CHAPTER NINETEEN

"Solas?" Myra stood outside their tent and waited. When there was no response, she peeked her head in. "Vhenan?"

"Yes?" Solas did not turn to face her.

Myra stepped inside slowly. Something didn't feel right. But then again, nothing felt right. Not since Darrell… She shook away the thoughts. "Soldiers are rolling out kegs. It seems there's an impromptu celebration."

Solas gave an annoyed sigh as he turned the pages of his book. "What is there to celebrate? The Grey Wardens remain."

Myra crossed her arms. "I made my decision."

"And I am free to react to it."

"By granting me nothing more than your cold shoulder?"

Solas did not turn around, seemingly engrossed in the text. He turned the page.

"Dirthera, hah'ren," Myra begged.

"You knew how I felt about the Wardens; ergo, you knew how I would feel allowing them to stay!"

"I thought you would still support me," Myra cried, "support my decision! We're fighting a darkspawn magister."

Solas shook his head, as though all she was saying was nonsensical.

"What if there's another Blight?" Myra asked. "The Wardens are the only ones who can slay an Archdemon—"

"Enough!" Solas slammed his book shut. "You will not speak to me regarding these subjects!"

"What subjects?"

"You know nothing! You are an ignorant forest dweller who knows nothing of the past, or preserving it!"

Myra's heart sank. She felt her eyes sting, and then tears overflowed all at once.

"Leave me," Solas said, quietly.

The Inquisitor left, sobbing.

Myra guzzled down her drink. She watched the troops dance and merry-make around her, but she could not bring herself to join in their sentiment.

Drunken thoughts drifted through her mind and despite having Dorian there to help nurse her fractured heart with liquor, the pain remained.

"First Trewynn, then Darrell, and now Solas…"

Dorian clicked his tongue. "That's the third time. Another shot." He passed her a shotglass of whiskey which she downed quickly. At least, she thought it was whiskey.

"Fen'Harel, what is that?"

Dorian took a shot and twisted his mouth thoughtfully. "Grey Whiskey from Adamant. If I were to guess, I'd say it's a mix of Butterbile and Bootscreech."

Myra wrinkled her nose. "Is that all we have?"

"What an excellent question!" Dorian leaned back in his chair. "Be a dear and go ask for me? This chair suddenly became quite comfortable."

The Inquisitor sighed. "Fair enough."

She made her way through the crowds. Elgar'nan, there were so many people! She could hardly see the makeshift bar of ration boxes through the conglomeration of soldiers, Grey Wardens, and mages, and even some of the ex-templars, celebrating. In the center of the all the chaos these people square danced with one another. It was a novel sight, Grey Wardens dancing with Templars, mages dancing with the troops…then partners switching and suddenly mages were dancing with Templars! In the midst of the hoedown, Myra barely had time to catch sight of Iron Bull and Krem approaching her with rather menacing looks on their faces.

"Oh no…" But before Myra could disappear back into the throng, they had grabbed her by either side.

"Got her, Chief!" Krem shouted in her ear.

"Excellent! C'mon, boss, you're not going to sit out all night!" They dragged her to the dance floor.

"I don't wanna!" Myra cried, but to no avail. Bull left her with Krem in favor of a redheaded soldier, and Krem led her through the dance. She stumbled a few times, but with the rhythmic stomping of everyone around her, her feet found the beat.

Krem laughed. "There you got it!"

A grin flashed across her face as she skipped in circles with the warrior. He twirled her a bit to her next partner, a fellow mage who looked positively shocked to see the Inquisitor as her dance partner.

Myra smiled. "Come on!" And just like that, they were dance partners.

She danced with Sera next, who had her laughing so hard she nearly puked as she narrated the thoughts of the couples around them, particularly those who looked uncomfortable. "Maker's breath, his breath smells just like grandpapa's! Quick, think of the Seeker, think of the Seeker! Muuuch better."

Myra choked on her own spit laughing and was practically hacking up a lung by the time she was thrown to her next partner.

"I-Inquisitor!"

She looked up to see Cullen staring down at her in bewilderment.

