The cavern in Crestwood was once the centerpiece of an Elvhen city. Ma'Llawallethal, the Place of the Firsts. It was in this city that he was "born," in simplistic terms, in the time before The Fall of the Elvhen Empire. Now it held only plants, the most recent inhabitants - a family of particularly aggressive wyvern - being cleaned out by the selfsame Inquisition he now hailed from. It is odd, seeing again with fresh eyes the place where one entered the world. How the walls of the cave seemed so much closer, so narrow, than the crystalline structure he remembered. This is where he would take her, set in her the place where his makeshift family had once gathered, and tell her the truth.

The problem being that the truth was so deliriously twisted now that he at times had trouble remembering which parts were his actual reality. Best to start with the hard facts. His name, first. Then perhaps his age. After would come time for explanations of immortality, of where he had been, of what he had seen, of why he was here, now, at the time of war. Maybe once he'd let that settle he could tell her how he'd become involved in this debacle.

If she was still willing to listen after all of that, perhaps he could begin to tell her who she was, and what she carried within her.

"Solas, is it much farther? I haven't slept properly in days. I'd hoped we were just going somewhere away from Skyhold."

"Technically, we are. It's just a bit further. We can camp for the night, if you're too tired." He felt the clench of hope in his chest. A delay of a night would give him more time to plot his words carefully, more time to step around the unpleasant parts.

It might also cause him to lose his nerve completely.

"I will be fine. Although I fear I might fall asleep right away," her voice had a strangely teasing edge, his stomach churned in response. Would she still feel so flippant about bedding him, once she knew what had truly taken her? Bad enough an apostate elf, but this. This was beyond the pale.

As they rode the remaining mile, he mulled over the practiced words, editing in his head for best effect, for least pain. He would start with telling her that they stood in the glen where he was born, although it had looked differently then. He would tell her of his homeland, of the castles he had inhabited before it was time for him to ascend. He would tell her of the ritual of ascension, how it was older even than him and rightfully sacred. He would explain the rites and trials he endured and what befell him, what befell all of them. Then, if she was able to accept this truth, he would reveal the truth of who he was. He would tell her that the stories were exaggerated for emphasis, but that the underlying theme was true. That he was born to be a representation of something greater than himself in this world, that he was cultured and molded to fulfill that singular purpose. A purpose distorted and misremembered by the ones who survived, leaving his history like so many others, in fragments and fables.

Then, with all his soul laid bare, he would tell her what she carried. The first gift he'd given her, the one that brought them into one another's lives, and eventually here, to this moment.

He had practiced all these words and more as he gathered his belongings, Cole butting in at a most inopportune time, giving voice to the fears his confession would surely raise.

"Yes," Cole said, standing in his doorway.

"Yes what?" Solas had responded, instantly feeling guilty for the edge of irritation in his voice.

"You would have loved her, even if she hadn't been given the mark. Even if she was not what she now is. You would have loved her."

Solas sighed wearily in response. "I'm not sure if that helps, but thank you, Cole."

Cole turned back to him as he walked away. "But without the mark, you never would have known her. So the mark, it still matters."

Perhaps he should have brought Cole with them. Let him do his mindreading. Allow the confusion of piecing together the puzzle to soften the blow of realization.

His horse nickered. They had arrived.

Evelyn slid off her own horse and took his hand in hers, leading him deeper into the glen. "We have been here before," she said with wonder, gazing up at the edge of the cavern.

"Mmm," he agreed, allowing himself to be pulled. "We uprooted a nest of wyvern here perhaps five, six months ago?"

"And," she said, glancing back at him over her shoulder and grinning wickedly, "we camped."

He laughed slightly. "That we did."

They paused at the edge of the pool, her pulling him to her in a close embrace, her face upturned.

"Evelyn, wait."

Her gaze clouded. "Wait? I thought this is why we came here for... for some time together." Evelyn's mouth twisted into a frown. "Did you bring me all this way to again chastise me for the events in the Arbor Wilds? Or-" the flash of anger there, at the edge of her expression, "Is this about Vael again? Did you take me into the field, away from Skyhold just to... all the way out here to have this conversation again?"

He placed a finger on her lower lip. "It isn't that. I… I have something I needed to tell you."

Her shoulders lost their tension as she leaned forward. It was then that she smiled, smiled in a way where he could forget everything that had transpired, everything that she was. That he was. It was then that she smiled in the selfsame way she had the moment he realized he'd first loved her. It was a smile of hope, of promise. It was a glimpse of Evelyn, the real Evelyn, hidden beneath the layers of awareness that time, fate, and his own machinations had heaped upon her.

It was then that he knew.

It was time to end this.

Solas woke, his eyes adjusting to the semi-dark of his quarters. The moon outside was a fingernail slip, casting dim light on the empty plains that stretched beyond the arrowslit windows of this abandoned place they now considered home. Sixteen cycles of the moon had passed since that night, the night he nearly betrayed himself, his people, his plans.

For her.

Outside the heavy rough-hewn door a set of footsteps sounded. He pushed himself into a seated position and called out, "What is it?"

Daven had the door open before he finished the question. "You asked to be notified the moment there is news from Skyhold."

"And?" Solas attempted to control his heart, keep the tremor from his voice.

"She lives."

"Thank you, Daven. That will be all." The elf hovering in the doorway gave a small, stiff bow and backed out of the room, shutting the door behind him.

Solas lay back against the mattress, staring at the ceiling. Reports had stated the wound she suffered during the latest attack had been severe. Now, at least, he knew it had not proven fatal. She yet lived. And although, he swore to himself and the night that it made no difference, that it didn't matter, he knew in his heart of hearts that he was a liar.

It more than mattered. It ached.