One by one they go, heeding the siren call of other fates, as I knew they would. Leliana is the first, called to the Sunburst Throne – a reassuring placement with regard our position as the Inquisition. Vivienne is next, gone to establish a new Circle that I suspect may rival the college Fiona is bringing into being. Things are going to become interesting for mages in Thedas, and this pleases me. Cassandra, Sera, Cullen and Josie remain steadfast, but as more of our companions depart, it's not quite the same. The purpose that kept us together has run dry, and without it, we're droplets of quicksilver scattering to the quarters.
I release Thom from his debt, and when I do hear reports related to his activities, they fill me with a warm glow of satisfaction – he is more than making reparations for his past sins. When Bull and his Chargers are offered a lucrative job for a Nevarran noble, who am I to stand in their way? Varric returns to Kirkwall, no longer able to put off his involvement in the rebuilding that needs to be done. The rate he's going, he's going to end up the Viscount soon. I'm not sure how he feels about that. Morrigan vanishes in the night, taking her eluvian with her. I don't know whether to be relieved; I never did feel comfortable around her. We were always sniping at each other in any case, and I never did appreciate her sense of entitlement when it came to my people's heritage. The eluvians are nothing but a source of trouble.
Dorian is the last to fly, and he hesitates until mid-autumn, when I nearly have to push him to book his passage.
"If you don't depart now, you'll never go," I tell him.
"And deprive you of my glittering personality?" he quips. "However will you cope?"
"You'll spend the entire winter, when we're snowed in, berating me that I didn't encourage you before it was too late and your toes froze off."
"Another winter in Skyhold…" he muses. "Brrrr!" Then his expression becomes haunted. "But will you be…"
"I'll be fine. I've lasted half a year already. It's only going to get easier as time passes."
"I worry about you." He reaches out, clasps my left hand, which tingles at the contact.
My Mark has, oddly enough, been quiescent for the past while. Occasionally it sparks, hurts a little when my emotions run high, but I pray it's going to remain dormant. There have been no more rifts to close since Corypheus's defeat. No reason to activate the Mark's magic.
"I'll be fine. I have Cass, Cullen and Josie. Cole is about. I'm certain Sera will get me into trouble when things get too stale."
"Please do me a favour and shag Cullen's brains out, will you? Make it your pet project this winter."
"Dorian!" I say, mortified, and glance about the library to see if anyone has noticed.
Fiona stares a little too fixedly at the cover of a book she's been perusing not far from our niche, the tips of her ears pink.
# # #
A week later, we're standing at the Redcliffe docks, and I suspect both our eyes are gleaming a little too brightly. I want to tell my dearest friend to stay, but I must let him go, just like I have let Solas go – or am trying to, in any case.
Cullen has accompanied us, and he's given me and Dorian space for our farewell now that he's shaken the mage's hand and shared an awkward hug.
"It won't be forever," Dorian said. "I expect they'll find some sort of dubious way of rewarding me for my work and I'll be sent back to mediate with you savages."
"I look forward to the day," I say, and I mean it.
He draws me close and holds me fast, so that I'm enveloped in the expensive musk perfume he prefers (that I know will cling to my hair, my clothes, for hours after, along with the phantom of his touch).
"Be safe, Dorian, and thank you. You are a true friend."
He smiles, and for once, has nothing grandiose to add. I suspect he's as choked up as I am.
We don't say goodbye. I refuse to say goodbye, yet I stand on the jetty for a long while, until the schooner's red sail has vanished around the headland, and the first spits of rain wet my face.
"Rosala, if we leave it much later, it's going to be dark before we get to the stopover." Cullen's right behind me. So quiet I hadn't heard him approach.
"And if we book rooms here and leave at dawn?"
"If we ride hard we could possibly reach Haven late afternoon. Would you prefer that?"
"Yes." I can't stop staring at the horizon, and I'm not sure whether I'm blinded by tears or raindrops. I can't help but feel as if something inside me is irrevocably shattered, too fragmented to put back together again.
