Aeva took her leave, grasping her goblet of the ledge by the rim as she turned. Her robe fell open, now loose around her and showing her small clothes underneath. The cold traced her skin and caused the hair on the back of her neck to rise. The open door made it easier for her to sleep. With her body wrapped in the warm blanket and the fire burning a few feet away, the crisp air and crackling sound of the blames lulled her to sleep with ease. On the coldest nights, there was always a little extra warmth next to her. A body with smooth skin that smelled of various herbs depending on the pigment that night. He would sneak up the stairs, heard by no one - even herself. Though sometimes she would still be awake at her desk to see him walk in. Other times, she would feel the blanket lift gently and she would feel his hand slide across her back. There were some nights she still felt him next to her. But it was always much colder than before. And sleep did not come as easily as it used to.

Some ways had been suggested to help her sleep. But she refused. No tea, no spell, no replacement would ever make her feel safe again while she dreamt. There were always whispers deep in the corners of her mind. Even when she was awake she could hear them. She could sometimes see them. There were figures of halla fleeing, wolves stalking, and snakes coiling. She would catch shining reflections of mirrors, sometimes in the distance... sometimes nearby. And there was always one thing she could never see, but could feel lingering. He was always close. And his eyes were always trained on her. So she sat awake, rotating between energizing tea and calming wine. There were guards she forced to remain at the bottom of the stairs. They were instructed if they saw her sleeping, they were to awake her at once. Aeva refused to be humiliated by waking herself to the sound of her own sobbing again.

"Looks like we've gotten rid of the busywork, Rogue," she said, scratching the head of her old decrepit cat while looking over some papers on her nearly empty desk.

The cat purred loudly as he stretched out across what remained. The reports were growing thin. Since Aeva had disbanded the Inquisition during her meeting with the Exalted Council, there seemed to be no reason to contact her or ask for aid. Even if the letters made it through, Josephine made certain very few of them made it to Aeva. The Keep had also cleared out of refugees. And though most of the agents wanted to continue their work, many of them fled to other outposts. Aeva, herself, had packed several bags. But she was not ready to leave. She wanted to be the last one to go through those gates. Skyhold had been her home and it deserved a proper farewell. The thought of it alone was overwhelming and she often became emotional upon dwelling on it for too long. It was common for her to feel nostalgic most nights and she would wander the halls in the middle of the night. Agents reported seeing her down the halls, in the library, beneath the Keep in a room full of books, and even in the rotunda. But mostly, they saw her in the gardens. She would sit in the moonlight and stare at a door across from her. As if she were waiting.

But the reports were wrong. Aeva was waiting for no one. She was watching the door to make certain no one came from it. While her heart was filled with fond memories, her mind perceived them as lies. Though her feelings were quite real, they seemed fake. As if someone had imposed on her thoughts to create a reality that never existed. And it was through that door. So when the wine jug was empty and her room became silent, she grew anxious; just like every other night. And she took a candle in hand to descend the staircase where she would open the door with a loud echo and stand in the great hall. There, she would stand in front of her throne empty and craving her power. She could not recall how many had stood where she stood. But she had remembered the exact number of those she sentenced to death. Her spine shivered with a chill crawling through her chest as if the spirits themselves scratched at her skin. The throne was no longer appealing to her as it was a reminder of her false title, someone she refused to be any longer.

Her footsteps were light as she crossed the hall, making her way to the rotunda. It had been empty since he had left and other than herself during late-night visits, no one had dared to enter the room. Those who did witness the fury as Aeva forbid anyone from entering the room. That is until she finally agreed to have a scholar sketch the murals on the walls. She would check on him almost every night to ensure he was staying true to his word with only sketching what remained on the walls. He was not to look a the book on the desk or the papers beneath. They were personal to Aeva... they were of Aeva. And though she did not want them in her possession, she still did not want others to go sifting through them... to look at her and to see her as he saw her. As she checked on his well-being that night, she found him scratching his head over his book, looking up to check the full painting on the wall. He seemed confused with his translation and aggressively began to erase a part of the page. Aeva ignored him, peering through the crack in the door at the bright colors. She could still see him on the scaffold with a torch. Or bent over on the floor. There were still paint stains on the floors. There was always paint everywhere. Always on his face.

