Lavellan
The Lighthouse had changed a bit, she realized.
She looked around, curious. She approached the center of the outer plaza, where there was a wolf statue staring into nothingness.
She rested her hand on the statue while analyzing her surroundings. There were fewer dead plants, and the sky seemed brighter, even...
Did it look like it was sunset?
Lavellan blinked, confused.
It was true that the light was strange before, but now it really looked like a real sunset.
One full of oranges, pinks, and precious yellows.
Was that possible in The Fade?
And that wasn't the only strange and new thing. Another floating island had appeared, one that connected with some stairs. She headed towards them, curious, and climbed them slowly.
A dark wooden door, carved with intricate patterns almost like intertwined branches, greeted Lavellan, who blinked curiously. The door was ajar, as if the Lighthouse itself knew of her curiosity and wanted to invite her in, demonstrating that there was no problem in doing so. She crossed the threshold with some caution, not knowing what she was going to find, but upon taking the first step inside, she couldn't help but gasp, surprised by what she found.
The bathroom was immense, much larger than she would have imagined upon seeing the exterior. Lavellan spun around, trying to capture every detail while her expression of astonishment remained intact, with excitement bubbling inside her. The walls were lined with bright, bluish tiles with pearly white details, almost like a luxury bathroom of the high spheres of Minrathous. The tiles reflected the dim light from several enchanted lamps that floated in the air, similar to those that floated throughout the Lighthouse, illuminating every room. These lights emitted a soft warmth that made the entire space feel cozy despite its large size.
Everything seemed magical, strange, she told herself, as she advanced to the center of the room, amidst the steam in the atmosphere. She noticed what she found right in the center, with even more curiosity.
The bathroom was divided into two sections, separated by a low wall of polished stone, black in color and decorated with undulating motifs that imitated the flow of water, accompanying the room's ambiance. On one side of the wall, a pond, almost the size of a swimming pool, emitted steam that rose lazily towards the vaulted ceiling, filling the air with a pleasant humidity and a slight herbal aroma. As she approached, Lavellan noticed that the water was warm, almost as if inviting her to submerge herself in a comforting embrace, to relieve her muscles after an exhausting day.
On the other section, the contrast was palpable, sudden. There was another pond, the same size, but the water was crystal clear and cold to the touch, so cold that it sent a shiver down her spine when she brushed it with her fingers, which made her pull them away abruptly. It seemed designed to refresh those who needed it, perhaps for hot days, although Lavellan didn't remember ever feeling a variation in the temperature of The Fade in the little time she had spent in the Lighthouse.
In the end, the Lighthouse seemed stuck in time, somewhere between the present, past, and future.
Even so, Lavellan thought, the division between heat and cold was perfect, as if someone had foreseen every possible need, both for those who wanted cold, heat, or the mixture of the two.
Like a spa, she thought, amused, as she looked at the nearby shelves, which contained towels, gels, and everything else needed for a good bath.
She observed the fountains from which the water flowed beyond, an infinite flow that cascaded silently from nozzles carved in the forms of mythical creatures: dragons, halla, and wolves, which seemed to come to life under the glow of the lamps. The water fell in a constant flow, but never overflowed the ponds, as if a hidden magic controlled the perfect balance, preventing the overflow.
On one of the main walls, large arched windows opened to the outside. Through the glass, one could see the floating ruins of The Fade, colossal structures that defied gravity and rotated slowly in a timeless sky. Fragments of towers, arches, and walls seemed suspended in an eternal sway, enveloped in a faint light that belonged neither to day nor to night, in that kind of endless sunset. It was a hypnotic view, almost as if the ruins themselves were observing those who ventured to contemplate them.
And the island where the bathroom was located was high enough so that no one could see who was bathing, contemplating the views, while relaxing in the cold or heat of the magical waters.
Lavellan noticed that the light entering through the windows mixed with the glow of the lamps, creating dancing patterns on the surfaces of the water and the walls, mesmerizing along with the herbal scent of the atmosphere. For a moment, she thought she could hear a faint whisper coming from the ruins, when she fixed her sight on the outside, as if they held secrets they wished to share, but she felt, for a moment, as if she was at the bottom of a forest, bathing, fearing perhaps to be discovered by some curious god, tempted to commit some sin with her, upon discovering her naked body.
