oh man what if i wrote a solavellan fic post-trespasser in which they remain secretly (and hopelessly) in love despite being on opposite sides of a war, haha
haha and what if i made it sadder somehow
what then
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Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Rating: Mature (a little spice at the end so 18+ please)
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Female Lavellan/Solas (Dragon Age), Female Inquisitor/Solas (Dragon Age)
Characters: Theneras Lavellan, Solas (Dragon Age)
Additional Tags: Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Angst/Comfort, Cannon Compliant
Summary:
The annihilation of Clan Lavellan sends Theneras into a spiral of despair and guilt. Only Solas can comprehend what she is going through. In order to help her he will have to confront his own feelings of guilt and sorrow. If that happens, there may be no way back.
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“He was playing with her then, just as she had played with him only moments ago. He’d seen through her thinly veiled flirtations—her shameless assault on his composure—and finally settled on a counter offensive now that he possessed the upper hand. The tricky bastard.”
—
In which Solas teaches Lavellan to paint
For @solas-backpack-mug
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My heart,
Burns, with the pain of your withdrawal
Hurts, distrustful and scarred with your betrayal
Bleeds, until there's nothing more, emptied since you went away
A poem that Lavellan wrote for her dear Dread Wolf
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If It’s True
Chapter 19 is live! Check it out here! But have a snippet, as a treat!
It surprised him, almost as much as it did Mythal, how much he had come to care for the woman in front of him. How much the thought of losing her had pained him. And it softened his heart realizing that she had sought out his help, in spite of everything. She still put faith in him, despite his own omitted truth behind his initial reasons in helping her.
Solas picked up her hand once more and made a silent vow that he would never let such a thing come to pass from that point forward. Nehna deserved nothing but openness and honesty, and that is what she would receive from him. Such a presence in this world needed to be cherished, and anything she asked of him, he resolved to do.
Maybe it was the lack of sleep clouding his mind- he certainly never went out of his way for anyone. With Mythal, he felt indebted to her for finding him and taking him under her wing after the loss of his parents. This- this was different. His heart and mind felt pulled into Nehna’s gravity. She was the celestial being that compelled him to orbit her.
And that thought alone both terrified and excited him. Sure, pleasures of the flesh were easy to come by for free elves, especially one in his station, but to have a non-spirit intellectually stimulate and challenge him was something entirely new. Images of opportunities flooded his mind only to dissipate as he felt a presence just outside of the room.
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Chapters: 7/?
Fandom: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Male Inquisitor/Solas (Dragon Age), Solas (Dragon Age)/Original Character(s), Male Lavellan/Solas (Dragon Age)
Characters: Solas (Dragon Age), Cullen Rutherford, Sera (Dragon Age), Blackwall (Dragon Age), Varric Tethras, Dorian Pavus, Original Male Character(s), Cassandra Pentaghast
Additional Tags: Slow Burn, Pining, Solavellan Hell
Summary:
Kieran finds himself suddenly transported to Thedas, and vows to keep a close eye on the Dread Wolf to stop him from betraying them once again.
As he finds out, a 'close eye' unfortunately means actually being close.
(Lots of pining, sprinkle of yearning, and featuring flustered Solas)
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Chapter 14 of my DAI fic “Prophecies Cannot Be Changed” is out!
Featuring:
- Solas following Wisdom's advice, to some degree (points for trying!)
- The siblings make crude jokes
- Solas miscalculating the outcome of his actions (I'm not gonna count which time it is, not the first and not the last)
- Solas getting high on magic and making rush choices ( I have no regrets)
Animal spirit for the chapter:
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“Solas?“
“Yes, Vhenan."
“What are you drawing?“
He still has his eyes on the piece of parchment in front of him, but slows down the repetetive movements of his hand tracing the shapes on paper, as if that might offer him more time to find his answer.
"Oh, just some practice. It helps me sort my thoughts," he says with the casual air of somebody trying to evade a question.
“Can I see, then?“
He glances up briefly and notices she has stopped reading her book on the early history of Neromanian magic. She has one elbow propped up on the table and rests her chin on her hand. She is looking at him expectantly, her book clearly forgotten.
He pauses the scratchy movements of his pencil and says rather hesitantly.
"It's not finished."
She leans forward a bit more, trying to catch a glimpse at his paper. He subtly angles it away from her. She might have barely noticed, had she not noted his newfound secrecy regarding his recent drawings. She has become increasingly curious over the past few weeks, and his forced casual demeanor after her question only fills her with more anticipation.
