Work Text:
Solas sat slumped at his wooden desk, frustration etched across his features. He tapped the end of a paintbrush against the rough wood as he looked up at his intricate frescoes – the mural-ed history of his time with the inquisition, of his time with her. The paintings were works of art, his best yet, with subtle metaphors hidden in the margins. He wondered if anyone would decipher all of the messages as his face settled into a dark grimace. He hated them – every brush stroke and with everything represented within. He knew he was running out of time, and the murals only reminded him of that painful truth. Soon he would have to leave. For good.
Solas took a tepid sip of his tea with a scowl. He knew if he would venture into the fade, he would try to find Lavellan through her dreams, that he might tell her everything he couldn’t just a few hours ago in Crestwood. For now, he knew he’d need to keep his distance as his heart broke. Or else he’d run to his vhenan with the shattered pieces. Or else he’d abandon his plans, everything he’d worked for, just for the chance to be with her in this world. Could he really afford to give up everything, his people, for her? Would she understand? Would she still love him if she knew that…?
He shook the thought from his mind and stood abruptly. No, he mustn’t worry about that now. He had a plan, he’d made his choice, and now he had to live with that – no matter how painful.
The room was quieter than he was used to. It was late, and the sounds of Skyhold that usually leaked through the wooden doors, or down from the library above, weren’t there this late at night. The silence was deafening, allowing his thoughts to turn into wave after wave of crashing emotion – regret, loss, doubt.
“Isolation. A tempered mind desperate for warmth, for company. A lonely flame refusing when offered.”
Solas jumped out of his skin, cursing quietly, not turning to see the young man who’s face was shrouded by a large-brimmed hat. “I would not think you’d understand,” he huffed.
Cole perched on the edge of Solas’ desk and looked up at the paintings across the walls. “No, I don’t. Help me understand?”
Solas sighed and began his final sketch on the sliver of empty space left.
“You love her, don’t you?” Cole leaned back to get a better look.
“Of course I do,” the reply was barely a whisper. “But things have been set into motion and cannot be abandoned.”
“Why not?”
“Cole, you are what you are, just as I am what I am. Please do not make this any harder for me than it is.”
“What do you think you are, Solas?”
Solas turned, hoping to see his friend, hoping to be convinced that he’d made the wrong choice. But Cole had already vanished without even a sound to mark the departure. He sank to his knees, letting the paintbrush fall from his hand to clatter to the ground. Tears of anguish and frustration rolled down his cheeks as he clutched the jawbone pendant he wore.
“Ir abelas, Lavellan.”