Songbirds caroled their songs above Skyholdâs garden, bathed in the first lick of morning-light. Orange and red hues painting the grounds. Sparrow, for the most part, was alone as she wandered between rows of flowers and twisting greenery. Flitting like a hummingbirdânever staying for too long before her hands crooked out from underneath her thin cape, threading flower stems through her knuckles. Gently. A soft touch that conflicted against the callouses riddled across her hands. Hands made for breaking things, not creating them. She stooped down to pull out weeds and tossed them in the burlap sack tied to her belt.
Elfroot. Black lotus. Dogwood. Roses. Tulips.
It reminded her of Auroraâs garden. A little different. After all, this was not Kirkwall. Would never be Kirkwall. There were times when she even missed the musty slums of Darktown. Her hovel. Theirs. She supposed that it had more to do with missing how things used to be. Memories that she hadnât quite let go of. Even so, the similarities were close enough to drag herself out of bed. She woke up early enough to tend to it while the others slept and squirreled away before anyone could catch her there. There was a comfort there, having this little world to herself. She wiped the dirt from her palms across the front of her trousers and frowned across the way.
This was hers, for a time. Until it, too, eluded her. She hoped that someone still cared for the flowers and plants back in Kirkwall. It wouldâve been a shame if they were left to fade. A foolâs thought.
As it happened, however, she did not occupy the garden alone on this particular morning. She could not hear Rilien's footsteps, but she could see him, somewhat further down her path, currently paused by the bed of irises that sat firmly under the shade of one of the courtyard's walls. His hands were folded into his sleeves, back pressed to the dark grey stone behind him, one foot propped against it as well.
It wasn't more than a few seconds after she noticed his presence that he glanced up, meeting her eyes across the slightly-awkward distance. He didn't say anythingâhe never raised his voice, and he would have needed to in order to guarantee that she'd hear him. Instead, he tilted his head slightly to the left. An invitation.
Sparrow had long since stopped questioning Rilienâs ability to drift into her peripherals, soundless as an apparition. Their gaits contrasted as brightly as he did in the garden; a shadow among flowers. How long heâd been there without her noticing was anyoneâs guess. She was accustomed to that as well. He may have been the only one in Skyhold who could find her as easily as he did. It made her question, at times, if she had really changed all, if she was a predictable creature, even after all this time.
Still. It was unusual to see him here of all places. It was common for her to seek him out in the rookery. Stealing into his space like one of his ravens, bereft of invitation; either drinking tea or discussing her students. About the others, as well. Ashton, Sophia, Lucien. Small conversations. Other times, theyâd sit in silence. She found that she didnât mind those moments as much as she used to. She unhooked the burlap sack from her belt and dropped it at her feet before closing the distance between them.
She took her own place at his side, leaning against the stone wall as well. She stared off towards the mountains, the sun climbing the skyâbeyond them, towards nothing. Sparrow inclined her head to the side, tucking an errant strand of hair behind her stubbed ear. She turned her gaze towards him and held it there, studying his face. Waiting. Sheâd long since stomped out the piece of herself that clambered to be heard.
Probably a good thing, in this case, because he let the silence reign for several minutes, holding court over the garden like a monarch, they its obedient subjects. He glanced at her once, unreadable as he always was, but turned his eyes back out to the courtyard before he spoke.
âThere is a way to reverse the Rite of Tranquility." His arms shifted slightly, producing a rustling in the light silk of his sleeves. His bell-sleeved tunic was purple today. Dark, like wine, tinged with red in the same way. The gold stitching at the hems winked in the sunlight where he moved, an odd break in the stillness. Unnatural to himâa ripple in a pond, not a wave in the ocean. He said nothing further.
Whatâ
Sparrowâs hand snapped out and grabbed onto his sleeve, just below his elbow. An involuntary motion. She blinked sluggishly. Not quite believing her own ears. Even so, she did not relinquish her grip.
Had she heard him correctly? The words washed over her. A hopeful swell. Desperate, and so, so guilty. It spilled over so many things sheâd tried to bury. She studied the profile of his face, once more. An uncomfortable feeling bloomed in the pit of her belly, threatening to overtake her. She quelled the quiver of her lip by biting the inside of her cheek. Hard. How long had she waited to hear such words? That there was a chance of reversing what sheâd done to him meant more than she could articulate. Sheâd never been good with words.
