Chapter Text
Elora knew deep down that she had not seen the last of Solas on the day they defeated Corypheus. Everything in his eyes had silently implored her to see that he left her most unwillingly and with a heart every bit as broken as her own. She knew to the depths of her soul that Solas loved her as she loved him and that he had left only because he truly believed he had no other choice. He spoke of her duty as the reason for their parting but deep down, she understood he alluded to some perilous duty of his own that he could not share. He had been as grieved to speak the words that severed him from her as she had been to hear them. That Solas felt so alone he couldn’t share his burden with her saddened her even more than her own pain from losing him.
She had not seen his beloved face for nearly a year now, but the mark on her hand always ached slightly when her thoughts turned to him. He had said that what they had was real, but made a point of speaking in the past tense, as if he had no hope at all of bridging whatever kept them apart. Even with no reason to hope that she would ever see Solas again, what she felt for him was too real to let go. They were not finished. She refused to accept it.
Taking a lover, even after a year without a single word from Solas, was unthinkable to Elora. Her heart was so completely his, no other man had a prayer of even capturing her notice, let alone her hand, although many had tried. Poor Josephine spent an increasing portion of her time sifting through offers ranging from courtly requests to woo Elora to blunt political marriage proposals from nobles and influential tradesmen alike seeking to leverage the Inquisition’s wealth and power for their own benefit.
They sent insipid, horridly written poems, shockingly expensive and impractical finery, and it all made her sick inside. She hated sitting on her throne day after day, forced to smile politely and convey thanks for these insincere and obscenely wasteful offerings. As time wore on, Elora’s patience for any responsibilities not directly related to improving the lives of her people grew exceedingly thin. What were these idiots thinking, sending her solid gold serving spoons - when what she really needed was to adequately feed, clothe and educate the people under her protection?! Just once, she thought, why can’t the chest being presented to me contain something truly useful, like some books or heirloom fruit and vegetable seeds?
Elora took her duty seriously, but became more dissatisfied by the day with her leadership role. Creating alliances and consolidating power strengthened the Inquisition, but the larger the organization grew, the farther removed she felt from the people she wanted to help. She didn’t want the Inquisition’s focus to be on perpetuating itself instead of serving the people. Solas had helped her to understand that most organizations, despite the best intentions, eventually succumbed to this. She did not want the Inquisition to abandon its original purpose.
As if that were not enough to worry about, after defeating Corypheus, an even greater number of Thedosians now insisted on viewing her as practically a living deity. The legends about the Herald of Andraste had grown so ridiculous, after only a year, that hardly anyone outside of her close circle of friends at Skyhold even treated her like a real person anymore. Everything felt too big and wrong and she detested the sensation of losing her identity.
That night, she lay awake in an increasingly agitated state. She attempted to console herself as she always did by recalling her time with Solas. She treasured not just the romantic memories of his worshipful kisses and glances, but the illuminating substance of their talks and the sheer thrill of simply basking in his intellect.
She recalled her talk with Solas after they had returned from the Temple of Mythal. She had chosen not to drink from the well after seeing how adamantly he rejected it. When Solas asked her how she would use the well’s power, she had told him that she would make the future better. Solas had next asked her what if everything turned out worse instead of better, and she had answered: “I’ll take a deep breath, figure out where I went wrong and try again.” At the time he had scoffed, “Just like that?”
She had spent many nights thinking about this particular conversation since Solas had left and still bristled slightly that he had thought her optimism foolishly naïve. She still felt as strongly as ever that Solas was wrong about this. Exasperated, she angrily flung off the coverlet and leapt from the bed, yelling to the empty room, “Yes, damn it, Solas – just like THAT! What’s more, I’ll do it by applying the principles YOU taught me.” And in that instant, her mind was made up.
She quickly threw on some clothes and hurried down the stairs, shoving the door open so suddenly it accidentally knocked the poor guard off balance and sent him stumbling into the nearby wall. The clanking of his armor echoed loudly into the main hall and Elora winced, sending him an apologetic look. To his credit, the guard simply stood taller, pretending nothing at all had happened and deadpanned, “Everything alright, Inquisitor?”
Elora laughed and good naturedly squeezed his shoulder. “Yes, Jerod, I believe it finally is. Now, please go wake up my council and tell them to get their asses over to the war room - PRONTO.”
“Yes, ma’am!”
“And Jerod –“
“Ma’am?”
“Roust Varric, Cassandra, Dorian, Iron Bull, Blackwall, Sera & Cole, too. This is going to be an ‘all hands on deck’ meeting.”
Jerod nodded enthusiastically and rushed off to do her bidding, and before he got out of earshot, she yelled, “Also food – and lots of coffee!” He chuckled, raised his hand in acknowledgement and kept going.
Elora grinned, thinking to herself as she made her way to the War Room, “Now we’re getting somewhere!”