It makes her think of the first time he showed her his artwork.
…
The first time she had walked into the rotunda in Skyhold and found Solas high up on the scaffolding with a paint brush in his hands and a concentrated look on his face, she was surprised to learn of his motivation.
"History needs to be documented," he had said when she asked him what he was working on.
After climbing down the scaffolding and taking a step back to admire the process of his work, he continued, "Not by the words of diplomats, but through the eyes of those skilled in artistry. Words will be forgotten, but images? Those will hold significance across time."
She had been moved then. By the bold lines in the fresco and the fierce look in his eyes as he regarded her as he spoke. Like she was someone worthy of admiration. Like he truly saw her. It reminded her of his words before their first kiss.
'You change everything.' He had said.
She didn't really believe him then. She didn't want to be put on a pedestal, far removed from the world and the simple and nomadic lifestyle of her clan that she was accustomed to. She missed roaming mountains and hills, not fighting blighted Templars and navigating treacherous games of power with nobles. That life had seemed like such a long time ago, even though it had barely been a year.
But perhaps she didn't need to suffer though all of this alone. She had her friends. Dorian with his jokes. Varric with his stories. Cassandra with her quiet support and camaderie. Iron Bull helping her with her fighting stances and teaching her new drinking games with Cullen. Even Cole, though he was still figuring out what the word friend even meant. She would help him with that, she had decided then. Friends; they made the aching pull of homesickness more bearable.
But Solas.
Who was he to her? She could call him her friend the supposed. She had the feeling they were becoming closer and yet there was an undeniable distance. Always leaving space for interpretation and mystery while never backing away from any of her questions. So much knowledge he shared, and still she had the feeling she barely knew him at all. He had slowly and unknowingly developed a talent for surprising her with new insights and he did so later again that same evening.
The next hour passed quickly while they were still talking about art and the different depictions of elven lore. He had stared at her intently for a moment, considering her.
"I want to show you something." he had said.
She never passed up an opportunity to learn more so she had indulged him, following him to a plain-looking crate to the side of the room. He removed the protective wards with a wave of his hand. He then uncovered some, by the looks of it, handbound books. He observed them one by one carefully, with a nod of acceptance when he seemingly found what he was looking for and handed her one of the books.
As she opened the first few pages she discovered they were sketchbooks filled with rough outlines in preparation for the next installment of the mural.
Excitedly he pointed to notes in the margin and spoke of where he learned the techniques for collecting and grinding his own pigments. There was a red ocre in the Western Approach that he had recently discovered on one of their missions which was apparently incredibly well suited for his purpose. At her encouragement he had shown her more of of his other drawings too. First of symbolism and color studies, but then more personal ones: of the views of the mountains from Skyhold, running Halla, drying herbs and even of some of the members of the inquisition she recognized.
In turn she told him about how she used to carve wood, especially when winters were rough and her clan was stuck in the same place for long waiting out the biting cold and punishing snow. To keep her fingers from freezing and her mind from wandering to dark places, she had started to carve.
"I haven't had the time since, well you know, this whole mess." she waved the fingers of her marked hand which flashed a sliver of green. Solas had looked thoughtful after her comment, almost like there was a tinge of regret behind his eyes.
The conversation steered in a different direction afterwards, like the seriousness of their predicament weighted more heavily on their shoulders than before. The mysterious books disappeared back into the chest and not long after she had excused herself and called it a night. Somehow she couldn't shake the feeling she had overstepped.
A few days later she returned from a short scouting mission. She climbed the steps to her sleeping quarters, exhausted. She hardly noticed there was an odd-shaped package leaning against her bedroom door until she almost stumbled over it. Her tiredness trading itself for curiosity, she moved to pick it up.
There was no note attached but once she unwrapped the bundle she discovered a beautiful and distinctive elven carving knife and a solid piece of oak wood.
She couldn't help the warm feeling that spread though her body, feeling the comforting weight of the wood and the cool metal of the knife in her hands.
….
She shakes her head as she's brought back to the present. That same rotunda they have since spend so much of their time together. Researching, reading and talking. There had been barely an evening where she didn't end up in the rotunda with Solas. At least when she wasn't away from Skyhold, trying to save the world on missions throughout Thedas.
She looks at Solas from her spot at the table with a mischievous glint in her eyes.
It takes a lot of effort to hide her smile.
Whith an amused tilt to the corner of her lips she says, "You know, Dorian told me he found some sketchbooks laying around, depicting a rather familiar elf. Anything you would know about that?"
Is he… Is he blushing?