The scholar coughed loudly and she suddenly remembered that she wasn't watching him. He wasn't there. And the disappointment made her sigh to herself. It was tiresome trying to remain perceptive to what tricks her mind was playing. Her reality was imbalanced, switching between whispers and memories to the constant reminder that she was alone. It left her paranoid, blinking to regain her sight or rubbing her ears to ignore sounds. Sleeping may have been the worst place for her mind to go, but it was still difficult to remain conscious. Aeva turned back to the hall, making her way to the slightly cracked door that was allowing a brisk flow of air into the grand entryway. As she pushed it open freely, she could feel the cold chill enter her lungs. She stepped into the open air, a small smile forming as her eyes came across the garden. And as her feet touched the dirt, she held the satisfaction of freedom. Most of the plants in that garden were placed there by her hand. It was her life's work. The Inquisition was fulfilling, but the garden was her gift. It was what she would leave behind, her legacy to Skyhold.

And as she walked by the bushes and stalks, she caressed the flowers and watched as their petals began to fold inward. She swore she could hear them whisper, but voices surrounded her so often that she could no longer tell which ones were real. She knelt down, her eyes adjusting to total darkness with only the light of the moon as she examined the leaves for spots. And as she tilted her head with sleepy eyes, she swore she heard a voice nearby. Her ear twitched and she straightened her stance but saw nothing when she glanced to the open door. She could see into the hallway clearly and on the other side, the rotunda door remained slightly ajar, exactly how she left it. She went back to her flowers, scooping the dirt around the bottom so that water may flow to the roots. But again, another voice rang clear into the opening. This time, she stood up now alert and aware this was not a simple whisper. The voice continued like a chant and lowered once it had her attention. She lowered her hand and wiped the dirt onto her side, staining her white robe. She looked around the garden and still saw nothing. Until the faint glow from around a door on the north side caught attention. The handle clicked and a breeze pushed it open ever so slightly. She stared a long while at the door before she approached, taking the candle from a bench nearby with her. Aeva was not prepared for a fight. But she was prepared to die. Still, this did not explain the inexplicable fear that began to swell in her chest. Even without weapons, without anyone around to protect her, Aeva believed she was safe in the garden. This was her haven. And now that was something that no longer held true, another memory turned rotten by his curse.

Many nights Aeva had looked at that door. She felt at peace in the garden as she watched over it. This was not even the first time she had gone to the mirror. There were other nights she went to it, shouting and cursing in an attempt to draw something out. Even then, even when she challenged whatever was on the other side, not once had she ever endured this sort of fear the way she did now. She made her way to it, her hand clenching her robe tightly. When she made it to the door, she opened it smoothly and it made no sound at all. The room was still, even when the wind from outside was blowing against her back. She stepped into the room fully and truly believed that someone was there. Waiting for her. But there was no one. Perhaps it was her mind playing tricks again. Or perhaps she was just desperate. Either way... she was alone, again, with the mirror. The candlelight reflected strangely off it and something about its shine seemed duller. It was as if the mirror itself was trying to put out the flame by smothering its reflection. Everything in the mirror was grey, which was a sign it was not being used. Still, she could hear the familiar hum from it and knew the mirror was aware of her presence. She sat the candle down on a table nearby to approach it as she had many times before.