Perhaps a god who was a wolf, but who wore elf skins, with eyes of a deep violet, captivating when he looked at her and lowered his hands over her body, making her...
Lavellan blushed deeply, cutting off that thought abruptly, with a small tremor in her being, while a warmth swirled inside her.
She wasn't going to imagine Solas touching anything of her. She couldn't. She already had enough when she imagined him at night, between her sheets, with his own fingers running over her body as if they were his.
She shook her head to clear it, and continued to look at the room around her. At the end of the room, the Inquisitor distinguished another ajar door. As she approached, she found a small room, with several toilets, sinks, and different oval mirrors, framed in a mahogany bronze, that seemed newly polished. It was a simple, but functional space, enough to cover the daily needs of each one. The mirror reflected her face with a strange clarity, almost as if it never fogged up, and the water, which dripped slightly from the faucet, emitted a soft whisper, as if the Lighthouse was alive, speaking to her in a language that she still didn't understand, but that she would undoubtedly want to understand someday, to thank it for everything it was doing for them.
Everything in the bathroom gave the feeling that the Lighthouse was happy to have visitors again, as if it wanted to please them with everything it could offer. It was more than a place to plan and discuss; it was a refuge, a reminder that even in the unknown, comfort and care still existed, which they needed to care for both their body and soul.
That only made her agree with why Solas had decided to choose the Lighthouse as his personal refuge.
Lavellan crossed the room again and left the bathroom, closing the door behind her, somewhat enchanted by this new room that had appeared out of nowhere. Finally, they could wash themselves properly, without having to go to Vi'Revas until another city, losing valuable time along the way.
Without warning, a wind from nowhere stirred her dress and brought her some words, a whisper that it had picked up along the way.
"Isatunoll..."
Lavellan went down the stairs, searching for the sound of that familiar voice. She stopped upon reaching the plaza, looking around, until she located it. Inside one of the buildings, she could hear Harding murmuring fervently, as if she were studying profusely.
Thanks to Mythal, her hearing was quite good from here to a few years ago. Something good that came from all the bad, she told herself, grimly. She headed towards her and knocked on the door, curious. She could still hear the dwarf murmuring, but she didn't open the door, as if she hadn't heard the Inquisitor's call. Lavellan opened the door, slowly, not wanting to interrupt anything private.
"Harding?" she asked, somewhat timidly.
The dwarf jumped, and looked at her, turning around. She was leaning against a book written in common tongue, but with some texts in dwarven, which she was slightly covering with her hand.
Her sight had also improved, Lavellan told herself, being able to distinguish the letter from so far away.
"Inquisitor!" Harding exclaimed, surprised.
"Lavellan" she quickly corrected, with a quick smile. She would always find it somewhat funny that Harding addressed her so formally, as if many of the missions hadn't been victorious thanks to the dwarf.
Harding gave a nervous giggle, rubbing her neck.
"Sorry, old habit," she apologized, in a low voice.
"It's okay," Lavellan told her, shaking her head, making her hair move from side to side, shining under the light. She approached where the dwarf was, and lowered her gaze to the book, observing the writings.
"Toldar Isatunoll vedun gar valos atredum" she read, mixing her elven accent with the dwarven writing. Harding shook her head.
"But Isatunoll has nothing to do with valos atredum."
Lavellan observed her, curious.
"Isatunoll... That's what you said when you touched the dagger and that happened," she insinuated, without saying anything more. Harding nodded, frowning, while reviewing the same phrase.
"Isatunoll is an affirmation. A confirmation of being" she explained, gesturing with her hand. Lavellan moved away from the table, thoughtful, while she observed through her window, quite large since the room seemed to be a kind of greenhouse.
"But it's not an "I". Nor an "us". It's more complex than that" she murmured, holding her chin. Harding nodded, enthusiastically, placing herself next to her, while slightly opening her hands with excitement.
"You also know dwarven, Inquisitor! What a surprise!" she exclaimed, delighted. "I would never have said it, since during the Inquisition you didn't say anything."
Lavellan looked away from her and touched her prosthesis, exhausted. If the dwarf knew... Lavellan was starting to feel, in the little time she had been here, like an actor in an endless play, always fearing that someone would discover her mask.
A mask that she couldn't take off, for the moment.
"I've had a little time to study. The Inquisition doesn't occupy so much...work for me anymore," she said, veiling the truth a little and intermingling the lie.