"C-Comm-and…" she started coughing uncontrollably again, which caused her to break out in laughter and nearly tumble over.

Cullen held her steady amidst all the dancing couples around them. "Are you alright? Do you want me to get you something? I can get you some water."

Myra tried to grasp for him to keep him there, but her hands were weak from her coughing and laughter, so without thinking, she merely started falling again. And as expected, he caught her once more.

"I'm fine, Commander," she wheezed. "Just a little out of breath."

"Let's sit you down," he said, leading her out of the crowd of dancers. His touch was so gentle, and with his armor off and only soft cotton shirt and trousers, Myra wanted nothing more than to curl up in his arms and nuzzle him for the rest of the night. That in and of itself immediately alerted her. "Commander, I'm so drunk!"

His eyes widened. She must have been slurring. "How much have you had?"

"I lost count. Ask Dorian. Elgar'nan, he probably doesn't even know." She felt the world starting to spin under her feet now that she wasn't moving.

"Where's Solas?" Cullen asked. "He could probably help."

Myra's eyes welled up. "Solas…Solas isn't here."

"What?" Cullen's grip tightened around her.

"Ow!" Myra pawed at his hand.

"Sorry. Where is he?"

"In his tent, probably being all broody about the Wardens."

"He's not happy with your decision?"

Myra sniffled. "No, he hates my decision and he hates me." The alcohol made it all too easy for the tears to spill over once more. The floodgates opened and Myra was sobbing into herself.

"Erm, ah…" Cullen fidgeted next to her. "Andraste guide me…" He awkwardly patted her back. "I, erm…Maker, we should get you to your tent."

"No! Solas is there, and he hates me!"

"He doesn't hate you. Come on, let's get you out of sight at least. Can you walk?"

Myra nodded and stood up. Her legs felt wobbly beneath her.

Cullen slung her arm over his shoulder. "Better?"

"Thank you. You're so nice. My Keeper would chastise me. 'Da'len, you disgrace your clan.' If Solas were here he'd probably touch my hair. I love him so much. I should have exiled the Wardens."

"Do not second-guess your decisions," Cullen said, walking her to a less populated area of Griffon Wing Keep.

"Do you think I did the right thing?" Myra asked.

"For what it's worth, yes, I do."

"That's worth a lot. That means a lot."

Cullen sat her down on top of the battlements. The stars shown above and the moon was full.

"Commander, you're the best," Myra said. "Can I kiss you?"

"W-what? No, I—" Cullen laughed awkwardly. "How drunk are you?"

Myra frowned. "You don't want me?" She leaned in for the kiss. Of course he wanted her, everyone wanted her if she put out enough. It worked with Blackwall, why not Cullen?

"I—never said—Yes, erm, no, I—" Cullen pushed her away. "You're with Solas, and it wouldn't be right."

Myra felt her eyes droop. She curled up in Cullen's lap. "I'm sleepy."

"Maker's Breath…"

Cullen's lap was so warm and comfortable. Myra felt herself drifting off.

"I…" Cullen began, then he stopped. "Are you asleep?"

Myra fought the drowsiness. "Not yet…"

Cullen chuckled. "You are a puzzle. Sleep well, Inquisitor."

"I see she's decided to keep other company."

Cullen looked to see Solas approach. His fists clenched. "She was drunk off her ass, crying. I took her out of public eye."

"And did not think to return her to my care?" Solas crossed his arms.

"She refused," Cullen said. "She was convinced you hated her."

Solas sighed and murmured something in elvish. "I could never hate her." He murmured some more in elvish, a look of profound sadness and love overcoming his features. Then, he turned back to address Cullen. "My thanks for watching over her, Commander. I shall relieve you of your duty."

But Cullen didn't move. If he thinks I'm going to just give her to him after what he did…

"Commander," Solas took a step towards him, his stance aggressive. "Do you doubt my ability to care for her?"

Cullen snorted. "If causing her to drink herself into a stupor is your idea of caring, then I simply doubt whether you're good for her." He shut his mouth quickly, but the words had already tumbled out.

Solas retracted his step. His expressions went cold. "…Perhaps you're right, but you know nothing of my feelings for her, nor the ones she reciprocates. It would be unwise to speak in ignorance."

