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himluv · 2 years ago

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The Final Goodbye

This isn't the last piece of Inevitable, but it is the last one I wrote. In a lot of ways, it is my last Solavellan piece. And I have so fucking many feelings about that.

So, so many feelings.

Blackwall was the first to leave. Riallan had banished the Grey Wardens from Southern Thedas after the mess at Adamant Fortress, and Blackwall had made it clear he only wanted to stay long enough to see the Breach sealed once and for all.

He lingered long enough for the party, to give his congratulations and his goodbyes. He had loved her, in his own way, even when she’d given her love to another. Even when she’d broken his heart when she sent the Wardens back to Weisshaupt. She had treated him as more a subordinate than a friend, and she would always regret that.

But he’d still managed to say goodbye.

“My Lady,” he said, and gave her a respectful bow. “It has been an honor to serve at your side.”

She gave him a sad smile. It seemed all she had was sad smiles these days. They stood at the gate surrounded by their companions. Blackwall stood beside one of Dennet’s best horses, a gift from the Inquisition.

“Please, Blackwall. We were honored to have you.” She took a deep breath and put on her best Inquisitor voice. “The Inquisition could not have done this without your guidance. You taught our soldiers so much.”

He blushed. “Bah. Cullen had ‘em good and ready before I got my hands on ‘em.”

An awkward moment stretched between them, the tension rising until she knew he was on the verge of a confession. “Safe travels on your way to Weisshaupt,” she said.

He watched her a moment, weighed the idea of saying what he had to say anyway, and then decided against it. “Thank you, Your Worship. Be well,” he looked around the throng of their friends, “all of you.”

Then he swung up onto his Courser and rode away.

Sera went next. Riallan was surprised she’d made it that long, the elf was so antsy to distance herself from the Inquisition.

“Gettin’ too big,” she said, pretty much every chance she got. “You’re big people now, you and Stabby Whatsit. Maybe too big.”

Riallan got the sense that she was trying to convince herself to leave. “What’s keeping you, then?” She asked one night in the Tavern.

“I don’t like goodbyes,” Sera said into her tankard. “When I do go, I’ll just pop off and be gone in the night.”

Which was exactly what she did. One day she was in the Tavern, the next she was gone, leaving only a note:

It ain’t goodbye. You’re a Friend, no matter how big your breeches get. And when you need a friend, you just call on Red Jenny. We’ll be there. With bees.

Upon further inspection, Dagna had also vanished, taking her tools and more than a little metal with her.

Vivienne stayed longer than anyone expected, arguing with Leliana about the future of the Mage Circles. The Nightingale would be named Divine Victoria in a matter of weeks, and the Enchanter saw her opportunities to mold events dwindling.

Leliana was adamant that mandatory Circles be a thing of the past, instead hoping to replace them with optional Colleges. That was unthinkable to Vivienne and the disagreements became things of legend. The two were too well-versed at the Grand Game to ever shout, but any who heard them agreed that the undertone of the conversations was downright lethal.

Finally sensing her failure to persuade Leliana to retain the Circles, Vivienne de Fer decided to leave.

“Riallan, darling,” Vivienne said from her sofa. She’d invited the Inquisitor up to her loft for brunch. She patted the cushion beside her. “Please, sit.”

“Vivienne,” Riallan said. “You wanted to speak with me?”

“I wanted to see how you’re doing,” she said, sipping a tea cup. “You know… romantically.”

Riallan didn’t choke on her tea, but it was a near thing. She wasn’t aware they were close enough for such a conversation. She said as much.

Vivienne scoffed. “Please. You helped me with my dear Bastien. You must allow me to repay the favor.”

Riallan looked down at the dainty cup cradled on her lap. “You don’t owe me anything, Vivienne. I helped you because you asked. That’s all.”

Vivienne’s smile could frost glass, but a lingering warmth glowed in her eyes. “I do not enjoy being indebted to anyone, Inquisitor.” She sighed. “But if I must owe someone, I suppose you’re not the worst.”

