Chapter 6
The courtyard buzzed with anticipation as an announcement spread like wildfire: the Inquisitor and her party had returned. A congregation of curious minds and helpful hands gathered to greet them. Amidst the cheers and inquiries, all Ih'tal could think about was her soft feathered bed, longing for the peace and quiet it offered.
Being the Inquisitor had its perks, but it had also made her a connoisseur of comfort. She yearned for her chamber in the tower, the expansive windows, the solitude amidst the bustling castle. A hard-earned luxury that kept her grounded.
Smiling, greeting, answering questions, she inched her way toward her corridor, each step a tiny triumph over the sea of well-wishers. Dorian, ever perceptive, intercepted her escape attempt with a knowing wink, diverting the attention of her companions just long enough for her to make a daring getaway.
Finally ensconced in the tower, she succumbed to the allure of her bed without even bothering to shed her clothes. She crashed into it, allowing the embrace of slumber to pull her under and into the Fade's realm.
Her mother's soothing voice wove a tale of ancient harmony. Ih'tal lay with her head resting on her mother's lap, caught in a memory of a time when the Evanuris hadn't yet enslaved their own, before the vallaslin had marred their skin. Beside her sat a young Mythal, enraptured by the melody.
Nostalgia tugged at her heart. She missed the days of a loving family, of a sister who stood by her side so she'd never be alone. The warmth of belonging and the comfort of home, a feeling she treasured even as she walked her own path, distinct from Mythal's. Their differences never sparked envy or animosity; they respected each other's choices, even if it meant parting ways.
Mythal's choices had changed, and Ih'tal had been heartbroken to witness her sister's transformation into someone who turned a blind eye to their people's suffering. Despite the divergence, there was never hatred—only sorrow for the sister she'd lost.
Sensing a presence, a faint disturbance in the Fade, Ih'tal knew she was being watched within her own private haven. But she was unwilling to let go of this fleeting moment of solace, even if just for a little longer.
Reality's intrusion came in the form of a platter of food placed on her desk. While the maids moved like whispers, Ih'tal's instincts were sharp, roused by the slightest sound. A skill born from the field, where it often meant life or death, but occasionally became a burden in a bustling castle.
Rested and revitalized, she dressed for the day ahead. The aroma of her meal was inviting, a reminder that her companions—while valiant in battle—couldn't cook to save their lives. She savored every bite, acknowledging the simple joys life offered.
After her meal, dressed for courtly interactions, she ascended the stairs. Josephine awaited with updates: nobles' arrivals and departures, new missions on the war table. Ih'tal issued instructions to gather Cullen and Leliana for a meeting later. But first, she needed to confer with Dorian.
Navigating the corridors, she debated the best route. To Solas' open room was the quickest path. It was time to confront the inevitable, and so, she chose the direct approach.
As she neared, she found Solas deep in contemplation. Ignoring her, he continued with his thoughts. She moved past him, almost reaching the stairs leading to the library, when his voice, steady and determined, halted her in her tracks.
"Inquisitor," he spoke, his gaze finally on her. "There is much that remains unsaid between us. I would prefer a private setting for our conversation. Would you grant me the honor of joining you in your quarters after the evening meal?"
Her heart raced, torn between apprehension and resolution. Their unspoken past loomed, and his desire for a private conversation didn't bode well for her hidden secrets. But facing the inevitable was a choice she'd already made.
"I would be glad to, Solas," she answered, her voice firm, eyes meeting his in silent acknowledgment.
And so, the shadows of their pasts converged, inching ever closer to a revelation that would alter their present and future.