It took Cullen several moments, during which he pondered the elf's words, before he stood. After all, it wasn't his place anymore, now that Solas had returned to claim her. Myra stirred in her sleep and whimpered as Cullen moved her. She reached for him as he left, but upon feeling Solas replace him, she calmed and slipped back into slumber.

The time it took to travel back to Skyhold following the assault on Adamant only seemed to elongate by the day. Their progress felt like a slow crawl to Myra, and her restless nights did not help matters.

She sat by the campfire, staring into its crackling depths while smoking her pipe. Cassandra read her guilty pleasure, the latest issue of Swords and Shields. Most of the others had already retired to their tents for the night. Cullen had decided to stay behind and help organize the Grey Wardens with the Inquisition forces.

"Da'len." Solas left his and Myra's shared tent to beckon her. "Melana ashir (Time to sleep)."

"Tel'ashir. (No sleep)" Myra said. "I cannot."

"Tel'enfenim, da'len. (Do not fear, child.) I will protect you from anything that haunts you." Solas's voice was desperate. It broke her heart.

"I can't. Ir abelas, hahren. Get some rest."

Solas sighed and seemed to recognize his efforts were futile. He returned to their tent, leaving her and Cassandra alone.

The two women sat in silence for a while, Cassandra reading her book and Myra smoking from Darrell's pipe. The stars shown overhead and the crickets chirped into the night air. The peace of the Exalted Plains contrasted with the tumultuous storm that churned inside Myra. Her heart reflected the moonless sky, the campfire and glowing embers in her pipe the only stars, the only simple pleasures she could enjoy…

Suddenly, Cassandra spoke. "Are you two alright?" She pulled a ribbon through the spine of her book, marking her place.

"I don't know," Myra said.

"I heard about what happened…with the Grey Warden." Cassandra closed her book.

"We were lovers once, but that door has closed…permanently."

"I am sorry for your loss."

Myra shook her head. "He died a hero, but I didn't want a hero. I know that's selfish of me."

"It is, but not without reason." The Seeker moved to sit closer to her friend. "I noticed your…intoxication the other night."

"You and half the Inquisition."

"No matter, I was wondering if the Grey Warden was the cause or if there were, perhaps, other influences."

"There were others."

"What were they?"

Myra heaved a sigh. Packing another bowl of spindleweed, she began to smoke more.

"You reek of smoke."

"We all have our vices."

"Inquisitor." Cassandra huffed. "I worry about you."

"I appreciate your concern."

"If you truly appreciate it, let me help you."

Myra said nothing, continuing to toke on her pipe. She still blew perfect smoke rings.

Cassandra sighed. "Are you happy?"

"What does it matter?"

"You are my friend…" Words caught in Cassandra's throat. She huffed and scowled before she shot up, fists clenched. Whether she was going to head towards her tent or beat some sense into Myra, the Inquisitor was unsure. She took it the Seeker didn't know either. Finally, Cassandra grabbed her book and stormed to her tent.

"Cass!" Myra called after her. "Cass! I'm sorry…" But it was no use, the Seeker would not answer her.

Myra waited for the tears to come, but they wouldn't. She felt on the verge of losing everyone important to her, but she couldn't find herself to care, bitter apathy filling her being.

She was so busy packing another bowl of spindleweed, she did not notice Solas's arrival until he spoke.

"Ir abelas," he said.

"Tel'abelas (I'm not [sorry]). I thought you were asleep."

"The yelling awoke me." He sat beside her. "Cassandra does not possess the patience I have."

"No," Myra said. "Neither did my Keeper."

"It is a good thing I am not your Keeper."

She let him pull her into his arms.

"You are not alone, da'len," he said.

"It feels like I am." Myra sighed in frustration. Her head ached. "I know I have people, but I cannot let go of those I have lost."

"I am familiar with the feeling." Solas kissed her temple. "If you shall grieve, da'len, as I shall grieve, let us grieve together."

Myra nestled into his chest. "I'd like that."

Her pipe sat half-empty for the remainder of the night, and when the fire died, she finally found her way into slumber.