Riallan snorted. “Thanks?”

“It has been most illuminating, working with you Inquisitor.” She stood, offering her hand to Riallan. “If you’re ever in Monstimmard, do call.”

And that was that. The Enchanter was gone the next morning, the lingering scent of her perfume the only indication she’d ever called the mezzanine home.

Next went The Iron Bull. It was late one night, in the Tavern, and Riallan could feel the quiet anxiety that plagued the Chargers.

“You’re leaving, aren’t you?” she asked Bull once they had a moment to themselves.

He sighed, leveling a soft eye on her. It almost looked like an apology. “Yeah.”

She nodded, staring down into her mug.

“It’s time,” he continued. “They’re getting antsy.’ He tilted his chin to the Chargers, who all looked rather solemn for what was supposed to be a night of revelry.

She raised a brow at him. “They’re ansty, or you are?”

He grunted at that. “Bit of both.”

“Where will you go?”

He shrugged. “We’ve seen a bit of Ferelden, a bit of Orlais… maybe it’s time we paid the Marches a visit.”

Riallan thought of home for the first time in far too long, and felt a distinct ache in her chest. She smiled through it. “I have it on good authority that the Marches are lovely this time of year.”

Bull’s eye twinkled with equal parts humor and sadness. “You’ll just have to come visit us then.”

They both knew the last time she visited the Marches was to Wycome. To put her Clan to rest. The last time she traveled to the Marches she was with Solas.

“Maybe I will,” she said.

They clinked their mugs together at that, smiles a little bit wider, a little warmer at the thought that she might venture out to see them again.

Even though they both knew she wouldn’t.

The next morning, when Riallan woke with a headache thumping behind her eyes and the Waking Sea churning in her stomach, The Iron Bull and his Chargers were long gone. The quiet that settled over Skyhold in their absence was eerie. Unnatural.

The keep felt empty without them, and for the first time Riallan felt the sting of farewell.

Leliana left soon after, unable to delay her arrival in Val Royeaux any longer. And while her goodbyes were genuine and heartfelt, they were brief. The Nightingale’s mind was far from Skyhold by then, already plotting her moves for the Chantry well in advance.

Saying goodbye to Leliana was not hard.

It was that Cassandra went with her that left Riallan feeling bereft. The Seeker came to her late one evening. With the Herald’s Rest too quiet and the rotunda too painful, Riallan had taken to wandering the gardens at night. The late summer air still had a bite to it, thanks to the keep’s permanent chill, and Riallan pulled her maela’s shawl tighter around her shoulders.

She heard Cassandra long before she saw her. Her boots rang heavy against the stone walkway, her sword clanging gently against her hip. Purposeful. Intense. That was Cassandra.

“Inquisitor.”

Riallan turned to face her, somewhat exasperated. How many times had she told this woman she disliked her title? She was about to say as much, but then she noticed the anxious expression on Cassandra’s face.

“Is something the matter?”

Cassandra winced. “No.”

Riallan raised a brow.

“Not exactly.” She grunted. “Leliana leaves tomorrow,” she said.

Riallan nodded. “I know. She came to tell me goodbye after dinner.”

Cassandra nodded, kicking at the dirt beneath their feet.

“Do you worry for our new Divine?”

The Seeker snorted. “I always worry about Leliana.” She sighed. “That is why I must go with her.”

Riallan’s gut clenched and she barely stopped herself from taking a step back as if from a physical blow. She blinked at Cassandra and struggled to find some composure. She cleared her throat. “I see.”

Cassandra continued, as if trying to convince them both that this was the right decision. “The rifts are sealed. The Inquisition’s purpose is complete. You don’t need me.”

Riallan couldn’t breathe. Cassandra’s voice sounded far away, as if through water. Riallan was sinking, and all she could think was that she needed the Seeker — needed her strength — to haul her back above water.

“Inquisitor?”

Riallan blinked, breath coming fast, but she nodded. “Of course. If Leliana needs you, you should go.”

