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There is Still Fire in Your Tombs

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The silence of his refuge is deafening. He can still hear her voice ringing in his ears, her last words a promise he will not soon forget. He can’t fail the People again. He had failed them time and time again, and he cannot allow himself to be swayed. Not even by her.

He stumbles over to his desk to where a single piece of parchment sits in a frame, Elgara’s visage painstakingly drawn out in ink by his own hand. He reaches out to touch her drawn cheek, his heart still thumping in his chest.

She will try to stop him, that much he knows. She will refuse to live in the future he intends to create, even if there is a place for her by his side. If it comes to it, though… He does not know if he can kill her. He would not be able to live with himself knowing he had become all that he had once despised. He had sworn his life to fight against tyrants who cared for power more than justice, and killing her… Killing her would make him into the very monster he’d sworn to never become.

He is doing what must be done, and he knows such actions are never easy, but he must undo what has been done. He must. He hasn’t a choice. This is his path, and protecting the people of Thedas is hers. It would have been much easier had he succeeded in his attempts with the orb. This was never how it was meant to have happened, but this had led him to her. This had given him hope that, perhaps, she is right, and there is another way.

Perhaps, some hope remains.