Chapter Three
It had been a long time since he had woken with the warmth of another beside him, an undeniably pleasant sensation that tried to lull his mind back to sleep a place where the world was not yet ready to invade them with the sheer weight of reality. Instead he settled for squinting against the late dawn light, her vague shape becoming sharper as his vision fully woke along with the rest of him. She had rolled free of his arms at some point, her posture curled and defensive which in turn reminded him of the dream he had invaded, such a dismal horror filled thing he would have gladly plucked from her mind if he could. He would be lying if he said that some small part of him hadn't hoped that she had slipped away in the night, what she had asked of him might have seemed simple given what he was about to do and her chances of survival, but even at his coldest he couldn't imagine having her actual blood on his hands, the idea repelled him even when some sharper part of him knew that it was the sensible thing to do. He very quickly harried these thoughts away before they could settle and influence his mood for the rest of the morning, whatever else might be happening she had not slipped away like some shameful thing, she was here beside him, a living dream he never thought he'd touch again.
He wasn't sure if he should feel shame or some strange sense of pride when he casually began to catalogue the marks he had left behind the previous night, he had never been prone to hurting someone for his pleasure and yet there had been an inescapable sense that the pain he had provided in both imprints of his teeth and bruises from his grip, had tapped into her wild nature rather than deterring her. The memory of her arching against him while his teeth lay their rending claim, slipped between his thoughts like a rogue's dagger, the image clear enough for him to catch a the scent of that faint copper tang. A lazy twitch between his thighs indicated that whether his mind was conflicted or not when it came to her abused flesh, his body had taken a rather more honest stance about the whole thing.
Propping himself up on one elbow allowed him to lean forward to get a closer look at a mark he had not inflicted, though he wasn't entirely beyond fault either. The scar sat between her shoulder blade and her spine, and though it was far smaller than some of the others she had accumulated, he was aware that this wound had almost been the one to end her. When the rumour had reached his ears, the Inquisition were still not clear who was behind the assassination attempt, the unfortunate Crow who performed the deed had been cooked within his own leathers well before he could be questioned. He later discovered that the coin behind the Crow had come from some of his own people, none of them knew the true connection between himself and Talitha, but she was the face of the Inquisition and therefore a prime target to strike a blow against them. He had not given the order of course, but he'd always been aware that if the Inquisition pursued him, then any one of the orders he did give could have led to her death.
He was aware that he'd once more herded his own pleasant thoughts towards more worrying territory, it was a bad habit to break after so long apart and so much war played out between himself and the Inquisition. The scar he was looking at was small, likely from a thin stiletto blade, but it had done enough damage to have them worried for a couple of weeks. He had to wonder how she had survived so long as a constant target, had her dreams of a whole world to call home dwindled to the walls of Skyhold? He didn't know how to answer that question and had little desire to ask it of her, there would be enough poking of sore wounds between them whether they tried to avoid it or not.
He reached out to touch upon that small scar, it had almost marked the end of her existence and yet he doubted he would even notice much of a change in texture. He had barely grazed a fingertip over its surface when he was suddenly involved in a complicated few seconds involving more limbs than he personally owned, it ended with him on his back, her knees wedged painfully against his upper arms while lightening crackled over her fingertips in marching bands of blue and white, held aloft and aimed at his face in a striking pose. During their time apart he had remembered her best by her wit and kindness, but looking up at her now reminded him exactly how fierce she could be.
She was straddling his chest, a position that might have otherwise been welcome if not for the implications of that raised hand, and if the threat of magic hadn't been indication enough that her motivations were far from being amorous, then her expression made it very clear. It was the murderous intent in her narrowed eyes that kept him utterly still in the next few seconds, fairly certain he was getting a practical demonstration about how she dealt with life as a constant target. It took only a few seconds for all the fury to drain from her face, replaced just as quickly by a look of abject horror when she seemed to realise where she was, and more importantly, what she had been about to do. The audible electric hum died when she closed her first and yanked it to her chest as if afraid that it might go off on its as she scrambled off him.
"I didn't mean to...oh creators this is embarrassing...i swear i was asleep and then…"
She waved her hand erratically as if to illustrate the sudden flurry of activity she'd performed only moments before, and she truly did look embarrassed, like an Orlesian noble woman who had served the wrong wine with dinner. He swallowed down the highly inappropriate urge to laugh at both her current actions and the lunacy of the situation before cautiously reaching out to touch the back of her hand in order to draw her attention while she looked about ready to throw herself into another flurry of apologies and convictions.
"They came for you while you were sleeping didn't they?"
He had always wondered how any assassin had been able to reach her, the Inquisition valued her greatly and the friendships she had forged had only made that value stronger. Many of them would and did die for her, so how could anybody have been allowed to slip in behind her? Her strange awakening just a few moments before seemed to answer the question without his having to reach for it.
For a moment she looked genuinely surprised that he would know, then she seemed to realise who she was talking to and managed to look exasperated and amused at the same time as she nodded her head. The humour had not found its way to her eyes however and a slight shift from her kneeling form told him she was uncomfortable discussing it. He ignored the discomfort, much as she would have done, her reaction had been volatile and he imagine that if she had not been distracted by where she was, she might well have hurt him or herself. He let the silence draw out between them knowing that she would eventually fill it, his calm gaze resting on her face while she did her best not to look at him, he allowed this for about half a minute before a gentle tug at her hand brought her eyes back to his.
"It's nothing. I'm just not used to waking up with someone next to me, the last time someone was in my bed they were trying to kill me, they almost succeeded"
She seemed to realise the irony of this statement and the first genuine smirk pulled at her lips grudgingly though she did not elaborate further and Solas saw no need, he could guess the rest even if she had managed to summarise a whole host of complexes in one sentence. She had been fighting for her life for nearly six years and now even her sleep didn't feel safe, no wonder she had finally reached her breaking point. Most of the men and women that had stood by her were trained for this, Templar's, seekers and spymasters, but she had grown up as a Dalish, untested until she was literally thrown into the midst of battle, what scars she must have had on the inside, unseen until you remembered that she was barely in her thirties yet and already she showed more wear and tear than she should.
Barely 30 years old and ready to die…
The strong wave of negativity, guilt and doubts that had been waiting for his attention since the moment he had woken began to push against the mental barricade he'd put up without even realising it. It was so very easy to see what he planned as right when all he had was the task at hand, but she was still so real to him and it was hard to look at her and not see the consequences of what he had done to her mind, body and spirit. The greater good would always be a justifiable answer for what he considered to be his crimes, but that didn't leave any less of a bad taste in his mouth. Her hand slipped from his and he meant to turn away, get up and get away from her if just for a moment, because for a few fleeting seconds he hated her, she made him feel more than he should when he had been satisfied with only his drive to do the one thing he had left to do. When her hand settled on his jaw he almost recoiled but stilled when she pressed her forehead to his with a sigh, he had forgotten how well she could read him.
