Солас разыскивает Лавеллан для игры в паре на английском

The world had met her beneath a ruined sky. The Conclave had burned, the Breach hung above Haven, and a Dalish elf walked out of the Fade with a mark burning in her hand. Her name would be decided by those who never had the right to. Herald. Inquisitor. History would remember both titles more readily than it remembered the woman who carried them.
Solas met her before either had learned what the other would inevitably become.

Skyhold gathered people quickly. Soldiers and diplomats multiplied in numbers as did marks on the map across the war table as the Inquisition stretched its influence across Thedas. Every victory it earned was painted, forever captured in rotunda walls by an apostate who had no business growing closer to the now revered Inquisitor. He spoke of spirits and dreams long forgotten, while thinking of a future he already believed himself condemned to shape. Somewhere during these months. the Inquisitor ceased to be merely the bearer of the Anchor in his calcualtions.
There were conversations that lasted past necessity, questions returned to days later. Footsteps he began to recognize among dozens of others. There were stolen moments no report recorded because neither yet understood they would matter. Those moments would end too soon, leaving all the questions she had unanswered.

He left regardless, breaking her heart further, proving that victories rarely end the problems that created them. The Anchor was killing her. Still, she searched and followed the trail with no certainty there would be time enough to reach its end. What waited there was an answer she had never known to seek. The answer that would torment her dreams in a shape of wolf, a betrayal shaped as mercy she had never asked for.

How much more can a heart already torn open bear before the story asks more of it still?