Part of her wanted something to come out and attack, to take her away from the misery of feeling conflicted. Of feeling lost. If not to kill her, then to steal her away into the Crossroads. At least then she would have a better idea of what was happening rather than waiting for him to make the first move. And if he was going to do anything, now would be the time. She was utterly alone. It was the dead of night. And she had emptied an entire jug of wine. Aeva was certain something was there. It was always there, just as it was always in her dreams. She could never see it, not clearly, but the mirror would ripple from time to time, causing the image to wave back at her. Many tried to convince her to smash it. She considered it but the mirror was far too important. Her hand lifted, her fingertips brushing across the surface as if she were touching a person. But it felt like the coldest of ice, hardened over time with repelling sensation that bit into her fingers. As she removed her hand, the surface wavered softly in response. When nothing else happened, there was a stinging sensation brought into her eyes and tears began to force themselves through. Not in front of the mirror, though. She would never cry in front of the mirror. And she told herself that as she reached up, gripping the remainder of her arm tightly as a reminder. Then, she leaned close, feeling the cold of it on the side of her face.

"It's me again," she whispered.

The stupidity she experienced when she spoke to someone who was not there felt discouraging enough to embarrass her, but never to stop her. She bit her lip and listened intently, knowing something was about to whisper back. Something did, but it wasn't the voice she wanted.

"I'm leaving Skyhold."

Aeva waited in another long pause.

"I'm not taking the mirror with me. This will be the last time I see..."

She stopped before she could finish. The longer she fell quiet, the more she thought she could hear him mixed somewhere in all the other voices. The few words he had left her with all those days ago had not been enough. It left her with a need to hear his voice one last time. Unable to control the soft sobbing that escaped her lips, she covered a mouth. And a single tear ran down her cheek. She took several deep breaths, searching the mirror for a sign of movement. There was still nothing. She would never hear his voice or touch his skin ever again. The desire to be with him turned spoiled and now she only knew rage.

"I can't do this," she said in the palm of her hand. "I can't do this!"

The second time it was a shout. And it echoed off the walls in the room, her voice shaking some of the tapestries because of the stillness of the air. She covered her mouth again, looking frantically back and forth in hopes she would not disturb the guards. If she was going to leave without an escort, she needed to leave now. And she made haste towards her candle. But as she did, she realized something about the room. The room where she had been able to hear the whispers quite clearly. The room... had fallen silent. She heard no whispers. No voices. She only heard the beating of her heart against her chest and the rapid breathing that followed. The humming became louder and as she turned, her eyes grew wide as the mirror began to glow. The reflections twisted and turned, opening a door to the other side and allowing a gust of air to flow through. It was humid like a mist under a waterfall during a hot summer day. She could smell the earth with it and when the portal burst open, she could see the cliffside and trees blooming bright pink flowers along the rock wall. The light coming through was bright, forcing her to step back and shield her eyes that had grown accustomed to the darkness. As they adjusted, she could see a tall figure stepping into the room. And then the mirror's image closed, making a sound like shutters closing quickly against the wind. All light had been extinguished but the moon, a single round window guiding a beam between her and the newly arrived guest.

The moment her eyes adjusted, she could see his familiar outline. He was just as she remembered. His skin was still pale and smooth. His hands were folded behind him. And his shoulders were back as he held up his chin in pride. His jaw was cut against his neckline and his eyes were focused. His face was the same, but he was different. There was no smile, no softness to his expression. He displayed a rigidness standing before her, nothing like the mage she had grown to care for. This was a soldier. This was not the man she loved. This was the man that used her. Her distress was replaced with disappointment, though she knew better than to expect anything other than what was standing before her. She opened her mouth, inhaling from the bottom of her lungs, but before she could shout anything, his gloved hand was pressed tightly over her mouth. She had not even witnessed his movements. But her hair shifted slightly when he halted suddenly upon her and it was all the proof she needed.

"Shhhh," he said softly into her ear as if he were hushing a child.

With her only hand, she tried to push him away. She revoked her decision, she did not want to see him anymore. Closing her eyes tightly, she thought about how much she wished he would disappear. She pounded her first into his shoulder over and over until her wrist hurt from the constant impact. Her knuckles grew numb as they became raw. And then the ripping of her skin over her knuckles caused her to stop. He tightened his grip.

"Aeva," he whispered harshly.

