Chapter Text
Amira was hoping nobody would notice tonight. They’d notice eventually, of course, and ask about it—but she wasn’t prepared to answer questions right now, not tonight. Not after what had just happened. It was late when they—she—returned to Skyhold. Maybe everyone was asleep. Maybe everyone . . .
She stopped just outside of the gates, turning around and leaning against the rough outer wall of the place she’d grown to call home. She wiped away some stupid stray tears and scorned herself for being this emotional for this long, this close to Skyhold. This was a sentiment she couldn’t afford. Out in the Hinterlands or the Graves or the Plains, she could allow herself some sentimentality. In her quarters, she could afford herself some sentimentality. But from the gates to her quarters? No, she had no room for overt emotion there. She was the Inquisitor. She had an image to uphold.
Amira took a deep breath in, held it, and then slowly exhaled. She cleared her head of the night’s events. She couldn’t think on that now. She stood up, squared her posture, nodded to herself, and walked with feigned confidence through the gates.
She hadn’t gotten halfway to the main tower’s stairs when she heard a sudden shuffle beside her. Instinctually, she lifted a hand up, ready to send a bolt of lightning into whatever was accosting her.
“Shit, calm it!” Sera said as Amira wheeled around to look at her, hand still raised. “Just me! Not some scary oogey-boogey here to spook you!”
“Maker, Sera, you can’t sneak up on me like that,” Amira said with a sigh. Her shoulders slackened and she dropped her hand, her posture immediately moving from defensive to self-conscious. “Sorry for that. It’s just habit.”
“Good habit to have though, innit? What with, you know, the oogey-boogies—demons and what have you. Didn’t come down here to check your habits though, did I? Your elfy bits is gone.”
Sera was pointing to Amira’s face. Amira looked down. She tried not to tear up.
“Left with Solas though, didn’t you? He do that, then? Where’s he at now? You leave him behind somewhere, tell him to get lost, or—’’
Amira sniffled and wiped away a tear. “Sera, I don’t . . .”
“Shit,” Sera said. Amira looked up. Sera’s eyes were wide; she looked shocked. “Shit, Amira, I didn’t mean—did he actually though, or—’’ Her expression became furious. “Fifty arrows straight through his face, faster than he can say, ‘the Fade’!” She turned around and started walking angrily back to the tavern, but Amira grabbed her by the shoulder.
“Sera, please, don’t,” she said. “Please.”
“And why shouldn’t I? The bastard hurt my Inquisitor!”
“It’s not like that—he just, he has reasons, I just . . . please, Sera. I can’t tonight. Alright? Please. I just need to go to my quarters and process everything, and I can’t be a mess while I’m out here.”
“Why not?”
“Can’t have the Inquisitor a pile of tears when there’s a war going on.”
“Well,” Sera said, sighing, “that’s stupid. But fine. No arrows in the face tonight. No promises for later, right, but I’ll keep ‘em in the quiver for tonight.”
“Thank you, Sera.”
“You—you gonna be all right, though?”
Amira looked at Sera. She was crossing her arms, kicking at the dirt a little, and looking away, her jaw clenched. She looked as though she were trying not to appear concerned. Amira was genuinely touched that Sera was being as serious with her as she possibly could be, but Amira tried not to let on.
“I’ll be fine. With some time. Until then, maybe . . . maybe make sure nobody intercepts me on my way back to my quarters? I’d really like to avoid any Inquisition Talks right now.”
“Right-o, Her Gracious Ladybits,” Sera said with a sloppy salute and a precocious grin. “You head on up away and I’ll make sure everyone steers clear.”
“Thanks,” Amira said.
“And Amira, just—just—he can shove it, yeah? You were always ten times better than him anyway.”
“Yeah,” Amira said, faking a smile back. It was an expression her face had gotten used to, and it came naturally anymore. She turned and started walking up to the tower, adjusting her posture back to its feigned confidence. Nobody stopped her on her way up to her quarters; she knew if anyone could keep the others away from her, it’d be Sera (or Leliana, of course, but she was likely holed up higher in the tower right now).
