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Title: Ruins
Author: FyreQueen89
Game: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Characters/Pairings: Solas, mentions of Solas/f!Lavellan
Disclaimer: BioWare owns the world, I just like using their toys to hurt my heart
--------------------------------------------------------------------------
ENDGAME SPOILERS FOR DAI

He does eventually go back.

Later, much later. Years, decades, centuries, he isn't entirely certain at this point. Long enough for nature to have reclaimed Skyhold as its own, vines crawling over tumbled heaps of masonry that used to be walls and towers. The front gate is gone, the watchtowers that guard it uneven now in height.

He steps over crumbled stone, wondering how long it took the Inquisition to want another stronghold, to need a more accessible base of operations.

He wonders if she wanted to leave because of the memories.

The tavern is opened, roof gone and gaping at the sky like a wound, shingles still clinging to the beams. One drops as he passes, weaving his way through rotted wooden spars that used to fence the training ring. The zigzag stairs are pocked along the edges with missing pieces, but don't so much as quiver as he makes his way up them, through the hanging vines that bar the doorway at the top. Several squirrels bolt for the corners as he enters, chittering angrily that their sanctuary has been disturbed. He ignores them, making a familiar hard right, fingers brushing the stone doorway where the dwarf used to stand.

The walls are faded, even the darkest parts of the frescos succumbing to time and wear. He turns a slow circle, remembering, and leaves the way he came. There's one more door he needs to walk through. He pauses by the dais, the image of a warrior queen passing judgments dances before his eyes. What would you have done with me?

He doesn't let his gaze linger to the left, on the dark hole that should be a door. Doesn't let his thoughts linger on stairs up and up, on a ceiling full of painted stars because she missed the real ones. It might be kinder in the long run mocks him. Kinder for who? Her or you?

Both, he admits as he skirts debris to reach the garden. He'd broken both their hearts with two words and a single choice.

Nothing grows in the garden, of course, save weeds and creeper vines that engulf everything. He turns a slow circle, takes it all in as he casts his wards. This is as much penance as it is burning need, but there's no point in leaving himself vulnerable. Wards cast, he seats himself with his back to the vine-coated well, leans back, and dreams.

He has to push, further back than he'd thought he would, to find the memories he seeks. But she is there, blonde hair braided back from her face, vallaslin standing in sharp relief against Fade-washed skin, paler than it should be. In the dream she stands with him, close enough to convey intimacy even though they don't actually touch. Questions fall from her lips, questions about the Fade, spirits, demons, him. He answers, answers, answers, dodges.

Fade-her looks at real-him as he stands there. At. Not through. Green eyes burn more green. "I loved you still."

This isn't real, he reminds himself as something tears and jangles inside. Memories are affected by emotions. It still shakes him. The edges are blurry. She wouldn't if she knew. The memory swirls, an agitated pool, and the images change. She is alone now, face haggard and eyes tired as she sits cross-legged on the ground. A whistle and gesture and she is joined by a small blur of black-banded white. The fennec darts up one arm and curls around her neck, rubbing itself against her cheek. Tears fall as the creature tries in vain to comfort where he cannot. She pulls it into her lap, curls in on herself, and weeps.

He watches her shoulders shake, wants nothing more than to go back, dry her eyes. But if he had, if he had stayed, she would have tried to help. Or hated him. He isn't sure which would have been worse. This path was meant to be walked alone.

Even as she weeps, the figure looks at him again. Contentment has burned away to pain, the relaxed ease she always carried around her stronghold replaced with tension that looks ready to snap.

This was a mistake.

Her pain hits him with such force, it drives him from the dream, snaps him back into wakefulness.

This was a mistake.

As he sits there, face damp with tears, surrounded by the ghosts and ruins of his Heart's cause, he has never felt so alone.

Description
body div#devskin0 hr { }

Title: Ruins
Author: FyreQueen89
Game: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Characters/Pairings: Solas, mentions of Solas/f!Lavellan
Disclaimer: BioWare owns the world, I just like using their toys to hurt my heart
--------------------------------------------------------------------------
ENDGAME SPOILERS FOR DAI

He does eventually go back.

Later, much later. Years, decades, centuries, he isn't entirely certain at this point. Long enough for nature to have reclaimed Skyhold as its own, vines crawling over tumbled heaps of masonry that used to be walls and towers. The front gate is gone, the watchtowers that guard it uneven now in height.

He steps over crumbled stone, wondering how long it took the Inquisition to want another stronghold, to need a more accessible base of operations.

He wonders if she wanted to leave because of the memories.

The tavern is opened, roof gone and gaping at the sky like a wound, shingles still clinging to the beams. One drops as he passes, weaving his way through rotted wooden spars that used to fence the training ring. The zigzag stairs are pocked along the edges with missing pieces, but don't so much as quiver as he makes his way up them, through the hanging vines that bar the doorway at the top. Several squirrels bolt for the corners as he enters, chittering angrily that their sanctuary has been disturbed. He ignores them, making a familiar hard right, fingers brushing the stone doorway where the dwarf used to stand.

The walls are faded, even the darkest parts of the frescos succumbing to time and wear. He turns a slow circle, remembering, and leaves the way he came. There's one more door he needs to walk through. He pauses by the dais, the image of a warrior queen passing judgments dances before his eyes. What would you have done with me?

He doesn't let his gaze linger to the left, on the dark hole that should be a door. Doesn't let his thoughts linger on stairs up and up, on a ceiling full of painted stars because she missed the real ones. It might be kinder in the long run mocks him. Kinder for who? Her or you?

Both, he admits as he skirts debris to reach the garden. He'd broken both their hearts with two words and a single choice.

Nothing grows in the garden, of course, save weeds and creeper vines that engulf everything. He turns a slow circle, takes it all in as he casts his wards. This is as much penance as it is burning need, but there's no point in leaving himself vulnerable. Wards cast, he seats himself with his back to the vine-coated well, leans back, and dreams.

He has to push, further back than he'd thought he would, to find the memories he seeks. But she is there, blonde hair braided back from her face, vallaslin standing in sharp relief against Fade-washed skin, paler than it should be. In the dream she stands with him, close enough to convey intimacy even though they don't actually touch. Questions fall from her lips, questions about the Fade, spirits, demons, him. He answers, answers, answers, dodges.

Fade-her looks at real-him as he stands there. At. Not through. Green eyes burn more green. "I loved you still."

This isn't real, he reminds himself as something tears and jangles inside. Memories are affected by emotions. It still shakes him. The edges are blurry. She wouldn't if she knew. The memory swirls, an agitated pool, and the images change. She is alone now, face haggard and eyes tired as she sits cross-legged on the ground. A whistle and gesture and she is joined by a small blur of black-banded white. The fennec darts up one arm and curls around her neck, rubbing itself against her cheek. Tears fall as the creature tries in vain to comfort where he cannot. She pulls it into her lap, curls in on herself, and weeps.

He watches her shoulders shake, wants nothing more than to go back, dry her eyes. But if he had, if he had stayed, she would have tried to help. Or hated him. He isn't sure which would have been worse. This path was meant to be walked alone.

Even as she weeps, the figure looks at him again. Contentment has burned away to pain, the relaxed ease she always carried around her stronghold replaced with tension that looks ready to snap.

This was a mistake.

Her pain hits him with such force, it drives him from the dream, snaps him back into wakefulness.

This was a mistake.

As he sits there, face damp with tears, surrounded by the ghosts and ruins of his Heart's cause, he has never felt so alone.