#And tormenting Solas might be my calling in life

[dayntee]

That Year at Arlathan University - Ch. 3 Ancient Elvhenan 101

Head here to read on AO3.

Summary:

In which Solas requires coffee before his first class of the year.

It had taken all weekend, but he was finally ready for the first day of classes. After the disaster of his work being put in disarray and falling behind on necessary year start paperwork now properly filed safely with Josephine, Solas could breathe easier.

Well, almost. First, he needed coffee.

"Alright, Salad, yer order's up!" a hand slammed down on a service bell which yelled loudly and he rolled his eyes.

"Sera, I've been coming here for years,"

"An' I thank yer fancy pants and stupid man bun fer your continued patronage," the short, blonde haired elf behind the counter bowed with an overly exaggerated flourish, curtsying with her coffee-stained apron.

"Is that not reason to have gotten my name correct on at least one occasion?" Solas took his order from the counter, reaching over to pop a cover onto the large quad shot latte with an extra pump of caramel—just how he liked it.

"Names written on cups are not guaranteed to be correct OR polite," she pointed at the chalkboard behind her, where exactly that phrase was written. "I don't make the rules, Salad,"

 "You do not own this establishment?"

"Of course I do!"

"So you do, indeed, make the rules,"

"You tryin' to get me to hock one into your next drink or what?"

Solas rolled his eyes, tipped the beverage up in a mockery of a toast, and dropped a bill into the tip jar. Sera grinned.

"Red Jenny's Bitchin' Brews thanks you fer your support. Have a day!"

Honestly, if the lattes weren't the best he'd ever experienced in his impossibly long life, he'd have found a new café by now.

With fuel for the day in hand, he began to make his way to his usual lecture hall at the center of campus. Red Jenny's was just on the outskirts of the main campus hub, and only about a block out of the way on his path from his office.

Their office.

He'd purposefully avoided going to the faculty offices in the Haven building this morning, having taken most of his work home to reorganize and prepare for the term. It was certainly because of convenience and most definitely not because he was avoiding Ellana Lavellan.

The longer he had thought about their interaction over the weekend, the worse he felt about it. While he had his own thoughts about the Dalish and what they considered the truth of their history, he had unfairly taken out his unrelated aggressions on an unsuspecting new faculty member and been cruel in the process. While he was well aware of his reputation for being stand-offish, he'd simply let a frustrating day get the better of him.

He owed her an apology. He just wasn't ready to give one, yet. And definitely not the reason for avoiding his office this morning.

It was still early morning as he made his way into the Halamshiral Hall—one of the largest buildings for core classes to take place, split into two distinct sections for university activities. One portion was dedicated to larger events, such as conferences, extracurricular gatherings, or the occasional social fundraiser. The area he was headed (and admittedly more familiar with) was several floors of lecture halls and classrooms.

'H237 - second floor, east side of the hall,' he was climbing the stairs automatically, knowing better than to bother with the overly crowded elevators to travel only one floor. Besides which—whoever had built them clearly had done so intending they move as slowly and agonizingly as possible.

Class didn't start for another twenty minutes, but he preferred to arrive early to his first session to get the room settled, especially at the start of the year. The summer instructors always messed up the projector settings; he had begun to think it was on purpose. As he pulled his keyring for the room out of his pocket, he noticed an elf sitting with her back against the wall near the door, legs crossed and face glued to a copy of History of the Dales, one of the required reading for his course. He paused before the door, casting a glance down at her for a moment. "Can I help you?" he asked, feeling it would be too awkward or perhaps too rude to just open the door without any form of acknowledgement.

The woman—girl, from his perspective, really—startled in place, looking up at him with wide eyes under the intricate weavings of her vallaslin. 'Dirthamen,' he mentally noted, 'How apt.'

"O-oh! You must be the professor!" the girl shot to her feet, catching her balance and awkwardly tucking her book, still open under one arm while she took a small bow forward. "Sorry if I was in your way, I just didn't want to be late on the first day, you know?"

He made a small, affirmative hum in reply, continuing his effort to enter the lecture hall. After stepping in and flicking a switch to turn on the lights, he glanced back.

"You're welcome to take a seat, Ms…?"

"Lutare! Bellara Lutare," she skittered in behind him, taking appraisal of the room. "I-is there anything I can help you with?"

"My thanks, but I have things handled," he dropped his messenger satchel into the desk chair in the center of the hall and made his way to the multimedia podium. Now to hope not everything was broken.

Bellara took a seat in the front row, off to one side, and dug through her bag for a scrap of paper to mark her place in her book. Solas watched her jittery, nervous movements out of the corner of his eye, less intentionally and more as a habit. She seemed torn from continuing to read and engaging in conversation. As the projector began to warm, she gave in.

"Forgive me for asking, but… is it really true you're a Dreamer?" Solas glanced up at her over the rim of his glasses. He was held hostage by the warming technology anyway.

"Yes, it is. Do you have much interest in the Fade?"

"Oh yes, lots! Though I'm actually really hoping to focus on Ancient Elvehn History and Linguistics. I'd like to join the Veil Jumpers archeology division someday," she beamed, and he couldn't help but give a small smile.

"I imagine that means I will be seeing you in a lot of my classes in the coming semesters, Ms. Lutare,"

"Bellara, are you angling to be teacher's pet already?" a similarly young Tevinter woman in stylish clothing confidently strode in, leaning down to give the Dalish girl an affectionate hug around the shoulders before settling in next to her. Bellara's cheeks flushed immediately.

"Neve!" she protested, but her friend gave her a slight shove with her elbow and she smiled back. Solas turned his attention back to the computer and projector screen, now preoccupied with cycling through input signals, a furrow in his brow. The girls had begun chattering and whatever they had to discuss, it was hardly his concern.

As the minutes ticked by, the room began to fill with more students, some more rowdy than others. A glance around the room identified a mix of mostly elves, Dalish and otherwise, though a he picked out a handful of humans among them. No Dwarves or Qunari so far, at least for this course, which was not uncommon; it was rare (though not unheard of) for either culture to take an interest in explicitly elven topics, let alone their ancient history.

It wasn't a full class—several seats sprinkled throughout the hall were empty—but he was accustomed to that as well. Many of his courses kept open seats, though he didn't care much if it was because of lack of interest or his notoriously poor professor rating on the internal student net. Since it had been engineered by a pre-graduate a few years prior, he had tried his best to ignore the implications. It was much to his chagrin that he'd drifted to the bottom of the rankings (and even more irritating that Varric Tethras had settled at the top).

That didn't stop him from checking if it changed each semester, though he'd never admit to it.

As the clock ticked over to precisely 8:00 AM, he stepped out from behind the podium and pulled out his roster. Clearing his throat loudly enough to gain the attention of at least the few first rows of seats, he began.

"An'daran atish'an, lethallen," he began, "Welcome to Introduction to Ancient Elvhenan," he scanned the room, taking in the crowd and allowing the rest of the group to settle. The last to quiet were a group of three students all dressed in black, each with a single feather hanging around their neck. 'Hm. Crows,' he mentally noted to himself a reminder to check in with the Dean about any necessary arrangements for the year.

"Many of you may be expecting this class to be a review of knowledge you have already acquired," he crossed his arms behind his back, beginning to pace the front of the room. "I ask that you set aside the notion that you have always been instructed truthfully, especially those of you with Dalish roots." A few students looked worriedly at one another, and he heard a hushed whisper or two.

"To clear the air, my intent is not to disparage your heritage or even experiences. However, a belief I hold dear is that there is only so much one can learn from dusty ruins and second hand storytelling. To put together the picture of truth, one must have all the pieces," as his gaze passed over the rows of students, he silently took note of those who were taking more or less interest. Of no surprise, Bellara and several other Dalish students were fastidiously taking notes. A handful appeared to be listening, but more skeptical—including a broad-chested, dark skinned young man in the back who sported Andruil's vallaslin and kept his arms firmly crossed in front of his chest. It was also no surprise the group of three Crows in the back were muttering back and forth to one another, sharing the occasional snicker.

"Tell me, you in the back," he stared directly at the center individual of the group of three Crows he identified earlier. "Does the fact an entire peoples' history and lineage being lost to oppression, conquerors, and tyrants amuse you?" The student's spine shot straight up at the acknowledgement, and many of the other students whipped their heads to look in their direction.

"Sorry, professor, but, I don't know much about the history of the elves," a quirked smile rolled onto their lips. "That's the point of this class, isn't it?"

"Your name?"

"Rook De Riva, ser," the honorific was, if anything, sarcastically applied.

"Ser De Riva," Solas imitated the same sarcastic tone. "I share my wisdom willingly. I will leave it up to you to decide whether or not you are worthy of it, and I'm sure your end of semester grade will reflect that choice." He let the terse warning hang in the air for a moment before breaking eye contact, inwardly enjoying the hushed "oohs" that sputtered up from various seats in the room. Rook sank into their seat, and Solas could just make out the smirks of their companions. Even if it was for just a little troublemaking in class, it just didn’t do for a Crow to get caught. Solas continued.

"Much of elvish history has been lost to conflict and time. Most modern elves cling to the memory of Halamshiral, the city in which the hall we currently reside is named for. However, who here can tell me the true capital of Ancient Elvhenan?"

Bellara's hand shot up, and Solas watched Neve smile wryly. Solas directed his glance to Bellara, urging her answer with a nod of his head.

"That would be Arlathan, wouldn't it?"

"That is correct and, of course, is also the campus to which you have all chosen to pursue your education. You currently sit upon the land where once one of the most powerful civilizations to walk this world once stood. In years most recent, thanks in part to the efforts of the Veil Jumper Preservation Group, the wonders of Ancient Arlathan are beginning to truly be understood."

Solas' pacing stopped, and he took one more look across the room.

"I do hope you are all prepared for what lay before and behind us."