She appreciated Sera’s efforts. She just couldn’t change her feelings as quickly as Sera wanted. She was heartbroken.
As soon as she got to the first door leading to her room, her posture fell again. She walked more slowly, tiredly, opening the next door reluctantly. This was the first night of countless more during which she would be in this room entirely alone. It wasn’t as though they’d spent every night there together, but it was common enough for her to have trouble sleeping when he wasn’t by her side. She’d have to get used to the bed, almost comically large, being even more spacious now.
She was exhausted, but she wasn’t ready to face that bed just yet.
Instead, she figured she should probably look at her face. Really study it, examine it, become more comfortable with it before seeing anyone else. She sat down at her vanity, looking her reflection dead in the eyes.
She started crying almost immediately. Now that there was nothing holding her back and she was tucked away in her room, the tears came more easily than they had since before all of this—Skyhold, the rifts, Haven even—had started, and she hated that. She hated how easily he undid her. She hated him for doing this to her, to drawing her in and—
No. That was ridiculous, and she knew it. At no point did Solas pursue her; she knew she had been the one to pursue him. She’d flirted with him first, kissed him first. He didn’t do this to her. She’d done it to herself. If anything, he’d protested early on, and she’d been the one to press the relationship further. He’d been the one to say it shouldn’t be done. She’d been the one to say they should try anyway, and now, here they were—or, more, here she was. She knew this would happen. He’d told her this would happen. She just wanted so desperately to hope.
She touched her skin where her vallaslin had been. It was surreal, after so much time with it there, a part of her face, to see herself with it gone. She was glad it was gone. She didn’t want it there anymore. She looked older without it, in a way that she liked; ever since being named Inquisitor, her reflection with the bright, pink, whimsical vallaslin had looked unfittingly young. But now, looking at herself, examining her face, she knew it would always be a quiet reminder of losing Solas.
She let herself cry for a few moments longer, but she quickly found she was more tired than sad at this point. It’d be hard to get over, especially with him just around, but like she’d told Sera, she’d be fine eventually. His voice had carried such finality with it when he left her, it was hard to feel anything but resigned at this point.
She got up and walked over to her bed, laying on it with a soft thump. She had meetings tomorrow. In the morning, she was needed at the war table. She knew that even though she and her advisers had made a conscious effort to keep the war table more or less professional (give or take a few jokes between the group), but she could already tell they would all have questions for her as soon as they saw her. She could already picture Leliana, an eyebrow raised in threatening curiosity; Josephine, brows knit, trying to remain on-task; and Cullen, trying to look stoic, eyes flicking from Amira to Josephine to Leliana, trying to see if they were honestly going to continue with the meeting when something was clearly wrong.
She already knew she’d been in for a talking-to from Cullen as soon as the meeting was over. Ever since supporting his decision to break his addiction, she’d grown so much closer to the once-was-templar than she’d ever expected. He’d turned out to be so much kinder and even funnier at times than she would have guessed, and it was nice having someone who both understood the gravity of the situation they were in (unlike Sera or Bull or Dorian) and also knew how to simply relax and talk with some urging (unlike Cassandra or Leliana). She didn’t look forward to relaying the events back to him; she knew he’d be sad and protective, wanting to go yell at Solas, and like with Sera, she’d appreciate the notion, she really would—but it just wasn’t what she needed right now. Chuckling darkly to herself, she decided what she needed was some wine and someone to, at the very least, kiss her. That would make her feel better, wouldn’t it?
She touched her face again and knew that no, it really wouldn’t.
Amira rolled over to her side, curling up, feeling the emptiness of the bed surround her. She hoped in vain for sleep that never came, dreading the morning and all the fresh pain and unwanted conversation she knew it would bring.