"Um, Well you see." he cleares his throat trying to school his expression. "Those were private… And hidden for a reason."
She can't contain a smile. Solas flustered, that's a rare sight.
"You've seen them?" he askes quietly. She notices he has started fumbling with the edges of the paper. She didn't believe his ears could turn a brighter shade of pink.
"Maybe," she says while averting her eyes to the ceiling. She glances back to him out of the corner of her eyes.
Solas looks at her like she has grown an extra pair of ears.
She leans back in her chair and stretches out her legs comfortably under the table. Knowing she has him she doesn't want to push more and decides to spare him some of her teasing. She turns to look at him and softens her expression.
"I rather liked them."
Knowing that is probably not enough to explain why she had looked at his private belongings without permission and seeing the dumbfounded expression on his face slowly making space for embarrassment she decides to tell the whole story.
"I know shouldn't have overstepped, but Dorian said he had something urgent to discuss and before I was even halfway up the stairs he assaulted me with flying books, shouting about discovering my secret admirer. Either I would have stumbled to death or caught them. And, well… Once I started looking I couldn't look away… " she trails off with a slight tinge of shame in her voice.
"You liked them?“
She lookes at him, surprised by the hopefulness in his voice.
A wave of understanding washes over her.
He hid the drawings from her, not because he didn't want her to see them but because he was afraid of her rejection. Even though they had spent the last few months becoming more and more tangled up with each other, stealing fleeting glances and sometimes passionate kisses, they still hadn't really taken a moment to talk about what there was between them.
When she saw the drawings he made of her she had finally understood his interest in her was genuine and went beyond anything resembling a casual dalliance - something she can now confess to have been rather afraid of, because she had developed deeper feelings for him from the moment he started sharing detailed stories dreamt in the fade and his perspective on magic intertwined with life. And then there had been that first kiss… Wel let's just say she's in way too deep to turn back now.
And for all the effort he put into keeping emotional distance between them, he had apparently failed from the moment he had started putting her likeless on paper. For she could see the passion and emotion in the lines, soft shadows and hidden meanings. It made them stand out from all the other drawings she had seen by his hand.
What he couldn't yet put into words, he had found a different way of showing.
"Yes I-" suddenly feeling unsure she pauses for a moment and crosses her arms looking for the right words. "The drawings, they reminded me of who I could be." She takes a deep breath finds her courage and continues. "Someone who people will tell stories about. Not stories about Divine intervention, but of an elven woman's fight for justice. For a kinder world. Somehow I never really managed to see myself that way when I look in the mirror. But those drawings… I guess it's easier to understand who I've become by seeing myself through your eyes. To see the change I'm part of, but most of all to remind myself of where I came from."
She had uncrossed her arms and angled her body towards him over the table. A determined expression rests on her face. He hadn't taken his eyes of her from the moment she started talking.
He looks at her thoughtfully for a moment, considering his reply.
"Very well" he says while some of the tension visibly drains away from his body. She raises her eyebrows in question. "Then it's only time you started showing me your carvings in return. Some good blocks of wood have gone missing. I overheard Blackwall complaining about recently." He shares the accusations with a bemused smile on his lips.
Now it was her turn to blush.
"I was planning on showing you, but first I wanted to practice… " she trailed off her sentence, knowing she doesn't actually have a valid excuse for hiding it from him. And it was not like she hadn't backed him into a corner first.
Feeling relieved he wasn't pulling away at her recent discovery she changes her mind with newfound courage and stands up abruptly while extending her hand in invitation. The purpose of their late night reading session forgotten.
"You're right. And I'm willing to offer you a tour of my recent carving exploits, but only if you can refrain from commenting over the woodchips carpeting the floor." He starts to move as if to get up but she makes him pause as she isn't done yet. "But in turn I will pose for your next drawing." Solas looks at her confused for a moment, as if considering her question.
She pauzes for a moment and adds without hesitation.
"Naked."
"What?"
"That's right."
From a balcony upstairs they could hear some muffled movement followed by a familiar voice echoing down "You know Solas, if you're looking for nude models you only need to ask!"
"Dorian!" they say in unison, horrified.
Solas quickly tucks the sketches under his arm and stands up to grasp her hand, surprising her by pulling her close so fast she has to steady herself with her other hand landing on his chest.
Only a breath away from her ear he says softly so only she can hear.
"It seems like you found yourself a deal, ma Vhenan."
