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an-established-butt-dent · 4 months

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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."

#solavellan #solavellan hell #solas x female lavellan #solavellen hell #solavellen fanfiction #dragon age inquisition #No one can convince me otherwise that this scene hasnt happened #bioware robbed us from this being a real cutscene in the game #I mean dont you just love the idea of Solas sharing his passion for art and history with lavellan?#and all this time at skyhold #for sure she has run into him a few times covered in paint #and i just love the headcannon that solas ans lavellan forget they have an audiance of Leliana #Dorian and Fiona sharing popcorn and betting on who will make the first move #and you just know the frustration Dorian has felt #seeing the fools in love while they barely make a move at each other aside from fleeting glances #he had to get involved somehow #imagine dorian spending weeks on tearing down the magical wards on that chest #just to findout it filled with portraits of lavellan #LOL #dragon age inquisition fanfic #the dread egg #solas #solasmance #inquisitor lavellan #writing and artwork by me #acrylic ink and finelines on bamboo paper

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arlathanxchange · 2 months

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Arlathan eXchange is returning!

IMPORTANT DATES

▸ Nominations Open: Sunday, March 10, 2024 at 12pm ET ▸ Nominations Close: Sunday, March 24, 2024 at 12pm ET ▸ Sign-Ups Open: Sunday, March 24, 2024 at 12pm ET ▸ Sign-Ups Close: Sunday, April 7, 2024 at 12pm ET ▸ Assignments Received: by Tuesday, April 9, 2024 8:00 PM EST (or earlier!) ▸ Works Due: Sunday, May 19, 2024 at 12pm ET ▸ Works Revealed: Sunday, May 26, 2024 at 12pm ET ▸ Creators Revealed: Sunday, June 2, 2024 at 12pm ET

Visit our website to see the above schedule in your local time.

NOMINATIONS OPEN IN 3 WEEKS

Changes and Updates

→ Please welcome our new moderators! @Dirthenera @Inquisimer @Plisuu @Thedaselcor

→ Our rules and FAQs are undergoing some changes - stay tuned for more information and updates!

→ The event's use of Twitter/X will be phased out this year. Please make sure to follow us on other social media for announcements as we make this transition.

→ This event is officially affiliated with The Hanged Man! The Hanged Man is an unofficial collective of Dragon Age fans who try to make a positive difference in the fandom community by giving fans a place to chat, share and create content, and interact. You can read more on our website.

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freesidexjunkie · 5 months

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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.

#da4 #dragon age 4 #dragon age dreadwolf #solas dread wolf #dread wolf #da: dreadwolf #dragon age #solas x oc #solasmance #solas x lavellan #solavellen hell #solavellan #fanfiction #fanfic

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dreadfutures · 4 months

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youtube

Dragon Age Fanfic eBook Cover | Speed Paint

I actually remembered to record on this project! So here is a super speedy, and a slightly-less-speedy-but-set-to-music-and-it-zooms-in Speed Paint. I affectionately called this "marigold hell" but I really loved it!

This is an ebook cover for my fanfic, Dead Pasts and Dread Futures

DPDF my Dragon Age series following Inquisitor Ixchel Lavellan and her battle to find hope for herself, and hope for Thedas.

#dragon age fanart #dragon age #dragon age inquisition #dragon age fanfiction #solavellan #lavellan #inquisitor lavellan #my art #speed paint #digital art #Youtube

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exalted-dawn-drabbles · 1 month

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Helloooo I come with a double whammy of "[Suddenly feels around the bed to search for the other’s hand / body when they’re sleeping] [Extends a hand when they see the other was searching for it while they’re sleeping]" for Solas x Alora

;w; I am so emo about this I hope you enjoy the mundane angst Solas has to struggle for the sin of loving someone. for @dadrunkwriting

Rated G: Slice of Life, Solas-typical angst, ~650 words

To Be Enough | Exalted_Dawn

When Solas felt the gentle nudge against his thigh, he simply brushed it off as happenstance. He disregarded the touch, shifting so that Alora could rest without interruption. Since returning from the Western Approach, it was becoming an increasing struggle for her to sleep fully through to dawn. Sleepless nights predated dismal mornings, her typically aurelian smile growing dimmer with the increasingly darkened circles that rimmed her eyes. It was because of this that he often found himself now losing sleep, just to ensure that she slept first.

Tonight had been no different. He sat awake now, book in hand, with a constant mind on his wards. Simple spells to keep her from wandering too deeply into the Fade. Anything to buy her a few more hours of peace.

Perhaps that was why, when her hand tapped his leg again, Solas was awake enough to let it capture his attention. Alora’s brows were furrowed with tension, a faint frown marring her shadowed features. The expression twisted her scarlet vallaslin and hid freckles between the creases near her clenched eyes. Solas scowled at that. Was she having another nightmare, even with the aid of his wards?

He bent over her to brush a strengthening spell across her forehead, but before he could even touch his fingers to her skin, a half-formed murmur floated up from below.

“...olas?”

Her hand brushed upwards, creating a wake of folded fabric in the blankets following her touch. Though they could hardly be considered anything more than twitches, her fingers began to flex and unfurl, first once but then repeatedly. Almost as if she were…

His eyes flicked down to his own splayed hand beneath him, a mere span of inches from her own. Something bitter twisted in his chest as the realization struck him. A knife blow from which a deep sorrow blossomed. He continued to watch for a moment as Alora groped for him in her sleep, and suddenly his being here felt inexplicably cruel. For weeks now, he had been forced to lie to himself– to create empty reasons to excuse his continued presence by her side. But ironically enough, wrapped in night’s thickest shrouds, his deceptions could not be more clear to him. He should not be sharing a room with her. A bed. This was more than what was required to keep himself close to her.