She could return what she had stolen in Kirkwall. His chance at a new life. A beginning. Heâd never profess to wanting something in so many words, but she knew that he mustâve, if he could. If it had ever been a possibility. Being whole. She swallowed thickly, trying to dislodge the horrible lump occupying her throat. It didnât seem to work. âRil,â she allowed herself a pause, wetting her lips, âWhen? How?â
He allowed her touch in the same way he always had: without protest or the faintest hint of discomfort. She knew that if he hadn't wanted it, he'd have no problem extricating himselfâhe was never one to endure something to spare someone else's feelings. It seemed to take him some effort to move his eyes back to her, like they were pulled away to nothing else in particular. Like it was somehow difficult. âOnly recently." His lips pursed just fractionally. âIt seems that the Seeker leadership has always known. Ser Leonhardt recently inherited the knowledge, which was then conveyed to me."
He paused; the silence seemed heavier now, less comfortable. âI... wished to know. What you thought of the idea." He gave no hint as to his own thoughts, at least none over and above the subtle indications of tension in the way he held himself. If he'd been anyone else, it might have been nervousness. But he was not anyone else; only himself.
Sparrowâs eyebrows drew together. A much younger version of herself would have wailed against the injustice, railed against the fact that someone else had that knowledge available, kept in dusty tomes. She would have roared how disgusting those wretches were for secreting away something so damn important to him. To her. But she was older now, and understood that things were hardly that simple; it was enough that they had it now. What she hadnât expected was the sickeningly hollow feeling expanding within her. Making her want to scream, suddenly, like a child beating its fists against change. Thatâs what it was, wasnât it?
Her hand smoothed down the silken fabric of his sleeves until it rested against his hand. The silence was palpable. He hadnât changed since Kirkwall. There were lines there, between his words, as there always had been. Unspoken, but implied. It felt like Rilien was the only one with all the answers in his hands, and yet⊠heâd ask her a question like that. What she thought of this; and in an instant when she shouldnât falter, hesitate; she did for no reason she could justify.
For a moment, Sparrow only stared at him. She remembered Ashtonâs words. How heâd been in those dreary caves, hunting for a demon to rid herself or Rapture. He was happy. Ecstatic. Whole. A man entirely different from how he was now. She remembered what Lucien had told her. How sick sheâd been of herself afterwards. It was a sacrifice he shouldnât have needed to make.
It was a chance to rectify that⊠even if heâd become less of the Rilien she knew. Her fingers closed around his hand. There was a hardness to her eyes; a determined tilt to her chin. There was nothing, no one. Only him. âI think we should do everything in our power to make sure we succeed.â Her voice, though softening to a whisper, peeled like chantry bells in the silence that seemed to blanket them, âIsnât that what you want?â
âWhat I want is to know that I have not lost you." He ducked his head slightly, catching her eyes with his and holding them steadily. Rilien's were such an odd color, gold tinged with orange, like the mellow flame of a candle, or the much less-mellow hue of a blade in the forge. His jaw flexed under the smooth skin of his face. âWhen I am not Tranquil, I..." He paused a heartbeat too long for it to be insignificant. âI love you."
A soft breath left him, his shoulders easing just a fraction. âWhen I am like thisâI do not know if it can be called the same thing." He frowned openly. A more subtle expression than the same would be on another face, but obvious nevertheless. âYou deserve that. To be loved. I do not know if I can give you that, as I am. And if you desire that I should become someone who can, then I will." The words were cautious, as though he believed she might well choose that. But he was also clearly telling the truthâhe would let her decide that if she wanted to.
Sparrowâs mouth dried up like a summer drought on her tongue. It was not what she expected to hear. There was a small chance that she was imagining this all. Disbelief lined her innards, and if she wasnât frozen in place, she might have pinched herself to confirm her suspicions. Asleep somewhere, nestled under a dogwood tree. It wasnât out of the realm of possibilities. Where else would she hear those words tumbling so carefully from his lips? The Rite of Tranquilityâa cure, a means to relinquish him from shackles long set on his wrists. And this admission.
