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Thedas is cooked they're not getting anything done in there

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in light of veilguard, the valleslin removal scene as solas's turning point is fascinating to me

up until that moment, he has spent inquisition indulging in quasi-denial. he's lost a good proportion of his power. he has no authority. no one fears him or respects him. during that time, he is not and cannot be fen'harel

can you imagine how free he must have felt? he can't do anything about the veil in his current state. he tried, but it didn't work, so now he has to help fix the mess with corypheus before he can deal with the veil. that burden has been at least temporarily lifted from him

so he focuses on the present crisis. he does what he can: he fights alongside his allies (friends) and supports the inquisitor (vhenan) with his knowledge (wisdom). he is and can be solas

but etched into the skin of the woman he's grown to love is a horrible reminder of his true duty. he looks at her and sees either the tyranny of one of the evanuris or the debt he owes to mythal. and he desperately wants to erase that reminder. he tells himself that he wants this for her sake, so that when he tells her the truth and they face the future together, they will stand as equals

but he is so focused on what her valleslin means to him that he has barely given any consideration to what it might mean to her

and in the moments after, whether she has (perhaps somewhat reluctantly) accepted or refused, the realization hits him: he just encouraged her to change herself to please him

just as mythal encouraged him to take a physical body to please her

(when he first displayed his physical form, do you think mythal gently touched his cheek and said, "you are so beautiful"?)

and the spell he's been living under breaks. all that comfortable denial comes crashing down around him. he has not been solas for millennia. he is and always will be fen'harel

and he will not drag the woman he loves down with him

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God, now I’m thinking about student Dorian at the Necropolis, sneaking out at night to canoodle with another boy and getting caught by Professor Volkarin, who gives them a talking to (he’s not judging too harshly, but it’s not safe for students to wander the Necropolis unattended!) and sends them back to the dormitories.

Or at least he meant to, but young Master Pavus seems genuinely upset for some reason, which is quite unlike the usually flippant young man. He asks Emmrich if his father is going to be told about this, which has Emmrich baffled because why would a magister need to be told about his son engaging in a bit of ordinary teenage mischief?

And then Dorian finally manages to get out that no, he’s not talking about the sneaking out part. He’s afraid his father is going to be told that he was with another boy.

And the whole awful situation finally clicks into place for Emmrich, who now has to sit down with Dorian and explain that of course his father won’t be told, because there’s nothing wrong with the gender of the person he’s choosing to spend his time with. If his father takes issue with it, then his father is the one in the wrong. There is nothing wrong with Dorian being who he is.

And now Emmrich also has to pretend he can’t tell that Dorian is trying very hard not to cry, because he’s never had an adult say any of this to him before, and it’s something he’s needed to hear for so long.

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I love how Emmrich's tarot card makes him look so cool and sinister. Badass necromancer with the green magic and the glowing eyes. Mad scientist vibes. Then you meet him and he's like. Hello can I interest you in some love and affection. I would like to talk to you about flowers for the next six hours. If you look at me very nicely I may turn into a bowl of jello and then you can eat me does that sound nice? Marry me.

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Emmrich is a morning person and Rook is only a morning person under duress, which becomes only a minor issue after the gods are finally dead because Rook's ideal wake up time is roughly noon, and Emmrich's up at the asscrack of dawn every day whether he works or not.

It's six thirty AM and Rook's face-down on the bed, titties out and hair splayed across three pillows, and Elgar'nan breathed this last breath less than a week ago. Emmrich gave the various factions of Thedas exactly three days to demand Rook's attention and, on the morning of the fourth day, grabbed Rook with one hand and Manfred with the other and asked the Caretaker if there was an Eluvian that might deposit one anywhere in the area of the Cumberland countryside.

Emmrich apparently maintains a small country house here, for 'Whatever occassion might arise' (demented) and it's modest but pretty. Manfred trampled straight into the rose garden when they got here and hasn't emerged since, but Emmrich claims that's normal for him. Rook personally believes that Manfred, even, is still processing their mutual ordeal, but she's content to let him do it with the caterpillars and the rose petals. Not like a skeleton can be pricked by a thorn.

The moment they arrived, Emmrich sought out the housekeeper and told her that her services would not be required for the coming week, and to stand by on the subject of next week as well.

"Go celebrate the world not ending, Helga!" he'd said, maybe a bit too loud and manic, as he closed what was surely much more than a week's salary into her hand. Knowing Emmrich, there was already a very robust system in place to assure that his housekeeper received her generous salary every week--this was merely some sort of consolation pay for the very difficult task of being given a week of vacation.

Helga was Elven, at least as old as Emmrich and blinked at him like a vaguely surprised cat. She swept her gaze over Rook as well before leaving. She'd been smirking, Rook thought, as the door closed behind her.

Thus, they've been alone in the house, and Rook has been sleeping, staring vaguely into the distance, sleeping, reading from Emmrich's extensive collection, looking at the ceiling while trying to forget the sight of Bellara's blighted eyes, sleeping, bouncing on Emmrich's dick like it's her job, and sleeping sleeping sleeping.