…More than what was required, but less than what he wished for.

Ever selfishly, he dropped his hand instead to brush his knuckles along the curve of her cheek. A touch’s kiss.

She deserved better.

Alora groaned quietly again, chasing his touch as he drew it away, even in her sleep. He saw the stirrings of wakefulness beneath her eyelids, how the slight flutter of lashes became sharper and more pronounced. Almost unthinkingly, he dropped his hand over hers, squeezing it just so. As firmly as one might dare hold to a dream, for all its fragility.

She deserved better– someone who would hold her hand in theirs without the intent of release. One day, the empty space in this bed would be filled once more, and when she reached out for touch, they would not hesitate to take her hand. It would be one day soon, he imagined. She would find someone better than him.

But for now, her hand need not go upheld. Her bed, unshared. It was a kindness, he told himself. It was also a lie. But as her turned towards her, pulling Alora gently into his arms, he decided it was one he could live with. So he settled, tucking her head beneath his chin where she fit so perfectly. He was not without his flaws, nor his sins. And if this was to be another, then so be it. She deserved better, but perhaps for now… tonight, he could be enough.

#dadwc #dragon age fanfiction #solavellan #alora lavellan #solas #dragon age #solas x lavellan

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ly-art · 1 month

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Little snippet of the chapter I'm currently working on and DAMN SOLAS

I lovingly call this snippet "Fuck the Chantry"

"I must object vehemently. While I understand the severity of the situation, the Herald is revered as divine by many here. It would be unseemly to leave her alone with a man, especially given the rumors surrounding you both. Furthermore, she is not fully dressed, and her dignity must be preserved. If necessary, I will assist with the healing to ensure propriety," she declared adamantly. Solas' expression hardened as he confronted Mother Giselle, his face mere inches from hers. "I am sure you have noticed, Mother Giselle, I am an apostate and an elf. I hold no belief in your ridiculous Maker or Andraste. I care not for your opinions *or* your faith. The Herald is injured, and I *will* heal her. I will not heed the dictates of the Chantry. I *despise* the Chantry and its blind adherence to outdated beliefs. I have held my tongue for the sake of cooperation, but I harbor nothing but contempt for those who cling to their faith without question. You mean *nothing* to me. Now, step aside and leave before I lose my patience," he stated firmly, eyes cold.

Don't fuck with Solas, I guess lmao

#dragon age #inquisition #dai #solas #lavellan #da fanfic #dragon age fanfiction #fanfic #dragon age inquisition #solasmance #solavellan hell #solavellan

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hdotsol · 3 months

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Looking for a fanfic where future red lyrium solas reveals to lavellan who he is. Please help

#solas #dragon age #dragon age: inquisition #dragon age fanfiction #solavellan #solas dragon age #ipost

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moonlightheretic · 4 months

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The Heretic: Chapter 1: The Trial

Artwork by @Sullydoodles

"A tattered journal is found within the walls of Skyhold, entrenched in secrecy that could shatter Inquisitor Moon'Hwa's life as she knows it and will test the trust of her advisors. This is no ordinary journal, the more it reveals the more Moon'Hwa discovers Solas's true nature and her role in it. Lost recollections surface into blinding Revelations. The Lavellen Clan is not what it seems. The Keeper guards a dark secret that will ultimately leave Moon'Hwa with a heartbreaking choice, for the good of Thedas. She has limited time to solve this mystery and regain what was lost, the inquisition pursues her and her mark threatens her life. A chain of events appears to be linked, as a wolf's shadow watches her every move. Moon'Hwa is left to fight the will of the gods, alone. The odds are against her. Will she prevail?"

Set 5 (estimate) years after Inquisition. our unlucky Inquisitor is put on trial for egregious crimes she has no memory of enacting, all based on a decrepit journal. Are these mere hollow accusations? Or could they possibly be true?

This is a Dark Solas fic and is NSFW. Please see the full warnings below the line.

Gore, Blood, Sex, Language, Torture, Poor Grammar, (Haha)

MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH (You have been warned >:)

#just leave a comment fest #fanfic #fanfiction #ao3 #darksolas #solavellan #solasfic #dragon age fanfic #fen'harel #betrayal #moon'hwa lavellan #villains

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spicywarl0ck · 5 days

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hello and happy friday! maybe "it seems like the end of the world right now, I know," for solas/male lavellan if that picques your interest. 💖

Happy Friday! Thank you for this prompt, took me a while for inspiration to hit, but here we are <3 (Also I received this prompt multiple times, and I can only say to the others: I will do the others too x3 You just have to be a bit patient) I might have made myself cry a bit with this, anyway: @dadrunkwriting Pairing: Solas/mLavellan Length: 689 Rating: G The world was a whirl of green and grey, the air filled with pure electricity.

It was the stillness before the storm and the last night before the biggest battle he’d ever fought. He felt the quietness of the Keep as everyone kept talking in hushed whispers, each of them under suspense, holding the one hope that he might be able to save them all.

It made the pressure on his shoulders almost unbearable.