Notes:

- An'daran atish'an, lethallen - a formal greeting, referring to his students as "friends" or "welcome individuals." Uses the gender neutral term of lethallin/lethallan. - Davrin's vallaslin isn't explicitly stated to be Andruil's, but it does appear to be the common agreement amongst fans. Because vallaslin designs can vary among clans, there's no 1:1 confirmation (nor does it appear to be clarified in conversation or codex entries). The only other design it comes close to is Ghilan'nain's, which would be very ironic considering the events of Veilguard. But given Davrin's nature, how he was raised, and his role as a monster hunter, Andruil seems more likely, so it's what I’m rolling with. - Of course Rook is a De Riva in this AU. Rook's going to be a pot stirrer (and a pain in Solas' ass), and I can't imagine a better background for that than the Crows. I am, however, leaving their gender and race vague for the time being - both for the sake of reader head canons and because it's a really fun restriction to write around. - A bit more world building and a few more characters in play. I promise we're getting somewhere, but also bear with me and my utter obsession with everything Dalish.

[adventism-atheism-orthodoxy-me]

We have the Didache, the Apostles Creed, the Nicene Creed, and the Chalcedonian Creed - none of these creeds were concerned with the Protestant Solae. What they were concerned with was the nature of Christ. He is the lynchpin of history. It is upon him that the Cosmos revolves.

O death, where is thy sting? O grave, where is thy victory? The sting of death is sin; and the strength of sin is the law. ― Corinthians 15:55-56

Sin is the sting of death - not the other way around as I have been taught my entire life as a Protestant. Death is evidence of decay, corruption, uncleanness. Weakened as I am by this corruption, I sin. Christ has cleansed the corruption in human flesh.

“God became man so that man might become a god.” ― Saint Athanasius the Great “That which He has not assumed He has not healed.” — Gregory of Nazianzus

Proper Christology was vital to the story of human destiny. Get the Christology wrong and the distortions begin. The Solae are distortions. Further, they answer the wrong question. The question isn't "what must I do to be saved", per se. Rather, the question should be, "What must I do to become angelic vs demonic?"

For the wages of sin is death; but the gift of God is eternal life through Jesus Christ our Lord. — Romans 6:23

Note that the gift of God isn't sinlessness that bestows eternal life. Eternal life is a given. Period. The demons have eternal life. Humans have been given eternal life. It doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out that if I have eternal life either way I have two choices in front of me.

“There was a rich man who was dressed in purple and fine linen and lived in luxury every day. At his gate was laid a beggar named Lazarus, covered with sores and longing to eat what fell from the rich man’s table. Even the dogs came and licked his sores. “The time came when the beggar died and the angels carried him to Abraham’s side. The rich man also died and was buried. In Hades, where he was in torment, he looked up and saw Abraham far away, with Lazarus by his side. So he called to him, ‘Father Abraham, have pity on me and send Lazarus to dip the tip of his finger in water and cool my tongue, because I am in agony in this fire.’ “But Abraham replied, ‘Son, remember that in your lifetime you received your good things, while Lazarus received bad things, but now he is comforted here and you are in agony. And besides all this, between us and you a great chasm has been set in place, so that those who want to go from here to you cannot, nor can anyone cross over from there to us.’ “He answered, ‘Then I beg you, father, send Lazarus to my family, for I have five brothers. Let him warn them, so that they will not also come to this place of torment.’ “Abraham replied, ‘They have Moses and the Prophets; let them listen to them.’ “‘No, father Abraham,’ he said, ‘but if someone from the dead goes to them, they will repent.’ “He said to him, ‘If they do not listen to Moses and the Prophets, they will not be convinced even if someone rises from the dead.’” — Luke 16:19-31

None of this ignores the verses cited above -

The human heart is deceitful and desperately sick (Jer 17:9). Absolutely! Thankfully Jesus Christ healed the worst of the sickness, and bestowed upon us life everlasting. Corruption has been conquered. Now it's my own laziness, my own selfish desires that will condemn me to the life of a demon in the Fire of Holiness.

No one does good, no one seeks for God (Rom 3:10-12). That whole Chapter of Romans is pure gold. Fr. Stephan DeYoung goes through it more deeply in his podcast, The Whole Council of God. Suffice it to say, if you don't seek for God, you won't find him. You will chase other things - riches, power, glory... You will follow your master Satan. And when he and the other fallen angels are called up in his presence, the darkness they've been seeking will be stripped away. They will be like stubble before a fire (Isaiah 47:14), Unlike the saved who have been purified in this life, like silver (Isaiah 48:10).

Man is a slave to sin (John 8:34) No question. The corruption though has been cleansed. We need not worry about the sickness and death in our bodies. What we do need to worry about is whether or not we are attuned to the Holy Spirit (Galatians 5:22-23), and not to the Spirit of the Age (Ephesians 6:12)

Born into sin (Psalm 51:5) David was. In some sense we still are. The physical corruption of this life tends to make us self centered and destructive. We are living in the tension of being already immortal, but also the not-yet immortal, so as to buy time so that all may come to repentance (2 Peter 3:9).

Man's flesh and mind is hostile towards God (Rom 8:7). I will refer you back again to the very straightforward Bible study of Fr. Stephan DeYoung. Yes, humanity lives in a state of corruption, decay, and death; however, the Proper Christology has firmly established that Christ was Fully God and Fully Man, and because of this unique fact, he could cleanse humanity from the taint of death, so that those who followed Christ could, with the help of the Holy Spirit, walk in a newness of life that would enable them to come closer to God without fear.

It is our nearness to Christ that is either our Salvation or our Undoing. At some point none of us will be hidden from the glory of God.

I want to be prepared to feel the warm embrace of the flames that descended at Pentecost (Acts 2:3-4), not the flames the Babylonian Guards felt who threw the three holy youths into the fiery furnace (Daniel 3).

There wasn't a Sola to be found in Patristic literature - except maybe Christ Alone.

Lord, Jesus Christ, Have mercy upon me, A Sinner.

This is why the 5 solas were and still are important. Know the 5 solas and study them. The 5 solas are biblical and taught throughout church history. Rome taught and still teach unbiblical doctrines, it bewilders me how they think this is found in Scripture.

5 solas of the Protestant Reformation, grace alone, faith alone ,Christ alone, Scripture alone, Glory to God alone.

Man is NOT basically good who needs just some improvement to make him better, there almost be no point for Christ to die for sinners. The human heart is deceitful and desperately sick (Jer 17:9). no one does good, no one seeks for God (Rom 3:10-12). Man is a slave to sin (John 8:34), born into sin (Psalm 51:5) and man's flesh and mind is hostile towards God (Rom 8:7).

So man indeed needs saving since that is his nature, he loves doing evil, he does it thought, word and deed daily. This is why Christ came to save us helpless and weak sinners (Rom 5:6) from our sin and from hell. Source: https://www.facebook.com/ReformedEvangelicalCatholic

[kobakova]

Dragon Age and how it addresses oppression

ok so disclaimer this is not the rewrite of the Elven pantheon (the thing I keep promising I know I’m terrible) however it is an introduction to it and basically the reason why I feel the need to rewrite it in the first place! It’s a bit wordy, but I hope you take the time to read through it, as it took a lot of time and effort and I would super appreciate it! Today I stumbled upon a tik tok that was discussing how DA handles oppression and it motivated me to create a post about how I believe the way DA handles it is problematic at its core. I am not going to link the tik tok, as the creator has asked not to be put on blast, though I am including a word for word transcription of what the creator has said to avoid altering or skewing their message. I want to add that this is not an attack on the creator and what they said, more importantly it is an analysis of how other players perceive the oppression addressed within the game and how that proves that there is a serious problem with how DA handles it.

It is evident to me the message Dragon Age is trying to express is that oppression HAS to happen and that there is a reason to oppress. There are many examples within the game that prove this statement, though I want to focus mainly on how oppression impacts the mages and the Dalish, and how you as the main character can choose to perpetuate that oppression. To begin, here is the transcription of the tik tok below, which addresses oppression through the treatment of the mages.

“When it comes to mages, dragon age gives us a very clear picture that yes, these are people, they have hopes they have dreams they want to do better for themselves, they want to help others, we see this very clearly especially in DA2 where the whole plot revolves around mages rebelling. However, we also see very clearly in DA2 what can happen when a mage is left unchecked. Abominations, blood magic, the ability to force ones will onto somebody is a real threat with mages. Whether they succumbed to blood magic, whether they succumbed to the temptations of demons. These are unique challenges that face mages. And whether or not they should have freedom is true. And the game even gives us an amazing depiction of what could happen through Tevinter mages. What happens if mages are truly released, they have freedom. They might turn out like the Tevinters. Mages can become the ones solely on top oppressing other groups. A situation of the minority suppressing the majority. Whereas all the other lands of Thedas it’s the majority oppressing the minority. We have to grapple with these choices, whether not you kill a blood mage or you let them live. Or whether not you side with the mage rebellion or you side with the templars in DA2. It doesn’t pretend like it’s easy, and it doesn’t pretend to be something that it’s not. It doesn’t pretend to be real life. It gives unique challenges and unique decisions.”

