Three days later they burn his body in the courtyard of Skyhold.
They don't know his customs but it seems the right thing to do. To release him into the air so he might dance among the spirits he called friends, might drift into the Fade he so loved to explore. Keela stands on the steps in a flowing gown of indigo, gold and crystal bracelets wrapped around her wrists. She is resplendent, beautiful, but there is not a person here she wishes to impress. There is only one whose voice she longs to hear caress her skin with words of honest praise and empty promises and she will never hear it again.
The flames grow stronger and pieces of her break apart with every crack of timber.
Somehow she manages to stay upright through the remembrance dinner. It is a quiet affair and even the Vir'abelasan is but a distant hum in her mind. She is grateful to not carry the extra burden of her circumstances along with this crushing loss. Her companions remain close to ward away unwanted sympathies and there is little fanfare. Bull's hand stays against her back for most of the night and she has never needed her bodyguard more. Every part of her is vulnerable, weak. She feels like Skyhold looked when they first walked its battered halls.
Soon Josephine's calming potion begins to leak from her veins and Bull's touch becomes a cage instead of a comfort. He notices, as he always notices everything, and leads her away towards the sanctuary of her rooms.
"You okay to be alone, Boss?" he whispers and it still rumbles through the air, but all she can hear is Solas' last breath like a siren. Keela nods, too choked on the memory of his blood pouring to find the words. Bull hesitates before pushing the door open. "We won't be far if you need us."
She makes it to the top of the final stairs before the weight is too much and collapses her with the strain. Fists pound into the uncaring ground and the sound of her cries cuts the last remaining threads of her resolve. He is gone. His stoic silence the last few days, his constant hesitancy to embrace her, these things were nothing compared to the empty hole inside her now. She would take his cool disregard, even his hatred, if only to see him again.
The anchor hums within her palm, deep and slow, a discorded sound as lost as she feels. Fingers reach for the necklace hanging heavy around her neck. The jawbone feels warm in hand, as if it was just pressed against skin, and the sight of it blurs through the curtain of fresh tears. She could not let it burn too but holding it now, knowing it will never sit around his neck to touch, tease, pull, to hear his heartbeat beneath, merely reminds her of all that's beyond grasp.
Fire begins to bloom in her other hand born of frustration. Her sorrow and rage war within. Why did he waste so much time pushing her away? Why did she let him? Futile actions of fools. She always thought their battle could be won eventually, but they both ran out of time.
Keela gasps, a thought striking like lightning inside her mind, and fingers tighten around bone. Time.
The main hall is quiet as she slips in and out of doors up towards the second level of the rotunda. The brilliant colors of the fresco call out to her but she cannot be swayed by their tragic beauty now. Her feet take her to Dorian's cluttered alcove. Eyes and fingers scour through the bookshelves, under piles of documents laying on the floor and tables, even run over the plush chair for her prize.
"I knew you would come eventually." The altus stands at the entrance, arms crossed. There is no anger or annoyance on his face, only worry and understanding.
"Where is it?"
"Keela-"
"Give me the amulet."
"It is too dangerous! What's to become of the Inquisition, the world, if something were to go wrong? You can't risk the future of all Thedas just to bring him back!"
His exclamation bounces off of leather spines and painted glass. In the silence, the mark grows until it burns inside her eyes. It shines a light on the tears collected there, illuminates them as they roll across her bare cheeks. For a moment she thinks of taking it by force and the idea makes her feel all more wretched.
"Please, Dorian. Please." The light fades and she cries, soft like a wounded animal, and watches his face crumple at the sound, watches his resistance crumble to ash.
Dorian sighs, defeated, and reaches into his pocket. "It was damaged at Redcliffe. I'm not sure if it will even work. You'll have but one chance, if any. What if it breaks entirely when you get there? There will be no way back."
She catches his gaze as she pulls the amulet into her hand. She can see the answer reflected there and has to look away before his misery mixes with her own.
"I'm coming with you. Not to the past, mind you, but I won't let you try this alone."
"Thank you." Keela leads them to the empty gardens. She lifts her palm up and the amulet gleams in the moonlight. It is indeed damaged, a feather thin scratch across the surface, but there is power remaining within. The voices of the well can offer her little assistance this time, but she knows how the rift in time reacted to her own magic. She calls to the anchor beneath the pendant's surface and watches emerald tendrils seep into the crack until it glows bright again.
Her other hand clutches Solas' necklace as her mind thinks back to that fateful afternoon. She can feel power surging around her, pulling her with ever strengthening arms. It is familiar and for a moment she remembers those reddened hallways and that bleak future, but returns her attention to him. Only him.
It is a far dangerous thing to try this magic, but she will never live with the pain if she doesn't attempt everything she can to bring him back. She knows she is not being the careful, calculating Inquisitor she has always been, but when it has come to herself, to him, nothing has ever been simple. She won't sacrifice the Inquisition, but she will sacrifice herself.
"Good luck," Dorian says when he truly means goodbye. For they both know there will be no returning either way.
She closes her eyes, brings the jawbone to her lips, and commands the amulet. "Take me to Solas."
And then she is falling, not merely pulled but ripped apart as time consumes her. She holds onto the thought of him, to the talismans of hope in her hands, no matter how the power threatens to tear her apart. She has walked the Fade twice, challenged gods and so far survived, united a world sundered. She will survive this.
She feels the ground beneath her feet again and crashes down into hard stone. Keela hears noises all around her, shouts, movement, metal screeching against metal. When the thunderous power of the amulet fades she comes face to face with the tips of swords and spears all around.
They are elves-elvhen, wearing that recognizable glistening gold and green armor. Sentinels. She has gone back too far in time to the Arbor Wilds it seems. Why would it bring her here?
"Who are you?" one of them asks in the ancient tongue, but she ignores them all. The amulet is cold in her grasp now, the crack upon its surface spidering out even larger. She readies for another attempt and prays there's enough initial power left to see this through. If not, she will wait until the moment. It is only a few weeks away.
The anchor sings to life again and another answers its call. "Stop! How is this possible? Move aside."
Keela gasps and her magic sputters. She knows that voice, has felt it trembling against her lips. The crowd around her steps back and parts. He wears the same armor as the others but a pelt of fur slings around his shoulders and hip to mark him different. She knows every muscle and inch of skin beneath. There is no mistaking the easy, powerful strut, the stance of hands clasped behind his back, and she knows the way he moves across dance floors and under sheets.
A hood covers his head, but there is no hiding the gleam of blue eyes. Intelligent, curious yet closed. His. She should wonder what has happened, where she truly is, but everything fades away in the face of a ghost in the wrong place.
The amulet drops from her fingers, forgotten. "Solas?"