.24.

-The written end-

.x.

Boone remained in Tevinter for more than a year. It wasn't home and never would be, but Dorian made her feel as welcome as she would anywhere. His company was a balm in many ways, something that grounded her and helped her reconnect with parts of her that had been scattered over the course of the years. They didn't spend every waking moment together—in fact, many days she was left to her own devices which she either spent wandering Minrathous or, more often than not, reading. House Pavus had an impressive library, to which Dorian had given her complete access. She immersed herself in pages of Tevinter legends and poetry, transcribing those pieces she liked most to take with her when she left.

When the same restlessness she'd experienced in Kirkwall assailed her, she didn't react immediately. In truth she was reluctant to leave. She had no real idea of what she would do upon leaving. Instead she had notions, thoughts she'd been mulling over for months. Eventually it got to the point where she knew she was doing herself no favors—while she could in theory remain in Tevinter for as long as she liked, it wasn't where she belonged, not yet and maybe never. She approached Dorian one evening, a little worried about broaching the topic. He took one look at her face and knew.

"I'm surprised you stayed as long as you did," he said, beckoning her to sit across from him. "I had a sense you were ready to go."

All she could offer him was a regretful smile. He shook his head. "No need for that. I knew you wouldn't stay forever. I had hoped, though."

They sat in the easy, companionable silence that had always been standard between them. "So," he ventured to ask after a while, "where will you go? Era'Adahlen?"

She shook her head. "I think back to Kirkwall for a time. And then…"

"And then?"

"The coast."

"If you wait… I can join you."

Another head shake. "I would prefer to do it alone."

"I understand. When will you leave?"

"The same merchant caravan I arrived with is here for another ten days. I'll leave with them."

"Ten days. Well, I suppose we best make the most of it. How about a farewell ball?"

Her glare elicited a shameless grin from him. "I jest," he said, holding both his hands in the air. "But we will have to do something."

In the end, "something" merely entailed a private feast between himself, Boone, and Maevaris, a quiet, intimate sendoff that went well into the evening. In the morning she departed, taking her place once again in the caravan, her parting from Dorian a short but tearful one. She promised to return and he promised to hold her to that, and when she mounted Drifter and looked over her shoulder, he was still there to give her a wave as she rode through the city's gates.

.x.

During the return to Kirkwall, Boone began to scribe again. She approached those most affable, those most garrulous, and with their permission recorded their stories. They were tales of a different sort this time around—Boone asked to write about times of auspiciousness, of events that brought joy and gratification. As with the tales she'd recorded years before, there were more than she could possibly record in the time she had, but she did what she could, filling pages with her steady, even script. By the time the caravan reached their destination, her book was nearly full. She remained in Kirkwall for only seven days, which was enough time to find passage on a ship destined to Highever. She took up residence in the mansion during that time, much to Varric's delight, and every evening was invited to the keep for some manner of entertainment. The day her ship left he saw her to the docks and before she boarded he pressed two things into her hands: a copy of his newest novel and a bag of coins.

"Your income," he told her with a sly grin as she frowned questioningly at him.

She did not spend the weeks it took to sail to Ferelden idly, instead speaking with willing passengers on board and scribing their stories if they permitted. She spent time below decks as well, keeping Drifter company. He wasn't the only horse to be transported but it was clear he hated it all the same and she did what she could to ease his discomfort. By the time they made dock in Highever he'd lost weight, and as a result she spent nearly three weeks in the city as he adjusted to life on land once again. When his coat had regained its sheen and he filled out against the saddle's girth once more, she departed the city and made her way east.

It took five days to reach that particular part of the Storm Coast that had offered haven to her heart, that held pieces of it now. She stood motionless at the gate to the compound, Drifter's reins in her hand, and stared around through blurring eyes. Nothing had changed. The yard was empty, all traces of violence gone save for the door to the house that hung open, swaying slightly in the breeze. She did not venture any further. The only thing remained were ghosts. When she turned she did so woodenly, leading her horse behind her and passing the garden where Movda had toiled, past the tree Solas had stood under, leaving the farm behind as she made her way to her next destination.

Solas kept his word, Dorian had said. They've been buried on the coast near the farm, next to each other.