It was careful. Cautious as a whisper. An honest allowance, threading itself into a decision he wanted her to make. One that was much too large to fit in her palms. One that she didnât think she deserved to make. Wasnât this the same as stealing something away from him? Another decision. She, too, remembered her own admission in Kirkwall. It had not been enough to dissuade him at the time; to keep him in place, where she had found a place to perch. Her grip tightened on his hand as she tore her gaze away and studied the stonework at his shoulder.
The sky was cranberry, sunlight peeping across the horizon and catching against the gold of his robesâstealing her gaze, until she found herself staring back into his eyes. Two suns. There was no desperation there, but she certainly sensed uncertainty. If there was any hint to what he truly wanted, he did not allow it to seep through. There was too much she wanted to say. Things sheâd kept locked up. Or so sheâd believed. The lump in her throat constricted. She didnât trust the sound of her voice. Even so. âYou should know,â she focused on keeping it as level as she could manage, smoothing out the ugly creaks, âthat youâd never lose me.â
It was all sheâd wanted to hear. Long ago.
Her hand trembled. âThis is...â too much to bear, a responsibility she selfishly yearned after. âHow would you be afterwards?â The implications were there. Would he be crippled by everything heâs never felt before? Having oneâs emotions ripped away was terrible enough, but to have them all pour back in⊠was unfathomable. She didnât understand the procedure. She hardly understood the Rite of Tranquility at all.
âNot well." The answer was simple, succinct. Perhaps sensing that she needed more than that alone, he continued. âI have reason to suspect I would endure considerable emotional torment, for how long I could not say. I have been without those things for a very long time. At least... without the most powerful forms of them. It has been more than twenty years." All simple truth, and delivered like it. He considered her, head slightly tilted. âPlease do not decide on that basis alone. It is not unworthy of considerationâmy indisposal would inhibit the Inquisition considerably. But it is not all that is worth considering."
His eyes dropped; then, for a moment, they closed. âEstella says I am... enough as I am. But she is my student and my friend, and you are... something different from that. I would understand if I was not enough, for you."
How his eyes would light, how his voice would brighten, how passion would bleed from his very beingâitâs how Sparrow imagined it would have been like, if sheâd been there to witness it. It was how she had pictured it when Ashton told her how heâd been in that short span of time. She felt foolish for believing that it would have been all good. There were things she wished she couldnât feel at all. Guilt. Regret. Grief. A kaleidoscope of emotion, colliding all at once. Heavy burdens. Would she wish those things on him if she knew he would suffer? For her sake.
Her question held none of the confidence she seemed capable of conjuring. It was quiet, imploring. Dredging hands towards a selfish wish, but still shrinking against it. Her mouth thinned for a moment before she let out an exhale, one that she hadnât been aware she was holding in. She knew beneath the hardness sheâd built over the years, scraping down Thedas, bloodying her fists, that she was still hurt. That she still wanted. She smiled, if only a little. âOf course you are. You always have been,â she could feel her heart tightening, uncomfortable in her chest, âSo, Iâll ask you⊠what do you want?â
The question seemed to give him a moment's pause. But it didn't appear to come as a surpriseânot that anything ever did. Still, for some reason, Rilien weighed his words carefully before he spoke, and when he did so, it was with unusual slowness. âI want to try again." Obviously that was not sufficiently clear, but he let it sit for a moment before explaining it. âIn the time I spent away from you, I realized that it was not possible to become as I had been before you. You changed me, enough that my idea of what was important changed as well. I want to live in a way that is true to that change. True to the significance you have to me."
Slowly, he extracted one hand from his sleeve, reaching forward slowlyâslowly enough that she had ample time to move away. His palm came to rest on her cheek, the calluses on his fingertips pressing gently into her cheekbone. âTo me. To the person you changed. The person you loved. I do not know what the words are for what you are to me now, but I wish for the opportunity to discover them, if you find that suggestion to be tolerable."
