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A lone figure ghosted over the battlements of the moon-bleached fortress, pale robes floating behind her through the soft wintry air. Solas had expected to see her outdoors. The Inquisitor had returned from the Deep Roads two days ago, and he had heard she’d avoided the interior of her stronghold ever since—even insisting that the war council be conducted outside, in the garden. He began to walk from his place at the doors of the main tower across the courtyard toward her, unthinking. She did not turn as he ascended the stone steps to the battlements.
“Trouble sleeping?” Solas asked quietly. Zirael remained still, face upturned toward the velvet sky. In the colourless dark, her hair was nothing but rippling black, stark against the paleness of her night robes.
“I missed the sky,” she hummed, sighing. “I’d almost forgotten…” her next words died on her lips as a breath of wind rushed between them, whipping her vestments into a temporary frenzy.
“Mmm?” he prompted her, leaning against the wall beside him.
She turned to survey him, bright eyes glittering. “How big it was,” she chuckled softly, shaking her head and shifting her gaze back toward the stars. “So big,” she whispered.
A strange tightness formed in his chest as he studied her bare, clean face. Her face as it should be, her face as it always should have been. The distance that had grown between them since he had taken her to the grove in Crestwood had agonised him more than he had let anybody see. The open tenderness with which she used to treat him, the absolute trust in him she so often demonstrated had been replaced by a detached politeness—but for now, in the dark, it was almost as though it had never happened. He wondered how she would react if he closed the space between them now, took her hands in his and folded her into his arms, tilted her face upwards to press his lips to hers—
Enough.
“The Deep Roads,” he said, suddenly desperate to fill the silence, “How did you find them?”
Zirael fixed her eyes upon him, frowning slightly. “Treacherous… but beautiful,” she replied after a time, and after a questioning raise of his eyebrows, elaborated, “It’s hard to describe my experience there simply, but they’re the best words I can apply to it. They’re largely unmapped, infested with darkspawn, cold… I’m sure the list goes on,” she laughed quietly. “But there were things I witnessed that boasted an unrivalled beauty. Great stone monuments, standing lonely within abandoned thaigs… a lost cavern veined with untapped lyrium, webs of glowing blue threading through the rock… ceaselessly undulating waves of a forgotten sea…” She had moved to stand beside him, her fingers tracing the grooves in the stone before her as she spoke. “And an entire city framed by the strangest lights and mists.” Zirael turned to him. “It was extraordinary.”
“I imagine it was,” Solas murmured, considering her as she met his gaze, her pale skin glowing in the moonlight. “I should like to learn more of your time there.”
“Of course,” she replied. “I shall have a copy of my report to my advisors prepared for you. Though I must warn you, it is quite lengthy.” Her voice hinted at mirth, but her eyes were cool and calm as they slipped past him to survey Skyhold’s grounds.
Solas kept his face smooth, though struggled to suppress the disappointment pooling in his belly. He had hoped—somewhat foolishly, he now recognised—that she might recount her journeys to him personally. He missed her so much, too much, more than he was willing to admit himself. He silently cursed himself for finding so much solace in her companionship. His path would always be one he must walk alone.
They stood unmoving for a time as the silence between them grew and deepened, though it did not panic him in the same way it had done before. He enjoyed the bite of the air and the feel of her closeness, something he had not realised he’d allowed himself to grow so attached to. Part of him wished he had not sought her out. It did himself a gross disservice in reminding himself of what he had torn himself from. He reasoned that she probably felt similarly, given her cool disposition toward him, though in recent times he often found her countenance frustratingly difficult to read. Solas almost made to leave when Zirael interrupted his reverie.
“I am glad to be home,” she said, her voice curiously small. He met her gaze, and a thin smile graced her lips. Solas was glad to see it, despite the ever-present hardness of her eyes. It was the same guarded look she wore whenever he saw her nowadays. His heart ached for the casual warmth they had always held for him in the past. His lips parted, though to say what he did not know.
“Goodnight, Solas,” she murmured then, brushing a hand along his shoulder as she moved past him, floating down the steps and across the grounds to enter the main tower. His eyes followed her the whole way, an ethereal smudge against the quiet, black night.