comprehension dawned it staggered him.
What will it require of you? Dorian had asked.
Everything.
He tried again to light the torches, a simple thing, easy as blinking. The result was the same. He bowed his head, swallowing hard as he struggled to come to terms with this sudden inconceivable, irrefutable change in what he was. He had not known to what to expect, had barely even dared to hope he would succeed. He'd known the consequences would be great and undeniable, but this…
After a time he sank to the ground, resting his head against the table's edge, his fingers still entwined with hers. He lacked the strength to do anything other than rest for now. Later he would rise and do what must be done but for now… for now he would simply remain here, eyes closed, and listen as the sounds of her breathing filled the dark.
.x.
