During the night, the group led by Elentari was returning to the nearest Inquisition camp. The day had been brutal for the elf, but they had come across a band of mercenaries holed up in an old fortress and had obliterated them. Elentari had felt a vague satisfaction in spilling the blood of her enemies and had come to understand that vengeance meant little.
The worst part of the day was that Elentari had thought too much. She didn't like that and had tried to avoid it, but it hadn't worked. She had decided to ignore the thoughts that assaulted her, because they simply made her too sad. And she had realized, much to her dismay, that the more she resisted thinking, the longer the hours stretched.
By now, the group was walking very slowly. She hadn't allowed them to wash off the blood in any nearby lakes, and as a result, morale had plummeted. The stench of blood was starting to reek. Mentally, the dalish elf noted she wouldn't be so inconsiderate next time. Just because she felt like death didn't mean she should drag them all into the abyss.
On top of that, they stumbled from hunger, back pain, and fatigue. Solas had taken Cassandra's effort into account, and by now, he was the one carrying the heavy shield. The warrior had left her whole body on the battlefield and walked with a noticeable limp. It was time to return to Haven. Elentari knew that. By morning, they'd depart to recover their strength.
- Guys… thank you for the effort you give each day - the elf whispered without looking at any of them. Being the "leader" didn't sit well with her... but well, she was the marked one.
- It's a pleasure, kid. - came the dwarf's voice. Cassandra smiled at her, but fatigue kept her from answering, and if Solas made any gesture, Elentari didn't see it.
They continued in silence. The Herald would have preferred to hear one of Varric's stories, but it was clear the dwarf was exhausted too. Suddenly, she lifted her gaze and spotted a precarious, lonely little house in the distance. Maybe they'd find shelter there sooner than at the Inquisition camp. Without saying a word, she quickened her pace, hoping to find food. What she found was worse…
As Elentari approached the house, she noticed a figure leaning against the wall, the door ajar, and likely dead. Her heart clenched, and instead of turning away, she hurried inside to inspect the corpse. But it wasn't a corpse, worse still, it was an old shemlen, so ancient he could barely move. The mage lit the top of her staff just as her companions arrived, and Cassandra closed the door behind them to avoid attracting unwanted attention.
The group saw that the elder's face was so wrinkled he hardly seemed alive. His skin shone, and he spoke slowly. As he talked, the veins in his forehead bulged through his skin.
- Everyone left when they heard the templars were coming this way. I can't run, and they left me behind. No one wanted to carry me, and I didn't want to be a burden.
Solas, standing beside Elentari, clenched his fists, not just because of the injustice, but because of the uncertainty. Was the elf going to carry this old man too?
- I'm sorry, old man - the mage intervened quickly. - Is there anything we can do for you before we continue our journey?
The Herald looked at him sharply, understanding his meaning. Solas narrowed his eyes at her in reproach. No, this time he wouldn't allow her to carry someone who might not survive the next day.
- Oh, you must be hungry - the man said politely. - I have some potatoes on the table and a bit of nug skin. If you'd like, you could cook something for yourselves and leave a little for me.
Solas felt pity, but there was nothing to be done. He simply nodded and looked to Cassandra. The warrior took the shield that the mage had been carrying.
The Seeker sighed and looked at Varric. - I saw a garden not far from here. We could gather some herbs to season the stew and share a meal tonight.- The dwarf nodded. Solas rubbed a hand over his face. He felt filthy and utterly exhausted. Elentari, burdened by sorrow, nodded but didn't look at any of her companions.
When Cassandra and Varric stepped outside, she sat on the old man's bed in deep silence. Solas saw her lips tremble, and then tears slipped down her cheeks. She gave a furious swipe at her own face for failing to hold back the pain. But the tears didn't stop. They turned into silent sobs that shamed her but were now beyond control. He didn't intervene. Her pride was wounded and he wouldn't make it harder. Instead, he sat beside the old man on the floor and started a conversation, filling the space with a sound that wasn't crying.
- Son, this kingdom has lost its good heart - the old man confessed. The apostate knew the man was blind, he hadn't realized Solas was an elf. He sighed deeply and stared at the cracked ceiling.
- Wars tend to do that, old man. - Solas replied. - People lose trust.
- And manners.
The elf nodded. - They do.
And mercy, apparently, he thought. He rose and went to the table to retrieve the potatoes.
- What's your name? - Solas asked, only out of courtesy. He began arranging things so the others would find everything ready when they returned.
- No need for names, son - said the old man. - If you ever tell this tale, call me the old man who was left behind.
- That's unfair. - Elentari said, her eyes red from crying. Solas looked at her again with reproach, but she didn't care. - Why should you be remembered that way when you're so much more?
The old man smiled gently. - Child, I won't live to see the end of this war. So leave room in your memories for other things. Don't remember my name. Just remember me as the old man who was left behind.
- But… that's not fair. You... - the Herald began to object, but Solas stepped in front of her and gently took her arm, pulling her to her feet. The dalish elf looked at him angrily, not for the grip, but because the apostate had seen her tears.
- Herald, let him keep the dignity he's trying to protect. Not just for him… but for you. Don't let the weight of your feelings crush the last spark of his humanity - he whispered so softly she doubted the old man had heard. She looked at him, disappointed, unable to understand how Solas could be so cold. - He knows his days are numbered. Even so, to share them with people who respect him is a treasure many never find during war. Make tonight a worthy one for him.
Her lips trembled, and she looked away. More treacherous tears wet her cheeks. There was nothing to be done. Solas was right, and that broke her.
- Remember, what we're doing… is an act of resistance in a broken world.
Elentari slipped out of his grasp and nodded, swallowing her tears. Solas was right, though it hurt. She would give that old man a dignified night. She went to the table, grabbed the potatoes, and sat beside him.
- Do you mind if I peel these next to you?
- Not at all, my dear. I appreciate the company. - And the elf focused on being present. Solas smiled to himself where she couldn't see. He knew the Herald's spirit was breaking, but more important was to offer dignity to a man who would soon pass. That, he believed, was priceless.
Soon after, Cassandra and Varric returned and set to organizing dinner. The dwarf quickly wrapped them in warmth, telling stories the old man enjoyed. Eventually, the man himself shared wise words with the group of warriors keeping him company. Perhaps for his final night.
Time passed, and eventually, Elentari managed to smile again despite the pain. She could see the joy in the old man. And though it broke her, preserving his dignity meant more.
When sleep overtook them, they sprawled across the floor to rest. None took the bed, perhaps out of respect for the elder who could no longer move. Elentari approached Solas and lay beside him.
- You were right… - she whispered. He didn't look at her, said nothing. - It's hard for me to understand you, but I've noticed that while you don't offer comfort, you also don't humiliate... and maybe that's worth more than other gestures. Thank you for stopping me.
Once again, Solas stayed silent, but he placed a companionable hand on the Herald's forearm so she would know he was there, when she needed him. Because while he had his own plans, this young woman was showing him an extraordinary spirit. And that stirred something in him, an urge to advise her, to guide her, and, much to his frustration, as the dwarf had said, a part of him wanted to help her carry that unbearable weight.
Solas didn't dare get too involved. The dalish girl had a captivating way of catching his attention, and he knew it. She seemed like a reflection of who he once had been… and that stirred too much within.
For her part, just for a moment, she thought she felt tenderness when he touched her… but it was so fleeting, she wasn't sure she hadn't imagined it.
Finally, he let go and closed his eyes. He wouldn't sleep (he was a somniari) but he would visit the Fade and old memories.
- Rest, Herald.
- You too.