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She was no longer the Inquisitor. She left Val Royeaux with a shattered heart, a severed arm and no home to return to. All she had left now was the smallest circle of trustworthy friends and a faintly flickering faith that she could turn Solas’ heart. She gratefully took Varric up on his offer to live in Kirkwall, and settled into a modest and practical single floor flat near Merrill. Varric had objected mightily to her declining the Hightown mansion formerly occupied by Fenris, but she had firmly insisted that she was just a private citizen now and wanted to live like one.
The adjustment to life with one arm, and her non-dominant one at that, proved a greater physical and mental challenge than any she had ever faced before. She did not miss the mark or its power, but in private moments, she grieved the loss of her hand. In the darkest of those moments, she mourned that her left hand would never bear a wedding ring.
Her heart ached at the thought of having to rely on anyone to take care of her, so she tackled an agenda of self reliance, learning to do basic things she had always taken for granted all over again. She admonished herself for secretly weeping the day she had her long hair shorn off for practicality, but soon learned to appreciate the lightness and freedom it gave her. She gradually learned to rely on the “rare and marvelous spirit” that Solas had so admired in her to get her through the difficult transition.
Eventually, her tears dried, her heart strengthened and she began to adjust to her physical changes. Varric and her other newfound friends, as well as her ongoing mission, drove away the loneliness she felt and gave her purpose.
Every day, she practiced writing with her right hand by penning a brief letter to Solas. At first, her awkward script was childlike and indecipherable, and she could only write a few words. I love you. Please listen to your heart. Each letter she sealed and addressed simply, Vhenan. Over time, her hand became steadier, the script more legible, and her letters grew longer. She filled them with stories of Kirkwall life, relating everyday observances of people, much like the fade memories he had shared with her.
I saw small elven children sitting near the vhenadahl tree to listen to an elder telling stories. Her tales described with pride adventures of the Inquisition and how an elf had dared to change the future.
Each week, she’d attach a small bundle of letters to one of Leliana’s ravens and send it to Skyhold. She didn’t know where else to send them, so she had them dropped on Solas’ desk in the rotunda. Someday he would return there, she reasoned, even if she couldn’t. She would do all she could to reach his heart.
If the pen was indeed mightier than the sword, then she would wield it.