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It defies common sense, her continued attempts at seeking him out.
She grasps for him in her dreams, lone hand reaching, grappling with shadows too thick to be real. A cloak to hide his passing, when he departs upon her waking. She’s never fast enough, and she knows he keeps his distance for a reason, but she can’t help the bitterness that follows the thought, that he should allow himself the sight of her but nothing else, and that he should not grant her the same privilege. It’s a craving deep in her bones, not just to get a glimpse, but to touch him; to ensure that he’s still flesh and bone, that he still breathes and walks and lives, even when he’s resigned himself to a hollow, lonely death.
She takes to studying the Fade, to better understand the world she walks in her dreams. She becomes more alert, less prone to lose herself in the ever-changing scenery, the paths that tilt and split with the smallest inkling of a thought. She learns to find her footing, to step with surety where she used to stumble.
A younger, less burdened heart might have leapt when her attempts finally yield results, but she has known deceit, and is no longer so easily fooled.
“You let me find you.” But her accusation loses some of its bite, with the hope that trembles in every word.
He’s standing less than two paces away. So easy to close the distance between them, but she’s no stranger to the illusions of this place. Not anymore.
“Your persistence has been noted,” Solas says at length, the ghost of an old humour haunting the quiet words, and she doesn’t know whether to laugh or weep at the ache that blossoms behind her ribcage. But he doesn’t contradict her claim, and doesn’t back away when she makes to move closer, her steps the the wary approach of someone expecting a trap, though nothing rustles in the grass, the blades too soft and too green; an uncanny beauty in every shadow cast by their shapes.
He hasn’t taken his eyes off her once. “Why are you here, vhenan?”
The ground trembles, before it settles with a sigh. She doesn’t lose her footing. “You know why.”
Something crosses his face. Curiosity, maybe, but then he’s always loved a puzzle. “You do not think my presence will challenge your resolve?”
He could lie and claim his concern for her the reason for his evasive behaviour, but she knows better, and so her smile is a ferocious thing, full of all her heart’s conviction. “You think mine is the one that will falter?” If anything, the sight of him strengthens it. His redemption is not yet beyond her reach.
A small smile lurks at the corner of his mouth. Sad, though she can’t tell on whose behalf.
“No,” he says then, and she doesn’t know what it means; if there’s hope to be found in the knowledge that he doesn’t think she’ll give up.
Something lurches beneath her feet, the root of a tree bursting from the earth, but she steps calmly to the side. His eyes follow her movements. “You are studying the Fade, then.” It feels like an invitation – to converse like they would, before. In another time – another world – and the irony of that is not lost on her now.
She takes the offer, regardless. “I’ve had a good incentive.”
“And you have learned much.” Pride in his voice, an unbearably fond thing. “Though that is no surprise.”
She huffs. Irritation sparks, and the air feels warmer, a hot summer breeze against her skin. Red flowers sprout beside her feet, petals unfurled in a silent invocation to the wide-open sky. “I haven’t given up.”
That same smile. “I know.”
Her fingers twitch, an urge seizing her suddenly, and she acts before she can talk herself out of it.
She means for her touch to be gentle, but she’s tried that before, and he’d slipped between her fingers. And so there’s nothing gentle about the way she reaches for him now, but when she grips the fur stole – the one she has half a mind to tell him looks utterly ridiculous – he remains solid beneath her fingers, buried in the soft mantle.
Her surprise must show on her face, Ellana knows, but she makes no effort to hide it.
A hand curls in her hair then, threads the strands between gloved fingers as he pulls her close. He sketches a tender lament against her brow, a not-kiss that holds so much remorse her knees threaten to buckle. Vhenan.
Please. She mouths the word against his pulse, another not-kiss. She doesn’t think she could bear a real one, here in this not-real place. Her grip tightens. Still solid. Flesh and bone. A heart beneath a gilded breastplate, still beating.
They stand there a while, still touching. Not quite kissing. The weight of his brow against hers is almost more than she can bear. It’s all too easy to forget, here, what he’s vowed to do. What she’s vowed to do. All too easy to be persuaded, not by spirits and demons, but him, tangible now after months of his shadow always at the edge of her vision. But there is no forgetting, not truly. A stolen moment doesn’t change what she has to do.
But his acquiescense to her persistent attempts is something.
“I should go,” she says, after a lull. It might have been minutes. It might have been hours. The waking world waits; her world, and all its flaws. She’ll make him see its worth yet. “I’ll find you again.” You’ll let me.
Solas doesn’t answer, and remains where he’s standing as she turns to walk away. It’s her turn to do so now, and she doesn’t look back.
And he doesn’t refuse.