The sun beams above but he feels no warmth in its light as he stands upon pliable dirt freshly replaced back into the chasm dug for her. His gaze falls upon it, and he feels the distance it creates between them in the soles of his feet. Faltering to his knees his weight far too heavy to bear, a hand gropes the ground as though he can caress her through the earth. Perhaps wake her from this impossibly deep slumber she has undertaken. Visions cloud his eyes, and he squeezes them shut to force them away, but they continue to flicker behind his eyelids.
Wrong, everything is very wrong and the world twists in a sickening torrent of dizziness. She sits far too still, no crafting or gentle singing. A fear grows within him of calling her name, strangling his senses. Already, he is certain of the fate that has befallen her, and Varric's cryptic words of warning become painfully clear. He comes to her, reaching for her, begging his suspicions to be wrong. His touch finds her shoulder, she is far colder than she should be. Her eyes turn to him, and in that instant a cry of utter anguish and fury bursts forth from every fiber of his being.
Her irises are empty of her, glassed over, without their light. In the same manner as a broken slave, she inquires of him his request, and he almost pleads with her to break free from the nightmare she's been sealed within. Instead, his fingers hastily brush her blond bangs aside, proving once more his fears are reality. He cannot bear to touch the sun branded in her pale flesh scarring it red and disrupting the scarlet patterns. Cannot bear to know it marks her body and, somehow, her spirit.
There was a time, once long ago, he had thought this the best outcome for a mage, but now he despised it's very concept. Now he understood it's terrible cost, the price of a forsaken ideal he now faces paying in full. He had never conceived that he would find one mage in all the world who kept true to just ideals and never imagined he would love her so deeply. And never had he thought he would lose her to such a calamity. Yet, here she lingers, lost in the void of somewhere he cannot reach. And he trembles, quakes before her.
She cannot understand his terror nor his despair. He holds her, presses her close as all the universe falls apart around him. His cries are quiet, his weeping sound because he finds no strength to voice his inner screaming. She cannot be healed, cannot be saved and even if she breathes, he must now live without her. Her body still moves but she is not there. Just a corpse with its soul bound inside enough to make it wander but never live. All hope is destroyed all emotion devastated. He understands this much.
How long he ties her into his embrace is something far beyond his mind. Moments or hours, they fall away, the hurt only bleeding more from him as they pass. Slowly he unfurls her from his arms, his sobs turning to silence but his tears still streaking his face, hot and thick. He thinks of a particular night in the Chantry and the first tranquil they had come across. Karl, he remembers the name only by circumstance. She bade Anders to grant him peace, stating something she had claimed often. She would rather face death than endure being made so empty. Her desires were cast aside, she suffers what she feared most.
It was too cruel to leave her trapped this way. They had slain her without even giving her soul freedom and relief from the weariness of life. As much as he hated the idea his vehemence was stronger at the suggestion of letting her remain chained as she was. He loved her, respected her will, she did not want this. But, he could not yet give into her previously insisted whim. It was too difficult at this moment, too unbearable without first offering her a gentle farewell. This was his wish before he set her free and allowed the putrid act to ruin all that was left of him.
He strokes her hair, tells her everything he dared not mention before, damning his pride. He whispers how it felt to be near her, to be with her. Beseeches her to hold him so he will always recall how her embrace feels. So that he might achieve some tiny comfort in this darkness that has consumed them. He asks her mercy her forgiveness for his failings, assures her of his dedication to her. He promises she will see him again, and nothing will keep her from him. And swears that she will find peace and joy once more when this is over.
And when he has spoken all his heart needs to tell her, he leads her to the bed and instructs her to lie upon it. He cringes at her blind obedience, the way she never questions his intent. He sits beside her, unsteady, breathing hard and trying not to suffocate. He grips one of her hands tightly within his, sobs catching in his throat as they come to overwhelm him again. He must not hesitate, for her sake it must be quick, as painless as he can make it. But, killing his lover is far different than killing his enemies, he is nearly too weak to do so. Only one thing forces it to be possible, her need to be released from such captivity. He convinces himself of this need and it takes an eternity to believe his resolve enough to finally take action.
With one last endearing whisper, he reaches for her heart and breaks it. Feeling, in his self loathing for committing this murder, that he has broken it otherwise at the same instant. Even in granting her expressed wish, it is a betrayal, if not of her, of himself. He leans in for a last kiss, taking in her final breath as it escapes, trying to soothe her as she dies. Desperate to undo what he has done, but knowing he cannot and it is better this way. And, when it is done, he lowers himself to lay beside her, taken by exhaustion and sickness. He does not move until the others discover what he has done and force him away.
Opening his eyes, the recollection finished, he moves to run his palm along the tombstone, dashing it over her name with spite aimed at his loss. He pulls from a pack on his belt a red cloth of fine satin, a shawl. As vibrant in its color as the band lashed to his wrist. Wrapped carefully within its folds is a fine bracelet of pale gold like her hair, and beset by engraved flowers decorated in garnet like her painted lips, and enhanced with ornate foliage adorned with amber like her eyes. All these details of her he sees with clarity. The bracelet is a gift that she had received from him long ago, the shawl a gift that had not yet been given. Tokens of his own to grace her with.
Tears falling softly, he presents them to the cold stone that marks her grave, placing them to rest in its shelter. He presses both his palm and brow to it in his sorrow, and weeps once again before he sets off, leaving it behind. He has but one purpose now, something to keep him moving until his own time comes. He will hunt slavers until the end of his days, preventing further damage they would cause. It is a simple and efficient cause that will serve everyone well. Unto that end he vanishes, never to be seen again.
But, take heed, I know Broody. If he lives still, I have no doubt he comes to visit her. To remind her that he still cares for her. And, if not, then Maker willing they are together again and nothing will ever part them. If this is the case, may they both rest in peace and endeavor joyously side by side in the Fade forever. Forgive my tears Seeker...