She found them in a copse of trees nearby, twin graves marked by twin headstones in Fereldan tradition. She let fall the reins and Drifter ambled in a circle, nose to grass. It was a long while before she could muster the will to move and she did so slowly, dropping to her knees between them both, reaching out to touch first one marker and then the rest. Their names had been carved with utmost care and respect, the letters rendered clear and precise. She spoke to them both, in a quiet and dull voice, telling them what had transpired, begging for their forgiveness. She broke after saying her final goodbye, her breath a sharp, ragged exhale that startled Drifter enough that he snorted. Kneeling there between their graves she wept once again, wept until her head and her ribs hurt from the force of her sorrow, until she'd finally run dry. She lifted her head, wiping at her face, and found her eyes drawn to something she hadn't in her grief noticed before.

It was a monument, she realized, getting stiffly to her feet and stepping toward it. It lay in the converged shadows of nearby trees. It was a sculpture, she saw as she approached, carved of the same white stone found in Era'Adahlen, a depiction of a tall and graceful tree, its leaves full and exquisitely detailed. Joined to it, carved of the same stone, was a kite shield made to look as though it leaned upon the tree's trunk. Movda as the nurturer, Thom as the defender. This was Solas' doing, she knew. It was beautiful. It was perfect, and though Boone had thought her heart could not break any further, in that moment it did.

She camped nearby that night. She did not fear their ghosts. They were gone, at peace now, and the only regrets that lingered were hers. In the morning she paid their graves one final visit before mounting Drifter and riding away, heading southeast.

.x.

She took her time on this route of her journey, stopping at every little village, every small cluster of homes, every farmstead. Some people were welcoming and others weren't; where she wasn't wanted she did not stay. If they were receptive she asked them for their stories, explaining why if they asked, leaving the reasons vague if they didn't.

Who are you? they sometimes asked.

Boone, she told them. A wandering scribe.

Sometimes eyebrows were raised and opinions expressed and she took it all in stride, deflecting if the questions became too prying. Think of me as something like a bard, she would say. I travel and I write. Not a noble profession or even a lucrative one, but hers nonetheless. She wrote for hours, filling books. She would refill supplies in the larger towns and then continue on. Her course meandered but never shifted from the final destination. Always she headed southeast, toward the Brecilian, toward the Elvhenan. Weeks went by. Sometimes she stayed for days in different towns for she was in no hurry. Fall transitioned into winter, and it was then she decided the time had finally come.

.x.

Amid falling snow, Boone rode into Era'Adahlen. She was stopped at the gates—not exactly an encouraging sign about the current state of political affairs—and questioned about her identity. She cooperated and calmly gave her proper name, expecting and not at all surprised when the guard's eyebrows shot up.

"Your business?" he asked, in a tone more polite than she suspected he used with other travelers.

"To see the legate," was her response.

He nodded, walking a circle around Drifter, eyeing the numerous saddlebags. She waited for him to reach his decision, thinking on her options should she be refused entry. After one revolution he waved her through, giving her directions to the stables and the nearest inn, should she need it. She guided Drifter carefully through gates, noting that the flow of visitors was surprisingly substantial. The stables were not far, and after securing board for the gelding she went looking for an inn, her bags slung over her shoulders. She found one in the rebuilt section of the city, quaint, moderately sized, and reasonably priced. She booked a room for one night only, uncertain for more than a few reasons if she would end up staying beyond the next morning. Once settled, she retrieved paper and ink from her pack and at the small table situated next to the window, spent a long time carefully penning a letter. Its contents were short, polite, and to the point, and once she was done she sealed it within a envelope and went in search of the elvhen innkeep. She found him in the dining room, polishing wooden flagons with a rag.

"Have you an errand boy?" she queried, holding up the letter for him to see.

"Aye," was the response, and then in a raised voice: "Teo!"

An elvhen boy appeared from within the kitchen. The innkeep indicated Boone with a thrust of his chin.

"Could you deliver this for me?" she requested, holding out the letter with five silver coins stacked atop it.

His eyes widened slightly at the considerable tip she offered and he nodded quickly. He tucked the coins into his vest pocket and flipped the letter over to read the intended recipient.

"You sure?" he asked with a frown.

Her answer was a firm nod. He shrugged, tossing a glance over his shoulder at the uninterested innkeep before departing with his delivery.

For the rest of the day Boone busied herself in order to keep from dwelling on her myriad doubts. She requested and paid for a long hot bath, a luxury she'd not had since departing Kirkwall three months past. Afterward she flipped through yet another completed book of tales she had been compiling but was unable to focus so instead she laid down, not really expecting to sleep. She did, however, and when she woke it was to the sound of the innkeep knocking on her door, bringing her dinner as she'd requested.

