"This is nice," she remarks pleasantly, legs hanging over the sides of the battlements.
He hums a cheerful affirmative, sitting stone behind her so he doesn't have to look straight down the mountain. It's the first time they've been able to relax in a year.
"You know I love you, right?" he asks after a moment.
"Of course!" She peers over her shoulder at him. There's no urgency to his tone, but the question itself is unexpected enough for Summer to ask worriedly, "What's wrong?"
With a quiet laugh, he assures her, "It's nothing. Nothing that can be fixed, at any rate. But can you do me a favor?"
Summer's eyes narrow suspiciously. "What sort of favor?"
Alistair tips his head back slight, just enough for her to tell he's looking up at her. "Don't ignore the pity?" His tone is beseeching.
There is something wrong. She can tell, in that moment. She looks away from him, looking down towards the bottom of the mountain, only to see the stone walls of the battlements extending down for an eternity.
"What do you mean?" she finally asks, her hands clenching into fists in her lap.
"I mean, I don't want you to be alone without me, but I don't know who would love you the way I do," he explains, and he still sounds so earnest. "So please, take the pity, if it's all you're going to get."
She stares blankly down into the abyss. Alistair reaches up and back, wrapping a hand around her arm and squeezing. It's meant to be comforting, but his grip is frigid and lifeless.
Summer remembers, when she wakes up, that Alistair is gone. Dead, maybe, though she's no longer certain. She knows that her husband is gone, and that the residents of Skyhold pity her.