There was no doubt that he knew her better for everything she didnât say. The things she never needed to say. Her actions spoke volumes; her tide, beating against the boulder of everything Rilien stood for. The only one who had ever willingly weathered her storms in all the ways she needed. The odds had always been stacked against them. They came from different worlds, colliding into one. A mess, in every sense. He set it to rights, while she continued to stumble. Even now, with everything that had changed in his absence, the flicker of the disreputable woman roaring from the shadows remained. But it was not only she who felt the relentless tugging urging her to dig her heels into the dirt. To stay in one place, instead of fleeing to where the wind took her.
For all of the thing sheâd shaken apart in Rilienâs world⊠heâd changed hers just as much. He changed everything he touched without realizing the significance. Sheâd seen how heâd changed others, as well. Stel. Her friends in Kirkwall. Skyhold would falter without him, she was sure. Irreplaceable. She would have been remiss to deny the fact that sheâd sought him out along her travels with Auroraâperhaps, thatâs how it had always been. He had given her a home; a place she wanted to be. He was so much more than she ever thought he could be. As he was now, and as he could be.
Even this was careful. The cautious caress that made her heart ache. A question in itself. He had plenty of those, and half of them she wasnât sure how to answer. She pressed her face into his hand, shuttering her eyes closed. Yes, of course. Her selfish heart wanted for nothing less. She drew one of her hands up and placed it at his own, holding it in place. Upon opening them, she met his gaze and closed the distance between them, as she had done so long ago. A firestorm who did not ask for permission. Her lips, always so insistent, found his. The kiss was fragile, soft. Quick as a birdâs beating wings. Only then did she rest her forehead against his, breathing out. This was her answer. Had always been.
It would not be unpleasant. The words echoed in her mind. It almost made her laugh. She could feel the scars on her face pulling up, âTolerable? Of course I would. For as long as it takes for you to discover them, I'll be here. Itâs what Iâve always wanted, Rilien. Youâve kept me waiting long enough.â
His expression softened, and for a moment she could see a faint echo of the elf Ash had described to her. Eyes warmed with something, lips curled faintly. Even the little place where his nose went crooked seemed to suit him in that moment, the subtle imperfection something that made him look less like a wax sculpture and more like he was really alive. His thumb moved across her cheek, smoothing over the skin just beneath her eye, his brow still pressed to hers.
âThen I shall endeavor never to make you wait again."
Elfroot. Black lotus. Dogwood. Roses. Tulips.
It reminded her of Auroraâs garden. A little different. After all, this was not Kirkwall. Would never be Kirkwall. There were times when she even missed the musty slums of Darktown. Her hovel. Theirs. She supposed that it had more to do with missing how things used to be. Memories that she hadnât quite let go of. Even so, the similarities were close enough to drag herself out of bed. She woke up early enough to tend to it while the others slept and squirreled away before anyone could catch her there. There was a comfort there, having this little world to herself. She wiped the dirt from her palms across the front of her trousers and frowned across the way.
This was hers, for a time. Until it, too, eluded her. She hoped that someone still cared for the flowers and plants back in Kirkwall. It wouldâve been a shame if they were left to fade. A foolâs thought.
As it happened, however, she did not occupy the garden alone on this particular morning. She could not hear Rilien's footsteps, but she could see him, somewhat further down her path, currently paused by the bed of irises that sat firmly under the shade of one of the courtyard's walls. His hands were folded into his sleeves, back pressed to the dark grey stone behind him, one foot propped against it as well.
It wasn't more than a few seconds after she noticed his presence that he glanced up, meeting her eyes across the slightly-awkward distance. He didn't say anythingâhe never raised his voice, and he would have needed to in order to guarantee that she'd hear him. Instead, he tilted his head slightly to the left. An invitation.
Sparrow had long since stopped questioning Rilienâs ability to drift into her peripherals, soundless as an apparition. Their gaits contrasted as brightly as he did in the garden; a shadow among flowers. How long heâd been there without her noticing was anyoneâs guess. She was accustomed to that as well. He may have been the only one in Skyhold who could find her as easily as he did. It made her question, at times, if she had really changed all, if she was a predictable creature, even after all this time.