My problem with DA is that you make choices through the role of an oppressor, which is very clear within Dragon Age: Inquisition as your rise to power then gives you the choice to oppress. The transcription above proves that a player has to make their decisions through the lens of an oppressor because you can determine the freedom or oppression of other people, in this case, the mages. Oppression cannot be a tool used for good because it is inherently bad, it only belittles others and is used to gain power. This could be a valuable lesson on how once power is gained so then is the ability to oppress, and how with the responsibility of power you should make choices based on what is best for the people who are oppressed. However, Bioware fails to follow through with this message for the sake of keeping their game morally grey. Instead, Bioware creates reasons and excuses for certain groups to be oppressed, thus making it okay for the player to make a decision that oppresses because either within their history something bad happened or there are certain people within the group that have done bad things. For example, all blood mages are considered evil due to some mages using blood magic in order to oppress and harm. However, we see in the game that not all blood mages are evil, and use blood magic to help. Despite this, all who use blood magic are deemed evil and if used, even if it means they are trying to escape an oppressive system, they will become Tranquil. When addressing Tevinter mages it’s evident that they have gained power, however they have chosen to oppress with this power. Being born with the ability to use magic is having the ability to gain power over another, but it is up to the individual to use that power to oppress or to use it to assist others. The ability to use magic itself is not an oppressive tool, because it has the ability to do good, it is the decisions of the individual that make it oppressive if the person decides to be an oppressor. If Bioware wasn’t so adamant about keeping the game morally grey, then they would’ve had an opportunity to create really interesting and important lessons on power and oppression that would better reflect our political landscape.

Now I want to move onto the Dalish, because I have a serious issue with how Bioware addresses the oppression they face and I believe it is important to mention. As stated above, Bioware chooses to ignore the dismantling of oppression, and instead creates reasons in order  to excuse the oppression of a group simply due to the fact that no group is perfect and they all have their issues. This is evident within the Trespasser DLC when discovering the true nature of the elven gods, which I will paste below:

!! Warning: spoilers ahead !!

“Following the initial events of the Exalted Council, the Inquisitor uncovers the reality that the Elven Gods were in fact phenomenally powerful mages who rose in prominence after the end of an unknown war. Solas implies that the Evanuris started out as generals during the war, then respected elders, and finally were revered as gods. They started out as heroes of the famed war eventually becoming corrupt tyrants in order to hoard and maintain their own power. The Evanuris institutionalized a system of slavery using Vallaslin as a brand, with only Fen'Harel (and more subtly, Mythal) challenging their tyranny. Most of the gods were arrogant in their ways, their power and attitudes more akin to the Tevinter Magisters. Eventually, the other Evanuris plotted against Mythal and killed her, prompting Fen'Harel to lead a rebellion against them and later creating the Veil to banish them into the Beyond,”

(https://dragonage.fandom.com/wiki/Elven_pantheon).

From what I’ve seen, little is known about the Elven Pantheon before Dragon Age: Inquisition and the discovery that the elven gods are actually powerful mages is only represented within the Trespasser DLC. Though I have learned later that this was always the plan for the Elven Pantheon, which was to expose the gods for being tyrants who enslaved their own kind. It is clear that Bioware took inspiration from Native tribes to then create the Dalish elves (even within the name, since there is the Salish Kootenai tribe and Bioware literally just switched the first letter) and this is why I have a major issue with how they chose to handle the oppression that the Dalish are impacted by. Throughout the Dragon Age games, we see the torment that the Dalish suffer through from name calling to the complete erasure of the elven race; Bioware even goes as far as to take significant historical events like the Trail of Tears and write them into the elven history. This is why the Trespasser DLC angers me, because after all you learn about the Dalish and what is done to oppress them, it almost seems brushed off after it is exposed that the elven gods were similar to Tevinter mages. This type of message has real world implications, and can impact how people perceive Native people. Within my own experience as a Native person, I’ve had people argue to me that the oppression Native people face has reason because we have also owned slaves which is COMPLETELY untrue. I was shocked to see this exact reason be integrated into the Trespasser DLC, and it worries me because some players will see that and find it perfectly rational to think that because of the Dalish’s history it is then okay that they were oppressed. Throughout history, America and other countries that have oppressed Native and Indigeous people have created excuses and reasons to oppress them (from excuses like we are s*vages that need to be educated, to reasons like the Manifest Destiny). Therefore, it is incredibly harmful that Bioware would use the same type of reasoning not only for the Dalish but for the mages and the Qunari as well. Finding a reason to oppress a group does not create progressive change, it only divides us and keeps the oppressed groups oppressed and keeps the oppressors in power. Bioware needs to change how they approach oppression, and instead actually teach players the tools needed in order to dismantle oppression. 

I hope to be able to change how the Dalish are perceived, and show through my rewrite of the elven pantheon and also rewrites of missions involving the Dalish how to dismantle oppression through the choices and involvement of the inquisitor. I thank you all for taking the time to read and if there are any questions please don’t be afraid to ask!

[jackdawyt]

Today I’m continuing my new mini-series paving the road for the anticipated release of the next Dragon Age game. Through these videos, I’ll be delving into very particular honed-in lore and plot threads that are rather telling for the future narrative of Dragon Age.  

Last episode I discussed the blighted mineral known as Red Lyrium as it spreads throughout the land, tainting everything it touches, wreaking havoc on the eco-system of Thedas. However, today we have a subjectively worse rival that already has plans for Thedas and its people.  

A most prideful, hot-headed fool lingers. One who you could consider to be an enemy, friend or lover. But ultimately, and most importantly, he’s a man who in the end is sorry, and believes he’s only doing what he must for the sake of his people. Of course, we talking about Solas and his plans for Thedas.

In order for us to look forward regarding what Solas’ future scheme may entail; we’ve got to recollect everything that has been instrumental in his plan to restore the elvhen kingdom by destroying the Veil.  

“Cry havoc in the moonlight, let the fire of vengeance burn, the cause is clear.” (Solas, DA:I).

Solas comes from a time when everything sang the same. A time before the Veil was created. When the ancient elven kingdom of Arlathan flourished. Elves were seen as immortal, powerful mages that ruled the lands. The most impressive of their kind were the Evanuris, whom the Dalish call "The Creators".

The Creators

“Long ago, there were two clans of gods. The Creators looked after the People. The Forgotten Ones preyed upon us.  And one god who was neither. Fen’Harel, the Dread Wolf. He was kin to the Creators, and in the days of old, often helped them with their endless war against the Forgotten Ones.” (Merril, DA2).

The Evanuris “were said to bestow all life's gifts and dole out its punishments” (WoT V.1). The pantheon consisted of nine “gods”:  

Elgar'nan: God of Vengeance

Mythal: the Great Protector

Falon'Din: Friend of the Dead, the Guide

Dirthamen: Keeper of Secrets

Andruil: Goddess of the Hunt

Sylaise: the Hearthkeeper

June: God of the Craft

Ghilan'nain: Mother of the Halla

Fen'Harel: The Dread Wolf

“Fen’Harel was clever. He could walk among both clans of gods without fear, and both believed he was one of them.” (Merril, DA2).

While it’s unclear what exactly happened, the Elven Pantheon declared war on anyone who dare oppose them.  

"It started with a war. War breeds fear. Fear breeds a desire for simplicity. Good and evil. Right and wrong. Chains of command. After the war ended, generals became respected elders, then kings, then finally gods. The Evanuris." (Solas, DA:I).  

Codex entries point to a longing feud with both the Titans and the Forgotten Ones:

“One day Andruil grew tired of hunting mortal men and beasts. She began stalking The Forgotten Ones, wicked things that thrive in the abyss.” (Codex entry: Elven God Andruil).

"Hail Mythal, adjudicator and savior! She has struck down the pillars of the earth and rendered their demesne unto the People! Praise her name forever!" (Codex entry: Veilfire Runes in the Deep Roads).

Regardless of who or what was defeated, the Evanuris were victorious in their conquest. This triumph was the beginning of the pantheons’ corruption - with their hubris - the Evanuris became a villainous tyranny.

In their lust for power, members of the Evnauris plotted against Mythal and killed her. This act would bring forth the elven kingdoms doom known as “the Betrayal.”

The Betrayal

“You said the elven gods went too far. What did they do that made you move against them?” (Inquisitor).  

“They killed Mythal. She was the best of them. She cared for her people. She protected them. She was a voice of reason. And in their lust for power, they killed her.”

A crime for which an eternity of torment is the only fitting punishment. (Solas).

This chain of events set Solas’ scheme in motion – to avenge Mythal and right the Evanuris’ wrongdoings.  

Solas rebelled against the pantheon, he worked to free slaves bound by vallaslin, granting them sanctuary from their tyrannical masters.

He created the Veil, a magical barrier that separated the foundations of magic that Arlathan was built on. The Veil’s creation brought destruction to the Elvhen, countless marvels reliant on the Fade crumbled, the people lost their immortality and the majority of their magic.  

Then Solas banished each of the Evnauris to the Beyond, where they linger forever in torment.

This was the great quickening that the Dalish elves in Thedas still believe today. The disarrayment and destruction of the elven empire. However, ‘twas not Tevinter, nor the pride of mortal man who destroyed the elves.

A few even claim their ancestors were immortal, and it was only the arrival of humans- "shemlen" or "quicklings” that brought death to the "elvhen" people. (WoT V.1).

It was indeed Solas who destroyed the elvhen world.  

"It was not the arrival of humans that caused us to begin aging. It was me. The Veil took everything from the elves, even themselves.” (Solas, DA:I)

After creating the Veil, Solas fell into a deep slumber.  

"I lay in dark and dreaming sleep while countless wars and ages passed. I woke still weak a year before I joined you." (Solas, DA:I).

Having slept for many years, Solas awoke. He witnessed the transition of his proud and immortal people, now reduced to the fringes of human society.  

Once the greatest empire in Thedas, now a cluster of baboons with a false understanding of their existence. They spread false tales of the Evanuris’ feud, praising the false gods, and condemning Fen’Harel. Wearing vallaslin as worship, without realising their slave mark origin.  

The elves today can’t even speak the same complexities of their old language, while the remains of Arlathan are nothing but a shallow husk, its memory long since gone, along with the majority of magic.  

“My people fell for what I did to strike the Evanuris down, but still some hope remains for restoration. I will save the elven people, even if it means this world must die.”  (Solas, DA:I).

While the blame falls to Solas for the elven people’s decimation, what the Evanuris had planned would’ve destroyed the entire world. Solas believed creating the Veil was the lesser of two evils.  

