Chapter Text
He dreaded ascending the final flight of stairs. Two days ago he'd taken away her vallaslin. Two days ago he'd almost told her all he is, and hoped she would have accepted him. Two days ago he'd torn her heart from her chest and walked away with it.
He silently entered her room. The Inquisitor sat at her desk, writing, hiding her face behind messy unkempt hair. Crimson hair that two days ago he could have buried himself in, and he would have whispered to her forgotten Elvish words only he could understand. Two days ago he could have walked up to her and kissed all her pain away.
He walked past the desk and to the dresser they had shared. He owned little clothing, but every so often she'd return with a new tunic or trousers for him. Always simple, always comfortable. He slowly took every item out of the dresser that was his and turned to leave. Two days ago they shared that room. He would read and sleep while she would write and sing sweet songs. And what sweet songs they were--
"Solas."
He stopped his departure and turned back to her. "Yes, Inquisitor?" The word stung in his mouth.
Two days ago he could have called her his heart, for that's what she was. That's what she was, and always will be. He looked at her desk as he waited. Four empty bottles of wine. Her voice was slightly slurred. She looked up to him and revealed her tear stained cheeks. She never cried. Her suffering was always silent.
"I'm sorry." She whispered and resumed her writing, waiting for him to leave.
He stopped breathing. He knew why she was apologizing. She blamed herself for his selfishness, for his mistakes, for his decision. She always blamed herself. She detested herself. She despised the Inquisition. Her companions were the only thing that kept her sane. He wanted to help her, but any affection he showed her would have just deepened the wound further.
"Do not blame yourself. It was my mistake. I should not have encouraged--"
"Mistake. That's what our relationship was?" There was a smile on her face for a moment, but her voice cracked and she began weeping.
He turned and left, quickly climbing down the stairs and shutting the door. He leaned against the wood and shut his eyes. Two days ago he could have taken her in his arms and lead her through the Fade, showing her wonders, smiling as she giggled at playful wisps. Two days ago he could have kissed her tenderly and professed his love until she returned hers in kind. And, oh, how she always returned it.
Two days ago he could have told her the truth and she might have loved him still, for that's what her spirit was made of. Love, joy, hope.
He knew two days ago he would not be crying, because he would still have her in his arms.