NOTE: A sad little drabble written in response to a comment on AO3.

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... Wash the sorrow from off my skin
And show me how to be whole again

'Cause I'm only a crack in this castle of glass
Hardly anything there for you to see ...

~Linkin Park, Castle of Glass

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It was raining and dark, the wet pouring down in drifts and spurts. He walked along on feet without shoes, his staff over one shoulder, his head gleaming in the rain. The woods here was deep and full of sound, frogs and crickets chirping out their songs, silent only when he passed too near. A wolf through the woods on softly padding feet. Somewhere down the path, on the edge of the forest, a light flickered in the sodden night, and he thought to take shelter with whoever had built it, hoping for warmth and, maybe, a little company.

It was the company, more than anything, he needed.

A canvas was pitched across the top of an old ruin, stretching from column to column. To one side a banner of the Inquisition was flapping and he paused just on the edge of the wood, in the cover of the shadows there. He stood in the rain, let it slide over his ears and down the curve of his neck, listening with a caught breath to the sound of a familiar voice, humming tunelessly into the night. His eyes shut. This was the company he could not seek. The friends he had forsaken.

Still, he could not help but creep closer on silent feet, to find a column and lean against it, shrouded in shadow and the fabric of the Fade. So near he could almost touch them, could feel the warmth of the fire while protected from the rain beneath the corner of their tarp. Sense told him not to stay, but desire drove him now, pulled him into the embrace of familiarity and longing. He could admit, in this moment, that he had broken himself to leave them - had left something of himself behind. It ached like an open wound, even now as he watched from his hiding place.

The rain was lulling her to sleep, thudding down on the canvas above her head and dripping to the ground on all sides. At this time of night, just off the coast of Lake Calenhad, the world was full of sound and shadow, but it was difficult to hear over the rain. Dorian was already asleep on his cot on the other side of the fire, and Cullen was at the lower camp, seeing to the horses with Illiam. The soldiers who had come along to escort the Commander, his wife, and his child safely to his family in South Reach were camped closer to the road, though she could sometimes hear them laughing in the dark and the rain.

Melori spread her fingers to lift the fire higher, hoping the damp wasn't bothering the baby too much. Caro was finally sleeping through the night, now that she'd discovered the delight of playing with Daddy till she was completely worn out each evening. The two of them were sleeping better, Melori thought, holding her daughter close and watching her lips purse as she nursed, chubby fingers pressed tight against her mother's chest. It was an odd feeling, even now, to look at her and realize who she was ... whose she was.

"Emm'asha, da'vhenan," Melori whispered, brushing a finger across the so-soft cheek, the little pointed ear tip. "A long, long time ago, there were cities in this world that floated high above the trees. My people, your ancestors, lived there. I was told by a wise old wolf that it was a lovely place, full of magic and dreams. Someday, perhaps we'll see some remnant of it in the forest, hmm? Would you go with me to see it, I wonder ..."

The wise old wolf watched the elf and her child, head resting against the stone. He wondered how their paths had crossed again, if it had been happenstance or his own wayward heart, drawing him back to the side of a friend. His heart, he thought, should know better by now. His friend would likely hate him before he was done, especially now. He had little left to lose, but his friend? He stared across the space between them, feeling as though it were an impassable abyss. Her entire world would was on the cusp of irrevocable change at his hands.

The soft spoken elven lullaby drifted across the fire toward him and he remembered, with a rueful smile that Melori could not sing. Instead, she whispered the words as one would poetry, leaning back against her pack as the rain accompanied her. He listened, too, taking what comfort he could, pretending she knew he was there, that he was simply a little distance from the fire enjoying the air. It almost worked.

Footsteps came up the path and the Commander's voice drifted nearer. Reluctantly, Solas stood and stepped back into the rain, leaning a little more heavily on his staff than usual as he walked away.