“Had I not created the Veil the Evanuris would have destroyed the entire world.” (Solas, DA:I).

While Solas woke up still weak, he has plans to restore the elven people to their former glory. Originally, Solas planned to use his orb of destruction to destroy the Veil, re-establishing the world of his time. However, his slumber had made him too weak to unlock the orb, so using his agents, Solas indirectly gave his orb to Corypheus.  

Corypheus, being an ancient and powerful darkspawn would then unlock the orb and die in the resulting explosion. However, that didn’t happen.

Instead, Corypheus uncovered the secrets of effective immortality, and the Inquisitor was the one who gained the orb’s power – the Anchor.  

The Anchor

As a result, Solas joined the Inquisition with the sole purpose of defeating Corypheus and getting his unlocked orb back, so he could resume his plan to destroy the Veil. (which explains why he knew so much about the Anchor in the first place).

Of course, this plan too was unsuccessful because the orb was destroyed by failing rocks with the defeat of Corypheus. However, Solas did not expect to find someone he could relate to, as much as he did with the Inquisitor.  

“You change everything.” (Solas, DA:I).

He cared for this world, and some of the people in it. And that truly surprised him. But that vulnerability is only going to make his plan harder. No matter how much the Inquisitor tried to sway him, Solas walks the journey of death, he would not have anyone close to him see what he will become.  

“I walk the dinan'shiral. There is only death on this journey. I would not have you see what I become.” (Solas, DA:I).

If the Veil is successfully destroyed, the Evanuris (and whatever else lingers in the Beyond) will be released, after suffering years of torment. With their freedom, surely, they’ll unleash havoc on Thedas once again, exacting revenge at the one responsible for their imprisonment.  

"Wouldn't the false gods be free?" (The Inquisitor, DA:I).

"I had plans." (Solas, DA:I).

In order for Solas to grant Mythal vengeance, he will need to silence the Evanuris for good. For this plan, Solas has taken an aspect of Mythal’s power so he can rise as the Dread Wolf.  

The Dread Wolf

With that power now invested, Solas can transform into the Dread Wolf. In this form, the wolf is “lupine in appearance, but the size of a high dragon, with shaggy spiked hide and six burning eyes like a pride demon.” (The Dread Wolf Take You, Page 496).

Solas as the Dread Wolf has taken residence in the Fade where spirits and demons serve him willingly. He has an enigmatic ritual for the Fade that has been set in motion. Since his orb’s destruction, Solas has been looking at other alternatives for tearing down the Veil.  

“As the Avvar do. But whatever fear the name Dread Wolf carries, he has earned. While we might visit the Fade, it is his natural home, and the spirits there serve him gladly. They whisper in my dreams now, accusing me of crimes I never.” (The Dread Wolf Take You, Page 498).

Currently, Solas hunts the Red Lyrium Idol, which apparently belongs to him, and he has a purpose for it. Other than that, not much else is known about it, not even its location.  

"The Dread Wolf wants that idol, and he’s not afraid to get his hands bloody to get it." (The Dread Wolf Take You, Page 490).

“He intends something for the Fade, and if he wants the idol, then whatever he intends will be terrible.” (The Dread Wolf Take You, Page 498).

Solas has always had a network of agents working for him behind the curtains. However, the length of Solas’s spies has greatly increased. Many of the Dalish Elves truly believe in Solas's cause and have joined his fight and even the Ancient Elves have been acquired for his schemes.  

“And now we know that the Dread Wolf has agents working for him.” (The Bard, The Dread Wolf Take You).

The elves who haven’t joined his ranks have begun to call his army - “Fen’Harel cultists”  

Fen’Harel Cultists

“Each one of those damned Fen’Harel cultists. ‘Ooh, if we blow up enough people, ancient Elvhenan is definitely coming back.’” She caught my questioning glance. “They tried to recruit me a few years ago. I said no.” (Half Up Front, page 470)

Solas’ agents, or cultists, whichever takes your liking, already tried to manipulate a war between the Qunari Ben-Hassrath and Tevinter kinsman. An agent of Fen’Harel placed a Tevinter rogue on Qunari lands as a bomb destroyed the Qun’s new darvaarad.

Fortunately, the Ben-Hassrath discovered this plot before it was too late. However, If this plan was successful, it would’ve caused immediate chaos for all of Thedas.

“A Tevinter altus, striking at a Qunari settlement that had yet to enter hostilities? Ben- Hassrath wouldn’t be able to sit the war out anymore. Utter and complete chaos.” I felt nauseous. What I’d almost done, almost been responsible for. (Half Up Front, page 478).

And finally, most recently in a desperate attempt to intercept Thedas’ top spy factions, Solas disguised himself as an Orlesian Bard with a blonde wig and all the trimmings.  

Interception  

An Executor, Carta Assassin, Mortalitasi Mage, Inquisition Spy and, of course, Solas were present.  

He listened as each faction shared their knowledge on the Dread Wolf, before the Executor could speak, Solas killed them. Then he attempted to lie about his knowledge on the Wolf, but was quickly caught out.  

He turned the Mortalitasi and Carta Assassin to stone, and revealed himself to the Inquisition Spy known as Chater.  

Out of his disguise, Solas appeared tired and sad. He knows that many oppose him and that they are not fools. Telling the Inquisitor what he intended to do was a moment of weakness.

“He sighed. “It was a moment of weakness. I told myself that it was because you all deserved to know, to live a few years in peace before my ritual was complete.  Before this world ended.” (The Dread Wolf Take You, Page 506).

He admitted he’s prideful, hot-headed and foolish. Most importantly that he’s sorry for what is to come next.  

“I am prideful, hotheaded, and foolish, and I am doing what I must. When you report back to the Inquisitor . . .” His voice faltered. “Say that I am sorry.” (The Dread Wolf Take You, Page 506).

I’ve already addressed the most apparent plot points that regard Solas’s future scheme like the potential destruction of the Veil and dealing with the Evnauris. But other plot points linger that intertwine with Solas’s plan:

Solas's Ritual

As I already stated, Solas has started a ritual ongoing in the Fade with the help of spirits and demons. It’s a very ambiguous ritual, however, we do know that binding spirits and using blood magic undoes both the work that Solas has planned for the Fade, and the ritual that has been set in motion.  

“And as clear as the Dread Wolf’s anger at what we had done— the Mortalitasi binding spirits he considered his own, the Tevinter mage using forbidden blood magic— was the feeling that we had disrupted his own work.” (The Dread Wolf Take You, Page 498).

Perhaps more of these types of magic is needed to disrupt his ritual? This would make the Mortalitasi and Tevinter Magisters great allies in the coming war.  

The Inquisitor

Solas’ journey in modern day Thedas started with our Inquisitor, surely his journey should end with them too. The Inquisitor swore to either attempt to redeem or stop Solas, this narrative needs to reach its end. Will Solas and the Inquisitor reach a happy climax? Probably not, but that doesn’t mean our Inquisitor will easily give up. The two characters need closure to end their story for good.  

Mythal’s Vengeance  

I feel like I need to reiterate that Solas did not absorb Mythal’s spirt, he only took an aspect of her power before she placed a piece of herself in an eluvian, as she finds her next vessel. This means that whoever drank from the Well of Sorrows are still bound to Mythal, Solas did not possess or absorb her soul, she is still alive.  

All Solas did, with Mythal willing, was absorb an unknown quantity of her power so he could rise as the Dread Wolf and fulfil her bidding to slay the rest of the pantheon. I truly believe Mythal has a greater scheme at play, and Solas has fallen ridicule to her, he’s blind sighted because of the bond they share, but I believe Mythal has darker intentions, and they’ll soon come to play once Solas destroys the Veil.  

So, what does come next for Solas? There are a lot of future topics we’ve touched on, but all I can say is we should expect to see him transform into the most villainous Dread Wolf as he stops anyone who dare intercede with his scheme. Not only that, but he has an army of spirts and demons in the Fade, with his agents on the field in Thedas. The tensions are rising, perhaps soon enough we’ll witness the magic come back, as Solas rises to destroy the Veil. The Evanuris are too going to be out for vengeance, only time will tell if we can save our friend before it’s too late.

[greenjudy]

Inquisitor Ask Meme

Reposting this for fun.

Anyone else want to take a crack? What kind of Inky would you be?

@allsortsoflicorice? @tyramir ? Bueller?

1. Race:

Human.

2. Class/Specialization:

Rift mage.

3. Your homeland?

The Free Marches. Wycome, to be precise. 

4. Your family?

Keep my family out of this; they have things to do besides die.

5. Who were you before?

A Circle Mage of some skill and much fear. Given my personality, the Circle would probably not cater to my strengths. It would make me more nervous and paranoid than I already am. The Inquisition would force me out of my comfort zone and give me some resilience I would never otherwise develop. Left to my own devices, I’d fall prey to obsession, and possibly possession by a Pride demon.  

6. Would you be religious?

I’ve read a lot of books by Brother Genitivi and Philliam! A Bard; I’m actually using my clout as Inquisitor to gather whatever is known about the Black City. You might say I’m an originist, I want to know where we came from; Andraste is kind of late on the scene for my interests. 

Post-Trespasser, this quest will more or less eat my brain.

Short answer: obsessed with “religious” subject matter, not religious per se. 

7. Do you have a mabari?

Nope. But I spoil Cullen’s baby. 

8. Your opinion on other races?

Raised to “not be racist” (as far as that goes) in cosmopolitan, edgy, free-wheeling Wycome; family with a ton of Dwarven trading connections. Angry about the elves. Knew loads of elven enchanters in the Circle, but I have awkward awareness of human privilege around the Dalish. 

Fascinated by the Shaperate. Wish all Thedas had those. Can you imagine? 

Worried about the Qun, but deeply impressed with the handful of Qunari I’ve met in person. Not mindless drones at all. Disciplined. Community first has some virtues, must say. 