They've been here for two days, more or less 48 hours, and many of those hours were spent in his lap. Fucking him, yes, but also just clinging onto him like an extra limb because right now, she feels like she might disintegrate if he isn't touching her. He reads to her. Smiles and laughs through so many stories from his life. She thinks about Solas disappearing into the Fade, maybe never to be seen again. The last God of her people.

When she goes too quiet, sometimes he tells her a joke or puts a little chocolate in her mouth. Once, he ate her out while humming the Nevarran national anthem and she laughed as she came. Sometimes he joins her in melancholy and they lay together and cope. Sometimes she cries, mostly from exhaustion and relief and grief, and he kisses her face. Sometimes he cries. From exhaustion and relief and grief, probably. She tucks her head under his chin and rubs her small hand up and down his broad back, and then she swipes the snot and tears out of his mustache with her very own thumb because she loves him, she loves him.

This morning, she flutters her eyes open and enjoys the texture of the silk sheets against her bare body (Last night, and for lack of a better term, Emmrich fucked her to sleep--apparently, when the world isn't in active peril, he's very into the whole tantric thing. Hours of crazy hot, dragging sex that destroys braincells, but only the ones she's better off not having.) and she does that for about thirty seconds before she realizes it's just barely light outside, blue and cool. Then she starts wondering why the fuck she's awake right now.

The answer becomes apparent immediately: Emmrich is in the ensuite bath, running water and making the weirdest, loudest noises. She thinks at first that he's managed to gag himself with his own toothbrush, but then he sneezes, blows his nose with a honking noise like a malfunctioning horn, and clears his throat so thunderously that Rook thinks he must somehow be drowning.

She rolls out of bed and wobbles into the bathroom, birthday suit and all, because clearly he's become sick in the night and it's now up to her to guide him back to bed and care for him. She's surprised, then, to find him looking hale and healthy in front of the sink. He's wearing nothing but silk pajama pants and down slippers. He's making an absurd clicking sound and swirling a finger inside his ear.

"Are you okay?" Rook demands, propped on the doorjamb.

Emmrich jumps a foot on the air, winces as he jabs his own eardrum, and says, "Ow! Darling, please don't sneak up on--"

"You are being so loud," she says, because the polite section of her brain hasn't woken up. "Are you choking? Are you sick?"

"No," Emmrich says slowly. "I just--oh, the door must have fallen open. The floor isn't terribly even here. I'm sorry, darling--sound does carry in this old house." He twirls a finger behind his ear and clinks again. "I fear I suffer seasonal allergies, dearest, and it's been a long while since I slept more than a night or two outside of the Necropolis or the Fade. There's quite a bit of...mucus..." He clears his throat.

"Gross," says Rook, and then, "It's dawn, Emmrich."

"Mm-hm." Emmrich is now leaning across the counter, two inches from the mirror and examining his mustache like a jewel appraiser.

"Why are you making heinous old man noises at dawn?"

His eyes veer towards her reflection in the mirror, and they make eye contact in the glass. Very neatly, and with a raised eyebrow, he says, "Heinous old man noises."

Rook starts making hawking, gutteral noises in the back of her throat. It's a pretty faithful imitation.

"Dearest," he yells over the sound. "I apologize for waking you--"

"I cannot believe," says Rook, "that I'm going to spend the rest of my life being woken up at dawn by the hacks and sneezes of a man who wears wing tip shoes."

She's halfway through a half-asleep snicker at the hilarity of her own statement when Emmrich fixes her with a surprised look in his wet eyes and she realizes she's never actually voiced the idea that has become an unspoken certainty in her mind: That he's the love of her life, and her life may not be as short as she was thinking it might be this time last week, and that she wants nothing more than to spend the rest of her ambiguously-numbered mornings waking up to him.

She also realizes the truth of the situation. The baths in the Lighthouse were communal, and one never knew which companion they might encounter during their morning routine. Emmrich is fastidious and spends a great deal of his energy in broadcasting the image of a man who is utterly put together in everything he does. Never a hair out of place or a thread loose. It's a privilege of the highest order to witness him this way. Sleep-mused hair, shadow on his jaw. The bleariness of sleep in his eyes and, yes, even the throat-clearing and nose blowing.

Emmrich clears his throat and whispers, "Forgive me. I've...lived alone. For a very long time."

Rook's eyes water as she croaks, "Not anymore. I don't...want you to."

A smile spreads his face. It is wobbly, boyish, and so so beautiful. The absurdity of the situation finally reaches her--she is very naked and he's only slightly more dressed and there is a perfectly warm, perfectly comfortable bed steps away.

"Come back to bed," Rook says. "Please?"

He does.

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we need a cuteness aggression equivalent term for when you see art of your favorite character you like so much that you sincerely cannot think of anything to put in the tags that isnt "im going to start biting off my own fingers"

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Lavellan to Solas, 0.5 seconds after entering the fade jail: So, the Veil is now bound to you, Mr. My Only Wish In Life is to Tear Down The Veil?