Harding nodded, sad, believing her friend wholeheartedly. She looked at the book again, with some sorrow this time.
"I only have the certainty that if we, the dwarves, have forgotten something so important, what else have we forgotten" she asked with regret, a little in the air, as if she expected an answer from the wind.
Lavellan frowned, biting her lower lip a little.
She could really offer her a clue, something that would lead her on the easiest path. She only had to break a promise.
But was it more valuable to break a promise made to someone who protected a treasure, or to reveal the truth to a close friend, who seemed lost, when she looked at her with those huge brown eyes?
"I..." Lavellan started to say, without knowing exactly what.
"No, Inquisitor" Harding interrupted her, with a half smile. "I know you can't say anything. I'll settle for the papers you promised to bring me."
Lavellan looked at her with a similar apology, feeling somewhat guilty. Moving a little, she settled on the floor and fixed her gaze on a plant that Harding had placed in a pot with great care. She wrapped her legs with her arms, and rested her head, letting her hair fall like a curtain.
"How have you been these years, old friend?" she asked, wanting to know more about the dwarf, whom she hadn't seen in all these years, knowing about her only through the letters they wrote each other, with reports of the missions.
Harding sat down next to her, crossing her feet. She began to play with a branch on the floor, writing something that Lavellan couldn't read.
"Well" she frowned. "Well, not as well as it should, with this search, but..."
She shrugged, as if the elf knew what she wanted to say. Lavellan sighed, with guilt rising again, unable to avoid it.
"I shouldn't have made you search for Fen'Harel alone" she whispered, avoiding her gaze.
If she had been more courageous... If Lavellan hadn't locked herself up as she did, she could have helped Harding and Varric much more. And nothing would have happened to the dwarf, she thought, grimly, remembering the ritual.
Remembering the dagger in her chest.
"Don't even mention it!" exclaimed Harding, pointing at her with the branch and taking her out of her thoughts. "We were delighted to help you search for him. Solas deserves a good scolding, elven god or not. And we were perfectly capable of that and more."
The Inquisitor couldn't help but think of this small dwarf, in front of the elven god kneeling, enduring his scolding. She knew that the Dread Wolf would let it happen, out of respect for her friend, slightly lowering his head, while averting his gaze towards Lavellan, with a half smile, which she would return, without hesitation.
Lavellan laughed quietly, at that thought, to which Harding smiled in turn, with some more sweetness, but with a sadness in her gaze.
"You don't laugh much now, Lavellan" Harding approached her, worried. "The rumors said that you spent these 8 years locked up in Skyhold, even when there were fewer and fewer people, until it emptied, with you alone inside. They barely saw you leave there" she approached her a little more. "And you haven't grown at all, Lavellan. You're still just as young."
Lavellan pressed her lips together, not wanting to speak. Harding placed a hand on hers, squeezing them together.
"What happened, Lavellan, my friend? What secret are you hiding, that made you hide these years?" she whispered, wanting to understand her.
But Harding couldn't know anything. No, Lavellan told herself, it's not that she couldn't know it.
It's that she didn't want to tell her, for fear of her rejection.
She took a slow breath, preparing another lie, another half-truth between her lips.
"There were...many things. I..."
A knock on the door interrupted them, cutting Lavellan's words short. Rook peeked through the door, greeting with one of her hands.
"Hey, girls. I'm looking for the boss" she greeted sarcastically. Lavellan looked at her with a raised eyebrow, knowing that she was looking for her, but wanting to make fun of the elf a little first.
"Looking for yourself is kind of weird, isn't it?" she asked, innocently, while blinking in her direction, as if she didn't know who she was talking about.
"Ha, ha" Rook rolled her eyes at her joke, placing a hand on her hip.
Lavellan, curiously, that gesture reminded her of Morrigan, causing a smile to come to her face without being able to avoid it.
She wished Rook could become as much a friend of hers as Morrigan was, she wished in her interior.
There was something about that elf, perhaps her optimism, her way of leading, or her way of facing things, that something inside her wanted to approach her, inevitably, even if they had their squabbles.
Besides, she was the only ally she had right now in those dreams they had of Solas
She got up and said goodbye with a gesture to Harding, who returned it, although her smile was still somewhat saddened to see her. They left the greenhouse, one next to the other. Rook gestured for her to follow her, taking her somewhere she hadn't informed her yet.
