Sylvanni expected to feel different when it was over.

A sense of completion, perhaps, a finality to her actions as the last undertaking was brought to a close. Perhaps a sense of righteous surety as justice was served, the criminal given his fair punishment. Maybe deep down, she'd even expected the small thrill of pleasure in taking revenge upon the one who had wronged her and her kin.

Most of all, she wanted to feel she understood herself in the wake of it. Somehow she'd thought she could find herself in this event, pin down whatever shreds of her were real in this decision.

In the end, she felt very little as she took Antoine's life. He had not met her gaze through the entire endeavor, and while she felt she would have been strong enough to look this man in the eyes before killing him, a part of her was glad that he did not make her. It was over quickly, a sterile and official ritual, as clean as a death could be. It was better than he deserved, but her choice had been made, and this was right.

The morning was bright, with a small lingering chill from the previous night, and she wore the Keeper armor, perfect, impeccable, and new. Belts over deep blue sash over green armor over chainmail and every detail of it perfect. Though she carried the Inquisitor's sword to accomplish the task, there was no doubt from the way she was dressed: here she was Dalish, through and through, the final Keeper of Clan Lavellan taking her first and last official act as such.

She spoke briefly with each of the Lavellan survivors afterward, but it didn't quite feel right. Each of them was processing in their own way and she didn't know them well enough in this context to know what she should be for them. Pleasantries and polite words weren't enough, but none of them could find anything more. Eventually she left them to themselves, each to deal with the events as they personally saw fit.

Her fellow Inquisition members seemed to keep their distance as well. Not in an unfriendly way, but there was a sense of respectful deference, a somber overcast to the brief conversations she had with them. They seemed to think she would prefer alone time in order to work through her experience, but truly, she wished for the opposite. She wanted roles to cling to, masks to wear. Introspection in the aftermath seemed like the last thing she needed.

Instead, she spent the day busying herself in work. She read reports, she spent hours at the war table, deploying agents and troops and courtiers. She spent some time in training with Commander Helaine. She saw to the needs of her Inquisition, serving as their Inquisitor, and clinging to anything that would let her escape her own thoughts.

Time could not be stopped, however, and the sun inevitably slipped downward. She took dinner in the main hall, surrounding herself with familiar faces and visiting strangers. The slight sense of awkwardness in conversation as topic flitted around many ideas without touching upon the execution was noticeable but not intolerable. She knew what they would be talking about if she had not been there. She felt she needed to be there anyway.

Finally the necessity of tomorrow's early morning duties pressed upon her, and she could no longer put off retiring to bed. The dread of facing herself loomed, but she had run out of ways to hide from it. The door to her quarters seemed like an ancient foe, in one aspect familiar as she'd faced it each night, and in another, wholly unknown as she dreaded what she might find within herself after the events of the day. Her feet felt heavy as she walked to the door.

"Inquisitor?"

She turned, grateful for any possible delay and ever pleased to see the speaker. "Commander."

He smiled fondly, stepping close to her, voice softening. "Sylvanni."

"Cullen," she answered back, matching his quiet tone with her own, a small smile on her lips.

He placed his hands on her shoulders, rubbing them gently. "How are you feeling?"

"Honestly? I'm not entirely sure." The empty solitude of her quarters seemed like a physical presence behind her. A small part of her concern was likely the simple fact that she didn't know what she'd find once she was alone.

"Would you prefer company tonight?" It was a soft question, borne of concern for her well being, borne of a desire to comfort her, to offer his support. In another context, perhaps it might have come across as something like an amorous proposition, but here, it was no more than simple companionship, someone to lean upon in a difficult time.

Despite her understanding of his intentions, she couldn't help but glance at the hall. Not everyone would read their actions the same way. "People will talk."

He gave a small shrug. "They already do, don't they?"

She had to admit this was true. The side of her that was the Inquisitor's mask whispered about propriety and showing weakness. The side of her that feared solitude ached with how powerfully she wished to not be alone. So often, the mask won out. But she'd worn the mask all day, all through this endeavor with Antoine, and for so very long before that.

She could set it aside for one night.

"I would... very much appreciate company tonight," she said quietly. She stepped backward, still facing him, and opened the door behind her to her quarters. Her fears seemed to ebb away from nothing more than his presence, and deep within, she could feel something that was real.

She had, for so long, become that which everyone required her to be, shifting herself to fit their needs and expectations. She changed herself in the face of necessity, amending who she was to fit the situation at hand. She was as she was needed.

Perhaps Cullen was not so different to her. Or rather, perhaps the difference was that in him, she found someone who needed nothing more from her than who she truly was. Someone who desired nothing more than her real self.

And, that which she was most thankful for, someone who would say beside her as figured out whoever she might really be beneath it all.