Revassan had never been a leader before. He had been a capable hunter under the Dalish maybe, resourceful enough to be sent as a spy to the conclave. But he’d never been more than that before the fateful events at the temple of sacred ashes and he never wanted to be.

He hadn’t asked to become the Herald of Andraste or the Inquisitor, but here he was, preparing to lead them all to battle.

Revassan wasn’t ready for this and he probably never would be. He’d lived a quiet life with the Dalish; his sister had been the magical prodigy and his father’s pride. All that had been left for him was to make himself useful somehow.

It hadn’t been her fault and he never blamed her for it. Yet, he couldn’t help but wonder if their interactions would have been different if things had been different.

Well, it was too late for that now, he supposed as he took a deep breath. Even that was hard with the heaviness of the air that left a bitter taste on his tongue. He could just hope they succeeded; That he succeeded.

“Ah, there you are. I was searching for you.” Solas’s voice made his lips twitch into a half-smile.

Revassan might have had a few regrets and saw some unpleasant things during his time in the Inquisition, but Solas had made it worthwhile. He wouldn’t miss the man in his life for anything, in the world.

“I just needed fresh air.” His forest green eyes looked tired as they looked at the mage approaching him, his grey eyes expressing sadness and compassion.

“It seems like the end of the world right now, I know.” His hand cupped Revassan’s cheek, making him feel the warmth of it pressing against his skin. He could have melted into the touch right away, the fear in his heart eased just for a few seconds.

“But, I have seen many endings, and the world is still there, as it will be for a while.”

There was something unreadable in Solas’s expression when he said those words, his hand swiftly retreating so he could clasp them behind his back in thought. His gaze wandered to the Breach, watching the whirling and brewing storm with an almost unsettling calmness.

And all of a sudden, he seemed to be very far away until he pulled back.

“It’s so quiet.” Revassan pointed out as he kept one ear listening for any movement in Skyhold.

“Not all of them. Can you hear the Chargers drink and celebrate?” Solas asked, giving him a moment to listen to the distant chatter echoing from the Herald’s rest and reaching his balcony.

“They have seen many battles and drink to the next. Determined to emerge victorious.”

“Will they though?” The younger elf asked quietly. He sometimes felt there was something Solas wasn’t telling him but he also couldn’t say what. But ever since the Well of Sorrow, he felt Solas might have been older than he let on, just like the sentinels they met.

“Who knows.” Solas’s eyes were still focused on the distance before he looked away, the dimples showing when he smiled patiently. “I’m afraid that’s not for me or you to know,” he added quietly. “But, I am content that you will succeed. You might not see it yourself, but you have become a leader everyone looks up to. And quite a capable one.”

His hand moved to tilt his chin softly as he locked eyes with him before he continued in elven.

“Do not worry, Vhenan. You are a stronger force than you think. And no matter what will come. Don’t forget that I love you.”

#dragon age fanfiction #dragon age #writing #prompt #dadrunkwriting #dadwc #Solavellan #solavellan hell #Solas #male Lavellan #male lavellan/solas #my writing

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mel-0n-earth · 2 months

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New fic is up

“Well it’s a long story," Varric explained. "Complicated too. It’ll take some time to tell.” “How complicated could it be?” Dorian snipped. “Well you see, there was this whole bit about a so-called god cultivating a deadly obsession with an unremarkable heroine. You know how those tend to go." "No, I don't," Dorian said flatly. Varric leaned forward in his chair. "You know what happened to Andraste, right? Heard that ended pretty badly for her.” “Fine! Go on and tell us your story, Master Dwarf. It’s not as if we’re brimming with leads. But I swear to the Maker, if I hear a single mention of sighing shield-maidens, or brawniness…” Tethras chuckled. “Sorry, fresh out of brawniness. How about this: a sweeping tale of love and limerence spanning not only ages, but disparate planes of existence, all spun together by relentless obsession that nearly tore the world apart by its seams in the sky?” Dorian sniffed. “Just tell the damn story." --- A Dragon Age retelling of the Phantom of the Opera, in which a young keeper Lavellan, doomed by the narrative, brushes with godhood while being haunted by more than one ghost of a distant past.

#so nervous to finally be posting this #but I've been working on it for a long time #solavellan #solavellan heaven hell and also purgatory #phantom of the opera #dragon age #dragon age: inquisition #DAI #solas #fanfiction #fanfic #ao3

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an-established-butt-dent · 2 months

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To sleep, to dream, to forget

AO3

Author: DazeChroma (that is me)

Cover art: an-established-butt-dent (also me)

Fandom: Dragon Age, Pairing: Solas x Lavellan, Words: 4,841, Tags: Post Trespasser, Angst, Lavellan deals with the emotional aftermath.

Notes: see end for notes!

There are a million ways to say goodbye, but they have yet to learn of a way that is final. After the Crossroads, Allana leaves everything behind and travels. She is alone, but for a wolf that keeps visiting her dreams.

To sleep, to dream, to forget

Lavellan knew the wolf haunting her dreams.

Perhaps she should fear the shadow lurking on the edge of her peripheral vision, but this was the Fade and she was in control of her dreams. She wore an enchanted amulet, beautiful, with the added benefit of preventing others from intruding on her dreamscape. A parting gift from Dorian.

Even one as skilled and powerful as the Dreadwolf would not be able to reach her, unless she let him.