9. What would Varric’s nickname for you be?

Baffler.

10. What would your tarot card look like?

The High Priestess: an older, abbess-looking chick standing at a scriptorium, surrounded by magical paraphrenalia and a gorgeous view out my high window. Raven (with message) standing on the windowsill.

11. Where would you hang out in Skyhold?

My bespoke mage tower, if I’m not in the Undercroft picking Dagna’s brain. Do a little weeding in the herb garden from time to time; we’re growing some fascinating things in there. 

After Solas leaves, I’d go spend time in the destroyed holding cells, watching the water fall.  

12. What would you do for fun?

Study. Knit. Paint. Visit my horses; the smell of horses is very comforting. 

I’d have highly technical arguments with Dorian and spend a lot, a lot, a lot of time talking to Solas.

13. What armor would you wear?

Cutting-edge tactical enchanted fabric. Light, layered, tweedy, enchanted.

I’d probably get sucked into magical materials research, specifically, making improvements to armor base-layers. I’m obsessed with armor. I have a whole research group (headed by Dagna, Cullen consulting) devoted to armor improvement.

14. What would your room look like?

Given the state of my current room, a chaotic mess of books, papers, research tools, letters from colleagues, blueprints, schematics, dirty dishes, orchids, and automata (Josie and I would be doll-geeks together).

15. Who would be your friends at Skyhold?

I try to make sure that the Inner Circle understands how much I appreciate them as a general rule. 

As for friends: 

Cassandra is one of the great ones. Just about the best person I know. Never met anyone so ready to acknowledge her mistakes. I’d trust her to be the next Divine. 

Dorian is a dear. One of the best sounding-boards. Somebody peel that man a grape. 

Cullen and Josephine are terrific advisors, couldn’t ask for better, their own problems of course, we’re all doing our best. I’d like to know Cullen better—suspect we have things, Circle things, to talk about. In another life, maybe. 

I’d get on with Varric—everyone gets on with Varric, come on—but I find him ultimately very armored, hard to know. Hid his best friend, didn’t he? Never talks about the lady he loves. 

Sera is actually easy to understand. Raw genius with a bow, one of the best to have along, out in the field. Not exactly my friend. So down on the Dalish. It’s her business, though. She and Dagna are adorable together. She makes Dagna happy, that’s good enough for me. 

I have a bit of a GP for the Iron Bull. (He had me at “front-line bodyguard.”) Never acted on it, though.

Solas is my… see… well, see below. 

16. Would you have any friends outside of the Inquisition?

I’d have the Thedas version of LinkedIn comrades in Antiva, Nevarra, and Orlais—researchers all. Plus one brilliant friend who’s a materials mage based out of Denerim, working with Sandal on woven metal enchantments; call her my “knitting buddy.”

17. Who wouldn’t you get along with?

Leliana would trouble me. Don’t like having someone this emotional and vindictive managing our intel networks. It’s bad juju, Ambassador; can’t trust her judgment, can you? And that feels like a loose end. Put us in a tight spot someday. Couldn’t we ask Varric…? No, I quite see that. Still. 

I’d understand Vivienne, and try to maintain a cordial relationship because I think most of her head is in the right place, even though she is entirely too power-oriented for a real friendship. 

Blackwall’s “find Darkspawn, kill them, repeat” approach would bother me. When I found out the truth about him, it would confirm my feeling that you need to lie to yourself, a lot, to just have enemies and kill them without compunction. I would also find myself highly influenced by Solas’s take on the Wardens. 

18. Who would you romance?

I’m a Circle mage who’s watched close friends be tormented by romantic love. Demonic possession and Tranquility. Babies taken away. This is not the kind of conditioning that disappears just because you take me out of a Circle. In my youth I worked it out by restricting myself to impossible love objects—there was this one Templar, very stern, very disciplined…he’d barely speak to me… Well. That was many years ago. 

That said, the best impossible love object I’ve ever encountered in my life is Solas. 

What does it matter, really? Bonds of friendship, don’t you know; romantic love leads to envy demons. I’m old now, at any rate. Inquisigeezer not exactly a romanceable character. 

19. Would you do pranks with Sera?

Probably not. Too busy. Too tired. Feel too much sympathy for her innocent victims. 

But I would do operations with Sera, with pleasure. 

20. Would you sleep with the Iron Bull (casually if not romance)?

My front-line bodyguard? Get on with you. It would get too complicated—for me, I mean, not him. 

21. Would you keep Cole around?

Yes. And I’d agonize about what would be the best path for him to take, and probably make him a spirit.

22. Can you play the game (politics)?

Yes. I’m better at it the more distant it is. If you’re talking about what to say at a party, I’ve developed a persona for that sort of thing. Stakes are high. Can’t be fooling around. A mage, remember? This guard drops, I get possessed; lose my temper, might incinerate you, can’t have that. 

23. What would be on your tombstone in the fade (What are you afraid of)?

“The world fell apart on my watch.”

24. Who would you recruit to seal the breach?

Mages. I understand mages. Their leadership’s been simply awful. Not sure what Fiona did with her spine. Without decent leadership, it’s mages running amok, trying to protect themselves, doing awful things out of fear; can’t have that, they’ll pull their own house down. Get them out of the weeds, stick ‘em in the Inquisition, give them a chance to show what they can do for the right cause. 

25. Opinion on Mages versus Templars?

It’s all about training, though, isn’t it? Templars and mages both need much, much better training. Without training, without a penetrating education with a solid grasp of magical theory, history, ethics—co-train the mages and templars, make ‘em take core courses together. Make them work together in strike teams; I’ve been doing that since we recruited ‘em, they actually partner well, as long as you’re not, you know, mad.

I would become obsessed (do you see the recurrence of this word) with the idea that mages could be Seeker-trained to resist possession and mind control, obviating the need for Tranquility. These disciplined (another key word) and trustworthy mages could be placed in a position of joint authority with properly educated Templars to create a College of Magi with research cells all over Thedas…

Yeah. We’ll see how that works out.

26. Who would be put in charge of Orlais and why?

Celine and Briala. Celine is the one with the right temperament, and for some reason I viscerally understand Briala. I’m all about reparations and integrating elven populations and something something protect the Dalish (can’t we actually give them the Dirth?).

27. Would you sacrifice the Chargers?

I couldn’t.

28. Would you go after Blackwall?

Oh, yes. And I’d keep him on, as Thom Rainier. 

29. Would you drink from the well?

Knowing me? Not knowing the implications except for those vague warnings? Yes, I would, and it would affect me for the rest of my life. 

I’d spend what’s left of myself using whatever insight and connections the Well gave me to work on Solas. 

30. Where would you go if the Inquisition was disbanded?

Under ordinary circumstances, the College. Daresay they’d want me to do something draining and administrative because of my being the (ex)Inquisitor; I’d look for a research niche but probably not get to keep it. 

Solas is not ordinary circumstances. I’d dedicate the rest of my life to that problem. 

31. How do you react to the egg telling you he is an elven god? 

I’d naively and arrogantly imagine that I could—if we could just get enough time to sit down together—he must understand what he’s likely to bring about, he needs people to talk to, dammit—

He would be the death of me, I’m afraid.

[fenharel-babe]

For Evermore...

Solas x Lavellan.

Solavellan timeee. I was listening to “Evermore” from the new Beauty and The Beast movie and I LOVE IT and I see Solas in it,,,and the movie isn’t ‘new’ but ya know what I mean. Enjoy :)). 

“I was the one who had it all. I was the master of my fate.”

He had it all in his hands. He is the one who controls his fate, controls is actions, his choices, and his heart. But things change. Things always change in life. And Solas learned that once again, but not in the way he thought he would.

He honestly didn’t expect his opinions to change or his views to change, but they did. Everything changed when he met the Herald of Andraste, the chosen on, the savior to everyone, or as he saw her, Bloom Lavellan. 

“I never needed anybody in my life. I learned the truth...too late.”

And he felt things change. Not at once, but slowly. He began to like to be near her, he admired her for caring for everyone, because oh did she care for everyone. A man was a widow and he couldn’t go to his wife’s grave and put flowers, but Bloom offered to do it for him, and Solas didn’t expect her to do it, but she did. She dragged herself up all the way to the grave, all with a smile and happy conversations, and laid the flowers to rest. And when the scouts went missing, she put all her energy into finding them. She spent a few late nights up and he only knew because she told him. There were times when she went to the Rotunda and wanted to hear his stories. She always was out there but when she came to Solas one on one, she was a little anxious, and so was he. He didn’t understand why at first, but he slowly began to understand why. 

He began to fall in love with her. He realized it in many different ways, or he felt like he loved her and pushed it away until he couldn’t anymore. He told her the last story he could tell her one night, and he realized he loved her. Well, not then, but the day after. It’s because she became busy after that day and she still came to him. He was up late at night, painting, and she always came to visit him. She visited all her friends, but she stayed a lot longer with him. And sometimes...she fell asleep on the couch, and when she did he couldn’t help but look at her a lot longer than he should. He just couldn’t get over the way she looked. She was peaceful, her fire was blazing hot, yet she was cool and calm. He would stop painting and find a blanket he would use when he slept, and put it over her body, slowly trying not to wake her. And that’s when he began to believe he loved her. However, he pushed it away and kept going on.

And then when she was injured when closing a rift. She was hit by the demons before that, but closing the rift was the last straw. She passed out as it closed and Solas turned around and saw her hit the ground, and then his heart dropped to his stomach. He knew she wasn’t dead, she was too strong for that, but he still worried. He went to her immediately, all sounds stopping except the sound of his heart beat sky rocketing. When he finally got to her, he picked her up and took her to the nearest camp site, not caring that he was a little rough when he said, “We’re done for that day.” He rushed her back to the camp, almost forgetting about his companions, and he felt so lucky that there were no demons in sight, the rifts wll close because of her hard work. And her heat also comforted him. When she was hot, she was alive. She was always hot, always alive, and fighting for her life, and he hopes she keeps fighting now.