She squeezes his hand in response and when she looks at him there isn't a hint of his previous embarrassment. Instead there is a look of hunger and challenge in his eyes. It's so easy then, to lean over and kiss him, her lips a promise and Dorian's earlier interuption temporarily forgotten. Before she can get lost in the soft press of his lips she pulls back and feels a delighted thrill in the way he slightly chases them as she takes a step back. With a teasing smile on her lips she tugs on his hand bringing him back to reality and encouraging him to follow. As they make their way quietly towards the door she throws a judgemental look over her shoulder towards where she imagines Dorian to be hiding.
She is just able to make out a muffled conversation on the first floor "… These lovesick fools seem to keep forgetting this is a public space, if they don't want an audience they should find a room!"
Not sure if she should be terribly embarrassed or slightly thankful for Dorians intervention she doesn't manage to hide her smile.
"Let's get out of here then." she says as they start to make their way through Skyhold.
He squeezes her hand.
"Gladly."
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Arlathan eXchange is returning!
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Dead Pasts and Dread Futures
by youworeblue
This is my Dragon Age series following Inquisitor Ixchel Lavellan and her battle to find hope for herself, and hope for Thedas.
As the world ends, Ixchel is resurrected under mysterious circumstances and is sent back in time to the Conclave. Ixchel is furious, convinced of her own futility, and yet she cannot give up again. These are the stories of how she gets better.
More info here and on AO3.
Below the cut: the symbolism, and the cover on my Kindle, and in the Archivist bot.
Symbolism:
I previously made some "tarot" cards for Ixchel. In them I feature a motif of eyes/eye shaped leaves, and the number 7. These represent the Old Gods/Evanuris that threaten Thedas.
Kindle e-book Cover:
The cempasúchil are Ixchel's Ardent Blossom later in the fic. They have layers and layers of meaning for her and her story, beyond her being Mexican. In my headcanons, an ancient tradition passed down from Elvhenan, a noble would give their Champion a crown of flowers, an “ardent blossom” of their own, to honor the promise and dedication their Champion gives to them. In Elvhenan, marigolds play a big role in bonding ceremonies of all kinds, symbolizing a promise that will last through an end–whether that end be the end of a corporeal form through death, or through voluntary uthenera, or some other pre-agreed upon ending of a partnership.
Gingko leaves (bottom orb) come to symbolize hope in the story, and remembrance. She teaches Solas and those around her how to take lessons from the past to build a better future, with the world they're given; in turn, her companions give her the strength to survive anything and to see that future come to pass.
I made this specifically to be a cover on my Kindle, where I've started downloading fics! I used calibre and this tutorial (view on desktop) to edit the metadata for the epub and add the cover to my Kindle. It's a little hard to see in the picture but the values turned out really well and legible IMO!
Archivist Bot Embeds:
Also, the Archivist discord bot automatically sweeps the first chapter of your fic and uses any art in it as a thumbnail for its informational embed when you post an AO3 link. Immensely satisfying :)
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making solavellan play chess (wip)
(edit: full story here 💕)
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hey uh i see all yall talking abt Elgar'nan possibly being the big bad in dread wolf and i just wanna take a moment to plug the fic I've been working on since august where Elgar'nan is the big bad, post Inquisition. OC Lavellan reluctantly teaming up with Solas again after the end of Trespasser. Very slow burn, very angst and feelings, very story driven.
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Reposting this on my new blog. Will be migrating much of @ar-lath-vhenan here and eventually deleting that one as it’s a side blog to a blog I’m no longer interested in having as my main and tumblr refuses to make my life easy if it can avoid it.
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And Yet
The nights are the hardest. During the day there are reports to read, dispatches to send, agents to meet and plans to make. At night there is only him. His thoughts. His remorse. His guilt.
Guilt for what happened in the past. Guilt for what he intends to do. Guilt for what he did to her.
He laces his fingers together, leans forward and rests his head on his knuckles. So many memories. So many regrets. He never should have let it get that far.
And yet.
That first tentative kiss. A bold move on her part. A silent question. Did he feel for her what she felt for him?
He knew how she felt. Had known for some time. Had pushed aside his own feelings. It wasn't right. Any first kiss would end in a last. He knew that, even if she did not.
And yet.
It had been so long since anyone had looked at him that way. So long since anyone had touched him. He resisted. Then he did what he has always done. He gave into his impulses - and doomed them both.
And yet.
He lifts his head, unlaces his fingers and rubs his eyes. He is so tired. The Fade calls. There are places he can go. Places that will remind him of what was lost. Places that will bolster his resolve.
And yet.