But that was precisely it. She would never admit it out loud, but somehow had yet to force his presence away. To banish him from her subconscious. Instead, she had left a window open at a crack.

Maybe it was confusion after their confrontation in the Crossroads. Maybe it was her anger, demanding more explanations from him.

Maybe she missed him.

Solas.

Mentally she scolded herself. She shouldn't use that name. The quiet apostate she had come to know, come to love, was not the same man planning the downfall of the world. Her heart was broken and Solas was dead, as much as he could be for having never truly existed.

But the Dreadwolf, Fen'harel, lived.

Ancient trickster god indeed.

Sometimes she tried to think of the elf from her memories as someone different altogether. A quiet mage lost in dreams who perhaps had planned to return to her. To explain why he left without goodbye after Corypheus' defeat. To bring reason to the many questions left unanswered and wounds left unmended.

The Solas in this imagined life might have helped her shed the Inquisitor’s cloak. Might have held her in comfort throughout the emotional aftermath.

Somehow it made the feeling of betrayal slightly easier to bear.

'-What we had was real'

The words left a bitter taste in her mouth still.

Perhaps it had all been real to him. But to her it was an illusion.

The wolf in sheeps’ clothing had not been the lover in her arms. The Dread Wolf had not been her companion, her advisor, mentor, friend, Vhenan-

Denial was not a good look on her, but it gave her peace and quiet.

And this chasm in her chest, this aching void pumping blood through numb limbs… It propelled her forward. Yet, she felt devoid of the passion and perseverance that moved her before.

Well.

You can't break what's already broken. Can't lose what you don't have.

After the Inquisition disbanded, she had felt lost. Alone.

She needed time to process everything: the loss of her arm, the long years fighting to end Corypheus and then building the world back up again only to be followed by the upheaval of the exalted council, the pain in her chest. Again there was a moment where the world spun on its axis, throwing everything she knew off-balance. Again.

She had come undone, the only thing keeping her together was the feeling of Revas’ long strides over the open plains.

Only a Dalish would pick that name for a hart, but he earned his name, spirited and wild as he was before he accepted Allana as his rider. He was her only companion.

Her eyes scanned the horizon, but there was no silhouette following her. No shadow in the waking world.

She stayed clear of civilization, only stopping for provisions. She kept to herself, used her voice so little she almost forgot what it sounded like.

She traveled for weeks like this, a strong pace forward. Needing to get away. Always away. Every moment spent in one place too long and her chest would constrict, a panic building that could only be relieved by the comfort of changing landscapes.

'You lied to me!'

She wanted to escape. To forget.

She wanted to be wild like her hart. Wanted to be free.

Revas: her freedom.

Revas, revas, revas!

She drifted weightlessly through the fade. Time seemed to stand still as she floated through the pleasant warmth of her early memories.

No terror haunted her. No fear demon pulled threads of horrible memories across her vision. Nothing clawed at her. She was safe.

Only one shadow she could not shake.

She could admit it, now. When the storms of her doubts and fears had quieted down, and she was not drowning, on the brink of being pulled under-

No.

Not now.

She breathed in, and out. At peace, you're safe, she told herself.

The storm calmed down.

He never truly showed himself at first. But she expected him to know that she could sense him.

It had been him, chasing the despair demons away in the nights before she had Dorian’s amulet. She had seen the flash of teeth and six red eyes prowling on the edge of her peripheral vision. Hungry, angry, but not for her. A lonely howl, a loud screech and a wolf had dragged the dark shadows away until she was alone once again.

The terror had melted away with the echo of the wolf's cry.

Curious spirits were discouraged from approaching her afterwards, and she could finally breathe with relief, knowing to expect a night of rest without waking in cold sweat from nightmares.

She scoffed, wondering what keeper Deshanna would say if she knew the presence of the Dreadwolf gave her some measure of comfort.

She would probably call upon all the ancient gods for guidance. To protect her lonely runaway Da'len from the Dreadwolf’s treachery.

But he has your scent.

And you have his heart.

She was almost at the coast now, where she would book passage for a ship to Starkhaven. She planned to cross the waking sea at Jader and travel to Antiva after a short stop in Kirkwall. Other than that she hadn’t decided on her plans for the future.

She had set up camp at a clearing near an old ruin. Then, she took her time to make dinner, enjoying her quiet surroundings and knowing this might be her last night sleeping peacefully under the stars for the coming week.

Revas would surely not be happy on a ship.

She looked regretfully at her hart, wishing there was another way to cross safely, without needing a ship or an Eluvian.

As she only had access to one of those options, her choice was made swiftly.

She climbed into her sleeping roll, twisting and turning until she lay comfortably on her side. Listening to her hart grazing nearby, she drifted off to sleep.

He had become bolder after she started wearing the amulet.

Perhaps he wondered how she had found peace in her dreams? Perhaps her aura, pleasantly free of fear and despair, had pulled him in?

Could he sense the enchantment? Could he see she now had more control over the Fade?

He had tried to teach her many times, but never had she managed this level of lucidity.

Did he observe curiously what strings she pulled, and which memories she traversed?

She always made sure not to dive into memories of their time as lovers. Those memories were locked away deeply, only to be revealed during waking moments of weakness where she allowed herself the time to wallow in her misery.

A slight change in the air alerted her to his presence.

Soundlessly, a shadow big as a hill moved over the horizon until she made out the shape of four clawed paws slowly treading over the grass-covered plane.