Still. It was unusual to see him here of all places. It was common for her to seek him out in the rookery. Stealing into his space like one of his ravens, bereft of invitation; either drinking tea or discussing her students. About the others, as well. Ashton, Sophia, Lucien. Small conversations. Other times, theyâd sit in silence. She found that she didnât mind those moments as much as she used to. She unhooked the burlap sack from her belt and dropped it at her feet before closing the distance between them.
She took her own place at his side, leaning against the stone wall as well. She stared off towards the mountains, the sun climbing the skyâbeyond them, towards nothing. Sparrow inclined her head to the side, tucking an errant strand of hair behind her stubbed ear. She turned her gaze towards him and held it there, studying his face. Waiting. Sheâd long since stomped out the piece of herself that clambered to be heard.
Probably a good thing, in this case, because he let the silence reign for several minutes, holding court over the garden like a monarch, they its obedient subjects. He glanced at her once, unreadable as he always was, but turned his eyes back out to the courtyard before he spoke.
âThere is a way to reverse the Rite of Tranquility." His arms shifted slightly, producing a rustling in the light silk of his sleeves. His bell-sleeved tunic was purple today. Dark, like wine, tinged with red in the same way. The gold stitching at the hems winked in the sunlight where he moved, an odd break in the stillness. Unnatural to himâa ripple in a pond, not a wave in the ocean. He said nothing further.
Whatâ
Sparrowâs hand snapped out and grabbed onto his sleeve, just below his elbow. An involuntary motion. She blinked sluggishly. Not quite believing her own ears. Even so, she did not relinquish her grip.
Had she heard him correctly? The words washed over her. A hopeful swell. Desperate, and so, so guilty. It spilled over so many things sheâd tried to bury. She studied the profile of his face, once more. An uncomfortable feeling bloomed in the pit of her belly, threatening to overtake her. She quelled the quiver of her lip by biting the inside of her cheek. Hard. How long had she waited to hear such words? That there was a chance of reversing what sheâd done to him meant more than she could articulate. Sheâd never been good with words.
She could return what she had stolen in Kirkwall. His chance at a new life. A beginning. Heâd never profess to wanting something in so many words, but she knew that he mustâve, if he could. If it had ever been a possibility. Being whole. She swallowed thickly, trying to dislodge the horrible lump occupying her throat. It didnât seem to work. âRil,â she allowed herself a pause, wetting her lips, âWhen? How?â
He allowed her touch in the same way he always had: without protest or the faintest hint of discomfort. She knew that if he hadn't wanted it, he'd have no problem extricating himselfâhe was never one to endure something to spare someone else's feelings. It seemed to take him some effort to move his eyes back to her, like they were pulled away to nothing else in particular. Like it was somehow difficult. âOnly recently." His lips pursed just fractionally. âIt seems that the Seeker leadership has always known. Ser Leonhardt recently inherited the knowledge, which was then conveyed to me."
He paused; the silence seemed heavier now, less comfortable. âI... wished to know. What you thought of the idea." He gave no hint as to his own thoughts, at least none over and above the subtle indications of tension in the way he held himself. If he'd been anyone else, it might have been nervousness. But he was not anyone else; only himself.
Sparrowâs eyebrows drew together. A much younger version of herself would have wailed against the injustice, railed against the fact that someone else had that knowledge available, kept in dusty tomes. She would have roared how disgusting those wretches were for secreting away something so damn important to him. To her. But she was older now, and understood that things were hardly that simple; it was enough that they had it now. What she hadnât expected was the sickeningly hollow feeling expanding within her. Making her want to scream, suddenly, like a child beating its fists against change. Thatâs what it was, wasnât it?
Her hand smoothed down the silken fabric of his sleeves until it rested against his hand. The silence was palpable. He hadnât changed since Kirkwall. There were lines there, between his words, as there always had been. Unspoken, but implied. It felt like Rilien was the only one with all the answers in his hands, and yet⊠heâd ask her a question like that. What she thought of this; and in an instant when she shouldnât falter, hesitate; she did for no reason she could justify.