Solas: Yup

Lavellan: So, we’re just going to wait 60 years until everyone who remembers about that is dead and then tear down the Veil, right?

Solas: I’ve never been more attracted to you than right now

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I don't think my Rook is a virgin or even particularly inexperienced; they're like thirty and the Mourn Watch seems to know how to fuckin party if the Hezenkoss plotline is any indication. However there's something that resonates with me about Emmrich being their first for OTHER things like:

- First time being brought breakfast in bed (Rook cries. Emmrich panics. Darling, it's JUST oatmeal!)

- First time actually taking a midnight stroll while holding hands? Rook thought that was just. Romance serial behavior. People don't actually DO that. Then they're in Treviso very late one night and making their way back to the Diamond and Emmrich pulls them close while walking along the canal, wraps their hand in his (Big. Warm. Long fingers) and kisses the back of their palm and just? Doesn't let go? For the rest of their walk?

- First time being apologized to in an argument? Rook is very used to people who are opinionated and knowledgeable--the Mourn Watch is basically a university meets a corporation meets a seminary (In the WORST kind of way, at times) so you're constantly meeting people who are singularly convinced of their own expertise. Rook, themself, can be pretty opinionated. The first time Rook disagrees with Emmrich on something and it gets a little heated, they figure they'll go cool off for a little bit and then go tell Emmrich how Special He Is just to put the argument past them, because that's what worked in the past, with other situationships. To their surprise, Emmrich finds them fifteen minutes later and sits down on the floor with them, huge old text book on his crisscrossed legs, and says, "Darling, I can't apologize enough. I looked it up and actually, you were correct--" Rook takes the textbook out of his lap and replaces it with themself.

- Most importantly, Emmrich is the first partner to make Rook feel like they can truly just...unmask. Be themself, and that not only will Emmrich tolerate that but ENJOY that. Emmrich enchants an orb to play the echoes and creaks of the Necropolis at night so that Rook can sleep better in the silent Fade; he spends an hour gently rubbing Rook's head after they snap at him one night because he realizes they're having a migraine. He's also, like, y'know, very very good in bed and seems to be genuinely horny for a lot of this stuff. Like, caring for Rook seems to genuinely DO IT for him y'know?

Rook tells him, "I've never had anyone love me the way you do," and Emmrich just tilts his head and smiles at them in that sweet, beautiful way of his.

"Darling," he says, "As the man who loves you, I can with confidence say that the others were doing it wrong. This is how you deserve to be loved, and shall be, so long as I breathe air--and perhaps long afterward as well."

Rook starts crying. Again.

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I'm reminded of Cole's comment about how it's harder to read inky because of the mark, that it's like "counting birds against the sun", and that he can only read people when they need him (compassion).

Cole is sensing Solas's pain first and foremost, which allows him to connect to Lavellan's.

So whenever I get this banter all I can think about is how not only Lavellan is hurting so bad that Cole is able to pick up on it, but that Solas is also still so distraught that his mental barriers are down until he manages to shut Cole out.

It's also worth noting the amount of time it required him to do so, Cole just about ruined this man's whole career by starting to blurt out Solas's biggest secret.

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I'm glad a romanced Lavellan goes with Solas, as a public service if nothing else.

With this man's track record, if he tries to soothe the blight by himself he's almost certainly going to put his foot in his mouth, say some kind of Titan-specific slur, and make the already pissed off blight SUPER DUPER DOUBLE pissed. He cannot be left alone with this.

Lavellan's his wife, but also his PR manager😂

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“I had jam and toast an hour ago.”

This is just shit that Emmrich says in ambient banters that burrows into my brain and takes on a life of its own. Like that’s such a whatever line, but what if the whole time he was having said jam and toast he was trying not to get caught staring smittenly at Rook across the table as she poked her tongue out the corner of her mouth and frowned a little while drizzling syrup over her pancakes and oh dear he fell just a bit more in love with her and now even jam and toast reminds him of her and what a mess he’s in, get a hold of yourself, Volkarin.

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you know i have to wonder if the sharp and immediate regret of killing varric (which solas clearly knows that he did, there's a blink-and-you-miss-it tear falling down his face when he looks into the open rift at the ritual site) is why solas got yanked into the new prison

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When I see discussions about Solas’s fear of dying alone, I often see the interpretation that Solas just doesn’t want to be alone in the literal sense. He wants friends, a partner, someone to hold his hand at the end. And while I don’t think those things are untrue… Solas’s fear of dying alone is about being the last of his kind. The last ancient elf. The last spirit who took on a physical form. The last being from a time and world where magic was as natural as a breeze, where everything sang the same. He wants someone, or multiple someones, who can sing back to him.

And he finds that in the Inquisitor, especially if romanced. In Veilguard, Lavellan sings back to him in the cadence of the ancient elves. I don’t think she even knows she’s doing it; she’s become so in sync with him just by loving him. Singing with him has become as natural as a breeze to her.

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I mean….

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After everything, it's still you.

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Absolutely gorgeous solavellan commission done by @quinehwo .Thank you so much 💚💜

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I LITERALLY see his tears СУКААААААААА