The sound of her name on his lips made her feel worse. She pushed him one last time, slamming her palm into his chest until everything grew weak. Her knees began to shake from pulling away and they, too, buckled from exhaustion. She did not know how long she had been fighting him, but she realized it was effortless. She did not care. She wanted him to know how much she despised at that moment. Tears pushed past her eyelids, rushing down as she began to yell into the palm of his hand. He waited until she was finished, looking down into her bright green eyes, the only thing that had not been exerted. He could see the fury in her and he held her tightly at her waist until she was panting. Her cheeks lost their color and he was anticipating the moment she made herself faint if she refused to be calm. He finally removed his hand, lifting her chin to look at her face. She turned her head, refusing to look at him. Still, he could tell she was tired. Beyond tired, she had been depleted of many things. Her body seemed lighter as he held her. And her skin had lost its sun-touched glow. Her lips were cracked. And her eyes were heavily hooded.

"You've looked at me enough," she spat, her voice breaking as she did.

The remark was a jab to the appearances he had made into her dreams. And she assumed quite well he was smart enough to discover that implication on his own. He did. And in an instant, his hardened gaze fell. She turned to look at him and regretted the moment she did. The way he looked at her opened a flood of memories. All the times she had fallen, the times she was afraid, the times she thought she would lose; he was always there looking at her just as he was now. It was as if his face transformed.

"I haven't," he replied, his voice low and soft.

Once upon a time, she had received reassurance and comfort from that tone. Now, she felt nothing but anger. She felt he pitied her. She felt he was looking at her like some pathetic mistake. Like she was a pet.

"Enough," she pushed away.

And he released her, watching her stumble as she regained her balance.

"You're weak."

"I don't need your pity," she huffed.

"I can't let you do this to yourself."

"Myself?"

Her eyes flickered with fire and he could see the yellow flecks illuminating them like sparks in the air from the flames. They brought a flutter of fear into his chest as he watched the Viper bare her fangs, ready to strike. But she didn't. Her venom was no there to blame him, but to make him realize what he had done. And as he looked at her, he acknowledged for the first time it was no longer just the arm he had stolen from her. He established he had been wrong once again. He had not just taken her ability to fight, he had taken her will to continue. He could not stop her from taking the orb. Or risking her life for the Inquisition. Or become its leader. He could not stop her from facing her fears in the Fade. Or drinking from the Well. Or... falling in love. This was his fault. He could have put and end to so many things long ago. And he did not. Hope had told him that she would be strong enough to press on through the heartbreak. And perhaps she would have... if he had been strong enough to let go as well.

"I can't say it enough," he was still lamenting, but his face was stern. "I am sorry."

"I hate you," she said through her tears. "With everything I have."

He was quiet as he let the words sink in. Not only for himself but for her.

"I know."

There were too many emotions for Aeva to sort through as she attempted to make out what was real. She wasn't even certain she was awake. The room seemed too quiet, too empty, too vast for a place where two people stood. She was so far away from him. Yet, she could reach out and touch him. Just as she wanted to before that mirror shifted.

"What sort of dream is this?" she said to herself, reaching out to touch his breastplate.

He took a deep breath, closing his eyes to ignore her touch. He did not know how to answer her.

"You can't be here," she went on. "You can't be in my dreams. Not like this. No matter how many times you lurk, you never just..."

Her fingers outlined the engraving on the front of his armor. She wished it was his cloth tunic. That way, she could feel his chest beneath it. The armor only reassured her that he wasn't truly there. But that was not his intention. He desired to see her one last time, just as she had requested of him. And if there was anywhere he wanted to be alone with again, it was Skyhold. He needed her to know it was real. And as he grabbed her hand, bringing it up to his face, he opened his eyes to acknowledge her touch. When she felt the warmth of his skin, a large gasp of air escaped from her lungs of which she did not know she was holding hostage. Even when he let go, her hand remained, and she rubbed the side of his cheek with her thumb. She wanted it to be real.

"Every time I picture you, you're giving me this face."

Her hand trembled as she questioned her sanity. And his words were lost on her, seeing the confusion in her eyes.