"I suppose there will never again be a conversation between you and I where one or both of us won't stumble on some painful thought or memory, it hardly seems fair given how little time we've had together, all those moments we wasted while both of us tried to do the right thing"
The press of her forehead left his to be replaced by lips that were gentle and brief, before fingers became hard and almost cruel, digging into his jaw to lift his head and gain his full attention, the softness of her voice hardening to something with a sharp edge.
"So don't waste your time or mine wallowing in whether you should feel guilty or sad or angry every time you realize that your actions have had plenty of consequences. If you truly bemoan my fate then you will give me what i want, but until then i have no intention of picking at old wounds. You already spent too long living in the past and look at what it has you doing, do not make me a part of that self destruction"
Her hand loosened then fell away and he watched her stand, face once more smoothing into something more neutral. She was never afraid of him, whole generations of elves had lived in fear of his shadow and now they looked to him with a frightened sort of awe, but she didn't flinch, not even when his eyes narrowed and his fists curled as his mental diatribe attempted to now form words that might be coherent. She simply raised her chin as if to indicate she was ready for whatever verbal blow he had prepared for her, eyes steady, not defiant or challenging, but neither did they indicate that she would ever back down on her stance.
Living as he had for the last five years had its consequences, shutting down the larger range of his emotions in order to do what needed to be done meant that he was ill practiced when faced with them again. Love, anger, fear and guilt, all of it was erratic and subject to change with just the smallest push. How long had it been since someone had spoken to him like that? Too long, long enough for the anger to spark and flare when she slipped yet another knife into her words, reminding him she had not forgotten her demand, ignoring his previous refusal as though he'd never uttered it. That his every word should be followed was an unspoken rule that had simply happened amongst his agents, to have that suddenly change prompted both the anger and then dismay at how easily the anger found him in the face of someone refusing his word. In his own head this placed him standing a little too closely to those he had banished in the first place. The thought was not a comfortable one and his effort to swallow back that almost automatic anger was quite visible.
The desire to explain in a hundred ways why he could not do what she asked, remained, but with his head clearing he could see the circular argument that would happen if he gave into the temptation. Eventually the matter of her demand would become an immediate point, they both knew how close he was, the debate concerning her continued existence in the world seemed to run right alongside it, close and yet she was still offering reprieve, peace before the inevitable battle of will. Still it felt as though both minds were now split into two pairs, one pair committed to their own goals and determined to see them through no matter what they must tear up in the process, the other pair simply wishing to salvage what they could from so much wasted time. Being in one mind for so long made it difficult for him to handle this split without losing some of his emotional grace, whereas she'd likely had far more practice, though even that wasn't much of a comforting thought...how had she lived like this?
The self entitled anger was slowly draining, but he had just enough left to stand and cross to where she still stood, snatching up that almost proud tilt of her jaw, still using that small difference in height to let his eyes bore into hers. He could feel her urge to tense being suppressed and this privately gratified that small dark place in his soul.
"I had forgotten what it was like to be tested by you Talitha, you have always had a gift when it came to stealing my composure...and absolutely no sense of self preservation"
His kiss fell upon the smirking curve of her lips, stealing her breath in small sips while that remaining anger dwindled away on the cool wind that seemed to drift through his mind when he touched her. The kiss was as much a truce as it was a mark of affection, neither of them would back down on their own stances, she was too stubborn and he was too proud. Eventually they would have it out because time would only stretch so far, but for now they would table their discussion in favor of taking back just some of what they were owed, whether both of them deserved it or not. In a silence struck only by the occasional bird song, all this deeper meaning fell away and the kiss was simply warmth and growing desire, exacerbated by the quick and elusive touch of her tongue.
When she stepped back her eyes were bright and truly awake, something sharper but playful hiding in her upturned gaze, it was another thing had almost faded from his memory, but only because it had been too painful to remember. There was still a dull and aching hurt seeing it once more, but it was dim and insubstantial while she radiated with the growing energy that had always seemed to accompany the familiar expression. Already he could see the restless twitch of her fingers, as though she played some invisible beat against her thigh.
"I want to see the forest"
She didn't offer any further explanation but simply turned and made her way down the staircase, still naked as the day she came into the world, leaving him to watch her descent. He paused only long enough to find pants before following her down into the main cave, it had been a very long time since anybody but himself had been in this place and even though her presence certainly upset the balance of peace he had found here, it felt like she was always meant to be here, as if he had unconsciously picked this place for their final and inevitable meeting. A foolish idea of course but it's one that lingers when he sees her sitting on the ledge of the pool, pulling familiar fabric from a beaten up leather pack.
This garment was far simpler than the ostentatious robes she had arrived in, she pulled it over her head and let it drape to her ankles like a poncho, for that was pretty much what it was without the thick belt she now pulled from the pack. He knew the surface of that supple leather well, it had always fit snugly to the line of her hip and waist after so much time spent melding to the shape of her body. He stood in the middle of the staircase and watched her stand to brace the belt between herself and the wall as she worked on the buckles, the whole process more laborious than it once was when she had both hands, and yet he is unsurprised to see that she has adapted, not as quick as she once was perhaps, but certainly possessing a heightened ingenuity when it came to maintaining her independence.
There was a moment when he had to suppress the desire to offer help, this was not pity but an ordinary sense of helpless frustration any might feel when they watched someone struggle with a previously simple action. He knew better of course, she would no more welcome his help than he would welcome hers if the situations were reversed. With the belt finally buckled into place his image of her shifted once more, enough to note that she was still brimming with that building energy, her toes now curling against the stone floor, eyes sliding to the opening of the cave before settling back on him, their sly tilt containing that touch of 'feral' he occasionally saw in her.
"What are you up to"
The wide smile she flashed at him was what Varric would have affectionately called a 'shit eating grin', a somewhat coarse and yet apt description.
"We're going for a little run Solas, I've seen much of who you are but i don't think i have ever truly seen you do anything that might actually be called fun, and no...excursions to the fade do not count"
"You wish to...run?"
"Oh come on Solas, when was the last time you really felt your blood running hot while you pushed that body's limits"
He couldn't help it, his eyes slid over to the pile of torn and discarded clothing before coming back to rest on her, one brow lifted while his own subtler version of a smirk appeared, There was certainly something to be said for the way she pinched at the bridge of her nose while her cheeks developed a so far unfamiliar flush, it wasn't often that he could stop her in her tracks quite so successfully and this small victory prompted another low and very male chuckle from the old wolf as he approached her. He didn't know why she wanted to do this, but he could feel the balance of their truce beginning to even out and her energy goading his own.
"Very well, we shall run"
~~~~oOo~~~
"Whatever you need Solas…."