Cassandra took a step closer. “You’re sure?”

“Yes. Of course.” More nodding. Maybe if she nodded enough, said it enough, it would be true.

Cassandra gave Riallan a look that plainly said she did not believe her, but she sighed. “May I be honest with you?”

“I should hope so.” Riallan smiled, but it felt forced.

Cassandra gave her a critical look, one that sized her up and found her lacking. “I am torn.”

“About going to Val Royeaux?”

“About leaving you.”

Riallan scoffed, but Cassandra continued.

“This year has been a difficult one, to say the least. Ever since Corypheus fell you have not been the same.”

Riallan looked down at her feet, at the embrium blossoms that had recently bloomed. Anywhere but at the Seeker.

“Frankly, you have not been yourself since Solas—“

“I know, Cassandra.” Riallan didn’t mean to snap at her friend, but she couldn’t talk about this. She couldn’t talk about him. “I know,” she whispered.

A long moment of silence stretched between them. Just the wind in the trees and the soft chirrups of crickets in the brush.

“I am sorry,” Cassandra said. “You deserved better than that.”

Did she? Once she had thought so, full of anger and outrage, but now she was just grateful for the time they’d had. And didn’t she carry some of the blame? He had warned her after all.

Riallan shook her head. “’It would be kinder in the long run,’” she said. “That’s what he said to me before he told me he loved me for the first time.”

Cassandra watched her, eyes heavy in the shadows of the garden.

“He warned me. He always knew it would end this way, and I didn’t listen.” Riallan looked up at her friend, fighting back tears. “So did I really deserve better?”

Cassandra put a hand on Riallan’s shoulder, pulled her into fierce hug. “Yes, Riallan. You did.” She held her at arm’s length and stooped to look her friend in the eye. “Of course you deserved better! To leave without saying goodbye? Without the answers he promised you?”

Riallan nodded, and then paused. “Wait. How do you know he promised me answers?”

Cassandra paled. “I, uh. I—“ she sighed. “Varric told me.”

Riallan groaned, covering her face with her hands. “He’s writing a book, isn’t he?”

“Oh, yes. If I’m not mistaken, he is very nearly finished with it.”

Riallan peered between her fingers. “If I decide to kill him, will you help me?”

Cassandra grinned. “I’m certain the Divine can survive long enough for me to assist you, if the need arises.” Her smile faded someone as she said, “But can we wait until the book is finished?”

“Cassandra!”

Both women laughed and smiled, and knew that their friendship would survive, no matter the distance.

But if Cassandra’s departure left Riallan feeling bereft, Cole’s was almost unbearable.

“I’m going,” he said, startling Riallan.

She was sitting on the floor before the hearth in her quarters, reading a book she’d found in the basement library. It was a particularly old tome on the nature of magic, and while many of its theories had since been disproven, she found it very intriguing.

And so she was quite absorbed when Cole manifested, sitting cross-legged on her desk.

“Sorry,” he said once she caught her breath. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

She sighed. “It’s all right. Now, what were you saying?”

“I’m going.”

“Going where?”

He shrugged.

“You don’t know?” Riallan blinked at him.

“Without the others, the only hurt left is yours.” He looked down at his lap. “But you say I can’t heal that.”

“You can’t, Cole. I’m sorry.”

He nodded.

“So, you’re bored?”

He shook his head. “No! There’s plenty of things — the cats and the mice and the spiders. But they don’t need me. I help them, but they will survive without me.”

“I see.” She closed her book. “So, because you can’t help my hurt, you think I don’t need you?”

“Not just that.”

She waited for him to continue.

He sighed. “The sky is healed. The spirits are safe again. Dorian told me I can’t ask about his hurt anymore, and you say I can’t help your hurt.” He looked up at her with watery blue eyes, distressed. “What do I do?”

She thought about it. The fire crackled behind her, burning low. “You have to do what you want, Cole. What you think is best, for you.”