And she did. When they got back to the camp, he poured basicallt all his magic into healing her, and after a few hours of pacing back and forth outside her tent, reading a book (even if he wasn’t really), and eventually sitting in her tent with her, she opened her eyes and the tent got hotter. And he realized he loved her, but pushed it away. Again.

And then when he met her on the balcony and when his lips touched his again, and when she came to the Rotunda before she went to a place without him and gave him a kiss on the cheek, and when she asked him to spend one night in her room, not doing anything but enjoying each other’s presence, and when he joined her and told her stories and listened to her own. It all lead up to him holding her in his arms, she clutching on to his arms, feeling her hands on his bare skin, keeping her cold and happy, and seeing her face looking peaceful and knowing he put it there.

“I love her,” he told himself and he kept repeating it. It sounded weird until it didn’t and he enjoyed loving her. But when he finally remembered his mission, it came crashing down. He was going to destroy the world, which meant he’d destroy her. And his heart ached at the thought, so he held her tight whenever he could, and realized it’s too late. He’s met the love he truly loves...but it’s too late.

“I’ll never shake away the pain. I close my eyes but she’s still there.”

As he watches her turn to everyone to say they’ve won, his heart cracks with each step he takes away, but he turns away from her, he has to. However, he stops and takes one last look at her. He can’t help it. He has to look at her one. More. Time. And he does, but he still walks away with his feet feeling like he’s walking through mud. And when he found his hideout, he instantly made his agents watch her. He couldn’t be there physically, but he will make sure she is safe. And when he sees her in the fade, he wants to see her. He wants to go to her and hold her until it hurts, kiss her until they both are breathless, but he can’t. He won’t give in that easy.

Yet, when he’s not even in the fade, he thinks of her. Whenever he sets his eyes on anything blue, he remembers her bright blue eyes and how her favorite color was blue, and he can’t stop seeing her. But he doesn’t want to. He’d gladly think about her for the rest of his sad life.

“I rage against the trials of love. I curse the fading of the light.”

But he shouldn’t love her. He shouldn’t. He told himself he wouldn’t fall for her, or anyone, but here he was thinking of her whenever he was alone. Because of this, he buried himself in his work. Almost to the point where his own workers got worried for him, but he just told them not to worry. He was trying to get his mind off of something.

Well, someone.

“Though she’s already flown so far beyond my reach, she’s never out of sight.”

She has done so many things. So many things he can be proud of. She has saved many people, defeated Alexius, defeated the demon in the fade, even made it into the fade, saved Celene, made Skyhold her home, and she defeated Corypheus. How could he not be proud of her? She’s always busy and doing work, it’s what his agents tell him, and he may not be there with her, but she’s never out of his sight. He always has people watching on her, making sure she’s safe, and at night he joins her in the fade. When she noticed he was there that one time, she never forgot it. She always calls out to him in the night, but he can’t reply. He can’t give in, he won’t, but he wishes he can. However, just being able to see her makes a tiny spark of happiness light up in his heart.

“Now I know she’ll never leave me. Even as she runs away. She will still torment me, calm me, hurt me, move me...come what may.”

With everything he does, he thinks of what she would say. When she found out he was the Dread Wolf, she didn’t seem afraid of him. She still smiled at him and still told him that she loves him, and he loves her. He couldn’t deny it at this point. It had been two years of aching and longing, and he’s not an idiot. He knows that it’s love. And whenever he gets angry, he remembers when he found his spirit friend and the mages that hurt them. He was angry and was going to kill them, but Bloom grabbed his arm and when he looked at her, he saw a worried look. 

“Solas. Don’t.”

And as he mourned on his own and even now those words echo in his head. She calms him, yet hurts him when he remembers her, and she gives him hope, but he doesn’t like it. She is strong and stubborn, he learned this when he first met her, so he doesn’t expect her to give up. It strives him to hope and to be just like her, even if their desires are separate things.

“Wasting in my lonely tower...waiting by an open door. I’ll fool myself, she’ll walk right in.”

Every night there is something inside of him that wishes the door will open and she will be there. In her clothes she wore when she walked around Skyhold, her hair down and looking a little tangly, and wearing a smile on her face. He knows it will never happen, it never could. If she ever came here, she’d want to kill him, and he sees why, and part of him thinks he would let her. He is a fool to think he wouldn’t love her, a fool to always push it away, and he’s a fool for thinking he would be fine without her.

“And as the long, long nights begin. I’ll think all of that might have been. Waiting here for Evermore.”

And as he looks her in the Fade, and seeing her looking around for him, he thinks of everything that could’ve been. They could be happy, he could help her with the Inquisition, he could’ve told her everything he felt for her. No sliver or half, everything. But now he has to stand here and watch her as she begs for him to come to her, to come home, and how they can fix this.

He has to watch and deal with his choices for all his life. For evermore. 

Alright! That’s it! I hope you liked it. I have a few more fics coming, 2 of them will be sooner because the other is so difficult. Anyways yeah love y’all💙. 

[bossuary]

Having just finished Tevinter Nights, I have un fucktonne of questions and theories. But, below are a few of the subjects/problems that I can’t stop thinking about.  I’m curious how other people interpret them, or if I’ve missed some critical details, because it seems like there’s some retconning going on.

so, spoiler warnings apply, since i’m about to discuss the Big Doings below the cut.

The most immediately relevant items come from the final story, right? BUT, because of the nature of the characters, I sort of assumed that much of “The Dread Wolf Take You” is a study in unreliable narrators. Can any of the tales be believed after Charter exposes the Bard? Do we move forward assuming the puzzle pieces we’re trying to fit together are the correct ones, or tread carefully on the word of a known liar?

Nothing about the Assassin’s Tale fits the facts we know: 

Meredith’s corpse didn’t actually stay in the middle of the square in uptown Kirkwall. Her remains were taken away to The Black Emporium. (iirc, Varric mentions this in one of the recent comics)

Pieces of her sword (Certainty) were re-forged for Samson to use in service of Corypheus, a sword which eventually passes to the Inquisition.

A shard of the idol continues to exist outside of Meredith’s remains, or her re-forged blade. Depending on worldstates, the shard is either a weapon rune--forged by Sandal and given to Hawke--or it was given to Varric (who then gave it to Bianca to study, I think). 

In the comics, and in a few of the short stories, the fiasco of Fen’Harel’s agent losing the red lyrium “item” is cleverly handled from a lore-continuity perspective. It’s only ever referred to as a “weapon,” which could mean a lot of things, and allows for greater freedom in describing it in later media. Until the Assassin’s Tale, I firmly believed they were talking about Certainty. Now we’re supposed to believe it’s been the magically re-formed Primeval Idol this whole time, freshly revealed (by the equally untrustworthy Mortalitasi) as a go-go-Gadget ritual blade.

So, are the Tales a cheeky narrative lie, or is it all lore retcon? If it’s a retcon... -What ritual could the blade have originally served? -Might it actually be a key, as lots of people have theorized? -Is there really a potion that can melt lyrium? -Does Solas actually have the idol now, or was his entire story a lie to cover the truth that he still hasn’t found it?

Also, uh. . .Can Solas just. . .kill people while they sleep/dream, even dwarves? I mean, he has demonstrated the ability to create a “dreamlike” state for a dwarf Inquisitor. But, this power seems OP, even for him, and narrative reach. Possibly it’s further evidence that nothing in “The Dread Wolf Take You” can be trusted. 1. If the plans for the Fade are already underway, what does this mean for people like Evangeline, Anders, Grandin, and Sigrid, who’re possessed by spirits/demons? It’s possible they’ll be forcibly separated. Those (like Evangeline) who’re only alive because of their spirit, will likely die. Without Justice, Anders might finally succumb to the taint. 

There are probably thousands of people across Rivain and Seheron, and among the Avvar and the Dalish, who’re contentedly hosting spirits. Would these spirits allow their mortal hosts to be harmed by Solas? Or could there be resistance to his plan from the Fade side of things?

Lots of the stories in Tevinter Nights include the theme of outliers breaking ranks from within a seemingly monolithic society: the Ben Hassrath don’t support the Antaam in their campaign, the Venatori and their supporters operate in defiance of Tevinter, the Crows had one of their Talons disrupt a centuries-old pact.

Going forward in the next game, we might see a spirit faction that, for any number of reasons, acts against The Dread Wolf’s plan to sunder the Veil.

2. Why does everyone in this book describe the red lyrium idol as having only two figures, when every depiction of it that we’ve seen clearly shows three? The crowned figure is (if Solas is to be believed) comforting one person, but no mention of the other poor soul, an even more skeletal figure who seems to be missing their left forearm, and is stuck on the other side of the large ring. No love for that dingus, I guess. Very curious.

And no mention of the serpentine shape that surrounds all three of them.

3. The sea is going to be a big part of the next stage of this story. 

-Mythal’s origin has her emerging from the sea. -In “Luck in the Gardens, the 8 Venatori who were tasked with keeping the “formless” monster in its sealed prison each wore a clay amulet depicting a thin four-winged dragon rising above a sea. -“The Horror of Hormak” describes the viscous gray transformation fluid (and the monsters it creates) as stinking of brine. -The Mortalitasi’s Tale includes a reference to The Dread Wolf screaming about the Sea of Dreams. -The Executors appear to be stepping into the action, finally. They are known as ‘those across the sea.’ -Among the murals discovered during Trespasser, there are some that include imagery of flowing water: The Death of a Titan, and  Lifting the Vallaslin -Before ascending to godhood, Ghilain’nain killed all of her creations. . .except the giant monsters in the deepest waters. Lore says “Pride stopped her hand,” which could mean that she spared them because she was too proud of how perfectly-made they were. Or, that an aspect of Pride (as a demon or spirit), convinced her to let them live.