It had been foolish to believe that those were the only words she wanted to say while they stood in that sheltered clearing, her face newly bared and his heart nearly breaking as he watched her turn away from him. His reasoning had been as thin and fragile as parchment and he'd known it, but there had simply been no way to tell her that he'd looked her in the eye and for one frightening second saw all the possibilities before him if he would just set aside his duty. Nothing had shaken his conviction like that before, not even the horrors he might be forced to perform had ever deterred him, nor did the notion that he was using them all, using her, it gave him pause but had never faltered his steps before. But she had stood there before him in all her gentle smiling grace and almost changed the outcome of the world again.
The following week had been strange, her demeanour seemingly the same as it always had been if you ignored the tightness of her smiles and the slightly forced quality of her joy. None of the others seemed to pick up on it, and given the strain of retaking Emprise du Lion this was not surprising, each of them had found a new limit as they smashed through rank after rank of red Templars. Only Varric seemed to get an inkling, his eyes lingering on her face with contemplation before they would settle on Solas for perhaps just a little too long, but if the dwarf had guessed he never said and perhaps it will become another one of those stories he will never tell.
The only real change was that she had begun to avoid Cole.
Given the nature of her relationship with the strange spirit, this was perhaps the only real tell that she couldn't hide. Talitha had taken to Cole far more quickly than the rest of them, his abilities and the reasons behind them prompting an almost nurturing and protective nature from her. She had called him 'little brother' and in doing so, cemented the spirit's purpose in this world just that little bit more, but now she seemed to be actively avoiding his company. He knew what she was truly avoiding by putting a distance between her and the spirit and it shamed him to know just how much she must have been holding onto.
Today she had been forced to bring the boy along however, his skill with locks unavoidably needed while Varric and Sera were busy clearing up the mess down in the quarry with Cassandra. He'd spent most of the day in a constant state of tension, ready to silence the rogue should he attempt to share some insight into the Inquisitors state of mind. He could only imagine how much it might hurt her, but most of all he couldn't bear to hear it, just looking at her was enough to twist something painfully in his chest. For once Cole had been silent, perhaps understanding far better than either of them gave the spirit credit for.
They had sheltered in a camp just outside the village , and once again she has slipped away with only the briefest of words, he watches her leave and feels a pang when he knows he cannot follow this time. Instead he waits, and waits...and when all is still within the camp but for the low flicker of the dying fire, he begins to worry. He understands her deeper need for solitude these days but he cannot imagine that she would sleep outside the safety of the camp while groups of red Templars still roamed the outskirts of their broken strongholds looking for a way back in.
"She isn't alone"
He is long past the time when the sudden appearance of a voice might have made him jump, though he does turn sharply to the spirit now crouching before the embers, the dim red light not penetrating the shadows that thickened beneath the brim of Cole's irreplaceable hat.
"What do you mean Cole, i didn't hear Dorian…"
He turns his head towards the tent he was meant to be sharing with the Tevinter, but already he knows that this isn't what Cole means, and the spirit confirms this with a shake of his head as he poked at the embers with a thin stick contemplatively.
"Can't shut out the echoes when it's quiet, she fights because it's hard to hear them when the blood pounds in her ears"
The disquiet settles quickly on him, crawling up his skin to leave a rash of gooseflesh in the wake of Coles quiet and measured words, almost certain that he can hear a hint of reproach in that soft voice. It is beginning to dawn on him that his atrophied social graces may well have led him to be extremely stupid in believing he knew her well enough not to imagine she hasn't found some outlet.
"Where is she Cole?"
"Cold stone under my feet, treading on memories of the grey….. fenedhis, they smell of old wounds and hate!"
He can hear her in Compassion's words, Cole cannot mimic her voice but he could hear it's subtle tones and inflections overriding the spirits and he is moving before thought is given the chance to make him pause, old rage quickly threatening to boil over and this time he lets it because he knows he will need it. How could she be so selfishly stupid? He knows where she has gone, but the snow is deep and her tracks have long since been covered by a fresh fall that even now obscured his view and threatens to disorientate him as he kept his eye on the approaching strand of dead and twisted trees, his legs weighed down by the deep and clinging snow. Cole does not follow and he understands that the spirit is wary of what he is about to do, almost as wary as he himself should be, but there is no time to question himself, not when she should have been back hours ago no matter what she was doing. He needed faster feet, better eyes and a mind that wasn't trying to hold a swell of panic at bay.
There is no spectacular display, no rolling around while muscle and bone reshaped itself in various agonizing ways, no dying scream transforming into a howl, there is simply the idea of a better shape and then his entire being flowing into that shape, like water filling a bowl. It has been a long time since he's assumed this shape, the one for which they branded him, molding him into a being of terror and eventually superstition.
Running is easier now, the world has grown sharper, it's colours muted but it's scents are more insistent and he lifts his large head to catch the one that would resonate with pine, lyrium and the nose ruffling scent of her lightening, and once he catches it among the other scents that permeated the forest at night, it becomes the only thing he can smell.
Perhaps one or two soldiers might wake in the morning with a dream of some great wolf still clinging to them, but he is swift, cunning, and the dark grey of his fur made him a smudged streak among the deep shadows and those that do catch a glimpse can never convince themselves that he was more than a trick of the light. Muscle burned under the onslaught of his speed, blood flooding through arteries to a heart that beat its fists against his chest, his breath coming in rasping pants that rose to the occasional growl whenever a night time predator felt curious enough to approach. He was too light and too fast to be weighed down now, too full of singular purpose to even think of stopping, large paws spraying clouds of snow, his eyes narrowed slashes of colour that burn like the embers he'd left behind.
The doors to Valeska's watch had been closed before they had left for the camp, they had planned to return the next day with Blackwall, but now the doors stood open and already his ears twitch at the distant sound of crumbling masonry that rumbled beneath him. Just as before his body seems to understand that this is no longer the appropriate shape and that sensation of flowing from one shell to another takes him again.
On two legs he approaches the doors and slips inside, his sense of direction guided only by the glow of distant torches further in, along with the unmistakable aroma of corruption which he followed into a large underground room, long forgotten by anybody but the darkspawn if the decaying stonework were anything to go by.
Not that his eyes lingered long on the stonework, with so much activity going on in the centre of the room. The alpha would have been taller if it were not bent under the weight of numerous wounds, most of them burns that oozed with something dark and foul smelling. It is still able to heft the greathammer in both hands to swing it with a terrible swiftness, the heavy blunt end smacking into rock just as a smaller shape rolled out of the way, flinging a bolt of lightening that did little more than scorch the flesh. She bore her own collection of bruises and cuts, most of which appear to go unnoticed as she scrabbles at her belts while the Hurlock alpha heaved the hammer from the ground again. Her hair is a wild disarray, the white blonde streaked with dirt and clots of something dark, her skin ashen with the dust that had carpeted the stone over the years. He watches her leap aside once again as the hammer comes down, her teeth tugging at a cork that is spat to the side, blue liquid disappearing down her throat as she ducks another swing, throwing the empty vial over her shoulder, it hit's the ground with a pretty tinkle, a marginally better sound than the brittle crack as she kicked out at the things knee, the heel connecting and the joint shifting to one side with a sickening sound.