He hummed, swaying slightly as he considered her words. “I think I’ll go to Kirkwall,” he said finally. “There’s a lot of hurt there, still.”

Riallan smiled at him, even as her heart shattered. “That sounds like a good idea.” She cleared her throat. “Maybe talk to Varric first? He’ll have people you can get in contact with. People you can trust.”

He nodded. “Don’t worry. I’ll be safe.”

“I know, but I’ll still worry.”

“I know.” He leapt down off of the desk and fidgeted from foot to foot for a moment. “If you need me—“

“I know how to reach you.” He’d told her once if she just thought about him hard enough, or reached out to him in the Fade, he would find her. She latched onto that fact now.

He smiled, so big and bright under the brim of his hat that Riallan couldn’t help but laugh.

“Goodbye, Riallan.”

“Goodbye, Cole.”

And then he was gone. He was gone, and it felt like losing yet another piece of herself. Riallan sat alone in the blossoming dark of her quarters and sobbed for the first time in weeks.

Thankfully, Dorian recognized how hard Cole’s departure had been on Riallan, and postponed news of his own plans to leave for several weeks. She was his best friend — he could hardly leave her in such a state. So, he’d played nice and smiled wide and never once hinted that Minrathous was calling him.

And yet, one night over dinner, Riallan caught him in her gaze.

“You’re leaving,” she said. She held a glass of fine Antivan Red in one hand, her second or third (or was it fourth?) of the night.

“What makes you say that?” He’d had a fair amount of wine himself already.

She scoffed. “If the answer were no, you would just say so.”

“Perhaps.”

“You can’t lie to me, Dorian.”

He considered her, pale and thin in the candlelight. “No, I suppose I can’t, can I?”

She took a shuddering breath. “When?”

He sighed. “Ship leaves Jader in a fortnight.” He took a sip of wine to fortify himself. “I’ll spend a night in Kirkwall, and then it’s onto the Imperial Highway with a caravan. I’ll be in Minrathous by the end of the month.”

“And you're certain?”

“Of the itinerary?”

She rolled her eyes. “That you want to leave?”

“Maker, no.” He shook his head. “I don’t want to leave, Ria. But I must.”

“I’m beginning to think all men care about is what they ‘must’.”

He bristled at that. “That’s hardly fair. This is different and you know it.”

She stared at him, her eyes glazed by the wine and maybe tears.

“Tevinter will never change is someone doesn’t make it.”

“And that someone has to be you?”

“Yes!”

She looked away then, unwilling to let him see her cry. She looked at her wine, at the tablecloth, at the plate of half eaten dinner. Anywhere but at him.

“I know you’re upset. You’re mad, I understand,” he said. “But I don’t think it’s fair of you to take your anger at him out on me.”

She swallowed, her lips trembled, but she said nothing.

“I’m not abandoning you, Ria.”

She scoffed and threw back the last of her wine.

“I’m not! I’ve stayed, longer than almost anyone else. I postponed my voyage, after I saw how Cole’s leaving hurt you so. And you’ll damn sure get to say goodbye before I go!”

He was shouting. He didn’t want to be shouting, but there he was, in the dining hall, across the table from his best friend. And he was shouting.

And she was crying.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “You’re right, it’s not fair. I didn’t mean—“

He was at her side in an instant. “Hush,” he said. “I know you didn’t. I’m sorry, Ria.” He pulled her into a hug, her face pressed to his chest as his hand brushed the hair back from her forehead. “I’m so sorry.”

That was the last they spoke of Dorian leaving. Even as she walked with him down the keep stairs. Even as they reached the gate that lead onto the bridge and out of Skyhold. He stared out at that bridge — he’d crossed it hundreds of times over the past year.

But, Maker, this was different.

This was harder.

She took his hand. “Dorian?”

“Yes, darling?” Her turned to look at her, in her tunic and shawl, her feet bare despite the chill. He would miss her so very much.

“I’m proud of you,” she said.

“Ah.” So she wanted to make him cry, it seemed.

“I mean it. You’re doing something incredibly brave.”