"The letter was delivered?" she asked as she took the tray of food from him.

"It was," came the response.

She tried to ignore the flickering surge of anxiety she felt with that confirmation. After thanking the innkeep and closing the door she settled at the table, eating slowly without tasting, her eyes fixed on the scenery outside the window. Even though winter had just begun the season brought with it the early dark and Era'Adahlen was simply dark shapes lit from within, beacons in the falling snow. She finished her meal and set the tray outside the door and once that was done, turned her attention to her packs, which she'd deposited on the floor at the foot of the bed. She rifled through them, selecting her clothing with care. Minutes later she stood before the room's only mirror, attached to the wall above the bedside dresser, examining herself with a critical eye. She had allowed her hair to grow without cutting it and it now fell well past her shoulders in waves. There were more strands of grey in them than there had ever been before, a testament perhaps to what she had undergone moreso than her age—she was a few years from forty yet, after all. She did not mind them anyway. As for the rest of her—she looked calm, russet eyes placid, mouth unsmiling, no sign of tension or strain upon her face. Her expression belied her inner unrest, something she was not often capable of. She did not look like a woman anxiously awaiting the arrival of the lover she'd long been separated from.

Her invitation to him had been a simple one. It had seemed like a sound concept when it had first occurred to her days ago, a way to announce her presence and also her desire to meet with him. It was only upon writing it that she realized such an indirect approach could backfire. Inundated with letters as she assumed he was on a daily basis due to the nature of his role in the Elvhenan, Solas may disregard her message as just another to be dealt with during the next day's working hours. Or, even worse, he may read it and choose not to respond. Dressed in a simple, elegant dress of Iritihala's make, Boone sat in the chair by the window and stared out into the city, unable any longer to keep her doubts at bay. She pondered what she would do if he did not come—try again tomorrow? Approach him directly? And if she did the latter, if she were able to see him face to face, what if he no longer wanted what he once had? Would she be riding back out of the city before evening tomorrow?

Time passed. Boone did not move from the chair. She lost herself in thought, carefully constructing a contingency plan in the event that what she so hoped for would not come to pass. She had left Solas by choice. She had known leaving was a risk but there had been no other option—to remain would have stymied the progress of her recovery and she would have continued to be drift through life incomplete, an echo of the woman that had once been. The cost of regaining a sense of self, though—had she traded her own well-being for any hope of a future that contained romantic love? The eating hours passed. Impatience and nervousness jangled at her nerves. She shifted position but did not move from the chair, determined to wait out the night regardless what outcome it may bring. It had the potential to become a bitter vigil. Eventually her resolve was overcome, weariness born of tension winning out, and she dosed, slipping in and out of brief, colorless dreams.

When someone knocked on the door, she awoke with a gasp. She was out of the chair immediately, fingers knotted in the folds of her skirt. She crossed the room swiftly, taking a deep breath before opening the door. Solas stood there, robed in blue, snowflakes dusting his shoulders. It was a moment before she could speak. "Legate," she greeted, half-teasing, half-afraid.

"Evelyn," he said with just the ghost of a smile.

"Boone," she reminded him softly, leaning her head against the door frame.

"Boone," he amended, smile widening just a little, a sight that suffused her with quiet elation. "I apologize for the late hour. My duties often exceed the hours I expect."

She merely nodded her understanding, swinging the door open wider and stepping aside to let him enter. He did so with a sweeping, curious gaze, studying the small and comfortable room.

"There will always be a place for you at the keep," he told her mildly as she closed the door.

"I was uncertain the length of my stay," she said as she turned to look at him.

She caught a flicker of something in his eyes before he turned, walking to the table in order to peer out the window above it. "The weather will turn soon," he informed her in an almost conversational tone. "Travel will become difficult."

"Yes."

"You should stay."

She closed her eyes in relief, but voiced her remaining doubts, "Am I welcome?"

She heard him sigh, nearly soundless. "Always." His footsteps were audible and she opened her eyes to see him close the short distance between them. His arm lifted, the backs of his knuckles tipping her chin up. His gaze was open, earnest, and she warmed beneath it. She thought he might kiss her; his eyes dropped to her mouth for only a moment, but instead he asked, "Is this why you have come?"

"I came for you."