"Well, Inquisitor" she began to tell her, turning her head slightly towards her. "I guess you don't have a place to sleep, do you?"
Lavellan tilted her head, curious about this unusual topic of conversation.
"No, I don't, to be honest" she replied, raising an eyebrow.
Rook nodded, as if the answer had satisfied her.
"Perfect. I'm going to show you your room then."
She followed her to the central table, entering the main building. Rook headed towards one of the walls, which seemed to have a circular groove. She rested her hand on the groove, making it light up, slightly. The wall rolled to one side, leaving enough space to pass through.
"Here. Follow me" she said, pointing inside.
Lavellan hesitated a little, but trusted Rook, knowing that the elf wasn't going to hurt her. She entered a corridor lit by small lights, which contained small volutes inside. In front of them there was a wooden door, simple. Rook rested her hand on the doorknob of it, but stopped just short of touching it, as if she doubted a little. She turned towards her, with her head tilted to one side.
"I haven't gone in to see what it's like, but I have the feeling that you're going to like it" she murmured, with a small smile, as if she knew a secret that she didn't.
Then, she opened the door. A light blinded Lavellan for a moment. She closed her eyes abruptly, preventing the light from hurting her, but Rook's hand took her left hand, and guided her, enthusiastically, towards the room. Lavellan opened her eyes after a few moments, when she felt that Rook released her.
And upon seeing what surrounded her, the world came crashing down on her, leaving her breathless.
It was a beautiful room, with a beautiful glass window on one of the walls, letting her see the outside, which was where the light filtered through. A piano was in the center, and a small bed was on one side, next to a small closet.
But that wasn't what had made her freeze.
The whole room was full of objects, but they were objects that she knew. She began to move around the room, slowly, as if she were in a feverish dream. On one side, there was a small representation of Skyhold, made with something that looked like wood and, next to it, there were delicate colored wooden figures. As she approached them, her breath left her suddenly, abandoning her like the treacherous thing it was.
There were Sera, Blackwall, Cole, Cassandra, Cullen, Dorian... Each and every one of her Inquisition companions, transformed into small figures, each with their personality well imprinted, while they were sitting among them, in an endless chat.
Hers seemed carved with more delicacy, and her gaze was directed towards that of Solas, who had his eyes closed, as if he were enjoying the diatribe of his companions.
Lavellan looked away, unable to look at that scene any longer, the pain surging in her chest at an accelerating pace.
On another side there was a small relic of the temple of Mythal that they had visited, a wolf that had some missing parts, next to the stone figure of the goddess herself. Next to them, on a small table, were some notes that she had browsed through so much in Haven, before everything happened, where she had noted the needs of everyone, meticulously. Her handwriting at that time had been firm, willing to do whatever it took for those people.
How had Solas gotten that? Had he returned to the rubble of Haven, perhaps, in search of something else, but had decided to take that instead?
She supposed she would never know.
She approached a corner of the room, trying to regain her breath, trying to make the world stop staggering, but she found something that only worsened her emotional state, as she approached, with a snort, almost a groan of pain.
There, was Solas' old clothes, those clothes so characteristic of him, that apostate tunic of green, like the forests, placed on a mannequin, as if he had wanted to keep it but had not dared to wear it again. And, next to it, was his always reliable staff, the one that had seen him wear in battle many times. She caressed it, slowly, as if she didn't believe it was there.
There were all the memories of Solas, all that he had kept from his time in the Inquisition, as if he really cared. As if he really came to that room, to remember them, to remember the good times they all spent together, and not only with Lavellan, but with the entire inner circle of the Inquisition.
It was impossible. Fen'Harel only cared about one thing, and that was his damn ritual, his damn impossible plans.
Or maybe you're wrong, a voice whispered in her mind, the voice of her hopeful heart. Maybe he wants to go back to that time. Maybe he wants you to stop him but he doesn't know how to tell you. Or he can't, because of his pride. Of his solas.
Lavellan swallowed. Could that be true? Could it be that the proud one was her, who didn't want to realize that Solas regretted it, deeply, and wanted her to stop him? That he needed a hand extended to him, a hand he could trust?
A hand that could be hers.
Something out of the corner of her eye shone, catching her attention. Lavellan went to a small table where there was a scorched orb, split in two, almost as if it were garbage.
