❝ It was not supposed to happen this way…”
❝ No matter what happens da asa’ma’lin, know you will always be dear to me-“
Gone. For when Cenah’s eyes returned to the high landing upon the cracked stone steps, he was not there. Vanished into thin air. Most would let lie, they would assume he needed a moment to himself, a time to grieve as he had with the Spirit of Wisdom.
But Cenah knew. She always had some inkling of notions bigger than herself, an intuition that went beyond her childlike ways. And she ran. She tore from her companions because something in her knew he would not return. Not this time. Not ever.
He hears light footsteps hot on his heels, cracking of branches as they echo through the forest. Muffled sobs mixed with heaving breaths. Desperation as she calls out to him, begging him to stay. But he cannot. And so he keeps moving, trying to spread the distance between them. Trying to make a clean break, away where he would owe no explanations, no reasoning for why this meant the end. The murals upon the wall would offer the only comfort, legend of a ghost to the man they once knew. No matter how strong, he could not face the one that had called him ‘brother’.
He is fast, but she is faster. Like the wind under a bird’s outstretched feathers, she weaves through densely packed trees, leaps over shrubs, clears low streams… Even with his magic she gains on him, whether through pure will or a hunter’s instinct, Cenah soars. Solas cannot escape, so he concedes, stopping cold in his tracks as wiry arms are violently flung around him.
The hunter’s embrace weighs him down with the entire impetus of his deceased kin, thousands of grasping hands pressing and dragging him down, hollow echoes through time as they weep from his lies, weave sorrowful tunes of his mistakes. His pride shackling the gods and subjugating his people to lost memories and forgotten ways. Magic lost to the void, a once marvelous city painted black and frozen in time.
And Mythal awaits. She already knows, he can feel it. His soul aches.
❝ Asa’ma’lin!” he pleads, voice almost cracking under the stress. How could he tell her he must go? How could he make her understand the responsibility he carried and what he now must do?
He wishes to tear away from her, rip her arms away and cast a spell that would chain her in place. But he cannot. He had hurt the songbird enough, her sobs soaking into his back, fingers curling into his front as she begs him to stay. The only person outside of the Beyond he had come to trust, to cherish. Who he had called ‘his blood’, an acceptance of kin unto a dalish elf so far removed from Elvhenan. A bond exists he cannot deny, and he tries to swallow his pride and ignore the crushing weight upon his chest.
Solas turns to face Cenah, his lips marred by a frown, anguish sinking dark circles below stormy eyes. Warm hands weave magic to bind her wrists, a resolute grip as he steadies her heaving frame. He looks upon her, frail soul lost to a clan’s roaming whims, one whose direction had been cast to a breeze, taking her where the Inquisition shifted, where they had tried to lead her.
But even now she makes it clear. Cenah would not be led, nor would she be abandoned. Her spirit is free, her heart pure and unmarked by hatred or selfish desire. She had surprised him in all things, a wisdom far beyond her time.
❝ Please… There is more, and I must continue this path alone. In time, you may understand but…” Solas shakes his head, holding her wrists out as he takes a step back from the young songbird.
❝ Mala suledin nadas, Asa’ma’lin…”
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