He held his head close to the ground, curiously following the invisible line of energy that lingered in her wake. Tracing her scent which was as recognizable and personal as a fingerprint in the land of dreams. Wisps of black smoke trailed his fur, distorting the landscape.

Sensing her, he slowly lifted his massive head as six red glowing eyes fixed themselves on her.

His name was on the tip of her tongue. She quickly swallowed it down, her throat suddenly dry. This was the first time he didn’t disappear as soon as they made eye contact. She was rooted on the spot, not moving an inch, afraid that any change would break the spell. The sudden wave of longing that washed over her came as a surprise. The sharp ache that quickly followed didn’t.

Then there was anger.

He took one more step towards her and tilted his head to the side, giving the impression of being unsure if he was looking at threat or prey.

Hoping she was neither, she stood still. She could feel her heart beating in her throat, uncomfortably aware of the tension building in the air. It was like the climate changed and became hotter, the air sticky and suffocating, shaped by the emotions of her inner turmoil.

He took a step toward her, and then she felt the Fade shift.

It was her own doing.

Suddenly she was alone again, overlooking the same mountains where Skyhold stood proudly in the distance. Her home.

She felt relieved that she could breathe again. The air was lighter, the sky brighter, although everything in the fade had a disorienting, ghostlike quality to it. Colors were more intense and subdued at the same time, clouded by a mist you could see only when you focused on it intensely.

Her racing pulse calmed down as she kept her attention on the familiar mountains. Two falcons slowly circled the sky, its colors giving the impression of a setting sun.

‘He is only a stranger. A stranger you once knew’, she told herself over and over.

Yet, he did not scare her. At least not for the reasons one should be afraid of a massive ghostly wolf-shadow trailing their subconscious.

Perhaps she should have confided in Lelliana, Cullen or Josephine about his presence in her dreams. But the Inquisition was no more, so sharing these developments felt... too personal, too intimate. She didn't want to think about it. Nor, for that matter, did she want anyone else to.

The Dreadwolf has your scent.

Why was he still keeping his tabs on her, even after their goodbyes?

'I will never forget you.'

No of course not, idiot, if he kept following her like this!

She could feel her anger shaping the Fade around her, the soft, wispy clouds and sharp mountain peaks crumbling. She was taken to a place darker. Deep down, deep roads, stone, damp air, echoes of fighting. A darkspawns’ screech bounced around on the slick walls of the chasm. Still far in the distance but growing louder with each panicked breath she took. The high pitch surrounded her. Darkness enveloped her like a suffocating blanket. The screams of the dead in her memories ringing like white noise in her ear, drowning out her thoughts except; ’Can’t breath!’.

Panicked, she started to run.

Feet thump, thump, thumping on the slippery stones. The echoes grew louder, a horde of demon’s awakened by the steady rhythm of her long strides. She was a hunter being hunted. The echoes of the past not brought forth by demon’s of anger or fear, but by her own traumatized subconscious. Looking for a way out.

Abruptly she skipped to a halt. Reaching for the amulet.

There were no demons. They can’t reach her.

All of a sudden she could hear a voice breaking through the clouds of her panic.

“Allana, breathe like we practiced, you are in control.” a strange voice resonated from the walls, seeming to come from all sides at once and yet far away. A voice she could recognize everywhere.

The revelation shocked her, but grounded her mind. The demons were drawing near. Memories, which could do no more physical harm unless she let them. Remembering what part would come next she needed to end it here. Right now.

She closed her eyes, taking a breath.

In through the nose-

-one, two, three, four.

Hold for five seconds, let go for six.

She opened her eyes and was again back looking at the sharp outlines of the Frostback Mountains.

The image shifted and the air smelled of spring. Warmth.

Soft winds blowing across open planes. A body of water flowing like a silver snake across the landscape, casting crystallized reflections on billowing trees. A group white halla taking off, startled by her sudden appearance. She watched them for a moment as they darted across the grass in a dance; a playful homage to freedom. They slowly disappeared along the soft edges of her dream, carrying memories of her life with the Dalish. Of an old home, and a life before the world was ending.

Safe.

On the horizon she could just see the tilt of the head of a wolf, watching from afar. Waiting.

She remembered the voice.

She could not suppress the shiver running along her spine. She wondered what would happen if she called out to him.

She never did.

She missed her friends.

Somehow her shadow in the Fade made her feel more lonesome.

It almost became a routine. Push and pull. Following and being followed. It was like a game. She realized with some humor the parallel between their dynamic during the early inquisition years and now. Some things never change.

She would like to talk about her confusing feelings with someone that would understand. But who would? Who could sympathize with a woman, the herald, falling for the affections of the enemy in disguise?

When would she be strong enough to break the chains of their entanglement?

Did she not deserve some peace and quiet? To find out who she was without the responsibilities and expectations resting on her shoulders?

But her work was not over.

She had considered stepping away, and letting things unfold without interfering. But she couldn’t. Tired as she was, she didn't know how not to be Inquisitor Lavellan.

All she needed now was a plan.

How to stop your ex-lover from destroying the world? Your ex-lover, who was, by the way, also an ancient Elvhen God and probably the most powerful Mage to walk the planet?

That did not sound impossible at all.

Damn, she really just kept handing out new book ideas to Varric, didn't she?

Whenever the desire to reach out came up, she swallowed it down.