It occurs to him that he has come here to help, not to stand and gawk..and yet he cannot help it because in its own way, this private scene of carnage is beautiful and terrible at the same time, and he knows it's all over when he feels the building charge of her spell while the alpha crumples to its remaining knee. Several heavy bolts of fire leap from the tip of her staff to slam the Hurlock into the rock face first, stone spitting and bubbling beneath the already charring corpse. But all this is in his peripheral because it is her face he is compelled to look at now, or more accurately the brightly vindictive gleam in her narrowed eyes as she watched flesh turn to tallow and bone to ash until all that remained was another pile of smoking embers. It disturbs him deeply to see that expression, enough for his voice to disrupt her victorious moment.
"Have you lost your mind?"
Even he is somewhat surprised by the breadth of anger in those words, it's certainly enough to make her tense muscles jump and eyes widen as she whips around to stare at him, and for one awful moment he's almost certain she doesn't know who he is. The utter lack of recognition is brief and now her stance relaxes with a long sigh of resignation. He finds that he has little patience for that sigh or for the way she turns her back to begin looting corpses, of which there are enough for him to have to suppress a growl.
"I do not have it in me to listen to a lecture Solas. I am fine, the darkspawn are not...there isn't much more to say so please...don't"
It seemed that he had about as much control over his body as he did his voice, his steps muffled by the thick dust as he moved just shy of running, eyes pinned to the spot where her spine moved between the sharp jut of her shoulder blades. His fingers were digging into the flesh of her upper arm as he hauled her to her feet with an impatient tug, gaining the advantage with surprise rather than strength, and one he almost lost when her brain caught up with her momentum and she tried to twist her arm against his grip, forcing him to grasp both shoulders to hold her in place.
"How could you be so irresponsible, the number of men and women who fight and die for you, and you repay them by courting death, why would you do this?"
She isn't responding and this simply makes him angrier and that's worse because he knows his anger has been born out of guilt, he has done this to her. Breaking her heart had been bad enough, but not telling her why had left her with no target to lash out at, and so she'd suffered in her polite silence until...this.
"It was not my intention to ever hurt you, but if you persist in risking your life to bury your pain…"
He isn't expecting the mind blast and it takes him off his feet, cutting off his words sharply and bowling him a few yards across the room to drop him into a rolling heap that leaps up, surprise already corrupted into anger, his legs already tensing with the intention of striding back towards her. Only she's already striding towards him, her eyes blazing with dark blue fire and he can almost swear that he could see strands of static electricity crawling in her hair. For one terrible moment he catches a glimpse of what she could have been like if she'd allowed her morals to finally be compromised in exchange for all the power she'd been offered in the process of this campaign.
"How dare you liken me to some feckless idiot girl throwing herself at danger, next you'll have me falling upon my own staff blade..writing your name in my blood as some last fucking macabre tribute!"
Her voice is as soft and deadly as a velvet covered hand slipping about a throat and he finds himself actually having to stop himself from taking a step back even when her magic nips and snaps at him like a small dog, the sensations only mildly discomforting but enough of a warning to keep his temper in check just a little longer.
"What was it you said Solas, take my anger and pain...use it? Well here's the problem with that philosophy, sooner or later you run out of room to store all that pain...oh yes you hurt me, enough that it still feels like a broken bone lodged where my heart should be, but you needn't take all the credit"
He was starting to get the impression that his usually sharp mind had made something of an error, she certainly seemed to think so, the appeared to all but blaze in words that had likely been a long time coming
"I never wanted this. I had one last job to do..just one, spy on some shems and find out whether or not they were going to screw up this world just that little further, after that it was going to be open roads and exploring, my biggest worries would have been staying away from Templars and not stepping in druffalo shit. I would have been free!"
She is losing some of the anger but none of the passion in her words, her magic dwindling, hands gesticulating wildly because she can't even begin to put a true scope on the enormity of her feelings into words. He's not even sure if she's still speaking to him now or the whole world in general, or maybe just to the sprawl of twisted bodies at their feet.
"I am the Inquisitor, that has to be the greatest joke in history and yet day after day I'm given decisions that scare the void out of me because almost every one of them has someone's life in the balance. My family die while I'm prancing about in Val Royeux, i left a good man to die in a terrible place and an ancient monster wants to pull me apart like a child's doll, and in the midst of all this i am handed power that no man or woman should rightly hold, power that i do not want, and they expect me to weild that power while being brave and wise and kind and ruthless…..and i'm not any of those things, I'm just a bad Dalish who is only one wrong move away from becoming a tyrant in the world's eyes and all i want to do with that power is put it down and back away slowly"
While he has always known she had a better grip on herself than most he couldn't have even begun to guess how much she had been holding back until now. She has always appeared to approach everything with a calm sort of determination, seeing her so unravelled by the weight of her responsibilities has caught him off guard.
"I'm well aware of what has been sacrificed for me Solas, most nights i go to sleep knowing that i'll see all their faces, and when i can't sleep, when all the sorrow and rage and helplessness feels like a fist trying to push it's way out of my chest, i find something to destroy and for a moment it feels good because nobody's life is hanging in the balance but my own and i have no intention of dying before I put Corypheus in the ground for good"
He is forcibly reminded of all they had done that day, the people in the cages, the Templars who had once been good men, now only pawns and playthings for the likes of a 'choice' spirit and Samson. She'd almost seemed to sympathise with mistress Poulin and still she had been forced to have the woman taken away in chains because the road that the woman's good intentions paved had let to terrible things. It had been a trying day where humanity had failed to appear anywhere near human and her perusal of violence is suddenly not seeming so selfish but necessary, she hadn't come here to self flagellate but to let everything out in one violent burst, like draining an infected wound. She has visibly calmed now, and he knows that in a minute or two he might question whether he really had seen her in this temporary loss of control.
"Inquisitor i…"
He's almost glad when she swings around to interrupt him again because he honestly didn't even know what he was going to say, were there really words in any language which might make that better?
"Solas, you have had your tongue buried so deeply in my mouth you might well have had the chance to lick my tonsils on the way out, i think the forced formalities can stop. Using my title as another way to put even more distance between us is unfair, i have accepted the loss of love, don't punish me by taking away my friend too"
She watches his eyes widen and his lips part in an attempt to reply, he can feel the weight of her polite expectancy and it dries up even the badly formed words on his tongue until he can only stand there, understanding that his intention to berate her has been entirely turned on its head, leaving him foolish and confused. She nods almost sympathetically and grants him a reprieve as she turns and begins picking her way over the littered bodies. He's fairly sure that this was the moment he was supposed to call her back and give her something, anything would be better than his perplexed silence. That she would still want his friendship after everything hadn't even occurred to him and he is deeply ashamed to realise that had he thought upon it for longer instead of pushing the thoughts aside in favor of moving on and getting the job done, he might have realised that he should have known her better than that.