4. I’ve always thought that the painted murals of Trespasser and those completed at Skyhold are actually of a different sort, in a very specific way. Much of the ornamentation, symbology, and iconography that’s used in the various frescoes in Trespasser. . .isn’t found in Skyhold’s frescoes.   My feeling, based on these differences in style, and the uneven quality of the paintings in the Vir’Dirthara, is that the murals in Trespasser have been painted-over. 

-Thanks to Gatsi, we know that the mosaics we worked so hard to complete for the Inquisition were all re-carved by several hands over the ages, making it difficult to get an accurate interpretation from them.

-During “The Horror of Hormak,” Ramesh and Lesha encounter mosaics depicting elven kings and queens, and their subjects. But the mosaics shift and change the longer they stare at them. The scenes transform from a glittering parade of nobility offering succor to their subjects. . .to a death-march of tyrants forcing magical torments on their slaves. 

-In “Genitivi Dies in the End,” our industrious well-traveled Brother is humbled when he discovers an elven tome that depicts the continent of Thedas in superior and, crushingly, more correct detail to anything he’s ever seen. Which means that either the continent has changed dramatically, or all the maps that exist in modernity are based upon a flawed (altered) source.

There’s an established trope of people from all parts of Thedas altering relics in order to change history’s interpretation of them. So, why would the frescoes/murals be any different? I believe that either Solas, or someone loyal to Solas, altered the murals in order to obscure the truth behind them. 

If we believe Philliam, a Bard! (though, again, an unreliable narrator), the Qunari Rasaan disbelieves all of the names attributed to Solas, either by his enemies or himself. As Philliam posits, to know Solas’ true name would be know the best and worst of him, his flaws and weaknesses, and what he’d “failed to be.”

Essentially, I think we’re being misled at every turn. And this leads me to. . .

5. None of the stories in Tevinter Nights expands on the role of dwarves in past and future conflicts. We get lots of new and juicy stuff on Tevinter, Nevarra, mages, elves, the Crows, the Lords of Fortune, even the Qunari. Noticeably and glaringly absent is any mention of dwarves, titans, and how they fit into the unfolding lore.

One of the largest and most influential groups of dwarves in all of Thedas (The Ambassadoria) lives right in the heart of Minrathous. Above ground. Vulnerable to the invading Qunari and Fen’Harel’s agents.

Dwarves are as tellingly absent in this set of stories as dragons were in all the Evanuris revelations.

The one place where those two things intersect. . .is out in the Hissing Wastes, near the Sunstop mountains (which has always sounded to me like the same naming convention as Skyhold).  

Out there, we come across a dwarven thaig, the only thaig to have been built above ground, that pre-dates the first Blight. It’s called Kal Repartha, which means ‘a place where we may meet in peace.’ Paragon Fairel and his sons appear to have built the thaig as a way to escape some huge conflict in the Deep Roads. 

Statues of Mythal’s dragon form are arranged in places of honor outside Fairel’s tomb. As if in protection. 

Fairel was a rune-smith, one of the greatest who ever lived. Mythal might have worked with Fairel toward some common goal, relying on his skills to make devastating weapons, runic keys for hidden places, or repositories of knowledge best kept secret. She might have protected Fairel as a respected friend and ally.

Reaching a little deeper, Mythal may have helped separate the ancient dwarves from the hivemind control of the titans, freeing them to create their own vibrant society, far from the “witless, soulless” existence they lived as drone-like workers. 

(As an interesting aside, Fairel wrote about dragons, proving that dragons, dwarves, and the Evanuris existed at the same time)

It just seems like the root of this unfolding elven lore is the Titans themselves, the life they created in the dwarves and the tangible world, the innate power of their blood, and the knowledge that was stolen from them. Why don’t dwarves feature more heavily in the anthology?

That’s it. That’s my tinfoil haberdashery at the moment. Thoughts? Corrections?

[cutieink]

Long Lost Lavellan

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Solas x Mabel Lavellan

Zevran Arainai x Quinnel Surana

9:45 Dragon

Mabel Lavellan sits at her writing desk, staring off into her unfinished letter as she thinks of how much has changed. It’s been a year since she decided to continue the Inquisition as a way to protect her Divine and find a way to stop her Vhenan from ending this world.  Not to mention losing her arm. Just had to pick up that blighted orb with my dominate hand didn’t I? She often thinks when she struggles to do tasks that use to be so simple. She has worked hard on her penmanship these past months, trying to get some of her independence back. It is still scratchy but at least it is now legible to most…yet still not as pretty as the way she used to write. She lets out a long sigh as she finally looks away and pinches the bridge of her nose.

“Ah, is this a bad time my dear Inquisitor?” Mabel jolts out of her chair with a yelp to quickly find the source of the voice. Behind her she sees a dark figure rest against the window sill, cackling at her jumpiness.

As her eyes adjust she sees the intruder is wearing a black hooded cape with sliver plated armor cascading down his arms and legs that shined in the sunlight. She relaxes and rolls her eyes with a light scoff before answering. “Makers breath! Spymaster Arainai, I told you to stop coming in through the windows!”

The man steps forward and gracefully tugged his hood off revealing his long, graying, blond locks. “And I have told you to call me Zevran instead of my title on plenty occasions and yet here we are, defying each other! Tsk tsk, so naughty of us.” Zev says with a grin as he walks towards the desk and sits with his legs draped over the side.

Mabel sits back in her chair while glaring up at the Antivan elf which was only returned with a devilish smile from him that somehow made her expression soften. She lets out a sigh. “I suppose that’s fair…Zevran. Now I assume there is something you wanted?”

“Ah I only wish to waste your time if you have a moment. You seemed quite…busy with your thoughts yes?” He question with a quirked of an eyebrow.

Mabel let out a small chuckle at his expression. “Did I now? Well it’s nothing for you to worry yourself about I assure you. Just a personal matter.”

“I see…” his gaze lowers to the paper on the desk that only says “Dear Keeper,” in very jolted writing. Mabel sees where his eyes have drifted and quickly puts her hand over it as her face turns crimson. “Trouble with the famiglia I take it?”

She knew he would keep pressing the issue, his wife Quinnel Surana had warned her about that before leaving him and their daughter in her care while she went off to continue her mission to find a cure for the Calling. “You can’t hide anything from him, trust me I’ve tried. He just finds a way around your silence. I’ll be quite cross with him though if he tries to make you talk the way he...persuades me too.” the hero had said with a nervous chuckle. Guess there is no point in lying. She thought.

“It’s…been a long time since I’ve written to my clan.”

“Hmm, how long?”

“About a year,” She raises her wrapped residual arm and let out a frustrated sigh.  “I’m sure you can guess why.”

He releases a chuckle and furrows his brow in confusion. “Forgive me for pestering you with silly questions my dear but you could have had someone write for you till your regained your writing skills, no?”

“Obviously, I did after…what happened, but I have not sent word since…not personally at least.” She looks up at him and see’s how he is cocking his head to the side awaiting her to elaborate. “…Let’s just say they weren’t super thrilled with me telling them everything our people believed was a lie and my ex was the Dread Wolf.”

He stroked his chin in thought. “Hmm, yes I can see why that might cause some…tension between you all. They did believe you, yes?”

“I’m not entirely certain. They could believe Solas was who he says but they don’t believe his story. Can’t say I blame them…he was our God of betrayal in our tales.”

“But you certainly believe.” His voice is less brash then before. It catches her off guard hearing what sounds almost like…sympathy in his tone.

If she was honest she did. Maybe it was foolish after his deception, but her love for him made her see the truth in his sorrowful eyes when he told her everything that day in the crossroads. “His story did line up with the information we obtained in the crossroads, sadly I doubt that is enough for the world to believe him or I…but it doesn’t matter what anyone believes. What matters is his intent is to end this world and I have to change his mind… somehow.”

He thought to ask what she would do if she could not change his mind but…he knew. He was sure that she had discussed the morbid alternative enough and it would only agitate her more than he had already. “…Well! If anyone can change his ways, it would be the lovely woman who stole his heart! A man can only deny his desires for so long. Trust me I speak from experience.” He gave a dashing grin while winking at her.

Mabel’s ears perk up at his words, trying not to crack a smile. Most people doubted her plan to change her Vhenan’s mind, while other said they understood but she could see judgment in their gaze. Yet in his golden eyes…she could almost believe he meant it.  “Sadly I doubt my seduction skills are enough to sway him. Maybe if I send you to find him we might have a chance.”

“Ha-ha! I am quite the charmer am I not? Alas, I cannot compare to someone such as you. I sadly doubt I could make an Elven God swoon the way you have.” He dramatically rests his hand on his forehead while leaning his head back.

Mabel’s composure fully releases and lets out an enduring laugh, something she had not done in a long time in front of someone. With most of her friends gone off to live their own lives away from the inquisition, she rarely has reason to laugh nowadays.

“Ha! Such a lovely laugh, I wasn’t sure you could do that my Inquisitor.” He teased while nudging her shin with his boot.

“Well in this environment there isn’t much to make me.” Her smile falters as she is reminded of all her friend’s scattered across Thedas. A selfish part of her wished they stayed by her side, but she knows they all had their own duties to attended too. That did not stop her from longing for their affection. She caresses the calling crystal around her neck, reminding herself she has not lost contact with them all. “…at least not like before.”

Zevran notices her quick change in mood. He’s never been wonderful at consoling others. That was more of his loves line of work, yet he felt the need to try. He lets out a nervous chuckle. “Well I will do my best to give you reason then.”

She looks up at him and slowly smiles once more. “I…appreciate that Zevran. Thank you.”

Smiling brightly at her he hops off her desk. “Anything for you my dear Inquisitor. Truly you can ask anything of me, you are paying me after all.” He lets out a yelp as she scoffs and hit him in the shin with her boot.

“Ass.” She says with a giggle. He holds his shin for a minute glaring at her but joins in her little giggle fest.