She didn’t want comforting words from her friends, nor their pitied looks and gentle skirting around certain subjects.

'Are you sure you're alright? If you need anyone to talk to...'

After the Exalted Council she had turned down all invitations to her friends’ new lives for the time being. She promised to visit once she was ready, and that was enough for them to accept her evasion. For now.

Except Dorian was not having any of it.

He had cornered her the day before she was scheduled to leave. She hadn't wanted a goodbye but he had convinced her he was planning no such thing.

"Only a present for my dearest friend. Looking as glum as you do I would almost fear sadness is contagious," he had said with a pout.

She had fixed him with a glare, but there had been no true malice behind it. Dorian was perhaps the only one not treating her as if she was made from glass. She appreciated that about him.

"You know a present is not going to convince me to join you in Tevinter, darling dearest," she patted his cheek patronizingly, batting her eyelashes for extra effect.

"Of course not! I wouldn't dare to manipulate you with something so banal as a gift. Who do you think I am? I would at least try to seduce you with my good looks first." He gave her an exaggerated wink and she couldn't stop something that almost resembled an honest smile. She raised her eyebrows at his flirtations. He was laying it on a little bit thick, even for Dorian's standards.

Perhaps humor was the only thing guarding the show of real concern from his face.

"Without further ado, then. Come on, hands out."

He revealed a small package wrapped in cloth and tied closed with a string of leather.

She hesitantly held out her hand as Dorian sandwiched it between his own, the package a comforting shape in the palm of her hand.

She stared at their joined hands for a moment, swallowing whatever words she would have used to deflect his show of care.

He squeezed her hand once and let go.

"It's not going to unwrap itself, Allana."

She sighed, glad that his sarcasm broke through the tender moment. He knew she appreciated his friendship. She is also aware he's worried about her, like they all are. She was just bad at accepting any kind of support, afraid that leveling the slightest bit of weight from her shoulders would cause it all to come crashing down, burying her fully.

She needed to be Inquisitor for only one day longer, to keep up the pretense of strength and composure. She could deal with whatever might come crashing down after she left. But not now. Not yet.

"Yes, yes," she huffed at his impatience. Maker, give a girl a moment to compose herself!

She unwrapped the bundle and found an amulet, the telltale pulse of enchantment around it. She looked up at him, waiting for the explanation that would no doubt come.

"This will give us an opportunity to communicate directly, no matter how far away you are. I know you will be miserable without my voice pestering you over the coming months," He pulled out a similar-looking amulet from under his collar and tucked it back, giving her a gentle smile.

She blinked at the wetness threatening to spill over.

He grasped her shoulders and gently pulled her into a hug. She was glad for the excuse to avert her eyes.

Dorian never mentioned her not-so-subtle lack of grip on her emotions. He knew when she needed the space.

He continued, "It also helps you block out unwanted attention in the fade. No terror demons will find you when you sleep at night and no other spirit will be able to communicate if you don't wish for it. It keeps you bound to your own head, in a sense." She was not sure how Dorian knew about the kind of attention she’s received in the fade, but she’s touched nonetheless.

"Thank you, Dorian," Ellana mumbles into the fabric of his tunic. "Don't expect me to talk every day though."

"No need, darling. It just makes me happy to know you ignoring me is a conscious choice, and doesn’t mean you are lying in a ditch somewhere."

She snorts, a very undignified sound. "After all I've been through, that ditch doesn't know what's coming for them."

"As long as that fighter spirit never leaves you, my friend," She chuckles wordlessly into his shoulder. She doesn't feel much like a fighter at the moment, although her rogue skills are a second instinct.

She is tired. But she’s looking for something more comfortable than a ditch just yet.

"Thank you, Dorian."

"Don't get all emotional on me, darling."

She will miss him, but she has to go.

The nightmares that had plagued her for weeks vanished after she started to wear the amulet. It was truly Dorian to know the source of the bags under her eyes without her needing to say a word.

'Bad night?' was all he had to ask, and the look she gave him was enough to know.

Years ago, about a month after he had joined the Inquisition, it had only taken one evening of getting drunk together in a cozy corner of the library to share all the secrets that haunted them at night. While the candles burned low, she learned how their experience of the future at Redcliffe had left a deep impression on them both. The red, terrible future of Corypheus’ would-be victory. Thankfully it was not a future she would have to experience again. That was at least one thing she got right.

He was her closest friend after that evening, their shared pain forming a bond like no other. Ha! Who would have thought. A Tevinter Magister and a Dalish elf? Well, she was never fond of living an ordinary life anyway. It takes one to know one.

The only thing haunting her now was a nightmare of her own creation. Made of pain, self loathing and longing, twisting uncomfortably in the hollow of her chest.

That is one thing the amulet will not help her with: the ghost of a broken heart.

She had yet to find a way to live with it, but time heals all wounds. Or so they say.

But then, why, after revealing his plans, did he tell her that he would like to be proven wrong once again? Why taunt her into resuming their game of evade and catch?

Except if you're called Fen'Harel. Too pridefull to accept your failure, somehow incapable of letting go of your evil plans to restore the glory of the ancient Elvhes and simultaneously doom the lives of all other living beings and the world as we know it.

Damn it all and damn his insufferable pride.

For someone refusing to call himself a god, he sure does like to play with the faiths of mortals.

And why did she believe the sincerity in his eyes when he said it? The pain in the tilt of his brow and the clench of his jaw, the way his voice broke when he said goodbye?