But being her friend is almost as dangerous as being her love, to her as well as him and his mission, and while he wants to call out to her retreating back he doesn't, because there is nothing left to say that won't hurt. He let's her go and even gives her enough time to get a good head start back to the camp, walking together in silence would have been torture. He had been arrogant enough to believe that her broken heart had led her towards feats of stupidity when in reality she was mourning an entire life lost, and though he had never intended any of this, he'd had a hand in taking that life from her.
~~~oOo~~~
She had become like water again, but instead of flowing through his hands, this time she was flowing through the trees as though some foresight guided her swift feet, not even attempting to set a pace he could match and it didn't take long for him to realise that her desire to run was quickly turning into a chase. He had joined her merely to see her gripped by that fierce joy just one more time, to feel the natural euphoria that surrounded her in the moments she was allowed to feel temporarily free. His steps had been causal to begin with, now they kicked up dust and dirt and he could feel a burgeoning sense of elation that he hadn't felt since he was a much younger man whose blood had once ran hotter than her own. It was a sensation fuelled by the growing burn in his lungs and the sight of her rapidly retreating back as she pushed her speed just that little bit further.
The loss of an arm had made her no less sure footed than she had always been. There had of course been a need to adapt and she showed as much as she leapt over fallen trees, dodged patches of stinging brambles, low tree branches and one very surprised ram, her remaining arm now as well trained as her feet in avoiding and assisting her over obstacles. The very sight of her agility stirred him in ways long forgotten and again he feels as though he is running in the body of his old self, a cocky strutting thing ruled chiefly by a mixture of arrogance, hormones and a distinct competitive streak. That young man had rapidly changed over the long years, weighed down by choice and the responsibility of those choices, but he could feel that younger self filling his skin now, setting his eyes upon the quickly disappearing flex of strong legs which now overrode thoughts of what was to come within the next few days in exchange for thoughts of what was about to occur in the next few minutes.
He ignored the call of his wiser self who told him that there were vastly more important things he should be doing, it was drowned out when he saw the way her muscles bunched when she gripped a tree branch, launching herself up and over a boulder she might have had to swerve around otherwise.
He dismissed the memories of broken hearts and shattered orbs and the weight of what was still left to be done, they were suddenly helpless against the savage moment of hunger that stole them away when he witnessed her streak by another group of thorn bushes, a stray thorn catching her thigh to draw a line of scarlet he knew would smell like copper and lightening.
Every responsibility, every question, every excuse and ounce of his good sense seemed to fall away, as if the wind he created was streaming through his head sweeping away hundreds of years of tired thoughts. Some dim part of him knew that this was only a temporary reprieve, but that thought didn't stand a chance of being important right now. He watched her throw a slant eyed glance at him over her shoulder before she picked up her speed and suddenly took a sharp turn to her left to disappear into another strand of thicker trees and now he could only see brief glimpses of that silvery hair through the occasional gaps in the leaves.
He felt his adrenaline spike and his cock harden as he truly began to push his body, muscle burning under the onslaught and for a wonder it felt incredibly good, good enough that it isn't long before she is in his sights again, flitting between tree's whose low hanging branches might have impaled them if they made one wrong move. Even this sobre thought doesn't reach him as he kept his eyes on her bared shoulder where the imprints of his teeth were still fresh as brands against her skin. He used her as a guide, following her movements, trusting her steps to be the right ones, the satisfaction of her marked flesh rubbing shoulders with the growing need to run her down, to pin and grip flesh with hands and teeth.
If she wanted a chase then he would give her a chase, and he would make a gift of this temporary reunion with the young man that he used to be.
It happened without his having to think about it, for once he was utterly focused upon one thing and one thing only, an unfamiliar state of being for a mind that was constantly cluttered. Meanwhile his subconscious and his own sympathetic brand of magic were dutifully providing him with an alternative shape and it is such an obvious choice that he allows himself to be poured into that new and convenient form. Oh how his inner thoughts clamoured and rattled their cages, how they raged and screamed at how stupid and dangerous he was being. What he was doing was utter lunacy, assuming a form both revered and feared across Thedas for the equivalent of flexing his muscles.
He is not the nightmare thing of her dreams despite being twice as big as a normal wolf, his fur a dark gray, not black and certainly not trailing shadows like ink on water. She threw a glance back and he saw not fear but exhilaration in her eyes before she whipped out of sight again, forcing all four of his legs to work together in a dangerous curve that turned them into a clearing of thinner trees already dressed in autumn gold. She was kicking up leaves behind her now, and he raced through their floating descent, distinctly hearing them brush dryly against his fur. He could also hear her laboured breath, she was pushing herself hard enough to begin reaching her limit, her skin flushed and shining with sweat that coated her strong limbs like a fine oil. Her scent is hot and strong, drowning his olfactory nerve, leaking down into the part of his mind that housed 'instinct' and firing up all the switches it found there until he could practically taste her on his tongue and every muscle in his body ached to tense and….
He leapt, powerful hind legs bending then pushing him forward those last few feet, an archaic snarl rolling from his throat. Something in his brain had enough sense left for him to change before he actually hit her, his furred bulk once again becoming smooth skin over sleek muscle that barrelled into her side and brought them both tumbling and rolling to the forest floor. They moved amongst a flurry of limbs and drying leaves, hands grasping for purchase on slippery skin, legs trying to gain leverage while the world spun about them in a kaleidoscope of gold, green and white blonde hair. When their rolling struggle finally ran out of momentum he was on her back, knees digging into the back of hers while he held her arm out from her body, wrist pinned and buried amongst the carpet of leaves.
His free hand was already working at the buckles of her thick belt, and once she realised what he was doing she began to pull and twist against his grip on her wrist, her upper body squirming for more leverage, and yet there is no mistake that she still isn't afraid, not with the heated look she passes him over her shoulder, both malevolent and full of promise at the same time. She struggled for the same reason that she had ran, she knew it would entice him, drawing out this unexpected version of himself before good sense could truly find either of them. For once they were simply reacting to each other, unbound by second and third thoughts, moving only to the tune of instinct and body language.
His hand left her belt long enough to push her hair away from the back of her neck before he leaned in to grip the flesh with his teeth while hips pressed into the taunting shape of her slightly raised ass beneath her robe. A long rolling growl rolled over her skin in a warm flood that first slowed and then ceased her struggling for now, allowing his hand to return to the buckles of her belt, her flesh sliding from between his teeth, much to her agreement it seemed, her soft sigh that of someone who has just slipped into a warm bath.
The belt was yanked free from beneath her body and tossed aside, the tightly cinched fabric around her waist now loosening enough for hands to slip between the cloth and her body, fingers drifting up and past her collarbone to curl over her shoulders and haul her up against him as he rose to his knees. With an arm braced against her chest he pulled the the remaining piece of clothing over her head and he drank in the sound of her gasp when her newly bared backside pressed against against him, forcing a shorter growl from between his teeth as his hips bucked once against the natural crease of her ass.
