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“Solas.”
She’s fallen to her knees, armor burned and ripped, skin bruised and red from angry scratches, but it’s the misery on her face that is the hardest thing to look upon. All her pain, all her efforts and plans were in vain as the air twists above them and the ground shakes below. He watches her wither with the knowledge, tears like wilted petals falling from her eyes, but he will not let her die here.
“I tried so hard. I’m sorry.” He puts a hand upon her face, soothes her with quiet words and touches. He feels her weariness beneath his fingers, hears it with every strained breath, sees it in the splintering of her eyes once so proud and brave now dulled with defeat and a thousand demons she never should have known.
He should have stayed away. He should have been kind and kept walking instead of tying them together to this inevitable end. Although it is not the one she expects. In his victory she has won - not in the way they both desire, but this world will not burn away for something new. It will only change. A gift for her, but not the final one.
There is a kiss, warm and boiling his blood like hundreds before it, and he savors the taste of happier memories, holding them on his tongue for as long as he can. And then he is pulling away, pulling magic from the air and his skin and wrapping it around her. He sees her confusion, feels her fear as fingers dig into his arm, but he does not stop.
I will never forget you, he once said. His last gift to her will be that she does.
He visits her from time to time. The future is bright and bold, but it is also perilous for the first few years, and he makes sure that she is protected and safe, thriving in a world created in her image. There is little excuse for his later visits, however, but he does not try to make one. Not that there is anyone who would listen. He is all but a wraith walking through the world now, a relic of something long gone, something no longer needed, yet still he lingers on. For her, even if she can never know it.
The day is warm and filled with the sounds of life as he walks down the long beach. The wet ground beneath his bare feet is smooth, the ocean cool and inviting as it sweeps in across his ankles, but he pays it all very little mind. His attention is concentrated on a close group of figures - on just one in particular.
She plays in the sand and surf, throwing a ball back and forth with a laughing child. She stands straight and tall again, skin shimmering and smile strong. Roots of red vallaslin run under her eyes again - he did not want her to wake up without them, for what explanation could be given for their absence? There is no evidence of his existence to mar her except for one thing - her arm. He could not give that back to her, but it is only a reminder to him of his sins for she only knows what the healers told her of the fabricated accident that claimed it.
“Keela!” Her smile grows warmer as she turns to the voice calling her name. A man walks up to her and wraps an arm around her waist, bending down to capture her lips in a quick kiss. He remembers Rylen’s furious gaze as he passes her into his care, but it only lasts a moment before Solas’ magic seeps into the former templar’s mind next. He changed all their memories, everyone who served in the Inner Circle and survived his plans, so they might all live in peace without his influence. A lonely life, but one he would choose again if only for the easy joy spreading across her face now.
Something bumps into his leg. A glance down reveals a green ball bouncing in the water and he grabs it quickly before the wave can retreat and take it out to sea. When he straightens, he finds himself under the scrutiny of yellow eyes. Not the ones he loved, loves, but hers all the same. The boy is no older than ten, limbs growing faster than he can keep up with and Solas sees his youth as the child smiles with missing teeth. Her child.
“Faolan!” He takes a breath, resists the urge to flee, before lifting his gaze to find Keela approaching. She grabs her son, ruffling his black hair despite his mumbling protests. “I’m sorry, ser.”
For a moment he cannot speak. He has been careful to never allow this to happen, not because he fears that she might recognize him - there is no flash of horror or anger glancing at him now, only a pleasant, friendly smile, but because he has feared it for himself to see her so close and so out of reach.
He knows he has remained quiet too long when a line forms between her brows and he clears his throat, holding out the ball in offering. “There is no need. No harm has been done.”
She gives the boy a push. “Go on, and say thank you.”
Faolan jumps forward and shoves his toy under his arm, safe and sound again. “Thank you!”
“You are welcome.” The sharp sound of gulls and the rolling thunder of waves fill a brief silence between them and Solas wonders what she sees looking upon him. An elf, broad of shoulder but bent of back, no markings or hair upon him, and yet there is a fathomless age to the blue of his eyes. A soul too old for its body and a body without its heart.
Her gaze narrows, head listing to the side, and he knows that look for he has suffered underneath the clever workings of her mind before. He can no longer stay. “A good day to you,” he says, giving a slight bow.
“Yes, you too,” she replies as he turns to retrace his disappearing footsteps in the sand. He feels like sinking into it, a ship beached upon the shore from the storm of this moment. He will have to be careful from now on, avoid her presence even if it will mean his end. Perhaps it is time. There is nothing gained with this attempt at holding on to what is no longer his.
He takes a step, then another, but then he hears it, and his heart beats painfully in his chest. “Solas?”