She supposes some part of her knew. When that first wall came down claiming the Creators were only mortals elevated far above, when step after step everything Solas had ever said about the Dalish history being skewed, some part of her must of known. But denial held it back. She hadn’t seen him in years, not truly, not actually. Sometimes she thought she saw him in the distance when she was back with her clan, but she was never certain, as the moment she turned to look he vanished.
Maybe she suspected before then, maybe it was when they found a dead Qunari during the peace talks, maybe it was the first moment she stepped through the Eluvian and everything felt different. She can’t be sure. All she knows is when the Viddasala told her Solas was one of Fen’Harel’s agents she couldn’t deny it any longer, everything made sense, everything she saw in his eyes when he thought she wasn’t looking, everything he didn’t say after the Temple of Mythal and removing her vallaslin. It was too perfect, he was Fen’Harel.
Walking through the last Eluvian, Eve’s not sure what she expects, not the way back to be barred, not the sea of petrified Qunari before her, not Solas’ voice in the distance speaking to the Viddasala she pursued. Part of her wants to hesitate, but she carries forward. He was closer than he had been since he left, close enough she could hear him, close enough she could feel herself gravitating towards him. Only when she sees the Viddasala turn to stone before her does she hesitate. That was a display of power she had never seen from him, he hadn’t moved a muscle and she was petrified, just like that.
“Vhenan,” the word comes softer than she means it to, not the call after him she wanted but she sees him stop and turn anyway. Her next words swallowed by the pain of the anchor flaring again, bringing her to her knees before him. Isn’t that ironic? Falling to her knees in front of one of her false gods, but one of the Creators nonetheless? The pain subsides and she looks back up at the man she had once shared a bed with seeing in a moment the sorrow in his eyes, the hurt and regret and she knows it’s echoed back in her own.
“That should give us more time.” He speaks softly, and she can still hear affection in his voice. Before she can imagine they’re back in Skyhold spending an afternoon together, he speaks again. “I suspect you have questions.”
“Not anymore,” she replies trying and utterly failing to keep her broken heart from coloring her words with sorrow. “I think a part of me knew. Not always, not from the beginning. But... from the end, maybe. You always spoke of Elvhenan as though you had been there, Solas. You carried a weight on you and expected me to not see it when I carried a similar burden. I set mine down around you, but you never did, not truly. Any doubts I had were shattered when the Viddasala told me.” It fixed nothing, she knew.
“Well done,” he congratulates and Eve hates how her heart still wants to flutter at his praise, even now, even in the ruins and wreckage of everything, even in a sea of petrified Qunari.
“I was Solas first, a name given to a wandering child surviving on his own. Fen’Harel came later, inspired by some...friends of mine. It was meant as an insult even as I took is as a badge of honor. That I was dangerous enough to be exiled as such by those I sought to bring down. It was a mantle I took gladly, reminding those who needed it I was to be feared, while comforting those who turned to me for it.” He glances away and Eve can feel her heart breaking on the words to come next. “What was the Dalish curse? ‘May the Dread Wolf take you?’“
“And he did.” The words are off her lips almost before he was done speaking, colored with pain, not an accusation as they could be, as she felt they should be. Part of her was still angry, angry that he left her, broke up with her when she needed him most, when she was preparing to fight Corypheus. She needed him to hold her up more then than anything and he had left. But standing before him again, pain won out.
“I never lied. Not about this. I would not have been with you under false pretenses. Whatever else you may believe of me, believe this.” And the conviction in his voice almost broke her again, it made it worse. That he loved her and still left her. That he couldn’t bear to let her know the truth and decide on her own.
“I loved you, Solas. I still do. Did you think I wouldn’t understand? That I wouldn’t help you as you’ve helped me?” There’s the anger, late and without all the fire, but it’s there. Not sharp but enough to convey her betrayal, enough to tell him why she hurt, why this hurt.
“Ir’abelas, vhenan.”
“Tel’abelas, vhenan. Don’t you understand? If you love me, tell me. Tell me everything. I’m owed that, you owe me that.”
He turns away, as though he can’t tell her the story under the shame of having hid it for so long. He tells the tale of freeing slaves and anyone who came to him, of being named Fen’Harel. Of the others being elevated to godhood and their crimes thereafter, of forming the Veil and cutting the world from its magic and stripping the elves of their immortality. His voice carries the weight of his actions, the weight of a world long gone, destroyed by his own hands. She knows the weight, of having to choose between two bad choices and never being happy, of holding too many burdens and hoping none slip through her fingers. She can’t imagine his pain, his weight, can’t imagine carrying it alone, can’t imagine godhood when cared as deeply as he did.