"I can't take it anymore."

Each palm pressed against the side of her face as he pulled at her tenderly, beckoning for her to step closer. She obliged him, lifting her face to match his gaze. He lowered his lips, pressing his nose lightly against hers. The days were lost without her and he had forgotten their last kiss. The feeling of her breath against his face pulled him for more and he wished he could see the longing in her eyes. She smelled of the garden, as she always had. His hands slid back to her hair and he wanted so desperately to feel it through his fingers. It was only when he was with her he wanted to remove his armor. To remove his guard. To remove his purpose. Remove it all just to be with her. But he could not.

"I promise you," he said, pulling away, "you'll never see me again..."

"You're wrong..." she breathed, fighting back another wave of tears. "I'll see you again. Everywhere I go... I'll see you."

The fire in her eyes subsided. But the smoldering in her chest still burned. Blinking up to see what she could of his face, she took it all in. This was the face of a god. But it was still the face of Solas. She was familiar with the crease in his brow, the slight tilt of his head, the tightening of his lips. She recognized his nervous habits and his awkward tendencies. But she never knew, not once, when he lied. There was no forgiveness in her heart for someone like that. Not even for someone she thought she loved. Part of her had left the moment Solas died. And someone else was born when Fen'Harel took her arm.

"And when I do, I'll cut you out from me. Slowly. And in any way possible."

"Vhenan..." he pleaded, lowering his brow with a sense of disgrace.

"I'll track you down, hunt you like the beast you are. I'll follow you into the depths of the Fade. I'll find you. And I'll-"

"Don't say it," he interrupted her.

Gripping the back of her head, he pressed his lips tightly against her forehead.

"I already know. Just don't... don't say it."

The room was still again. Letting go would mean the true start of the new person they had become. At the end of their embrace, he would be a villain, the one who betrayed her. And she would be his hunter, merciless and relentless in her pursuit. But for now, they were something in between. Aeva wanted to be close to her lover again, to have someone who understood her and supported her. And before her was a man who missed her touch, missed her being the only resolve to his fear of being completely alone. He was only Solas when he was with her. And she only felt the storms subside when he was near. She was afraid of the storm outside and the waves it would cause. She knew she would be pulled under. That the darkness would swallow her. She only wanted to breathe again. But not like this. Not in a way that it felt like her last dying breath. It was by far worse than when he had taken her arm. This felt real. This felt like goodbye for the last time in front of the mirror that contorted their bodies into the darkness that they were about to enter. The room grew cold again and the wind came brushing by like a warning.

"I have to go," he whispered into her hair.

"No," she gasped. "A little longer."

Somehow, he couldn't bear the thought of their last touch being taken away through a thick layer of armor. He had felt her hand on her face, but it did not see enough. He wanted to do more than to feel her skin. He wanted to taste her. Without giving his voices a second to speak against him, he pressed forward, pulling her close, and closing the gap between them with a kiss. It was his choice that made certain it was to be remembered. He parted his lips, opening her mouth and closing again to feel her at the tip of his tongue. He could sense her in all her fury. All her anger and stubbornness. All that made her beautiful. He wanted to take her through the mirror. He wanted to dress her in silk. He wanted her to lay in a bed amidst elven ruins. But Aeva wanted nothing of the sort. Aeva wanted a different sort of power, a different future for elves. And what Aeva wanted... wasn't possible. This would be letting go. Their love had ended with a mirror. And now, their hatred would begin with a mirror. His hand fell as he pulled away... even as she reached out for him to come back. The words were on her face, but nothing came from her lips. She could only watch as he made his back to the mirror.

"Aeva..."

His face...

He paused, one hand on the frame. The profile of his face was illuminated by the light. His distinct nose. His cut jaw. She saw the movement of his brow, but the brightness of the portal did not allow her to see his full face. Still, she knew. She knew the face that always seemed filled with sorrow. It was the only way he ever looked at her. The realization had hit, but it was too late and she cursed herself for not thinking clearly. She was wrong before, this was not a look of pity. It was regret. And now that she had taken his freedom to see her as he pleased, the pain he was going to suffer was the outcome of her spite.