He felt her brace herself against him, hand pressing behind her into his thigh as she began to get caught up in a momentum of an entirely different nature, spurred on by the slow but firm rut of his clothed erection pressing against her equally firm rear. No time for thought, only reaction, drag the moment out, let it drip down his throat like sweet wine, or until it drowned him. Neither mattered, not when she smelled of green and earth and sex and certainly not when she squirmed against him and turned her blunt fingers into the flesh of his thigh. He drew his tongue along the line of her outer ear, sucking at the tip until she made a small noise at the back of her throat and shivered against the taut line of his body, wiping his mind of anything but the desire to part those cheeks with his hands and watch himself plunge into her again and again.
It's a powerful enough image to cause his confinement to become almost painful but when his hand slips between them it is not to free himself, those elegant fingers instead diverting to the heat between her legs. There is nothing to stop the low groan he breathes against the spot just below her ear when he finds slick warmth and the pleasing tilt of her hips towards his touch, it is a sound she compliments with her own throaty voice when he slips two fingers into her needy cunt, still running on far too much adrenaline to slow down yet, especially not when she mewled and bucked against his moving, twisting fingers, her own blunted fingers feeling sharper as they dug harder into his thigh. He twisted the angle of his hand and in retribution, ground the pad of his thumb in expert circles over that convenient bundle of nerves, making her shriek and finally ending the reign of his one remaining piece of clothing, the sound finding a direct line to where lust met instinct.
Right that very second instinct required him to remove the restriction of cloth and she seemed to agree if the way she twisted the fabric in her hand was anything to go by. Since she was now bracing herself with her grip on him and the strong muscles in her thighs, he risked using his only free hand to unlace himself, pushing cloth over his hips and down to his knees, not letting the process distract him from the twist and press of his fingers. His pants were thrown unceremoniously in the general direction of her clothing and his hand finally left her to join its twin at her hips, pulling her firmly against him as his body dipped to drag the tip of him along her engorged sex.
Instinct almost bid him to simply plunge into her body that very second, but a second idea struck him when he saw the wanton backwards jut of her hips and once it was there it wouldn't leave until a hand dove into her hair and jerked her head back sharply, his voice gravelled and raw pressed against her ear like a lovers kiss as he used his other hand to angle himself, the enflamed head of his rigid prick now pressing against soft folds.
"If you want it, then take it"
In the stolen tongue of his youth he practically purred every syllable and her reaction was immediate, almost involuntary. Hips jerked back against him and for a blessed moment he felt the very tip of him sink into her heat. When he felt her stiffen against him, for moment he thought he might have gone a little too far in pursuing his old youthful nature, one that had been far bolder than he might of dared had he been thinking with every facet of his mind. But it seemed he had only caused her to capture her breath in her throat, a breath that she released in a long shaking sigh that shivered on the air like the ripples of a well struck musical chord.
Her hand flew up to grip the back of his neck and with no further warning she gave perfectly controlled buck of her hips, enveloping a third of him inside a sudden furnace, practically sucker punching an agonized moan from his lips. It took everything he had not to tighten his hold on her hips and thrust the rest of the way in, what's more she seemed to know it and the rest of her descent was a torturously slow moment of tight heat, her body tense against his own, breath coming in rapid pants as her head tipped back onto his shoulder with a long moan as she finally took everything he had to give.
Any further thought of stretching her patience for his own amusement was short lived in those first few seconds while she enveloped him like a blessed fever, his mind blissfully blank of anything but sensation and her. He'd chased her down with the intent of unleashing something wild in both of them, something instinctual and uncomplicated by thought, but the moment he was hilted inside her something shifted subtly in both body and mind. It was not the grave overthinking mind of a stylized god who should have known better, nor was it the arrogant exuberance of the youth he had once been, for once in his long life he was just Solas. When he bent his head over her shoulder and she tilted her own to meet his mouth he also understood that she was, at least in this moment, no longer the dangerous temptation that might ruin all, nor was she the reluctant adversary or the painful sin he hadn't dared to commit. In that moment she was just simply his.
They did not fuck, nor did they precisely make love, the synchronized shifting of bodies more a translation of every word that would never find true articulation in their mouths. When he pulled back enough to leave just the tip of him nestling inside her he felt her tense against his hands and mouth as if she expected something fast and hard, only to have that tension melt against him when he slipped his way back in with all the reverence of a man taking holy communion. The heat between them changed, no longer the scorch of two bodies desperately seeking claim, it tethered their minds together in a way they had never really connected before, becoming a slow and growing burn that they were building between the two of them.
She seemed to become an extension of his thoughts, moving and tightening around him in a way that fit perfectly with the design of his hands and hips, her voice stroking its way down his spine, the sporadic hitching sighs and trembling moans sounding both exhilarated and faintly fearful, like someone who has been dared to jump from a cliff to the water below. He thrust into her slowly but firmly, chasing her heat with a hard, rolling press of hips and she was always exactly where he needed her to be. Neither of them were passive because this had ceased to be two people moving, they were now two people ensnared by one growing motion that would not be stopped for anything, like a boulder let loose down a steep hill with nothing to halt it as it dragged them along in its wake.
He loved her. It was a strange and complicated love, its moments often stolen and made bittersweet because it never should have happened to him now of all times. It was a brutally unfair love because it was almost tailored to be mourned and regretted most of the time, and only in moments like this, or when he had kissed her, was he every really allowed to feel the potential of its true strength. What they had been doing to each other was cruel and what they did now was crueler still because once truly tasted, they would possess an even stronger reminder of what could have been.
His hands moved over her both fluid and unyielding, not claiming but seeking to play her flesh like an instrument, a light stroke over one tender nipple causing her to tighten around his cock while the faintest graze over that slick bundle of nerves made her hand grasp and claw at the back of his neck. Even the faint pain added no urgency to his movements, nor did it call forth another low growl because something had changed as subtly as the seconds that ticked by. Both Fen'harel and the Inquisitor had temporarily ceased to be, as though neither could exist in this moment of true connection, those names brought complications that would always provide reasons why they couldn't or shouldn't. The people that knelt and writhed amidst a carpet of green and gold and brown were the people they were meant to be, the people who belonged within the bonds they had been able to forge, the people they could and should have been if fate were just that little bit less cruel.