He only turns to look at her when speaking of his own crimes, as though imploring her to understand that he’s not the man she thought he was, as though convincing her of this would make her love him less, make her hate him. It does the opposite of its goal, instead deepening her sorrow thinking of him carrying this alone through his time in the Inquisition, about him having to hide it from all of them. From the woman he loved.
“What about now? What about this world, Solas? What about us?” She thinks she might know his answer, thinks she knows his goals but she needs to hear him say it, needs to hear him tell her what he intends.
“I slept for many ages after the Veil, countless wars passed in my slumber. I only woke a year before I joined you. I gave Corypheus the orb; I couldn’t unlock it, I was still too weak. He was supposed to die when he did, I did not expect him to learn the secrets locked within and use it to claim the godhood I sought to prevent.” He pauses for but a moment, turning and walking towards the open Eluvian before them, and she trails behind listening, waiting for her answer. “The elves fell because of what I did to stop the Evanuris, but they can rise again. I will save the Elvhen people, even if it means this world must die.”
“Let me come with you, Solas. Let me help you.” She manages to not sound desperate. She agreed with his goal, agreed with the idea of fixing what he had broken, she merely wanted to help him do so, to be with him again as they had been before.
“I cannot do that to you, vhenan.” He doesn’t turn to look at her, and sounds even sadder than before, if possible. And she refuses.
“But you would do it to yourself? I couldn’t handle the Inquisition alone, I can’t bear to think of you doing this by yourself.”
“I walk the Din’anshiral, I would not have you see what I become.”
“You’ve seen me through my worst, vhenan. Let me help you. You have to set down your burden sometimes, let it be with me. Allow me to be what you were for me,” She insists, stepping further, wanting to reach out to touch him but unable to do so, unsure how he would react.
“This is my fight,” he insists, shaking his head slightly. “You should be more concerned about the Inquisition. Your Inquisition.” As he turns to face her, she can see his determination setting in and she knows he won’t let her come, knows he doesn’t want to be followed. But she can’t let him be alone. She can’t be alone.
“Don’t you understand? Solas, I would die for you, for this. I am dying, let me spend it with the man I love,” she pleads, hands clenching to fists at her sides for lack of anything else she can do.
“And that is why I can’t let you come with me. I have lost enough, vhenan, I can’t bear to watch you die. Not when it was my mistake that brought this fate upon you. The Inquisition needs you now more than ever. It will be filled with corruption and betrayal even with you at its head, it will only be worse without you. With luck, you will not need to worry about the Qunari again for some time, but there are others.”
“You have spies.” It’s not a question and they both know it.
“Yes. How else did you think I brought this plot to your doorstep? My spies found theirs.”
“If you do this...” She bites her lip and looks away momentarily, “If you do this, will the- the Evanuris be freed?”
“I have plans for them.”
“Which are?”
He shakes his head. “Telling you would compromise them.”
“I’m on your side, Solas. But... aren’t we even people to you?”
“When I awoke, it was to a world that had lost its connection to the Fade. It was like walking through a world of Tranquil. You showed me I was wrong for believing such, that there was still great emotion and passion in the world. And knowing so only makes this harder. I take no joy in this.”
“What about the anchor?” She asks. “It’s getting worse and you are the only one who understands it.”
“I know, vhenan.” He glances away again and Eve can feel the farewell. “We are running out of time.”
The pain flares once more and she falls to her knees again. She’s not sure if it’s her despair or truly the anchor worsening, but it hurts so much more than it did even last it flared at the beginning of their talk. She knows it’s only a matter of time before it takes her life, she only wanted to spend the remainder of her days with Solas. Fen’Harel. The man who would not let her follow.
“Drawing you here has given me the chance to help you, for a time,” he kneels before her and if she wasn’t in so much pain, she would laugh at the brutal irony of one of the Creators on his knees before her.
“Solas,” she looks up at him, despite the mounting pain in her hand, shutting it out to focus on him, knowing that, if he has his way, this will be the last time they meet. “Var lath vir suledin.”
“I wish it could, vhenan.” He pulls her closer and she just barely catches his eyes glowing before their lips meet and the pain in her hand slowly slips away. She tries to convey her love and desperation in her kiss, tries to convince him one final time to take her with, but then he’s pulling away and standing. “I will never forget you.”
And that breaks her as he turns and walks away. She vows to herself to spend the last of her days looking for him, if she must, vows to do anything she needs to find him and be with him again. But also knows she may never succeed. He knew things she never would. But she loved him.
Var lath vir suledin, ma vhenan.