"But for how long?" The pad of his forefinger touched her lips, grazed along the line of her jaw in a caress. Affection, pure and undiluted, coated his words and so too adoration, but beneath it all she heard and recognized a fragile, brittle note: fear. "How long will you stay?"

The answer welled up within her, poised to fall from her mouth but he spoke before she could. "If you are only here for a time… if you will leave again…" here he paused and he shook his head, his smile a deprecating one. "Even if you do—"

His kiss was abrupt, startling her, and she grasped at his upper arms. In it she felt all his need and longing and she responded in kind, rising up to meet him, tongue darting past teeth. His touch was balm as much as it was an ignition, soothing and flaming and she was swallowed by it all. By the time they broke apart both were breathing in gasps and he pulled her with him as he approached the bed. He sank down upon it, taking her hands and drawing her closer until she stood between his legs. He settled his hands on her waist, looked up at her as she trailed her fingers across his mouth, moist and reddened from pressing so hard against her own.

"Have you come home?" he asked her softly, a question within a question.

"Yes," she whispered. His fingers plucked at the laces of her vest. "Yes," she said again as he pushed it from her shoulders, as he started on the ties of her dress. His hands gripped the back of her thighs and her breath caught as he pulled her so that she straddled him. He leaned back, bracing himself on one arm while the other went around her waist.

He asked again, seeking final confirmation. "You're home?"

"Yes, Solas," she told him, slowly pushing him onto his back, following him down. "I'm home."

.x.

And she was.

Not far from Era'Adahlen, in a plot of land cleared in the middle of the forest, Boone chose to live. There was a house there, abandoned in the fallout from either one recent war or another. She and Solas found it by accident during one of their excursions, time they'd stolen from his duties. He followed as she circled it slowly, as in her minds eye she looked past its state of disrepair, as she felt her heart settle and root itself there. She looked to him, a silent question, and he nodded.

It took weeks to make it habitable, a task performed admirably by elvhen craftsman she hired from the city with coin she made from her newest vocation, scribing works from the Vir Dithara so that they could be viewed from outside of the Crossroads. It was an honor to be allowed to do so, even more to be paid for it, and while she knew many suspected Solas' influence she had been appointed the position by Sharal'Noe herself. She worked from a small office within the keep, retiring to her room at the inn when work was over, joined often by Solas when he was free from his own obligations. They fell into easy patterns with each other, though it was not effortless—an impossibility given all that had transpired. When the house in the forest was at long last ready for occupation he didn't follow her, a decision they had discussed at length. In the end they were in full if temporary agreement, and in the first days of spring Boone moved out of the city.

The forest house was reminiscent in many ways to the house at the coast, small and cozy and rustic. It was why she'd been drawn to it. When the frost had left the ground she turned a patch of earth near the house, creating a garden where she planted all the same things Movda had grown even though she was dubious of her ability to grow things as well as the old woman had. Her life assumed a pattern, something it had lacked for a very long time, and she welcomed the regularity though it took a period of adjustment. Her home was within easy riding distance of the city, a journey she made almost daily with Drifter. Some evenings she spent with Solas. Other nights he rode out of the city with her, her home open to him always.

Theirs was not an uncomplicated type of love. Some nights she was haunted by Thom's sightless eyes and Movda's bloodied throat and she would rise from bed to pace the floor, her face marked by silent tears. At times she would catch a glimpse of someone's blue eyes or black hair and be assailed by Geldauran's voice arising from memories she thought she had banished. These recollections would fall over her as a shroud and she would dwell for spans of time in muted misery. Solas could not help her when this happened. She did not want him to. Despite their love for each other, despite her decision to stay for him and with him, there were some things between them that could never be forgotten. He had his own struggle, days when the loss of what he had been conflicted with what he was now. Whatever words of comfort she could offer him would prove paltry, she knew, and so she gave him time and space when he needed it most. In spite their traumas and their inner, still-healing wounds - or perhaps because of them - when the darkness they both shouldered passed they found their way back to each other, unerring and faithful in the ways only they could be.

A year passed. Boone was, if not happy with things as they were, at least as content as she could be. She kept up steady correspondence with Varric, Cassandra, and Dorian, the latter being dramatically and comically aghast at her decision to live in what he called "a shack in the woods." She had open invitations to visit them all whenever she wanted and she issued the same in return, but obligations and political affairs made such events difficult. Eventually, she knew, they would find their ways back to each other. Until then, she kept herself busy. When work waned she traveled, leaving for days at a time, venturing into rural Ferelden to search out more tales to add to her books. This was a bittersweet commitment and one she preferred to do on her own.

