Foresight was a double-edged sword.

She may have seen it coming, but that only worsened the pain in the end.

Later, she would wonder if ignorance was better, if it would've hurt less to be taken by surprise. Shock would lead to anger, and hatred; something to eclipse the sorrow. Betrayal would fill her belly full of sparks and spit, and the flame forge her tongue into a blade. In her rage she'd have severed every tie that once connected them, and burned every fingerprint off her skin. A heart on fire couldn't possibly fall to darkness.

But nothing between them had ever been so simple. The signs were there, along the way, so clear it was a wonder no one else saw them, too.

It was in his work first. He became restless. Then preoccupied to the point of madness.

With the orb lost, so too were his plans following Corypheus' defeat. He'd intended to use it to unlock the strength that still slept within him, and after, take back the Anchor before the weight of carrying it caused Ellana any lasting harm. With both in hand, his strength renewed, he could be true to the word he gave her: find a way to bring the Veil down slowly. Reinforce its weakest parts, excise the damage, and do his best to stabilise what remained for a careful, controlled, fall. There would be challenges — reintegration would not be painless — but the people of Thedas would be given a better chance to acclimatise.

All together he estimated the process would take decades, if not longer — time he could spend on other endeavours. But instead when the dust settled all he had were a few broken, useless, shards. The magic gone — either spent, or returned to the Fade. He was forced to start over.

Stabilising the Anchor was now his first priority. Fortunately, the transference that led to Ellana's burgeoning magical talent had granted her body additional strength to weather the strain. The original estimate of 2-3 years was revised to 10, potentially longer. The finer control she learned, the better the prognosis. More pressing now was the issue of his power. And the Veil.

It began soon after Corypheus' defeat, when the celebration died down and reality set in. Ellana's duties to the Inquisition continued to grow, calling her to travel between outposts to help with refugees and lingering monsters. She left Solas behind more often than not, and with his official duties cut back he was able to split his time between taking care of their children and his personal studies. But upon her return, she'd find him distracted. Inattentive. His mind was always on his work. What began as curiosity had become an obsession.

He started getting lost.

His desk, typically so clean and carefully organised, disappeared beneath a pile of books. A jumbled hoard of every scrap of writing he could find on the subject of rifts, the Veil, and ancient ruins. Tomes he had pulled from the shelves of every library on the continent; old, forbidden, scrolls acquired from private collections and new research borrowed from the Grand Necropolis of Nevarra. He studied it all for weeks. For months. Filling journals with theories and diagrams and stuffing it all into his desk drawers until the contents spilled onto the floor of the rotunda. Barely able to find the space to work among the work.

He started pulling away.

There was twitching in his fingers and a weight in his step. Tension held in his brow, even when he smiled. The way he spoke to others started to change — a little too formal, a little more distant. He cancelled plans and declined invitations. Even their time alone grew less and less frequent. Some nights he didn't come to bed at all, having instead spent the hours in the rotunda instead. Drowned in parchment and nigh unreachable.

To her it seemed excessive and bewildering. There was no reason for it! But when she pushed for an answer the ones he gave her felt… not untrue, but incomplete.

He said the Veil was degrading faster than he'd anticipated. That Corypheus and his ilk had meddled too much with magic they did not understand. Their actions had dire consequences, weakening a system already in sharp decline. Hordes of tormented monstrosities and caches of red lyrium leaking corruption into the earth, time magic and false Callings… the Veil was cracking under the strain. Its fall was no longer a question of if, but when. And whether the solution to this expedited timeline was to combat, control, or assist it… he did not yet know. He needed to understand.

The problem, he explained, was that he'd hit a wall: there was only so much written of the Veil, and all of it by scholars who believed it a natural feature of the world. No study existed that did not hinge upon this flawed foundation, so very few were useful to him. To find answers he'd need to do the difficult work himself, which meant more was needed. More access. More research. More people under his command. Things she could not grant him, even as Inquisitor.

He began to overstep.

He asked for samples to be brought from dangerous places and maps drawn of ruins he could not venture in himself. Soldiers to be pulled from duties to assist him. When the requests were denied he became frustrated, arguing about 'allocation of resources' to the point of flirting with insubordination.

This didn't feel like frustration — it was desperation — and she knew then there was more to it than he'd said.

One night she was brave enough to name it. She accused him of pushing her away. Of wanting to go back to his old life, and setting the stage for a bitter exit. Using the research as an excuse to put distance between them. Rather than deny the allegation he talked circles around it, and what began as discussion quickly spiralled into disagreement, then brewed into an argument more heated than any they'd had since the babies were born.

In it she refused to be assuaged. Fighting with claws and teeth until she'd cut off every exit, blocked every excuse, and had him backed into a corner. Forced to speak a truth he'd managed to hide even from himself.

