Chapter Text
The soft rapping at the door to his quarters was his only warning that he would soon find himself in agony. Perhaps if he had not been so absorbed in the bigoted Tevinter tome laid out in front of him, in his silent, exhaustive search for his next step once he had his orb unlocked and safe in his hands, he might have felt her presence in the hallway, that particular rippling of the Veil that belonged to her and only her, an imprint in the world around her that refused always to be ignored, strengthened by the anchor of his magic in her hand as though he were always kissing her palm. Perhaps he could have better prepared himself then for what was to come. But she had stopped seeking him out since he had turned from her that night, since all her questions after were met with ambiguity and calculated distance. Little pieces of his soul had flaked away each time he called her Inquisitor when he meant vhenan, made brittle by the bare-faced hurt she wore now like her vallaslin. She had not sought him out in some time but for advice and counsel, and lately even that she had been avoiding. He told himself it was for the best. He told himself what he did was for her, even if she would never know or understand it. He told himself there was only this one path and he could not stray, no matter how tempting the hidden oasis of her love. He told himself these things, but they did not protect him from the jolting pain in his chest when she self-consciously touched the places the blood writing had been and blushed her embarrassment. They did not soothe the raw chafing of his soul when their eyes met and she quickly turned away in a failed attempt to hide her broken heart. He made himself witness these things because he had created them and they were his to remember for the long journey ahead. But his excuses did not ease the torment. They rang hollow even as he clung to them.
No, Solas was unprepared for the soft uncertainty of her voice that came so fast in the wake of the light knock of her fist on his door. He knew it was her even before she spoke for who else would ever come to his room so late at night? There was never anyone but her. Still, knowing she knocked and hearing her plaintively murmur his name were two entirely different sensations. Two shades of delicious hurt that painted his spirit as he painted the walls of her rotunda.
"Solas?"
Bliss. Bliss like a white-hot blade in his heart.
He took his time answering the door as he did in all things. Solas marked his page and closed the book without a sound. He tucked his notes away from view and made a quick scan of the room in case of anything she should not see. But of course there was nothing. He was meticulous. Finally, he smoothed his tunic and stepped to the side of the door, angling himself so that he might open it only enough to see her newly unmarked face without welcoming her in as he had done so many times in the past. She could not be welcome anymore. Not into his room or into his bed, even as he held her possessively in his heart.
Solas breathed out all the air in his lungs before he opened the door because he knew that to see her sweet face would make him gasp otherwise.
He was right to be so cautious. Even now, in her nightclothes with her robe tied tightly to keep out the chill of ancient stone, with her hair pulled back from her face in a braid meant only for sleeping and her expression etched with anxiety and misgiving, she was radiant. He took in breath through his nose in a long, measured stream to keep it from hitching and betraying the ache within him at just the sight of her. He should have been better at it by this point, but every time he saw her was as surprising and as brutal as if he had walked away the night before. This was no different. She was beautiful and bright and exquisite without effort. And he was a fool. An old, selfish fool. But a fool who must walk this path alone.
"Inquisitor."
Solas memorized the reproach in her vulnerability dutifully. He would remember each and every moment's pain he caused her even as he remembered each and every moment's joy she had given him. For a heartbeat she considered him with her hurt fresh in her eyes, hesitating there before his door as though she regretted coming to him at all. He wanted to fold her into his arms and keep her from leaving. Instead, he lifted his brows.
"Do you have need of me?"
She laughed, a brittle, incredulous thing. She didn't need to speak her thoughts for him to know them; they were easy to read in her face, in the wrinkles at the corners of her eyes. Of course she had need of him, she said without saying. She always needed him. But he had taken himself from her. He decided to rephrase.
"Is there something I can do for you?"
She paused again, chewing apprehensively on her bottom lip with her brow knit in hard thought over her eyes. Eyes that traveled his face in search of some sign of who he had once been to her, that tried to see past him to the bedroom for some clue as to what he might be doing and why. She was deciding, whatever it was. He tilted his head at her in question and that was a mistake because her expression settled. She became determined. There was never any denying her when she looked like that. She took a step forward. It was a bold move, one that might have made a lesser man step back, but Solas was no lesser man. He stood his ground and found himself studying her from an angle that was best for kissing her, for holding her, not for keeping his distance. Perhaps he should have stepped back after all.
"I looked for you in the rotunda, but you..." she began, and her determination faltered. All at once she looked weary and defeated, weighed down by the mantle of her responsibility. Perhaps she needed counsel. A friend. Kin. He could give her those things if she needed them, couldn't he? There was no danger in that, surely. "Do you mind if...can I come in?" She shook her head then, as if clearing away her question from the air before it could reach him. "I'm sorry, I know I have no--" She swallowed and flushed and frowned down at her bare feet.
"Inquisitor..." he tried again, unsure whether he was attempting to dissuade her or comfort her. But he got no further than that. She lifted her gaze to his with a desperate intensity and it was only then that he saw the fear in her. She was not simply exhausted by her duty, but afraid with it, worried beyond her ability to cope. There was a time when he would have held her beneath the covers of her Orlesian bed and kissed away her troubles. That time existed now only in memory and the Fade. But he had not seen her so agitated since the destruction of Haven. It was beyond his power to leave her alone as she was. He respected her too much, cared for her too much, loved her too much to turn a willfully unseeing eye to such distress. Besides, he reasoned, they would need her at her best in the days to come.
"Please don't call me that," she begged, trying to put on a brave smile and succeeding only in looking beautiful and anguished. "Please, just for tonight, can you...can you call me anything else?"
Solas hesitated only briefly. "Ellana," he acquiesced. He meant for it to sound just as 'Inquisitor' did, distant, aloof, professional, but somehow it came out sounding like a prayer, like a sigh of relief, and suddenly she was in his arms, pressed against him, wrapping her arms around his chest and he had to clench his eyes shut tightly with the effort of not touching her, of not returning the embrace, of not tilting up her chin and pressing his lips to hers, of not losing himself in her as all of his being cried out to do. "Ellana," he tried again, and it was a plea this time. A plea for her to give him space.
"Sorry," she mumbled into his tunic, pink-cheeked with embarrassment. "Sorry." She carefully extricated herself from his chest and took a tiny step back, not enough to keep him from feeling the heat of her, but enough at least so that they were no longer touching. He opened his eyes to look at the ceiling as he collected himself, as he put the pieces of his heart back in a recognizable shape, and only when he felt confident in his control did he look down at her. "I'm just..." She was staring at her feet again, her expression chastised and timid as though she had done something wrong. As though the fault were not his.
"Ellana," he attempted once more, a sigh this time, careful to keep his tongue from caressing the word the way it wanted. But with all his focus on not giving himself away just by saying her name, he had given no thought to what precisely it was he wanted to tell her. Would he send her away? She needed comfort, that much was clear. Perhaps he could suggest she speak to one of the others. But she would see it as a punishment for the contact and that squeezed at his insides like wringing out a wet cloth. She already felt she was the reason he walked away. He could not bear to lay this at her feet as well. So what else was there to do? He could walk her to the rotunda, but if she needed to speak privately about her duties, that would not be the place, even with much of Skyhold asleep. "It's all right," he found himself saying, though he made certain not to reach out to touch her chin as his fingers itched to do. "It is...understandable, given the circumstances." She was here, he decided, and she needed someone, and though it might be foolish or dangerous...
Solas opened his door and stepped aside, beckoning Ellana in with a sweep of his hand. "Come in, please."
He could already tell he was going to regret this.