But it wasn't. Not for her.
The orb of Corypheus, she thought, running out of air again. She raised a trembling hand, caressing the orb. The last time she had seen it had been ten long years ago. That orb, which didn't really belong to the corrupt master, no.
It had been the orb of the Dread Wolf, who had sought an extreme and wrong solution to regain his powers, after having been submerged for a thousand years in the dream called Uthenera, an ancient practice that Solas had to perform, having no other choice.
And next to the orb, there was a tree branch, without leaves. Just the branch, perhaps any branch, that the Inquisitor didn't recognize. Lavellan picked it up, not understanding why the elf would keep something like that, but knowing that everything in this room had its meaning.
Even if she didn't know what.
"Lavellan."
Rook's voice, said in a soft whisper, reached her, breaking her thoughts. Leaving the branch in its place, she turned towards her, who was pointing at the walls, stupefied.
"Look at that."
Lavellan directed her gaze towards the walls, which she hadn't noticed before. The world seemed to stop while pain filtered through every corner of her being, looking at them, while she staggered, approaching.
By Mythal. They were hand-painted murals, with different scenes, some murals that looked like the ones she had made on the walls of Skyhold, but with different representations.
Lavellan would always recognize her way of painting, because it was perfect, but mysterious, strange.
Like Solas.
She analyzed them, as if her life depended on them, wanting to feel close to him again. In all of them, there was always a wolf sitting, observing from afar. And all of them were scenes that had happened ten or eight years ago, at most. Lavellan walked, observing them one by one, placing a hand on them, lightly.
The first breach she closed, with Solas' hand holding hers, and his gaze when he saw her, for the first time. Lavellan remembered how strange the violet eyes of that elf had seemed to her, and his touch, one of the few that had been somewhat kind, of the few that she had received in her entire life, until she arrived at the Inquisition. She remembered the cold, the distrustful looks of Cassandra, the false smiles of Varric, who also distrusted her, the suspicious looks of Leliana, who didn't know who she was, knowing only that she had appeared out of nowhere, in the middle of the failed conclave.
But above all, she remembered Solas' hand, surrounding hers, quickly to close the breach, but without hurting her. She had touched it afterwards, timidly, when he released her.
And then he had smiled at her, making her world turn, for the first time. Because Solas would never know that it had been the first kind smile she had received in her life, without any double intention behind it.
She continued observing, ignoring the sensation that that distant, but as present as the first day in her heart, memory awakened in her.
The collapse of Haven, when she had to act desperately against an army alone, without seeing another way out, her face immortalized in determination, while she looked at her companions, with a hand resting on the door, willing to go out to face the corrupt master.
When Cullen and the others found her in the middle of the snow, some time later. And she noticed the expression of the elf, who was next to her, picking her up in his arms. Solas' entire face seemed paralyzed in the painting, but she could see the frowned brow and the pressed lips, showing a struggle to contain a torrent of emotions upon seeing her, perhaps without expecting her alive.
But she could see the relief on his face, the pain, the hope.
And the sweetness when looking at her, as if he had recovered a piece of his world.
Lavellan trembled a little, running a finger over his face. No one had ever told her who had found her in the snow and now she realized why perhaps.
Because Solas hadn't wanted her to know that she was starting to matter to him to that point.
Next to this mural, there were several smaller representations. The arrival at Skyhold, with Solas behind her. His face showed a slight smile as he watched her observe the castle, his features sweetening slightly, while she smiled at him, widely.
And, below, them embraced in the middle of a dream, induced by Solas. Their faces touched, giving each other the first kiss, in which she had taken the initiative. What Solas never knew either on this occasion is that it was really her first kiss in her entire life. And that she had decided to give it to him, even without knowing how important it was going to be for her.
Her first touches, her first smiles, her first kisses. All belonged to that stubborn elf, without him knowing it. In the end, she also knew how to hide secrets.
On another of the walls, the dance in the Winter Palace, where there were the two of them alone in one of the balconies, smiling, while they danced together. Solas had perfectly captured the love between the two of them, that love that seemed like a bonfire, that could defy all those arrogant nobles. She hadn't cared about anything else, except that elf who held her in his arms, at that moment, wishing that the dance would last forever, wishing to show all those people who had captivated her heart, to show them that the elf in her arms was much more than all of them together.