He scoffed. “I’m just going home, Riallan.”

She glared at him. “You and I both know that’s the bravest thing you could ever do.”

He cleared his throat and blinked a few times. “Fine. I’m incredibly brave. If you insist.”

“I do.” She squeezed his hand in hers. “Write to me?”

“Pfft. Like you could stop me? You’ll be sick of my letters before I even make it to Vol Dorma!” He shot her a shaky smile. “But I will admit, I’m going to miss you. Terribly.”

Tears shone in her eyes and Dorian knew that if she cried, he would too. Before he could make a joke or say something crass enough to prevent them, Riallan leapt up onto her tiptoes and wrapped him in a fierce hug.

“I’m going to miss you, too,” she whispered against his neck.

He closed his eyes against the tears, but they didn’t care. They fell anyway.

By the time he’d reached Jader, Dorian had written three letters and outlined at least three more for the journey across the Waking Sea. He was determined that she would not forget how much he loved her, and that he was only ever a raven away.

She deserved at least that much. And he couldn’t survive on anything less.

When only Varric was left, Riallan knew it was just a matter of time before the dwarf returned to Kirkwall. He’d received notice of his new position as the Viscount, which he seemed to simultaneously dread and take pride in. It was a healthy mix of feeling for a leader, Riallan thought.

And it was about time someone saw Varric for what he was worth.

She was in the library when he found her, sitting cross-legged in Dorian’s favorite chair. It still smelled like his cologne.

“Hey, Freckles,” he said.

She’d heard him coming up the stairs. Knew that the only reason he’d seek her out here, now, was to break the news. Riallan sighed and closed her book.

“When do you leave?”

He chuckled. “End of the week.”

She smiled at him. “I’m surprised Kirkwall lasted this long without you.”

He grimaced. “Ah… it hasn’t, really. I’m pretty sure there are several fires I need to put out when I get there.” He shook. His head. “Maybe even a few literal ones, knowing Kirkwall.”

“You love it.”

He shrugged. “For better or worse.”

“Thank you, Varric, for everything.”

He waved her off. “I didn’t do that much. Mostly sat around, scribbling.”

There were several heartfelt conversations she could call to mind to refute him. Varric was always willing to listen, to help her when she couldn’t decide something for herself. And he helped so much with Cole.

And Solas.

No, she owed Varric very, very much.

“I, uh, actually have something for you.” He shuffled his feet and then dug in his pocket to reveal a thick brass key. He held it out to her.

She took it, thoroughly confused. “A key?”

“Yeah. It, uh, opens a door. In Kirkwall.” He smirked. “Consider it a royalty payment.”

“Royalty…” her head snapped up to look at him. “Varric! You did not write a book about me.”

“The house is lovely, I’m told.” He backed away from her slowly. “I had Daisy pick out the furnishings so it should feel nice and homey.”

“Varric!”

“It’s in Hightown, so you’ll be away from the riffraff—“

“Varric Tethras, you did not write a book about me.”

He was halfway down the stairs when he shouted up at her. “Don’t wait too long to come visit! I can’t wait to give you the tour!”

“Varric!”

On the morning he left, Riallan found a stack of pages, of which the topmost read: THE INQUISITOR’S TALE. In parenthesis was a hastily scratched note that read, “figured you’d prefer this to “Freckles and Chuckles Save the World”.

Riallan decided then that she would be visiting Kirkwall very soon indeed. She had a dwarf to kill.

All ire aside, with Varric’s departure Skyhold was too empty to feel anything like home anymore. The only ones left were the bare minimum staff, Josephine, and Cullen. And while her remaining advisors were her friends, she wasn’t exactly close with either of them.

And she could tell the emptiness wore on all of them.

So, she announced to Josephine that she would take up Varric’s offer of a home in Kirkwall, and relocate as soon as reasonably possible. Josephine and Cullen were both relieved, and both planned to return to the city-state as well. At least for a time. Eventually, Josephine would return to Antiva, and Cullen to Honnleath, but not quite yet.