For a moment, Sparrow only stared at him. She remembered Ashtonâs words. How heâd been in those dreary caves, hunting for a demon to rid herself or Rapture. He was happy. Ecstatic. Whole. A man entirely different from how he was now. She remembered what Lucien had told her. How sick sheâd been of herself afterwards. It was a sacrifice he shouldnât have needed to make.
It was a chance to rectify that⊠even if heâd become less of the Rilien she knew. Her fingers closed around his hand. There was a hardness to her eyes; a determined tilt to her chin. There was nothing, no one. Only him. âI think we should do everything in our power to make sure we succeed.â Her voice, though softening to a whisper, peeled like chantry bells in the silence that seemed to blanket them, âIsnât that what you want?â
âWhat I want is to know that I have not lost you." He ducked his head slightly, catching her eyes with his and holding them steadily. Rilien's were such an odd color, gold tinged with orange, like the mellow flame of a candle, or the much less-mellow hue of a blade in the forge. His jaw flexed under the smooth skin of his face. âWhen I am not Tranquil, I..." He paused a heartbeat too long for it to be insignificant. âI love you."
A soft breath left him, his shoulders easing just a fraction. âWhen I am like thisâI do not know if it can be called the same thing." He frowned openly. A more subtle expression than the same would be on another face, but obvious nevertheless. âYou deserve that. To be loved. I do not know if I can give you that, as I am. And if you desire that I should become someone who can, then I will." The words were cautious, as though he believed she might well choose that. But he was also clearly telling the truthâhe would let her decide that if she wanted to.
Sparrowâs mouth dried up like a summer drought on her tongue. It was not what she expected to hear. There was a small chance that she was imagining this all. Disbelief lined her innards, and if she wasnât frozen in place, she might have pinched herself to confirm her suspicions. Asleep somewhere, nestled under a dogwood tree. It wasnât out of the realm of possibilities. Where else would she hear those words tumbling so carefully from his lips? The Rite of Tranquilityâa cure, a means to relinquish him from shackles long set on his wrists. And this admission.
It was careful. Cautious as a whisper. An honest allowance, threading itself into a decision he wanted her to make. One that was much too large to fit in her palms. One that she didnât think she deserved to make. Wasnât this the same as stealing something away from him? Another decision. She, too, remembered her own admission in Kirkwall. It had not been enough to dissuade him at the time; to keep him in place, where she had found a place to perch. Her grip tightened on his hand as she tore her gaze away and studied the stonework at his shoulder.
The sky was cranberry, sunlight peeping across the horizon and catching against the gold of his robesâstealing her gaze, until she found herself staring back into his eyes. Two suns. There was no desperation there, but she certainly sensed uncertainty. If there was any hint to what he truly wanted, he did not allow it to seep through. There was too much she wanted to say. Things sheâd kept locked up. Or so sheâd believed. The lump in her throat constricted. She didnât trust the sound of her voice. Even so. âYou should know,â she focused on keeping it as level as she could manage, smoothing out the ugly creaks, âthat youâd never lose me.â
It was all sheâd wanted to hear. Long ago.
Her hand trembled. âThis is...â too much to bear, a responsibility she selfishly yearned after. âHow would you be afterwards?â The implications were there. Would he be crippled by everything heâs never felt before? Having oneâs emotions ripped away was terrible enough, but to have them all pour back in⊠was unfathomable. She didnât understand the procedure. She hardly understood the Rite of Tranquility at all.
âNot well." The answer was simple, succinct. Perhaps sensing that she needed more than that alone, he continued. âI have reason to suspect I would endure considerable emotional torment, for how long I could not say. I have been without those things for a very long time. At least... without the most powerful forms of them. It has been more than twenty years." All simple truth, and delivered like it. He considered her, head slightly tilted. âPlease do not decide on that basis alone. It is not unworthy of considerationâmy indisposal would inhibit the Inquisition considerably. But it is not all that is worth considering."
His eyes dropped; then, for a moment, they closed. âEstella says I am... enough as I am. But she is my student and my friend, and you are... something different from that. I would understand if I was not enough, for you."