Lavellan began to frown, realizing something. Little by little, she was finding each of the scenes that they had starred in together, but one of the most important was missing: their breakup in Crestwood.
Had Solas not wanted to represent it, perhaps because of the pain that that particular scene could give her?
Strange, she thought, while she passed her sight towards another painting. It was strange, because each scene that she was finding gave her almost the same pain equally, an infinite one that she couldn't remedy.
She continued to run her gaze along the wall. Below the previous scene, there was a sadder one, something that had defied the belief that their love could overcome everything, because he could never have foreseen the Dread Wolf.
Solas appeared crouching next to her, taking the anchor from her hand, immortalized in that kiss, which had been full of pain, while saving her life from being consumed by magic. On Solas' face, he himself had drawn the tension of his jaw, but the sweetness of his lips, which seemed not to want to separate from hers. And, on her face, a trace of tears that had never been there.
Perhaps because Solas had resisted them, in order not to show her what he really felt for this separation, this betrayal to her, to her heart.
Then, she froze upon reaching the last wall, the clearest of all. Her mouth opened slightly in a choked gasp, as if she was suddenly short of air. Her heart skipped a beat, as if it had forgotten how to beat for an instant because she knew that what she was seeing was Solas' deepest feelings. Inside her, there was if a part of her that knew that this would change everything, and the pain of accepting it was unbearable.
But she couldn't take her eyes off that painting, carefully done, as if each brushstroke had been given with great care.
Rook approached her, in small steps, her face also full of disbelief for everything she saw. But she was left breathless when she saw what Lavellan was looking at, covering her mouth in an impulse of surprise.
"It's...You," she murmured, unable to avoid it.
Lavellan blinked quickly trying to prevent the tears that were beginning to accumulate in her eyes from falling.
The mural was a faithful representation of her, in all her splendor, with brilliant, perfect colors. She seemed almost a spirit, a goddess in the eyes of whoever had painted it. In her hands she held a small light that was divided into small lines, with small orbs at some of the ends, almost as if they were eyes.
She couldn't know what kind of creature it was, but Lavellan found it beautiful, pure. And she didn't know why, but it seemed ancient, powerful. She had never seen anything like it, but she already wanted to know what it was, her curiosity accompanying the other emotions that overwhelmed her.
She then fixed on her own figure, passing her fingers over each line. She could see the strokes of her hair, her eyes, her white eyelashes, as if the painter had fixed on every tiny thing. Even on one part of her face was the small scar, almost invisible, that she had on one of her cheeks. Her eyes were half open, looking at the creature in her hand. The pink and blue were perfectly combined, with colors that seemed almost impossible to achieve, but Solas had done it, demonstrating his ability to paint. A white tunic covered the essential parts of her body, but it was really well done, with perfect curves, as if he wanted the viewer to keep looking at her, but without really revealing anything, demonstrating that only the painter would know what her body was like, under those clothes.
And yet, although at first glance it seemed simply a perfect painting, the emotions were impregnated in that Lavellan of the mural. Her smile, with black lips, curved slightly downward, with tears on her face, tilted slightly towards the spirit, as if she wanted to kiss it, but couldn't do it. And, for once, the wolf that was always in the paintings was not just a wolf; it was Solas, who watched her from afar, with a sad and repentant expression, with his head down and covering part of his face, while he held his chest, as if his heart hurt, stretching his shirt, torn in part by the force with which he held it. Tears of blood ran down Solas' face, while his violet eyes looked at the elf, with longing, as if he really needed her.
As if he wanted to be near her, but couldn't.
A sob escaped from her lips, and she covered her mouth with one hand, trying to contain the emotions that threatened to consume her. But it was useless. The tears fell freely now, tracing winding paths through her face. Each painting was a mute confession, a fragment of Solas' soul that he had left behind for her, like an echo of everything he didn't transmit, like an eternal regret, that he could only remember every day, when looking at these paintings, while the Dread Wolf planned to destroy her world.
Why did you do this to me, Solas?, she thought through tears while another sob escaped from her lips. Why did you love me so much, only to leave?