The sky presses down, seething with heavy grey cloud that obscures the mountains, eats up the forests and brings a wind laden with moisture so that by the time Cullen puts his cloak around my shoulders, and guides me back to the town, the rain beats down in near horizontal sheets, and we are both soaked to the skin once we arrive at our accommodation.
It's peculiar to be here, only the two of us travelling incognito and not on any official Inquisition business. That's not to say that our people aren't looking out for us, but for once there's comfort to be garnered from the imagined anonymity.
A tall, blond ex-military man and his slight, elven travel companion. Booked into adjoining rooms in a well-to-do lakeside inn. No, nothing suspicious about that. Well-appointed rooms overlook the docks, where folks are locking away their stalls and checking on the moorings of their vessels, because there's a storm about to lash the town. I bath, get changed into fresh clothing, and send away my wet things to have them dried.
A knock sounds at the door between our suites and startles me out of my reverie by the hearth.
"Yes?" I query.
"Can I…" Cullen sounds as if he's having second thoughts about disturbing me.
"Creators," I mutter. "Come in!" I say loud enough for him to hear.
He steps inside, peers about as if he's expecting a quillback to attack him, then hangs at the threshold. "I was wondering whether…" And then he scrubs at the back of his neck, suddenly the chantry boy rather than commander.
I bite the inside of my lip to prevent a smirk. I enjoy his discomfort too much. Dorian's request that I "shag his brains out" brings a little heat to my cheeks. If ever I'd have the chance – away from wagging tongues and our routine in Skyhold – and a prime opportunity that may not repeat itself soon.
If anything, that little shrinking Dalish girl is so far removed from who I am now, the idea, the curiosity to take up the challenge doesn't fill me with such dread as it would have a scant year or so ago.
"Would you like a drink?" I ask him. "Come in, take a seat."
"I don't want to impose."
"Creators, Cullen, I've seen you butt-ass naked streaking out of the Herald and you've dragged me bleeding off battlefields. You're not imposing."
He colours, but obeys, and seats himself on one of the armchairs by the hearth.
"They've got perry, by the looks of it, and something…" I lift the stopper of the ceramic bottle. "Ugh, some sort of fennel liqueur. Probably Orlesian. Disgusting."
He wrinkles his nose. "I'll have some perry. My thanks."
I pour us each a measure, and make sure our fingers brush when I pass him the tumbler, then sit opposite him. My feet I place as close as possible to the fireplace so that I can absorb the warmth, like a salamander. I even wriggle my toes, then slide him a glance.
He's watching my feet, the glass half-raised to his lips.
Oh, Dorian, this will be easier than you thought.
Yet I'm in no rush. I sip the perry, grimace at the way it burns and makes me think of summer evenings. "So, commander, have you got plans yourself? You haven't taken any leave since we resolved this whole business with Corypheus."
Cullen blinks, makes eye contact then sips his drink. "I haven't really given this much thought."
"You should."
"Do you have plans?" he counters.
Ah, deflecting.
"I have…some."
His gaze grows intense. "I-I… Oh Maker's breath there is no easy way for me to ask this. How are you, Rosala, I mean with this whole thing with…"
"With my sad apostate mage?" I huff out a breath, take another sip. Twist that rusty blade.
"I d-didn't mean –"
I hold up a hand. "It's quite all right. We need to clear the air." I hold his gaze, fight the urge to turn away from his warm amber eyes. "Whatever we...had…" It was real.
My eyes blur with those damned tears that haven't ever quite gone away.
"Fenedhis," I whimper, set down my drink on the side table and hide my face behind my hands.
Dorian, I can't do this.
Choking sobs shake me, but what undoes me completely is Cullen, who closes the distance between us and pulls me into his arms so that I can cry myself out. He makes soothing noises, like I've heard him make to quieten frightened harts. His hand, smoothing my still-damp hair is steady, promising protection. The heat from his body warms me in a way Solas's never did.
"I'm going to ri-rip your heart out, Cullen," I wail. "I'm bad for you."
"Don't say that. Hush now," he soothes. "I won't leave you."