The sensation they were building between them quickened and yet there is still no urgency in their movements, only an elevated intensity that had him cupping her face to turn her eyes to his. Those eyes, dark and expressive, he has seen so much in them over the years and too much of it has been pain in one form or another, but now there was only her love, bared as unashamedly as her body and for once there was nothing ready to warn him how dangerous it was for him to be here like this. He watched that love thrash and swim in depths of darkest blue while the thing they built between them and in them began to grow and grow with every thrust up into her, breath becoming jagged while hands cupped and gripped at her breasts not for leverage but for the simple need to hold onto something while that oncoming presence seemed to envelope them both in the point of absolute no return. He saw her eyes widen, felt the quickening of her pulse and clenching grip of her sex, and in the moment when all that building sensation finally took her he could even read her mind because the few thoughts left to her were etched deeply in her face with none of her second thoughts left to hide them. His own climax did not rush through him, it slowly built itself up and up, stretching the boundaries of his flesh until it burst in waves of slow, aching throbs that tore a chorus of ragged sounds from his throat until he buried them into her neck, her own cries almost soundless as if her pleasure had gone beyond the capabilities of any sound a mortal could produce. The collective of emotion and sensation between them was slow but still very violent, it made him tremble against her frame as arms wound around her, the embrace a desperate bid to shun any reality but her in that moment.
What gifts of passion they had been allowed before this had been small and mean, always tainted by shouldn't and couldn't, never coming without a price and always leaving a bitter taste among the sweetness. But here and now, for however long it would be allowed to last, she was his, uncomplicated by duty and conscience, unburdened of what she knew and all the more beautiful for it. In that moment he knew that he wanted it all, he wanted to be at her side as she wandered the land, wrapped in one of their long conversations with nothing but the desire for discovery following them. He wanted to lead her through history in dreams, to see her light up more beautifully than the winter palace on a summer evening as she witnessed his most treasured memories. He wanted it all so badly that it became a physical ache and when he saw the very same thing reflected back at him in her features he knew what he had to do.
~~~oOo~~~
They wait on the rain sodden hill, feet ceaselessly moving in the thick mud to keep some semblance of warmth between them as they watch her trudge laboriously towards the pedestal and its occupant. It was cold, the sea was rough and every meal in the past two days has been soggy. Still they waited, toes squishing and backsides freezing as she searches for something in her cloak.
"Why is she still doing that, it's weird...and creepy, does she think she can bribe the bald headed bastard into not turning us all into demon chum?" Sera was tactless and has absolutely no understanding of the Inquisitors current actions beyond 'elfy bullshit', but even she has enough respect to lower her voice to a whisper.
"It has been two years, perhaps she simply misses him and seeks to pay tribute to better times" Cassandra is likewise sensible enough to lower her voice, this solemn display simply serves to make her sad.
"Nah, it's neither of those"
Both women turn to look at the dwarf who is now watching the elf place her stone beneath the wolf's gaze, having the decency to turn away when she reaches up to scratch behind a stone ear. Rain filled the next few seconds of silence before Sera's impatience broke first.
"So what is it then?"
Varric sighs and glances at the crossbow on his back "She simply understands that there are some stories you can't fight"
~~~oOo~~~
A heavy but warm rain found them as they returned to the cave, both of them carrying their own clothing, neither in the least bit inclined or embarrassed enough to bother with redressing in the sodden garments. They walked together in a silence that wasn't really true silence, eyes and hands communicating in a thousand ways, still basking in this rare moment of freedom from their own far too reasonable minds. He had seen everything she was and everything she had the potential to be and there was no way to forget that, no way to stop it from influencing him, what was done was done and he was now living with the sweetest of consequences as best he could. She had laughed when the rain came, then she'd dropped her belt and robe in order to kiss him as if he could possibly be the harbinger of this strange change in weather.
Everything seemed so very simple and clear amidst the strange aura that seemed to settle over the both of them, there was love, desire and her, everything else was pale, everything else ceased to matter because he wouldn't allow it to, the fragile thing between them too rare and precious for anything to touch it, even the smallest of doubts. He was both intoxicated and intimidated by what he felt welling up in him with nothing to stop it, yet she brought a calm down on both of them that only made both those sensations feel safe, and right.
Back in the cave she had abandoned her clothes on the floor and gently tugged his hand towards the stairs, his following her making complete sense, as if the destination might be preordained and perhaps it was. In perfect undisturbed peace they lay beside each other beneath the furs, eye to eye while they spoke in complete silence, nothing lost in the rendering for the lack of words. The bed smelled of rain and sex and the warmth of their sleep, a scent that would stay with him long after, along with the shape of her small contented smile and the way she looked at him as if he were the only thing worth existing.
He pulled her closer and relished in the soft whisper of her skin moving against his own when she curled an arm around his back and he clung to her like driftwood in a fathomless sea. Something new was building between them in those long moments of expressive silence, something large and more frightening than what had taken them out in the woods. It was made up of all the questions they hadn't dared ask of each other, trying to metamorphosize into a possible future that had been kept unmercifully out of reach for so long.
"I want…
The words shook and stuttered against her shoulder, his mouth literally fighting him for every syllable, that sense of something building now growing stronger, piercing him deeper. She was shaking, he could feel the flutter of her hand vibrating against his spine while the fate of two potential worlds trembled on his lips.
"I want to run with you, as far and fast as we can. I want to dream at your side and watch you embrace the world"
His heart was beating harder than it has ever had any right to and her shaking had now transformed into silent sobs that tore at his insides, forcing his agony to bleed from his lips in a voice that cracked and slipped between the words.
"So much wasted time and so many hateful words, all i want is to turn my back upon it, to feel more than the weight of my awful duty and to watch you finally be free. I took away your vallaslin and yet i made you more a slave than your markings ever would, i fashioned myself into a monster and yet it has never been enough to burn out what light you left behind"
He pulled her face gently from his shoulder, needing to see everything in that moment, her pain as well as the love, his own features twisting in an almost agonized grimace when he saw the quiet tears, thumbs sweeping them away before he bent to her mouth in a breathless kiss that was hopelessly full of longing and regret. His hands fell away from her face to move over her flesh, not covetous but simply needing more physical proof that she was truly real in this moment of sweet madness.
"You still cause everything to change, you unravel what is simple and you always will. I love you...and i want nothing more right now than to sleep in your arms knowing that tomorrow we will leave this cave, leave the inquisition, leave my mission and never once have to look back upon guilt and duty"
He pushed up on one elbow to hover over her supine form and kissed her again, her mouth fitting to his as if by design, that growing revelation now roaring between their ears in the rushing voice of freedom, the promise of life without regret and love with no boundary and when they parted he could see how absurdly easy it would be to have all that he wanted.
"But i can't…"
He felt her body jerk against his own, watched her eyes roll almost to the whites with a soft gasp that was heart achingly beautiful. She reached up and clasped the jawbone that hung between them, thin leather biting into his neck as her fingers clenched tighter and tighter until the knuckles finally bled white, just as his own did while his grip around the slim dagger tightened. The blade had once been a simple skinning knife, long and lethally sharp, she would feel shock before she felt pain, her face already rapidly turning pale while her eyes burned more vibrantly than ever before. He saw her lips moving and though he almost couldn't bear to hear her speak he bent to hear her last words because that was the very least of all the dignities he could give her in this moment.