She let herself fall to her knees, hugging herself while the weight of her love and loss crushed her. But even in her pain, a part of her couldn't help but feel a pang of solace. In each brushstroke, in each shadow and each stroke, he was still there. Although he was now far away, imprisoned, although their paths had diverged, this room was a sanctuary of what they had shared together, of him and her, of all their friends, that he had left behind, in pursuit of a mission that was practically a suicide, thinking that, perhaps, they could never forgive him again.
Lavellan closed her eyes, allowing herself for a moment to imagine that he was there, that those hands that had created this art would also take her into their arms, consoling her, caressing her hair, humming that song that only he knew the lyrics, while he curled her up in his arms.
"My feelings for you will never change" he whispered to her, like that time, while he nailed his violet eyes on her, with that longing that she had believed false.
But this only showed that Solas was right again, once again.
"Solas" she murmured, digging her nails into her face, into her chest, wanting to take out all that pain, that longing that consumed her, while blood flowed from the wounds.
Rook approached her, alarmed to see the blood, but Lavellan denied, without looking at her.
"Rook, please... Leave me alone" she begged him, with a broken voice, letting them see her vulnerable for once, tired.
How much more pain should she endure? Why didn't Solas fight for her, to be together, but left these dedications, mortal to her heart?
Because he never thought you'd see them, answered the small voice of her soul, of her heart.
Rook squatted slightly next to her, but Lavellan looked at her, with her eyes shining from the tears shed, which ran freely down her cheek.
"Go away" she begged her, once again, but this time with a firmer, more authoritative voice.
Rook moved back, taking a step back, with a pained expression.
Whether it was because of the Inquisitor herself or because of her words, she would never know. With clenched fists, she left the room, closing the door behind her, with a small slam. Lavellan sobbed in silence and her chest filled with a searing heat, a mixture of sadness and rage that she couldn't contain. Her hand trembled as she got up, staggering, and a cry of frustration sprang from her lips, as she remembered all the moments she lived with Solas.
"I will always be there to help you!, I will never leave you alone! Liar! Fucking liar! I want you! Only you! Not empty words!" she shouted, hugging herself, while raising her face, dislocated, towards the painting "Where are you, Solas? Where were you when I needed you the most?!"
Her voice resonated in the room, but the only response was the empty, faint echo. Lavellan's eyes burned with the tears shed while her fists closed, tightly.
Suddenly, all her pain and fury erupted like a storm. She hit the wall with both hands, screaming from the depths of her being. The paintings remained intact, as if the power of her fickle emotions could not harm them. But she didn't stop. She hit, scratched, pushed, unloading her frustration against those images that seemed to mock her loneliness, that didn't seem to spoil, perhaps magically protected, to prevent their deterioration. She tried to damage each one, without success.
"You're a coward, Fen'Harel!" she shouted, her voice torn" You left me with this! With these damn paintings, with these memories, with all this shit, as if that were enough" she held her chest again, while her left hand burned, burning her "It's not! It never will be!"
Her breathing was erratic, and her strength began to fail her, again, exhausted by this emotional outburst. She let herself fall to her knees, and between new sobs, she rested her forehead against one of the paintings, the one that showed them together, in the eternal dance. Her skin brushed against the warm brushstrokes, and for a moment, it was as if she could feel him there, as if his love was trying to calm her.
"Why did you do this to me?" she repeated, seeking the answer she had not achieved before, her voice barely a whisper, without reaching a response" How do you expect me to move forward with this weight?" she asked, releasing the same words that she had repeated every night these last eight years.
Silence was her only answer, but the paintings remained unwavering, as a testimony of all that he had felt, of all that he had left behind for her. Lavellan closed her eyes, her fingers still brushing against the walls.
"Always the same. I always have to find your secrets, Solas. You never told me the truth. You never trusted me" her voice trembled with the latter. "What did I do wrong, vhenan?"
The whisper was lost in the air, again. She got up, trembling. She let herself fall on the bed, looking towards the ceiling, which was also decorated with representations of the night sky, full of stars and moons. She covered her face with one arm, the tears flowing less and less, as if she no longer had more to shed.
"I hate you. I hate you. I hate you..." she murmured, exhausted, as her eyes closed from the exhaustion, knowing that, here, the only liar was herself. Inside, she promised that one day she would confront the elf she had loved with all her being. But not today. Today, there was only fury, loss, and love immortalized in those strokes, which she engraved in her memory while sleep was the only one who welcomed her into his arms, comforting her in his immortal embrace.