He had called her Vhenan, and walked away. Did she imagine the tremble in his hands, just before he stepped through the Eluvian?

Why had he kept himself hidden from her, lied to her, for years?

What makes a cause worth it, if you have to destroy so much on the way?

Why, Solas?

No, not Solas. Not anymore.

Fen'Harel.

She is going after him.

There must be a reason he can’t let her go. If he haunts her dreams, does that mean he still thinks of her when he’s awake? It must mean that there is something still there, pulling her to him. Perhaps only a side effect of the magic from the anchor, but could it be something more?

He said once things were easier for him in the fade. All she knows right now is that he tried to reach out to her in a dream before she boarded the ship.

He even spoke her name when she got lost in a nightmare. He helped her escape her darkest thoughts. Why?

But was it really him in the dreams? Was this wolf form his true identity? Why doesn’t he show the face that she had come to know? Are the greys of his eyes even his true color? Or are they red and multiplied by three?

In the dream she stepped away out of fear and that fear fuelled her subconscious mind. Afraid of confrontation. Scared to find a fresh tear in her threadbare composure, with the wounds still raw from his betrayal and abandonment.

To fall apart before him while she had slowly tried to mend the pieces back together, that was not something she was ready for.

She wasn’t strong enough.

How much has he kept hidden from her and how much of what he shared had been real?

Ugh, now there’s a terrifying thought.

Is it possible that he can be at more places at the same time. Dreaming while awake?

Being an immensely powerful immortal mage and all, she really has no exact idea of the extent of his power.

She looked out over the open expanse of the sea. Rippling waves and cutting winds shaping the world around her like a smudged painting of greys and muted pthalo greens. The salt had chapped her lips, and the strands of hair that had escaped her braid whip her face and wipe at her tears like feathered fingers.

She hadn't seen him in her dreams for the last three days, since setting sail on the open ocean. What did it mean? Did he ignore her perhaps? Were there not enough spirits to whisper of her location?

She was not going to admit to missing her grey shadow welcoming her to sleep for the last couple of months.

Somehow being by herself for a few days, truly by herself, made it easier to recover her focus. She was not going to run away anymore. She could not abandon the world she once vowed to save.

She made him doubt his perspective once before. She can do it again.

Right?

She is Inquisitor Ellana Lavellan, first of her clan. She has been many things in her short life; Herald, Dalish, knife-ear, a beacon of hope. Lover, friend, enemy. An anchor to the world behind the veil.

She had united nations and destroyed treacherous plots. She had traveled through time and back again. She had fought nightmares, ancient darkspawn, dragons and demons. She has walked physically through the Fade, damn it!

She had fallen in love with a god. Had been betrayed by her lover. He saved her life and then took her arm.

She had promised she would not give up on him. He had said he would never forget her.

None of those experiences managed to destroy her, although they came close a few times. None of those titles made her forget who she was and what she believed in, and they will not be her undoing now.

She was Elana Lavellan. They say heroes are not destined for a long life, but could she linger long enough to beat the Dreadwolf at his own game?

Did she even have a chance? Or would she end up petrified, a grey and decaying sculpture in the garden of his pride? Would they sing songs of the Dreadwolf’s lover? Would they say that if you listen closely to her chest you can still hear the beating of his heart?

The only reason she was still alive is because he willed it.

That didn’t really sound like the equal and emancipated relationship she envisioned when she dreamed of the future long ago, now does it?

But the look in his eyes. The pain she glimpsed when he left her in crestwood. And then, the times where his body betrayed what the heart wanted. He had tried to hide it, but there was no doubt in her mind that he had desired her. The desperation in his kiss on the balcony at Skyhold. 'Ar lath ma', whispered like a confession, 'vhenan' a prayer on his lips. And then in the crossroads the gentleness in the movement of gold-plated fingers, grazing her ear and softening the pulsating pain of the anchor ripping her apart. His lips pressing to hers like it was the sweetest honeyed lie he told her yet. Like it wasn’t a goodbye.

She is going to chase that last sliver of hope. It is all she has.

She must create a thread, to pull him from his web of plotting and lies. There must be some way to keep his focus on the value of this world. To show him it was worth saving. An anchor of some kind.

The journey at sea would take one more day at most. The best course of action would be to visit the alienage of Kirkwall. She had heard of the elves leaving the city, answering a call. She must be able to uncover one of his agent’s to dig for more information. Could she disguise herself? Without her arm she would always stand out like a sore thumb. Everybody knew the stories of the knife eared Inquisitor and her stolen arm. The Dreadwolf’s agent must know of her importance in the game. Knowing that she had been close to their leader once, she could turn out to be a potential weakness.

Okay, so first she would find a smith and fabricate herself an arm substitute. Oh how she missed Dagna. The dwarven woman must have had a million ideas for hidden daggers in a fake arm! She could meet with Varric in secret, and use his contacts in the city. She hadn’t planned to stay in Kirkwall for more than a day, but she’s sure her friend wouldn’t mind the surprise. He shouldn’t have given her the city's key if he hadn’t anticipated her showing up unannounced.

Okay, step one, disguise her arm. Step two, disguise her identity. Step tree: find more information.

What is Fen’Harel gathering the Elves for? Promises of a better world? Are they joining of their free will or is it some kind of death cult compulsion? No he wouldn't go that far… or would he? She has to find out. The more gaps in her knowledge about him, the wilder her imagination is going to get.