"I know….i always knew. You will never know peace until you finish what you started"
He pulled back enough to confirm what his ears were telling him, she was smiling. It was pained and trembling around the edges but it still held enough love that he wanted to scream until something in his throat ripped. She released the jawbone to lift her hand and palm one side of his face, fingers cool and still unfailingly gentle, her smile growing fonder even as her body began to shiver.
" Yours were always the saddest eyes i have ever known old wolf,...except when they were wise. Finish it my love, let me...rest"
Her words were becoming strained and liquid and he could feel the warmth of her life coating his hand as she struggled to make her last words heard. He almost couldn't bear to watch her lips wrestle with that final word and when her gentle plea found it's way into her eyes he felt himself shatter. With a strangled, inarticulate cry he jerked the knife up that last inch and knew he had pierced her heart when she arched stiffly, her throat working up and down, his hand holding hers to the side of his face as it tried to fall away.
With its damage done he tore the knife away from her body and flung it from him, hauling her body away from the bed to crush against his own, the harsh echo of his grief filling the cave as the final moments of her tragic life slipped away on one last sigh with nobody to hear it but him.
~~~oOo~~~
"Sharp..cold. It feels like icicles should sound. Breath tasting of blood and he is still so sad...so beautiful"
Maryden pauses in the act of tightening one of the lute's strings while the cart rocked back and forth. They had been in the back of the rickety old thing for nearly three days and for two of those days Cole had been even more unusually quiet, his face a mask of concentration as if trying to listen. Now he speaks in words drenched with emotion she's almost sure aren't entirely his own. He almost sounds as if his heart is about to break.
"What are you…"
He shakes his head and presses a finger to his lips.
"She called me little brother and she loved the old wolf, it won't hurt so much now, she won't have to watch"
~~~oOo~~~
He didn't know how long he remained there with her, by the time he came back to reality the sun was setting and his throat was raw with the grief he had expelled from a body that felt like nothing more than a shell. Her body had grown cold and limp in his arms, her blood half dried over his chest and arms, her eyes now robbed of that fierce intelligence and quiet amusement. He closed them, unable to bear seeing them so empty, not wanting to remember that once more he had seen a tangible salvation in them and that he had yet again let it go. She had always been dangerous because she had always been too easy to love, and it would have always been to easy to see a way out.
And yet she had been right in her final words. For all that he had clearly seen how life could have been with her, eventually even her love would not stop the tide of what needed to be done, it would have eventually crushed her. Knowing this did not make what he had done any easier, it did not make him feel as though he had spared her or gifted her with what she had wanted, it might have been the kinder and ultimately the only thing he could do no matter how feircly he had fought it, but it had erased her from the world and there could be no way to feel at peace with that.
Sliding an arm under her knees he lifts her as he stands and creators she is so small and light in her death, as if the very weight of her personality were the things that had given her substance. Making his way down the steps was a slow process when all his legs wanted to do is give out from under him, he has lived for hundreds of years and yet he has never felt quite so mortal as he does now, fully infallible and aching with emptiness. Torches of veilfire have already erupted into flame at his descent, and he tried hard not to think of the way her face would seem ethereal when it was bathed in that strange glow of sympathetic magic. He had to shift her in his arms as he stepped over the lip of the pool into the cool water, and if he could only imagine that she is peacefully sleeping for just a little while longer he could finish what needed to be done.
The pyrite still gleams with a dull fire where she left it and it is shifted aside before he can finally set her down, letting her head rest gently on one sculpted stone paw before he began to arrange her limbs, wanting to cry and laugh at the same time because she would have laughed to see this and she would have loved the reverence with which he did it. The leather thong holding the jawbone about his neck was pulled over his head, the ancient bone still sharp in places, sharp enough to draw a brief lined of fire across his palm before he knelt at the stone pedestal, fingers dipping into the palmed ink to carve red words across the stone.
Ar lassa mala revas
The meaning of those words could be twisted and taught to flow in many different directions on an elvhen tongue, but right here the meaning is as simple as is profound, and he hoped desperately that they were true.
You are free
He stands on legs that are steadily growing stronger now and when he wraps her cold fingers tightly about the jawbone he can feel part of himself draining away, dying its own little death as he arranged her final resting place as well as he could. She had been a creature of nature and knowledge, a wild but compassionate woman designed to roam in freedom, yet her life had been governed by duty, circumstance and heartbreak until her only true freedom had been choosing when to die, even varric couldn't have invented a more tragic heroine for one of his stories. She had been the final price he had to pay from the moment he had met her, the one beacon that had to be destroyed in order for him to set things right once and for all.
He looked upon her now, her body almost foetal, her eyes closed against the atrocities he was about to commit and she really did look like she could be sleeping under the stone wolf's gaze. With a final gesture of his hand he watches her skin grow hard and darken, taking on the same shade as the stone that surrounded her. Laid out between the huge paws of the wise old wolf she is both the little girl and the bad Dalish, the woman who saved the world even when she couldn't live in at she wanted to, and the woman who almost broke a thousand year resolve by simply existing.
When she is finally preserved in the most respectful way he could imagine for her, he bent to kiss her hardened brow, and under the feel of cold stone he felt the last of something slip away from him.
By the time he backed away from the Dalish woman and her ever present companion, what had remained of Solas had slipped away, and there was something so logically right about that. He could not turn away from his mission, but he could make sure that the hands which ended her world would not belong to the man that she had loved but to that creature that stalked the clearing of her dreams. She had carefully separated his wisdom, pride and rage into singular personas in order to cope with her ill advised love for him, he had left wisdom to watch over her as it always had, while the last of pride remained clutched in her hand, that quiet and roiling rage would be enough to deliver what his people deserved.
He calmly cleaned himself of her blood in the pool, his mind now settling into its new state with no recriminations to disturb it. When he was clean he followed the trail of her blood back up the stairs and took his time dressing, fur, mail and leather draped over his body with the air of someone placing themselves in full battle armour, his hands steady and utterly sure of what they were doing. He had spent so long living in his own head that the lack of mental noise would almost be shocking if the capacity to be shocked were still available to him. He was now as much a piece of stone as she was, with only rage and that singular purpose propelling him forward.
By the time he made his way back down into the lower cave and out into the darkling twilight he was truly the Fen'harel that the Dalish had always feared. With eyes suffused in that deathly glow he was every inch the creature they had wanted him to be in order to have their lives make sense and have meaning. Again this was acceptable to him, it even feels right, as though this was how it should have been. He gives the wolf and its ward one final glance before a single thought causes the stone jaws of the cave's opening to slowly close until it is as faceless as the rest of the mountainside.
Fen'harel lifted his staff and brought it down on the rock in a gesture as poignant and grave as a hammer fall before he took the first steps as the true dread wolf, the demise of this ghost world now a baleful fire in his eyes.
END