It was the middle of the night, but she could not sleep. He haunted her, pacing through the background of her dreams like a spirit. The idea that he stalked her through the fade infuriated her. She was no ones prey, she was the Inquisitor.
At least, she had been.
Lavellan paced the silent halls of Skyhold, barefooted and as silent as a spirit herself. With the Inquisition disbanded, they had returned for a few short weeks to pack everyone and everything into caravans. Everyone was going home. With so much of what had made Skyhold the home she loved boxed up, the large halls and sweeping rooms felt more than just empty. They felt dead. It saddened her almost more than her dreams.
She shook her head. Dreams. If she could stop having them, she would, but nothing helped. The dreams came anyway. Court dances and battlefields, hunting grounds and rainy forests. He came and watched her, stalked her, made her chase him until he disappeared. She feared she would go mad.
During the day she could forget about him. With so much work to do, she left herself no time to think. To ache. To anger. When she did, she took to locking herself in a room and throwing things. Breaking plates and cups, vases and pots, anything on hand really. Someone would eventually find her, sobbing among the remains. He made her feel weak.
Her walking led her to his rooms, eventually. His glorious murals of their adventures and triumphs. Touching them, she remembered times before she really knew him, back when he was just Solas. Late nights with books and tea, philosophizing while he painted. She would lounge on his sofa while he sat on his scaffolding, listen to his endless stories of ancient events. Tears burned in her eyes as she remembered the peace and happiness she had found here.
But then the lies came. The abandonment. The betrayal. I will never forget you, he had told her. But what if she wanted to forget him? Would she never be allowed peace? Time to mourn and recover. Would he keep her in this horrific limbo of hatred and longing?
"I don't want anything more than to see your face when you open the door," she whispered. And there it was, the reason she was crying in the middle of the night. The reason she was running herself ragged every day. The reason she would probably die young and violently. Somehow, she still loved him.