She was waiting, almost hoping, to hear him say it: that he wanted to leave them behind. It was over and she was right, this had all been a ploy. A convenient cover for a clumsy, insulting, attempt at an exit.

What he said instead she did not expect.

"It's become clear I cannot properly assess the situation from Skyhold," he admitted, "that much is true. What I need… I will have to move my work eventually. Somewhere with resources better suited to it. But that does not have to result in separation."

She chose her words carefully, looking to rattle his guard and make it harder for him to simply dismiss her. "It will regardless! Once you re-established a location for yourself you'd be leaving for weeks, even months at a time. What do you think is going to happen? That I'll stay in this tower raising two children alone, just sitting around waiting for you to remember we're important like a dutiful wife? Is that what you're imagining here? Is that what you want?"

It worked: he fumbled. Tripping over his tongue as he scrambled for a retort. There were several false starts, "That's not— you know that isn't— I've never—", before he sighed deeply. Opting to take a moment to gather his thoughts instead. Eyes closed, he pinched the bridge of his nose and sucked in a sharp breath.

They stood at the top of the stairs in the tower, far enough from the bed that they could speak above a whisper without disturbing the twins, close enough to remind them not to raise their voices too loud. Her arms were crossed, one hip against the wall, while he stood across from her with the bannister pressed uncomfortably into the small of his back. She could see his pulse leaping at his throat. The flush on his neck. Whether topic or tone, this argument had upset him more than usual.

"You told me you would try and find a slower, safer way to resolve the Veil's fall. A better one. Even if it takes you decades. Has the situation changed so drastically in such a short time that throwing yourself at it is the only answer? I barely even see you most of the day! I thought you wanted—"

When it finally came it burst from his mouth with the force of a dam breaking, "I want you to leave with me!" he shouted. Loud enough to echo off the walls of the tower room, and with such startling sincerity that she was rendered instantly, thoroughly, speechless. Staring at him in breathless disbelief.

In the long, heavy, silence that followed after she watched him struggle with what to do next, reading the emotion on his face as if it were written in ink. Open shock, near to embarrassment, recoiling at his own words; the sting of regret, then reluctant acceptance that grew into steeled determination. This was not the wild, spurious, claim of a cornered man, but a wish he'd held under his tongue long enough for it to fester.

He stepped away from the bannister, nearer to her. One hand held out like an invitation. Now his voice was sure. "Skyhold is not unique. There are other places. Strongholds that are larger, safer, and more defensible. Hidden deep in forests and only accessible by eluvian. Remote enough not to risk being drawn into territory disputes. Many already make their homes there; those who desire a better future for Elves."

The request hung, unspoken, in the spaces between words: join me.

It took some time just to find the breath to speak. She was reeling. "Solas I… the Inquisition. I can't just leave."

"Why not?" he countered, almost flippantly. "Corypheus is dead and the Venatori have disbanded. Those that survived returned to Tevinter, beyond your reach. The Inquisition's aims were achieved. You won. What remains is trivial by compare. More to the point, it does not require your hand personally. Your advisors, your agents, the connections you forged during your tenure… they are more than capable of leading in your stead. They need only your approval. The Inquisition was never meant to endure, Ellana, but to make itself obsolete. Overreach, and you will see it meet the same fate that ends every powerful organisation: dissolution, assimilation, or corruption.

"You are an effective, intelligent, leader who gained a considerable following very quickly — virtues that played an integral role in forming alliances to fight a common enemy. You should be proud of that legacy. You have accomplished much more than you ever set out to do. But Ferelden and Orlais will not be so grateful for that once they realise you pose a threat to their power. And given that you hold neither the land nor noble station to declare Skyhold a sovereign nation you will eventually find yourself either forced to bend the knee to another, or become the cause of the next conflict." Another step forward. "Why not take all you have learned and put it toward a greater cause? One that finds worth in the points of your ears? You care for the People, and there is still much to be done for them."

For a space of several breaths she said nothing.

Then, stunned, "Are you trying to recruit me?" she managed.

A muscle in his jaw tensed as he suppressed a smile, having read her incredulity as interest. "You are wasted building pyres."

"You think that because the role is not permanent that what we're doing — what I am doing — isn't important?"

He paused. "I did not say that."

But it wasn't a denial.

"You didn't have to."

Never had he been dismissive of the work she'd done. Never anything less than proud. This felt like a slap in the face, and it stung more than she'd like to admit.

Having failed to appeal to her sense of duty, he quickly switched tracks. "Where did you want to go, when this was over? Where did you see yourself? Before this—" he gestured vaguely in the direction of the bed. "—before us. Did you intend to remain at Skyhold? Build a cabin in Redcliffe? Perhaps find an apartment in Val Royeaux, overlooking the square?"