The ocean calms her mind. The harsh winds wipe away the doubt and leave her mind clear and focused.

She has a purpose, a plan.

On the horizon she can slowly spot the soft outlines of Starkhaven forming in the distance. They are nearing land.

The wolf hunts alone, but she is lonely too.

And she is coming for him.

------------------

Notes:

My second try at writing a Solavellan piece, but the first one I ever uploaded on AO3! Hope you liked it. :)

Big thanks to my sister @colorandvigor for being my beta and having an amazing grasp of gramar. Note, english is not my first language.

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freesidexjunkie · 5 months

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love when tumblr fic writers play with canon events like dolls

#me writing this Rolan fic #me with the durgetash fic too #the solavellan fic and the ascended Astarion idea floating around trying to become a fic are post game so not too much shifting of canon but #tbf this is markus' quote #ddxcrow #come get ur credit #fic writing #writing #fanfic #fanfiction

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little-lightning-lavellan · 1 year

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NEW CHAPTER! KISSING???

Between getting Covid and this chapter ending up twice as long as originally intended (I had very important things I needed to make sure were communicated, okay?), this took a hot minute to get out. But, I hope it was worth the wait, because after 128197 words... it happens. 👀 Here be a snippet right before it all goes down:

“You know that I’ve got a good memory, ma fen, you know that. I don’t forget things easily,” She was back to nicknames, it would seem. “Well, do you know what Garrett Hawke told me when he first arrived?”

Had she scooted closer? No, that was just the way the shadows cast across them from over the wall. Surely, there was no other explanation.

“Tell me.”

“He told me,” A snort. A snort! Mellan covered her nose with one hand and squeezed Solas’ with the other, eyes closed and face cast to the ground. “He told me, that my symptoms - oh, you won’t believe a word of this - that they mean, that I’m smitten with you!”

Solas’ eyes felt wobbly.

Ah, well--that was a new sensation. He wasn’t altogether sure he’d felt that before; not in a context like this, at any rate.

Give him the credit of maintaining his composure, the world within him shook with greater violence than a Titan fighting against the bonds of--

Is this how adolescents felt? Real, true, young people? Was it always so stifling hot?

“Oh, and Solas? Solas, the best part. You’ll find this funny,” Did she even realize he wasn’t laughing? Of course not, ragged hand covered giggling mouth and she hadn’t looked up to him once since she’d started. Was he to stop her? Let her continue? Did this manner of ‘announcement’ count towards that finish line he had promised he would meet her at one day? Was this the correct path?

Ironically, she was a balter from his own path, but an enrapturing one that left him dumbstruck with each new revelation of hers. Like an impatient reader he wanted to skip ahead just a few of her pages. Have her spoil the story and tell him what lay ahead.

“He said that,”

‘What comes next?’

“That you were a ‘lucky guy;’ that we were more than dear friends.” Another giggle and their shared fate was sealed. “As if, oh, my goodness, as if you were smitten with me as well!”

Mellan shook her head for a final time, before, at last, she raised it up to meet Solas’ eyes.

“But, that would be silly, wouldn’t it?”

She hadn’t actually thought much on what she expected to see when she opened her eyes. Perhaps a smile, a shared laugh, but not a stare. Not a look from her friend that held something deep and lurking just beneath the surface of murky waters.

Not something that made her wonder if the petname she’d given him of ‘fen’ was a bit too apt, and that if she moved too quickly, some emotion would snap; and oh, dear, Mellan was nowhere near ready for whatever that emotion might be.

“W-Wouldn’t it?” Had she actually spoke aloud, or simply thought the words? Mellan supposed she might have mouthed them, let them fan across her teeth. It took a real gulp of purest bravery for her to truly speak heartily again. “S-So, um, academically. Academically… my symptoms.”

‘Spirits, even my nose feels like it's on fire; I probably look like a tomato to him. Why couldn’t I just keep my mouth shut? Why couldn’t I just learn the blasted dance and be done with it all?!’

“Thought? Your thoughts?”

Peculiar, even by their standards, Solas held a single chuckle in his chest. Barely hiding his lip, he rested fingers upon it to shield the smallest smile as he turned to think.

“My thoughts,” he began, a twinge of well-measured mirth to his tone. “Are that Ser Hawke is far more attentive than I gave him credit for.” And that he could now confirm that he had been a right prick to the man, but that was neither here nor there at this point.

Out of the corner of his eye he could see Mellan take a gulp for air, most likely absorbing the information he had technically-not-confirmed - and, therefore, was still following his own personal set of rules - but, also not at all denied. The blessing was that he knew she was smart, and that she knew precisely what he was getting at, all with his plausible deniability still perfectly intact.

He still was just as much of a prick, wasn’t he?

“A--hm,” She nodded, readjusting herself yet again, back straightening. Solas could see how her shoulders rolled back beneath her braids like branches beneath leafy willows, how her chest rose and fell across the skin exposed above her ill-fitting tunic. “I see. So, then, I suppose you are suggesting that Garrett’s observation was, ah, correct?”

“No, I am declaring it.” To him it was not a subject for debate.

Read the rest here on Ao3!

I hope you guys are excited and enjoy because holy moly I’ve been fucking amped for this jerhbuerbgueibguearburbygber I really hope it was worth the wait and this chapter is enjoyable D’x Love y’all!!

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