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Some mornings, Solas resented that Viera’vun awoke with the dawn. This was not one of those mornings.
On its surface, nothing was different. She’d slipped from the dream they’d shared prematurely as she so often did, her flickering presence easily snuffed by the errant breeze that pulled her from his arms. He considered staying there, lost for a time within what remained of her mind’s creation—but then, the pathways they walked lacked appeal without her passions to ignite them, and colors never did seem quite so bright, once she was gone.
So he roused himself from that comfortable yet lifeless place as he did every morning after they’d dreamed together, coaxing his reluctant consciousness back into the waking world with effort. The time he’d taken was enough that the span of bed beside him was left empty, but the remnants of her warmth still clung to the sheets, as if they too were remiss to let her go so soon. He turned towards the window, squinting through the pale glow of dawn permeating the room. It was a glow he’d come to regard with a certain measure of petty disdain, wont to take his diligent hunter before their time together had come to its natural end, and leaving him cold where he lay.
He could find little fault within it today, once his eyes fell upon her.
There in front of the window he could just make out her shape through its glare, arms stretched high and taut as she greeted the day before releasing, and bending low to gather together the clothes they’d left scattered on the floor. Outlined in golden light the sight of her alone made the waking worth it, her body moving with a grace that seemed innate, and effortless. Her back arched to work the night’s rest from her muscles, shimmying up her shoulders in a rolling motion to tug at her neck, before she pulled loose locks of near-white hair over one shoulder.
It was as if she were a salve sorely needed, one that cleansed a wound within that he’d left unattended throughout countless ages. She was a shadow amidst an eclipse of light, a black spot within its corona. The way she moved was beautiful, and entirely entrancing.
His eyes roved the contours of her body as she stepped into her undergarments, envisioning details where he saw none, her muscles contorting with the motion. He could nearly feel it beneath the pads of his fingers, the way they’d rippled beneath his touch. The memory had been seared into his skin with every brush, every caress, in the hopes that they’d never fade. Viera’vun was not delicate, or fragile—her flesh was solid and firm, unshakable as the Fade could never be. She was real in a way he’d nearly forgotten, hot blood pushed by the strong pulse he’d felt where he’d pressed a kiss to her wrist the night before, and then to her neck. His lips parted, tingling where they’d felt the beating of her heart, and he sunk into the feeling. To be so near, to merely feel her…it was almost enough to lose himself within.
He feared that he already was.
Dread rattled the underbrush, a red-eyed and guilty reminder of what was to come urging retreat, but he did not indulge it. Just this once, he needn’t think. He need only be, and feel. For a moment she considered the fabric bunched against her chest, a chemise favored by them both, if for different reasons. No doubt she debated whether she could do without it for a few hours more, before duty decreed she be ready and presentable. It wasn’t until her head tilted towards the balcony that her decision was made, staring through and to the wide open beyond. Seemingly helpless against its pull, she tugged the thin dress over her head and swung a wrap of halla’s wool loosely about her shoulders, before padding towards it. Gently so as not to make a sound she pressed against the handle, and cracked the door open just enough for a whisper of cold air to seep in. From over her shoulder she glanced at him, searching for any sign that he stirred.
She found none. Viera’vun turned back towards the balcony doors, then, and the morning rushed in around her in all of its golden glory.
Wind whipped through the room, biting at his face and nose, but Viera’vun stretched her arms wide as if in welcome, her shoulders rising and falling in breaths that she savored. The day was too young yet to smell of spring’s snowmelt and soil, and so the breeze carried upon it instead the morning’s first batches of bread, still baking in the kitchens below. From where he lay, she seemed a bird amidst the sky, nestled within the clouds and with all the world beneath her. He desired it keenly, for her to be so free as that, far out of reach of those who might bring her to ground. He knew it to be a desire shared.
But when the Inquisitor wasn’t caged she was tethered, granted only these rare glimpses of that world beyond to satiate her where once an endless sky had been her dominion. Her toes pressed against the balcony’s edge and her elbows hit its railing, leaning as far as she could to cast out across the valley, and the sun cut through her linens in an aura around her as if she glowed. His hand had guided her here, unknowing though it may have been, but the same hand that shackled held fast the key as well. The Inquisition’s work drew to its end. She could be free, if only he’d let her. The consequences of his actions would rest solely upon his shoulders as they should, were he to hold his silence and forget…or, possibly, the choice to bear them alongside him could be made wittingly and willingly, where before they’d been thrust without consideration.
He need only let the truth slip, and she would. No matter her own reservations she’d try to understand him, and work towards a solution brighter than the one he’d decided upon. It was exactly the reason why he couldn’t tell her. Ages ago he’d walked that path between, the one lined in compromise. All he’d accomplished in the end was this world, broken and blighted, and the downfall of those he’d sought to protect. With or without her those tough decisions would need to be made, ones that would end the lives of many in the hopes of building something greater. That was the burden he carried. No matter how heavy the weight grew, he wouldn’t let it bloody her hands, too.
But even as rationale denied him that alluring lie, he wanted nothing more than to believe their future could hold something more, and to walk the path beside her. That every morning could be bathed in the light of a new day breaking, not darkened by rot. In his half-waking state he could barely hear it, that voice that called him so dutifully back into the fog, and neither did he wish to.
Duty’s call did manage to reach her ears, it would seem, and the morning’s dalliance slipped reluctantly from Viera’vun’s lips with a sigh in farewell as she turned away. Her attention fell upon her desk piled high with towers of parchment and reference books, and though still she was cast in shadow by dawn’s light, he needn’t see her face to know how it twisted at the sight. She didn’t slow just yet, however, continuing past it and towards the bed with purpose, her features clearing with every step until she’d materialized before him. Her form was hewn from lithe muscle pocked with scars, near enough now that the scent of her filled his nostrils—the sweat of sleep, and what remnants of embrium and vandal aria remained from her bath oils the evening prior, the fragrance heady and sweet.
He could see her in her entirety, then, honey eyes and bare golden skin cast in gray, but visible still. A kiss waited patiently upon her parted lips as she leaned over him, then paused. Air whistled through her nose as she inhaled, softly, before a smile traveled up her cheeks to pinch at the junction of her lashes. She’d found him. Pressing forward, she met his temple with a feathersoft peck before trailing down, the brush of her breath tickling his ear.
“Good morning, vhenan,” she sighed. And so it was, and could be forever after, if only he’d let it.
For just this moment in time, he’d let himself believe it would be.