How his eyes would light, how his voice would brighten, how passion would bleed from his very beingâitâs how Sparrow imagined it would have been like, if sheâd been there to witness it. It was how she had pictured it when Ashton told her how heâd been in that short span of time. She felt foolish for believing that it would have been all good. There were things she wished she couldnât feel at all. Guilt. Regret. Grief. A kaleidoscope of emotion, colliding all at once. Heavy burdens. Would she wish those things on him if she knew he would suffer? For her sake.
Her question held none of the confidence she seemed capable of conjuring. It was quiet, imploring. Dredging hands towards a selfish wish, but still shrinking against it. Her mouth thinned for a moment before she let out an exhale, one that she hadnât been aware she was holding in. She knew beneath the hardness sheâd built over the years, scraping down Thedas, bloodying her fists, that she was still hurt. That she still wanted. She smiled, if only a little. âOf course you are. You always have been,â she could feel her heart tightening, uncomfortable in her chest, âSo, Iâll ask you⊠what do you want?â
The question seemed to give him a moment's pause. But it didn't appear to come as a surpriseânot that anything ever did. Still, for some reason, Rilien weighed his words carefully before he spoke, and when he did so, it was with unusual slowness. âI want to try again." Obviously that was not sufficiently clear, but he let it sit for a moment before explaining it. âIn the time I spent away from you, I realized that it was not possible to become as I had been before you. You changed me, enough that my idea of what was important changed as well. I want to live in a way that is true to that change. True to the significance you have to me."
Slowly, he extracted one hand from his sleeve, reaching forward slowlyâslowly enough that she had ample time to move away. His palm came to rest on her cheek, the calluses on his fingertips pressing gently into her cheekbone. âTo me. To the person you changed. The person you loved. I do not know what the words are for what you are to me now, but I wish for the opportunity to discover them, if you find that suggestion to be tolerable."
There was no doubt that he knew her better for everything she didnât say. The things she never needed to say. Her actions spoke volumes; her tide, beating against the boulder of everything Rilien stood for. The only one who had ever willingly weathered her storms in all the ways she needed. The odds had always been stacked against them. They came from different worlds, colliding into one. A mess, in every sense. He set it to rights, while she continued to stumble. Even now, with everything that had changed in his absence, the flicker of the disreputable woman roaring from the shadows remained. But it was not only she who felt the relentless tugging urging her to dig her heels into the dirt. To stay in one place, instead of fleeing to where the wind took her.
For all of the thing sheâd shaken apart in Rilienâs world⊠heâd changed hers just as much. He changed everything he touched without realizing the significance. Sheâd seen how heâd changed others, as well. Stel. Her friends in Kirkwall. Skyhold would falter without him, she was sure. Irreplaceable. She would have been remiss to deny the fact that sheâd sought him out along her travels with Auroraâperhaps, thatâs how it had always been. He had given her a home; a place she wanted to be. He was so much more than she ever thought he could be. As he was now, and as he could be.
Even this was careful. The cautious caress that made her heart ache. A question in itself. He had plenty of those, and half of them she wasnât sure how to answer. She pressed her face into his hand, shuttering her eyes closed. Yes, of course. Her selfish heart wanted for nothing less. She drew one of her hands up and placed it at his own, holding it in place. Upon opening them, she met his gaze and closed the distance between them, as she had done so long ago. A firestorm who did not ask for permission. Her lips, always so insistent, found his. The kiss was fragile, soft. Quick as a birdâs beating wings. Only then did she rest her forehead against his, breathing out. This was her answer. Had always been.
It would not be unpleasant. The words echoed in her mind. It almost made her laugh. She could feel the scars on her face pulling up, âTolerable? Of course I would. For as long as it takes for you to discover them, I'll be here. Itâs what Iâve always wanted, Rilien. Youâve kept me waiting long enough.â
His expression softened, and for a moment she could see a faint echo of the elf Ash had described to her. Eyes warmed with something, lips curled faintly. Even the little place where his nose went crooked seemed to suit him in that moment, the subtle imperfection something that made him look less like a wax sculpture and more like he was really alive. His thumb moved across her cheek, smoothing over the skin just beneath her eye, his brow still pressed to hers.
âThen I shall endeavor never to make you wait again."