"This... wasn't another dream..."

It was still... his face...

It was him. It was always him. It may not have been truthful, but it was still the man she loved. It did not matter who came first. The man he claimed to be was still the man he was. And she so desperately wanted him to know that. She wanted him to come back, even if his name was different. He was not as different as she thought. The subtle touch. The soft whisper. The gentle kiss. The brief glance. The late nights. The heavy breaths. Within it all, she now believed there was nothing about those moments that were not real. He pulled his leg through to the unknown land beyond the mirror.

"Solas," she cried after him.

He did not turn back. The next step he took signaled the mirror to close behind him.

"Solas!"

She ran to the mirror, slamming against it with her bloodied fist.

"You don't have to do this," she called into the mirror. "I don't..."

Her breathing became heavy and her chest tightened. The lump in her throat made it hard for her to speak. And the tears were making her vision blurry.

"I don't want to kill you," she pleaded. "Please!"

1. WIP from Voices of the Fade - I swear I’m going to get to this one day. So help me. This is actually what made me want to write this series. It was the first thing I wrote for it. And it made me just incredibly heart broken.

There was something about the way the sunlight hit... She was naturally pale, so her ivory skin was glowing against her cheekbones. They defined the side of her face, giving the soft shape of her profile a hint sharpness. Her nose was so small. And so were her lips, despite how pouty the bottom one was. But it was the way the sunlight hit her face that made him stare in awe. When her eyes opened, he shifted hoping it was not his gaze that woke her. She blinked up at him as if in disbelief. He brushed a strand from the corner of her mouth as she came to.

"Where are we?" she whispered.

"Home," he answered.

The stone walls of the fortress were the color of dark sand. It kept the rooms cool from the scorching sun. The windows were thick and tinted, as well, preventing any sort of breeze from intruding. The smells of the Anderfels were not always pleasant. And the birds were always hungry. Nevertheless, the mountains were massive and a wonder to look at. Like green giants plastered against a forever grey wall. And Weishaupt was it's gem. A place of honor of protection. A place of fragrant foods and quiet murmurs. And a place where the clashing of swords and explosions of magic echoed through the grounds. It was everything he had imagined.

"This is nice," she said quietly.

"Yeah," he heaved a happy sigh.

"Shame this isn't what really happened, though."

It was too confusing to mutter a response. Not that he could as a lump swelled in the depths of his throat. His mouth refused to open. And he watched as her face burned under the sunlight, a bright hot light that sizzled into ash, the same color as her hair. He reached out for her, his hands burning. It was too late.

2. From the first chapter of A Dame’s Tale (Claira Trevelyan’s origin story) - This was super personal for me. My mother was emotionally abusive and my dad was always working so he couldn’t always be there for me. And this was really just something I drew from that.

"Do proper ladies raise their hand?"

"No," the tears began to swell.

"Are you a proper lady, Claira?"

"Yes, Mother. I am," her voice cracked.

"I don't think you are."

"I promise I'll do better."

"You promised last time."

"Please, Mother, I promise. For real this time."

The tears were now little streams dripping down the side of her face. Her voice cracked as she wailed a plea for her mother's forgiveness. Her mother was silent, her eyes scanning over her youngest child as she stood sobbing in front of her. This little girl- her knuckles and cheek bruised, her lip bloodied, her dress torn with patches of dirt, her dark hair a tangled mess, and her face wet with tears- this was not the daughter she had prayed for.

"Go with your father. He'll take you to your room."

Claira struggled to catch her breath between cries and a warm hand on her shoulder didn't help. She let out the tears she had been holding back and she fought to keep her eyes open. Although blurry, she could see the back of her mother's dress swaying as she strode to the other side of the room to the balcony door. She did not see the rest as her father had reached down to clutch her hand.