Their last weeks in Skyhold were busy ones. Cleaning the keep was an enormous task, and there were rooms of resources and documents Riallan had to oversee and approve before they could be packed and shipped to Kirkwall.

“There is one last matter you must attend to, Inquisitor,” Josephine said one afternoon.

Riallan rolled her eyes. She’d begged Josephine to call her by her first name for over a year. “And what’s that?”

Josephine paused. Cleared her throat. “The rotunda.”

Riallan stiffened at the mere mention of the room. She had not stepped foot inside the lowest level of the tower since her last conversation with Solas. Before the battle against Corypheus. She had avoided it this whole time.

“What about it?”

“There may still be artifacts, documents, and books from Master Solas’s time with the Inquisition.” Josephine spoke gently when she added, “You would know best what the Inquisition should do with these items.”

She was right, of course. Solas was a Rift Mage, and was studying the Fade and the Shards and who knows what other varieties of fringe magic before he’d left. She was the only one left who might understand any of his notes.

And the rotunda had been theirs once. It only seemed right that she be the one to clean it.

“All right,” she said. “I’ll get to it.”

Josephine looked nervous as she nodded. “Wonderful. Let us know if you require assistance, Inquisitor.”

But Riallan knew she wouldn’t. She needed to do this alone.

Stepping foot into the room shouldn’t have been this hard. And yet her heart hammered in her chest and her hands shook as she approached the desk. She’d expected books and pages strewn everywhere, as it had been the whole time he’d worked there. But instead she found the desk clear and tidy, with a single book in the center.

There was a note attached to it:

Riallan,

It is finished…

Solas

The words sent her heart into a staccato rhythm. She knew they were finished. He’d made that painfully clear before he’d left. Why bother leaving her a note?

But then she looked at the book, truly looked at it.

It was his sketchbook.

All those long months ago, he’d given her his sketchbook as a birthday gift. But it had only been half full of drawings and sketches. She’d wanted to see more, wanted to see what more he would draw in their time together, so she’d given it back to him.

Trembling fingers traced the soft leather cover as she sank into the chair. His chair. And pulled the book into her lap. Slowly, she flipped through the pages. Some were familiar — old drawings she recognized from before. The Hinterlands, her palm and the anchor, her vallaslin. But the further she flipped the pages the more her face stared up at her.

Her, beneath the big tree in the garden. Her at the water’s edge in the Fallow Mire. Her, beside a fire, cheeks shaded with heat or wine.

And then the drawings shifted again.

Their hands intertwined. The curve of her hips as she lay asleep in bed. The arch of her neck as she tilted her head to the side. Her freckles, so close up you could hardly tell they belonged to her face. Her face without the vallaslin still looked strange to her, but the way Solas drew her made it seem truly beautiful.

The last drawing took her breath away. It was the only one in which Solas had drawn himself. It was them, in her meadow in Wycome. They sat facing the creek, their backs to the viewer. They sat so close their shoulders touched. Riallan’s head rested on his shoulder.

In the corner, in tiny, tidy script, was a note:

Ir abelas, vhenan. Ir tel’silaima na la’var ar syla.

Riallan ran a shaking finger over the words. His perfect script. All these weeks, she’d been so furious. She’d been heartbroken, and only felt that pain grow wider as each of her companions left. The loneliness clattered around inside her ribs, a pale echo of the ache that’d carved her chest hollow ever since he’d left.

And all this time she couldn’t believe he didn’t say goodbye. Had wondered if she’d truly meant so little to him, that he could turn and leave so easily. She’d been desperate for any sign of him — any word.

And it’d been right here, in their rotunda, the entire time. He had said goodbye, in his own way. He’d given her a gift, an apology. And a promise. The final goodbye she had been so desperate for.

Ir tel’silaima na, la’var ar syla.

‘I will never forget you, as long as I breathe.’

#solavellan #riallan lavellan #solas dragon age #dragon age inquisition #dragon age

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