Midsummer found her home draped with hardy, fast-growing hops vines and her garden surprisingly verdant. With hired help she'd erected a corral and a small barn with two stables, but Drifter spend most of his time when not being ridden grazing the grass around the large yard. Boone tended to her garden with the same diligence Movda had tended to hers, albeit with far more irritation. Weeds vexed her the way very few other things did. This was how Solas found her one day, on her knees weeding, cursing quietly as she struggled to disentangle buckwheat from carrot.

"You've a green touch," he said, and her head jerked around to see him leaning against the corral, smiling.

"I've an impatient touch," she disagreed, wiping at her dirty face with a dirty hand. She got to her feet, moving to a nearby rain barrel in order to remove at least some of the dirt. He approached as she rinsed her hands and dried them on her shirt. In the distance thunder rumbled and she turned her eyes skyward to catch a glimpse through the trees of dark clouds swiftly approaching. She said, "You outran the bad weather."

"It was close." He draped an arm across her shoulders, pressed his lips to the skin just behind her ear. She shivered, as he intended, leaning back into him. They rested this way for a time, legate and scribe, elf and human, listening to the ominous sound of the approaching storm.

She stirred finally, pulling away. "Drifter," she said by way of explanation. He helped her with corralling the horse, who was easily enough cajoled with a handful of long grass. By the time the gelding was secure in the little barn the wind had picked up considerably, and as they both crossed the yard the first drops started to fall. Solas reached for the door but she caught at his wrist, pulling him with her to stand against the wall, safely beneath the overhang of the roof. Together they watched as the clouds delivered their burden, a cold and relentless deluge that in short order sent up sprays of mud. Boone enjoyed the ferocity of the storm, the wind as it caught the loose bits of her hair and sent them whipping to the side, the stay droplets that spattered against her exposed arms and face. Despite nature's chaos there was a stillness to it all and she let herself be engulfed by it with Solas at her side.

It began to hail eventually, small pellets that came down with such force as to obscure their vision of the yard. She winced as the wind blew them sideways to batter against her, gasped as suddenly Solas was before her, shielding her. Let's go inside, she opened her mouth to say, but his lips intercepted those words. Startled by his abruptness she collapsed back against the wall and he followed, his body pressing against hers. It happened like this at times, both of them giving into a fiercer type of passion, the kind driven by possessiveness and raw lust, the kind that rolled over them just like the storm. She met his demands with her own, teeth grazing over his bottom lip as he growled in approval. His hands were flat on the wall on either side of her head and she whispered to him a brazen thing.

He tilted his head to the side, his smile an elfin one as he played at considering what she suggested. "No," he said, leaning closer, his mouth brushing at her ear.

She pushed at him, hands flat on his chest, irrationally infuriated, fueled by lust. He resisted, his laugh a small exhale tickling her neck. "Why?" she demanded.

In response he took her real hand, brought it up between them both. She stopped moving and watched as he unfurled her fingers. He held something in his other hand, held it up between thumb and forefinger so that she could see it clearly. It was a ring, white and intricately formed, tiny little strands woven together. It had an ethereal gleam even in the gloom cast by the storm. Her eyes flicked from the ring to his face and back again, her heart faltering momentarily as she absorbed what it signified. He watched her intently, gauging her reaction, and when she managed a nod he slowly slid the ring onto her finger. She stared at it, mesmerized by its beauty, riveted by what it symbolized. He pressed her hand against his chest and she felt the way he trembled, an unspoken fear lurking in his gaze. She comforted him with a gentle kiss, resting her forehead against his.

"Are you certain?" he asked softly.

Another kiss, another nod, but mere gestures would not suffice. "Yes," she said, catching at his sleeve and pulling, drawing him toward the door. She fumbled at the latch behind her, backing into it once it was open, tugging him along. He stepped into her, caging her with his arms around her waist.

"Yes?" he repeated, teasing now.

"Yes," she affirmed with a kiss as the wind blew the door shut, as outside the storm raged, as they held each other in the midst of it all.

.The End.

It took me four long years to finish this. Thanks to all that stuck with it through it all that time, thanks to everyone who read right through to the end. If you enjoyed Boone's story, there are a couple of oneshot fics here featuring her and Solas (and one featuring her and Geldauran). Thank you again for reading!