3. Some super serious Aeva x Solas angst. I have feelings about eluvians. This is from Whispers in the Garden.

For a moment she saw a cliff side outlined with trees adorning flowers that was quickly obscured by a tall figure, shrouding her view. She stepped back further, feeling the air from the other side chill her entire body. Aeva became overwhelmed with the thought that this could be real and she stepped backward even further to take in the familiar shape. The mirror's image closed, making a small sound like shutters closing quickly against wind. And now the only light in the room was from the moon shining down through a window above. It made his face look pale. But other than that, it was just as she remembered.

His hands were folded behind him with his shoulders back and his chin held up proudly. His face was the same, but he was still different. It was nothing like he used to be. He wasn't the mage with the rugged tunic. He was a soldier. No... a commander in gleaming metal armor. The anger came rushing back to her as she remembered the last time he walked through a mirror. The way he used her for his own gain. Disappointment replaced her distraught and she felt ever foolish for wishing to see him. Her fist curled tightly against her and she drew in a deep breath through gritted teeth. But before she could yell, he was on her, his gloved hand pressed tightly over her mouth.

"Shhhh," he said softly into her ear.

With her only hand, she tried to push him away. She didn't want to see him. And she affirmed that by closing her eyes tightly. She hit him in the shoulder over and over until her hand hurt. Until her knuckles felt raw. Until she felt the skin punctured.

"Vhenan," he whispered.

The sound of the name he used to call her on his lips just made things worse. She pushed him one last time, feeling her arm go weak. Her knees began to shake and they buckled. Tears pushed past her eyelids, crashing down as she began to yell into the palm of his hand. He waited until she had exhausted herself. He held her at her waste and loosened his grip the moment he felt her muscles were no long tense. He removed his hand from her mouth, lifting her chin to look at her face. Her eyes were hooded and she still refused to look at him. But he could tell that she was beyond tired. Her body seemed lighter than before. Her skin had lost it's sun touched glow. Her lips were cracked.

"Enough," she felt her mouth make the shape, but was unsure if the sound came out.

He kept hold of her in fear that she would collapse.

"You can't keep doing this," she went on, finally hearing the raspy tone in her voice.

Her eyes finally opened and he could see now they were still piercing green. The yellow flecks inside were illuminating her eyes like they were on fire. They brought a flutter of fear into his chest, like the moment before being struck suddenly by fangs. But it quickly faded as she brought her hand to his face. It felt like the same man. The same smooth skin with a sharp jawline and faint smile. It sounded just like him too. Looked at her the same. But it wasn't.

"You can't come into my dreams anymore," she said. "I can't take it."

4. So I did a thing where I combined Aeva’s fear of drowning with the fear of what she lost with Solas. And because she connects fear with anger, it all just combines into a huge mess of emotion. This was the first time I really was able to portray that. An expert from Chapter 7 of Strange Fates.

Aeva walked to edge of the cliff, looking down at the waves swelling beneath her. There was the strange feeling again. The fear of the nothing beyond the sea. It was a larger feeling than what she felt at the barge. It was like the all the other times... like the first time...

The first time she saw waves this large...

The first time she sat on the coast...

(memory) The rain came down heavy and she looked outside her tent. It wasn't letting up any time soon. She paced, rubbing her hands on her face. If she didn't act soon, the trail would grow cold and she would never find the Grey Wardens. The flap to her tent lifted without any announcement of arrival. And he stood, a look of concern on his face. He offered her a warm drink. They sat across from each other on her cot. He made her laugh. He took her hand, but it was for research. His fingertip traced in the inside of her palm. She snatched it back...

"Aeva?" Fenris jumped down from the wagon. "You're looking at the sea strangely again."

"Yes..." she shook her head. "Yes I am."

"Ferguson is setting up camp if you-"

There was a drifting silence between them as she brushed by. Her movements seemed slow and her eyes looked blank. Almost as if she were in some sort trance. It had been a long night. And upon further inspection, he could see spurts of blood across her armor. Still, for her not to respond at all was odd.

