Translations at the bottom.

First Fragment

I slept considerably more than strictly necessary over the course of the next several days, brewing draughts Deshanna had once given me when I was sick as a girl, now using them to aid in my exploration of the Fade. My primary goal was, of course, to find my way back to Nehnadahlen. The most frustrating thing about doing so was that I had no proof I was making progress - but I did feel as though I was. I found I was able to recognize parts of the Fade, now, as I had when Solas returned me to the very spot Latha and Gils had both died. It wasn't really sight - almost more like touch, as though I could run my hand over the topography of the Fade and feel the way it had been shaped, and for what purpose. Those feelings varied from place to place, strengthened and weakened depending on distance, giving me a kind of internal map of where I was in relation to where I had been.

I might have asked Fiona or Dorian if I was imagining things, but I found I was enjoying these solitary rambles and the sense of making discoveries for myself, even if they sometimes came mixed with frustration.

Whenever I tired of seeking Nehnadahlen - and I did, because finding my way into the deeper layers of the Fade was taxing in a way I had no words for - I either woke for a time or began visiting the memory markers I had placed in my search for Solas.

I woke, of course, to light Gils's pyre. Leliana sent me some appropriate verses from the Chant of Light, which I committed to memory and recited. No one heard the blessing I whispered over him in my own language as I bent to put the torch to the oil-soaked wood. I had no reason to believe he would have appreciated my addition even if he could have heard it - he wouldn't even have understood the words - but I wanted to thank him as myself in addition to thanking him as the Inquisitor, and I could think of no other way to make that distinction.

Sending Gils off with every honor I could offer was not and could not be my only duty. No one outside the College of Enchanters in Cumberland knew - at least not for certain - that I had gone missing for a day, and so Duke Sandral's ball to welcome both me and Starkhaven's finest still loomed. I resented it even more when Fiona, lips compressed to hide a smile as she shook her head, had to heal most of the small marks Solas's mouth had left on my skin. There was simply no hiding them in the dress I planned to wear.

Sera was also set to arrive the morning just before the ball, which was something in its favor, anyway - I would be much too busy preparing to tell her about everything I had done. Instead I ordered Harding to bring her up to date, and was just as pleased to have a reason to avoid her inevitable initial display of temper.

She might threaten to shoot me later - again - but I imagined that would be dealt with as quickly as it had been the first time I returned from the Fade. Afterward she would be as capable of sensible conversation as Sera ever was.

So - not very. But she would likely make me laugh.

In addition to all the official duties, I began keeping a journal of my impressions of the Fade, as I had told Solas I would. Beginning was easy enough, as my first and most important task was to make my way to Nehnadahlen. There was nothing personal in that journey - recounting its rigors was merely a series of attempts to describe impressions I had no words for. Whether others would find my attempts illuminating, I couldn't say, but the writing of them was simple outside of the search for appropriate words and metaphors.

When I started visiting the memory markers, though - that was when the objectivity I had attempted to assume fell apart. I didn't even know how candid I wanted to be regarding my personal affairs, or what parts of those affairs might be relevant to some future reader. It wasn't even my story I was recording anymore - not really.

The gift Solas had left for me was pieces of himself.

The spirit briefly acknowledges my thanks and begins to drift away. I don't stay to watch it go, but step back into my re-creation of Silea's chamber in Skyhold. Though I have been away but a very few hours - though I know she still sleeps - my impatience to return is becoming overpowering.

She is curled up in bed, much as I left her, face relaxed into perfect serenity. Though I have had few chances to watch her sleep, it still surprises me how I am struck by her apparent youth when I see her unconscious, stripped of her personality, confidence, and resolve. The things she has seen and done - the things I have done to her - ought to have left their mark, and yet her face, when she sleeps, remains unlined, with her lips turned up in the barest hint of a smile.

My eyes fall on what remains of her left arm - the most consequential mark I have placed upon her. How she does not blame me for it passes all understanding, and yet I see no hint of blame in her words or actions. Though the difficulties that being one-handed cause clearly frustrate her, she has taught herself an entirely new fighting style, and seemingly become quite competent in it. My agents tell me that she has fashioned herself into such a consummate politician in these last years that Vivienne views her as both a rival and a valuable ally - perhaps the highest possible mark of esteem the current world has to offer. And she corresponds with individuals from multiple universities, her interest alone a valuable patronage, though I did not enquire as to their disciplines.

And, of course, she is here, proving that she has gained some mastery of the Fade.

In her resilience, she makes me think of a gemstone. So many have taken pieces of her - and I among them - and yet she somehow shines all the more brilliantly for all she has lost.

I walk to the bed, sitting down with care to avoid disturbing her. She is quiet as I stretch out beside her, not quite touching, but near enough to savor the warmth of her body. After a few moments, though, she turns toward me, her hand seeking for me although she remains asleep. I cover it with my own, taking pleasure in even so small a point of contact.

I never thought to see her again. The din'anshiral looks all the darker as she bathes me in sunlight once more. Even so, knowing her light lives on gives me hope for the next world, and therefore courage to walk my own path of despair. Yet I know, too, that Silea has no desire to shine for the world. She desires me. Why and how matter less than what I am to say to convince her to allow me to protect her - not for myself, but for a future I will never see.

To say she is unlikely to see the point is a vast understatement of the varied fronts on which I expect her to resist.

Beneath my hand, hers twitches, and her nose wrinkles in a charming aversion to waking. I slide my arm around her waist, drawing her closer. Her breasts are soft against my chest, but my hand still encounters nothing by firm muscle as it drifts down her back and settles on her rear. Though I tell myself I am merely curious, I know full well that what I am is possessive and steeped in lust. I didn't ask my agents about assassination attempts, but perhaps there is a reason she has yet to let down her guard, in spite of no longer leading from the front. "Solas," she sighs, still not truly awake. "Ane mahn?"

"Ame amahn, arasha," I reply in a low murmur.

Her face tips toward me, either searching for the source of my voice or asking to be kissed. As a kiss answers either objective, I bend my head and touch my lips to hers. After a moment, her mouth stretches in a smile, and then she wraps her arm around me and kisses me in return. When she moves away fractionally, her eyes are shining, her cheeks are flushed, and her smile is so full of adoration I nearly cannot bear to look at her. She has the insight to hold me to account for motives I can hardly identify myself before she puts words to them, and yet somehow she smiles at me like this - as though my spirit had ever been as pure and incorruptible as her own. There is no sense it, yet I am grateful for her good opinion. However undeserved.

Apprehension steals across her face. "What's wrong?" she asks.

Everything. I cannot comprehend how I allowed her to stay. I comprehend even less how I will again place the necessary distance between us now that she is here. Most of all, I must convince her to let me protect her - and yet I can already hear her objections blocking every possible path forward. My responses, though I think them reasonable enough, I know she will brush aside, and I have no answers that address her objections. We fundamentally disagree on how much value to place on her physical well-being. The possibility even exists that I will be forced to detain her against her will, and I hate myself for acknowledging it as an option.

"Nothing," I lie.

Her gaze sharpens, and for a moment I believe she will see through my assertion - but after studying my face closely, she relaxes and smiles once more. "Did I sleep long?" she asks.

I avoid sighing in relief only with conscious effort, and manage to return her smile. "No. It is barely mid-morning, ma vhenan. How were your dreams?"

Ane mahn?: Where are you?

Ame amahn, arasha: I am here, my joy