She glanced over at the wooden cradle tucked between the bedframe and nightstand. From where she stood only a dimpled hand and a mop of curls were visible, the rest hidden under layers of knitted blankets. They slept soundly, together, despite the argument. Their breaths slow and synchronous — she could track the rise and fall from across the room. At five months old they were now too fat to fit comfortably in the cradle, but had slept so well in it in the past that they still found use for it now and again. They'd grown too quickly. By winter they'd be crawling. Walking by the next.

She thought of the grassy fields and red sails of her youth. Bare feet with thick, summer, calluses. Half-naked children running amok, covered in dirt, rolling down hills and screaming with laughter. Spinning until they made themselves sick. Falling asleep under a blanket of stars before the burrs and sticks could be combed from their hair.

"Home," she said, at last. "I wanted to go home."

"And where is that?"

Her eyes cut to his. Shocked by the gall. But rather than apologise or excuse his callousness he gave only stalwart silence.

She held that gaze for as long as she could bear, daring him to yield.

When he didn't, "That was cruel," she said, and looked away. The threat of tears prickled at her nose. "But it's a moot point. I can't leave Skyhold, Solas. I'm the Inquisitor — the Inquisition cannot lose its head when there is still so much to be done. People depend on me. I have letters requesting assistance, asylum, rescue, or just my voice at a table. Today Ferelden begs for intervention while Orlais insults me for trying; tomorrow Celene will send me gifts and a Ferelden noble will demand my head on a spike — I'm no stranger to The Game now. And even if I wanted to go… it's far too soon. Winding it down is something that would take years, and I can't do on my own. Without Josie to separate the wheat from the chaff I'd drown — she spends hours at it every day and still I'm swamped. And what would happen to everyone else if I just up and left? The Inquisition's followers number in the thousands. Tens of thousands if you count those stationed at camps and outposts. Skyhold alone employs hundreds, many who've served for years! They are good, hard-working, people I can't just wash my hands of!"

"As long as the fortress stands there will be a need for labourers in it," Solas replied pointedly. Easily. "Masons, artisans, cooks… they will have work regardless of whether or not you are present to oversee it. Upkeep is divorced entirely from your leadership. As for the soldiers, most of the encampments built to push back the Venatori have since been broken down; the troops sent home, not for loss of faith but as reward for loyal service. You deserve the same opportunity. Even if you chose to retain your position for a time there is no need for you to remain here for it. You no longer sit in judgement, Skyhold's dungeons are empty, your forces pulled back. It is hardly unusual for a leader to keep a residence separate from their stronghold, and those that do so understand the arrangement is only temporary."

He spoke as if the matter were already decided and planned out. As if he hadn't just sprung it on her without warning.

"And my residence should be another fortress half-way across the world, in the middle of nowhere, accessible only by eluvian? I don't even know how I'd manage to pitch that without raising some rather pointed questions!" She shook her head, more in disbelief than disagreement. "I'd be leaving my friends behind. The community we've built."

"All of whom had other duties — some, families — before coming to the Inquisition. Most intend to return to them as soon as they are able. This arrangement is not permanent."

His replies were quick and sharp and it rankled when she struggled just to pull her thoughts together. Every time she paused to think he took the opportunity to keep talking.

"And it would not simply be 'another fortress'. The places I speak of were not made to house armies, but to shelter refugees. Freed slaves and their families. Community and safety are very literally the point. For you, for our children, there is opportunity found there that exists nowhere else. Skyhold sits on the shared border of two countries that care nothing for their Elvish citizens. In Orlais, one could even make the claim that prejudice is integral to the culture. Yet somehow it boasts the only university in all Thedas that permits Elves to attend. A surprising concession for a nation still openly practising racial curfews. Not even the Inquisitor was granted an exception. What could either of these places offer Elven children other than the misery of oppression?

"By contrast, at any of my holdings you'll find resources to learn history, language, diplomacy… without condition or fear. They would want for nothing." He took two steps closer, closing the last of the distance between them, and touched his fingers to her elbow. "You could not read or write when I met you. It has taken years of study to rise above the limitations forced upon you by those in power; to master skills taught to human children before their sixth year. Your family was taken by that same prejudice. I know you cannot wish the same for them."

It was reductive. And insulting. And the worst part was that she didn't even disagree with him. But when she thought of red sails and dirty feet all she could see was how out of place they'd be in his vision.

She pulled her arms tighter, shrugging out from under from his touch. "Of course I want better for them, Solas. And I know the Inquisition isn't going to last forever, you don't need to convince me of that… but this isn't a problem we need to solve today. None of this is! Yet here you are trying to convince me to abandon every principle I have for it. For something we've barely even discussed before. What else is there? Why is this suddenly so important to you?"