Rising from his desk, he walks over to a cot in a corner of the room. They don't understand why he won't take more opulent quarters. He doesn't need them. He doesn't deserve them.
Reclining, he closes his eyes and opens himself to the Fade. Quickly, the door opens. He steps through and finds what he always finds. He is not where he planned to be.
And yet.
There is a gravel path leading to a manicured garden. She will be there. In her dreams she is always there.
At first there were nightmares. It was only to be expected. She had been through so much. Lost so much.
It was his fault. How could it not be? He had set it all in motion. He took everything from her. Her clan, her gods, her vallaslin, her heart and, ultimately, herself.
And yet.
He chased away the nightmares. It was the least he could do.
No, that was a lie. One of many he told himself. The lie that they could be together. The lie that he could set it all aside. The lie that he could be happy. He chased away the nightmares because he loved her. Would always love her.
And yet.
The nightmares lessened over time, replaced by gentler dreams. He does not need to watch over her but he cannot stay away. Now he watches to see if she is happy. To see if her dreams include someone else. Someone who can take away her pain.
And yet.
He pads softly up the path. He always comes as a wolf. He knows she isn't fooled but he cannot bear to hurt her any more than he already has.
And yet.
At the garden entrance he hears laughter. Two young elves race across the lawn. She is standing beneath an arch decorated with flowers. He focuses, as he always does, on her missing arm. One more thing he has taken from her.
Her back is to him. An elf is holding her, hugging her, kissing her. Jealousy wars with relief. She has someone. Someone who makes her happy.
And yet.
She steps out of the embrace. He can see the elf's face. His heart stops. It is his face. He looks at the children. His cheekbones. His freckles. An auburn-haired girl. A boy with grey eyes.
He slinks backwards. It isn't a dream about what she has. It is a dream about what she wants.
She turns, catching sight of him as she has done so many times before. They never speak. Have not spoken since that final kiss.
And yet.
"I see you, Fen' Harel." Her voice is soft, sad and heartbreakingly beautiful.
He flinches. It feels wrong, that hated name falling from her lips. His ears droop. He looks into her eyes. Looks for the anger that should be there. Was there so many years ago. All he sees now is love coupled with pain.
She does not step forward. She knows he will turn away, as he has so many times before.
And yet.
"It is time we speak," she says in a tone that brooks no argument.
He has no choice. His wolf form falls away. He stands before her in the clothes he wore when they first met.
"Years ago you made a decision for me," she says as she looks into his eyes. His soul. "A decision you had no right to make. You speak of free will, yet you negated mine."
There is no heat behind her words. No accusation. In her mind, it is a fact.
"I did not." He gazes at her, silently pleading with her to stop.
"I would have gone with you. I wanted to be by your side," she continues as if she did not hear him. Her voice is not as gentle as before. Anger wars with grief. "You said, no."
"I could not let that happen," he replies, his voice husky. "I cannot let you see what I will become. I could not risk you becoming the same."
The softness in her expression is replaced by steel. Her will was always strong. It was what carried her through the unspeakable horrors he had unwittingly unleashed.
"That was my choice to make, not yours!" Now, he hears the anger.
What can he say? That love gave him the right to choose for her? He knows in his heart it did not.
"Now you are making another decision. One that will harm tens of thousands." She takes a step forward. "Only a would-be god could be so arrogant."
"I am not a god," he whispers. He takes a step back. His own anger kindles in response to hers. How can she think that? Why can't she understand?
"You think not?" Her eyes challenge him. She challenges him in ways no one ever has before. "Only a god could be so callous."
Her words are like daggers. He cannot look at her.
"I have no choice," he answers, his voice rising but still barely more than a whisper.
"There are always choices, Solas," she says. Her voice is weary. The anger spent. "You may not like them but they are there."
She turns her head in the direction of her dream children, of his dream self. Turns her head in the direction of what could have been.
"Var lath vir suledin, vhenan," she says. "Remember?"
His answer sticks in his throat.
She turns back to him.
"Your choice is simple, vhenan. You can be Fen'Harel and destroy the world, or you can be Solas and find a better way."
He searches her face, expecting to see hope. There is none. She knows him too well.
And yet.
She has not given up on him.
Without another word, she turns and walks back to the other Solas waiting patiently under the arch.
It hurts. It always does. She cannot be happy unless he is by her side. Unless he is where he wants to be.
He awakens. He has a choice to make.
And yet.
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Anyone want to discuss what I have written/let me bounce ideas off of them for my pre-veil solas x OC fic?
You’ll be tagged in anything posted/get a shout out on ao3
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