"... want to take some time to rest," he finished his sentence, watching the back of her disappear around the wagon.

The tents were nothing like she used when traveling with the Inquisition. These were much smaller. Large enough for a cot and maybe a table if you angled it correctly. Her tent was in the northernmost corner and the closest to the fire, which Ferguson had already prepared. It was still small and clinging onto the wood from the blowing wind, but he stoked it carefully so it did not catch flame to the pine needles below. Iris sat nearby peeling potatoes and whistling softly. They looked as Aeva came through, but said nothing.

The fear from the waves was not going away. And the more she thought about a way to be rid of it, the worse it got. Aeva did not handle fear well. It simmered in her chest, tightening her lungs and making her heart race. When it began to boil, she burst with rage. And she couldn't let that happen. Not in front of the camp. There was only one thing she could do. She reached into her pack, looking for a specific vial. And it was there bundled in the center of strange looking leaves. It was a black mixture with floating powder. In most cases, she would use it as a bomb to subdue her enemies. But mixed with the liquid, it became a sleep aid in small doses. She shook it up, causing it swirl slowly. The small cork made a small pop as she opened it. And with a wrinkled nose, she took one drink of it as if it were a shot of the strongest ale. There was a bit of a gag, but then she swallowed hard a second time to try and be rid of the taste. The cork went back into the vial, between the leaves, and bound with string once again before she placed it back in her pack. The affects were almost instant. And she barely had enough time to lay her head on the pillow. It was her escape... for a time...

5. THIS piece of dialogue from The Quiet Closet. I was so proud of this. It was the first piece of smut I not only wrote seriously but posted. And this dialogue to me is just... oof. Um NSFW by the way.

"You," she growled. "You make me weak."

"You like it," he whispered teasingly, his finger massaging her below.

"I hate it. I despise it. I despise you."

Asatrion laughed, slipping a second finger over her. She attempted to sink down again to feel his knee, but found his grasp on her wrists were far too tight. She looked up at them helpless, leaving her neck open for his taking. He caressed over it, licking it to taste her flesh and biting slightly over her throat, thoughts tempting his darker nature. But he had sworn it wouldn't happen again. No matter how much he wanted her, no matter the circumstances, he would only take what she gave. Ferelith may have enjoyed losing control in that moment, but that didn't change her need to command other things. It seemed a bit odd to his taste, but all the same fascinating. And he wanted to explore it further.

"Tell me more," he demanded. "Tell me how much you hate me."

She dropped when he loosened his grips, her back relaxing down the wall. With a gentle nudge, his knee rose up to meet her and he felt her hips sway against him. He moved his fingers in motion, straightening them as she came in like a rolling tide.

"I hate how charming I find you," her eyes closed and her voice sound as if she were in a trance. "I hate that you make me laugh."

She inhaled quickly as he pressed harder into her core, her head hitting the wall as she reared back. He felt her body tighten and urged her forward with his knee.

"Go on," he said, baring witness to the moments of joy on her face.

"I hate the sound of your voice," she lowered her brow with concentration. "I hate how attracted I am to you."

The heat from her body was making him crave her, now, and he could feel himself growing excited at the quickness of her breath. Her spite made it all the better. The more anger she released, the stronger her movements became, and the longer his strokes became. It became difficult to hold onto her and her hands slipped through his grasp as he tried to ground himself, his hand slamming onto the wall.

"I hate this constant desire I have for you..."

Her hands dug into his hair, feeling the back of his skull. The sensation of her nails scratching against his scalp brought him closer. His hand skipped up the wall as he faltered for a moment, his face buried in her hair. The fragrance she gave was enticing, as it always was.

"... this desire to feel you. Next to me. Against me. Inside me..."

Slowly, her hands slid down to his shoulders. One remained, gripping tightly. While the other slithered up his neck, her fingers finding their grasp on either side of his face. He did not fight her pull to bring him to her gaze.

"Still... If I believe for one second you'll betray me..." she said through heavy pants, "I'll kill you."