With every argument tried and failed he reached a breaking point. There, in the cracks of his broken façade, she finally saw beneath the frustration and the rationales, to what lay at the root of it all.

"I cannot protect you if you remain here! If you are not with me!"

Bewildered, she drew back, and sharply, "I don't need you to protect me," she replied. They'd argued tactics before, but he'd never insulted her with the implication she was in need of a champion. "From who? You said it yourself: Corypheus is defeated. The Inquisition's greatest threat was vanquished. I'm not afraid of Ferelden and Orlais. No matter how pissy they get about the balance of power I have a hard time believing they're going to suddenly declare war on us and march up to the gates tomorrow morning with an army. And even if they did, I'm fairly confident I could manage the situation without you as my fucking chaperone!"

"Fenedhis, Ellana, I'm not talking about—" Then he stopped and shook his head. Turned, and began to pace again; scrubbing a hand over his eyes and forehead and then clenching it into a tight fist. He looked like he would've pulled his hair out, if he'd had any. "You do not understand. All of this — the work, the research I have been doing — the danger to you is not from your political enemies. There are areas where the Veil has eroded beyond the point that any countermeasures would be useful. Already we are seeing the effects: demon incursion, wild magic… it will only become more prevalent, eventually encompassing all of Thedas and returning it to its natural state. On its own this process could take a century or more. Accelerating it would be chaotic — destructive — but that would stabilise in a matter of years. Thereafter, the larger threat is the same that led me to raise the Veil in the first place. It was meant to stop a war — to imprison those too powerful to kill — and when it is destroyed so too go their shackles. Chaining them again will take time. Years, if not longer. Were they to learn of our connection over that time they would not hesitate to leverage it. You are all safest with me."

This was ridiculous. The solution was in the pitch. "A problem you literally create by choosing destruction over decay. You've just given up on the kinder path now that it will take longer for your power to be restored? You would see the world ravaged by chaos — reignite a war — rather than suffer the indignity of having to exist this way another century!"

The cut drew blood. His eyes darkened. "This is not about ego."

"No? Well, it's definitely not about the Inquisition!" she snapped. "Or community or universities or fucking ennui! It's you trying to find a way to pass your selfishness off as an act of love, because you're arrogant enough to think that the chance to ease your guilty conscience faster is more important than all I could accomplish in the coming years, or all the harm destruction may cause. You could spare countless lives with just a little humility. Why not just wait?"

It was subtle, and quick enough that she could've missed it with a blink. The smallest slip, but one that revealed the heart of the matter better than anything he'd said. He shook his head — frustrated and embarrassed by the accusations — and just before he turned away his eyes caught hers, then shifted, just slightly, to the left.

It was not the first time she'd seen it: that terrible sadness. The same one from that first morning after Corypheus' defeat. For months she'd felt it hiding behind every apology for late nights, and in every kiss he laid upon her temple when he woke early, and thought her still asleep. He'd leave her in bed feeling more alone than she'd ever felt in his presence, thinking of his lips pressed to the silver in her hair. Endings and beginnings.

It was not his pride he was trying to spare.

All at once she understood. The bottom dropped out of her stomach, and it staggered her. Forcing all the air from her lungs: first a shudder, then a sob. She pressed a hand to her chest. Guilty eyes met her own when his name broke over her lips. "Oh, Solas," she whispered. "Don't tell me that's what all this has really been about. You can't— Don't put that on me."

He did not pay her the insult of denial. With his heart exposed, there were no excuses left to play. And so, he simply whispered back: "Ir abelas, ma vhenan".

Her eyes fell closed, and the first tears she'd allowed herself rolled over flushed cheeks to gather under her chin. Was it shame that made her turn away? Embarrassment that turned her mouth sour? She held a hand to her lips to hide the way they quivered.

She couldn't bear to look at him, to see the pain in his eyes. She didn't want to feel sorry for him, so she faced the wall instead. Looking for something — anything — to lend her strength. "If you choose this, if you go back on your word to find a better way for this. If you make me the reason why… I won't go with you. We won't. You'd be walking away."

"I know," he said softly.

The thought came, unbidden: his epitaph in Nightmare's realm.

"And if you do, don't ever come back. We will live a life without you."

She didn't know if she meant it. She wanted to, but the words stuck in her throat. Suddenly it was hard to breathe. Her mouth was dry, and her tongue clumsy. Not a moment ago she'd been ready to hear this from his lips — yet speaking them from her own lent it such power, a sense of finality that felt too near to grief.

Foresight was a curse; there was no victory in this. No wisdom gleaned from the trial of endurance. She was not given the means to stop it, just the crushing weight of knowing their end would not come from a place of anger.

Only love could be so cruel.

"But you'd live."