“You are lucky mi amor is not here. She does not take kindly to people abusing me so.” He said pouting.

“I’m sure she’d know it was justified.” She said with a smirk.

“Sadly I think you’re right.” He sighs in agreement. “Anyway I do hope you find something to say to your Keeper. I’d give some advice but I fear I don’t have much knowledge on family quarrels.”

Mabel only knew a little of Zevran’s life before he joined The Hero of Ferledon’s fight to stop the blight. She knew he was part of the Crows and thanks to his wife was freed from their hold on him, but she had never asked how he even became a Crow. “Forgive me if I’m out of line, but were you taken from your family at a young age?”

Zevran’s eyes became hooded by her question. He gave a faint smile while looking at the floor. “Not at all Inquisitor, I have no problem discussing my past with you. And no, in fact I had no family to speak of. My mother died giving birth to me so I was raised in the whore house she worked in…and I was not “taken”; rather I was sold to them when I was but a boy of 7.”

Her eyes widen in response. She knew the Crows to be cruel; why else would she help him destroy their organization in return for his help with the Inquisition. But she was unaware he had spent most of his life with them. She could only imagine what he must have endured. “Zevran…I’m so sorry.”

“People always react with such words of sorrow. I do not understand why, it is not like you were the whore who sold me or the men that instructed me to kill my brothers and sisters in arms.” He folds his arms uncomfortably while leaning against a bookcase near the desk.

“True enough…but I’m sorry all the same that you had to go through such things.” She said rising from her chair to look at him.

He averts her gaze and scoffs. “You sound like my wife; needlessly kind. Truly though I would not change anything if you are wondering.”

Her gaze left him as she leaned against her desk. “I wish I could say the same.” She said under her breath. She regretted everything and nothing if that made any bloody sense. She would not trade the world for the friends she had made after becoming the “Herald of Andraste” and yet every so often she wished it all never happened to her. Never getting close to people she’d care more for then they probably did of her and never foolishly falling for a God who threatens to take everything she loves away. Was her heart not enough for him? He said he took no joy in what he felt he must do and yet she felt as if he and the world mocked her pain. When she sees him in the fade while she dreams, she cannot tell if he is tormenting her or longing for her as she idiotically does for him. She feels breathless and feels the urge to weep as her nails dig into wood of the desk.

Zevran sees her struggling with her thoughts. He sees a young girl forced into a role she never asked for and is paying for not only her actions but everyone’s. Such an over told tragedy, and yet I know not how to help…a change of subject perhaps? He thinks. “Y-you know my mother was Dalish…at least that is what I’ve been told.”

Her attention immediately snaps back to him as she clears her throat to gain her composure back. “Really? How did she…how’d she get to Antiva?”

“Ah oldest tale in the book you know? She fell for an elven woodcutter and left her old life behind to run away with him only to have him die of some filthy disease, leaving her with his debt to pay off by selling her body.” He said with a shrug. Mabel’s eyes widened in shock, strangely…this was similar to a tail she had heard growing up.

9:29 Dragon

“Da’len! Come here!” Mabel’s grandmother called to her in a very hoarse voice. A small Mabel lavellan walks quickly to her side.

“Did you need something grammy?” Mabel said in a shy but cheerful tone.

“No Vhenan, I am fine. I only wished to see how you were doing.”

“I’m fine. Why?” Her grandmother gazes at the other children in the camp.

“I’ve been watching you my child. Rarely do I see you interact with the other Da’len’s in our clan. You worry me my dear.”

“I just don’t feel like playing with them. I’d rather play with the halla!” she exclaimed with a wide smile showing off the gap in her front teeth. Her grandmother couldn’t help but smile back even with her worry.

“Hmph, you may look just like your father, but you remind me so much of my first daughter.”

This confuses Mabel. Mama never said she had an older sister. She puzzled. Her grandma see’s the confusion written on her face.

“Ah…I doubt she has told you much of her…she never did forgive her for leaving. But you should know of your aunt. No one should be forgotten so easily.” She pats the grass near her. “Sit, Mabel.” With wide eyed fascination, she did as she told not breaking her intense gaze from her grandma. She was given a weak smile in response by her before she let out a long tired sigh.

“Long before I had your mother, I had another daughter named Kiera. She was much like you as I said. Shy but if she loved something she was quite passionate about it. She kept to herself most of the time. She loved exploring the forest outside our clan.” She furrowed her brow, defining her wrinkles even more. “One day, when she was a young woman, she came back from a stroll and told me she met a city elf, a woodcutter she said, and that she wished to see him again. I told her she should not trust anyone outside our clan…but she went and saw him again anyway.”

“Were you mad at her?”

“…I did not react well to her defiance. So, yes I was…and I’m afraid my anger drove her away. When your mother was just a few years younger than you, Kiera left a note and vanished in the night as we slept. She had run off with the boy to Antiva City and said she was never coming back…and she never did.” The old elf’s voice cracks with grief and bows her head. She feels her da’len’s arms wrap around her arm, giving her a gentle squeeze.

“Do you want me to go find her when I’m big and strong Grammy? Maybe I can bring Aunty Kiera home.” Mabel said with hopeful eyes looking up at her. Her grandma’s golden eyes well up with tears as she looks at her.

“No Vhenan. If she is even still…if she does not wish to come back to us, then that is her choice. I will ask one thing of you though my dear.” She said petting her granddaughter’s hair.

“What is it?”

“If you ever feel like straying from your people, please…do at least write to us. So we know you are safe. That is all I ask.” She sees her Da’len let out a faint giggle.

“I’m not going anywhere Grammy, but if I did, I promise.”

“That’s my girl.” She whispers as he hugs her granddaughter as tight as she can. Not ever wanting to let go.

A single tear trails down Mabel’s face as she stares into the same golden eyes as her late grandmother.

“Lavell-I mean Inquisitor, are you alrig-oof!” He almost loses his balance as Mabel crashes into him and squeezes her arms around his torso but shifts his stance in time to hold steadily. He slowly wraps his arms around her small frame with sincerity yet confusion. “I…feel like I’m missing something.”

Her sobs turn into a light giggle. “I’m sorry. Maker you must think I’m crazy. Honestly I don’t know if you’ll believe me if I tell you.” She admitted while wiping her tears away quickly.

“Try me, Inquisitor. I am sure I have heard crazier in my lifetime.” He said smoothing his hand across the apex of her back. It is so much to take in; that the aunt she longed to find has been dead for years but fate had sent her cousin to her side. She might have failed to keep contact with her clan like her grandmother asked, but maybe finding this closure for her family will be a way to make amends.

The thought is comforting enough to give her confidence to finally speak. “Well…I believe I just found something to start my letter with; how I just found another Lavellan.” She raises her eyebrows in a way to ask if he gets what she is trying to say. He cocks his head to the side while squinting his eyes at her. Obviously not she assumes.

She lets out a sigh and continues. “Zevran…I was told I had an Aunt that left our clan years ago to run away with a city elf to Antiva. We never knew what happened to her…but I think I just found out.”

His eyes slowly widen in realization. “You…you can’t possibly be serious. I do enjoy a good joke Inquisitor but I’m afraid this is not one I enjoy.” He hisses as he backs away from her.

“Zevran I swear to you, I would never joke of such things! I would only say this if I was certain.” She takes one of his hands in hers and gives it a gentle squeeze. “I-I believe you are my cousin.” His face softens at her words and hesitantly walks closer.

Zevran never imagined he’d find his mothers clan, then again there was a time he never imagined creating a family of his own. Yet now he stands here in the present, with a beautiful wife and daughter and now… a cousin. A bright smile bursts onto his face as he squeezes her hand back before letting go to pull her into a death grip of an embrace. “Mia Cugina, ho un Cugina!” he muffled into her shoulder. He feels her pat his back almost frantically.

“Zev…can’t breathe.” She manages wheeze out.

“Oh! Apologizes Cugi-I mean Inquisitor.” He exclaimed with a gasp, letting go of her quickly. As she catches her breath she laughs.

“No need for formalities Zevran.” She puts her hand on his shoulder. “We are family after all.” She lets out a chuckle with tears still streaming down her face.

Ah chuckle leaves his lips as well while he tries to rub her tears away with the padding of his gloved thumb. “Hehe, that we are.” He pauses as he contemplates what he should say next. “I-I have so many questions but I do not wish to bombard you all at once, and I doubt you know much of my mother.”

“Well I know her name was Kiera.” She sees him repeat his mother’s name under his breath with a bashful smile.  “My Grandmother said she was quite shy but a very passionate person, and loved to explore. I assume you must look a lot like her…at least you do look like my grandmother.” Zevran’s eye lit up. Even if she did not know much, there was oddly satisfying learning more about the mother and family he never knew.

“Passionate and adventuress you say?  Ha! So that is where I get it. Please do tell me how I resemble your Grandmother! She must have been lovely!”

Not always true to his word, he did bombard her with questions. For the next hour they lounged on the floor of Mabel’s room as Zevran asked every question he could summon about their clan. Any questions she was unable to answer, she began to write down as she finished her letter to her clan as they chatted away. At one point he realized he needed to send a letter to his wife telling her the good news so Mabel gave him a quill and paper so he could write to her while they still sat and enjoyed each other’s company.

“Are you finished Cugina?”

She looks at her letter and thinks she is finally content with it. “I think so. Are you?”

“Sì.” He says standing while stretching his arms over his head, letting out a groan of disapproval as his back cracks.

“Getting old are we?” she says with a devilish grin as she folds her letter to fit in an envelope.

“How dare you! I am as spry as a child…I just sat for too long.” He huffed while glaring down at her, making her giggle in response. He sighed while extending his hand to help her from the floor.  She pinches the letter between her frail bicep and side so she can take his hand. As she stands she looks up at him and sees he is warmly smiling back at her. She returns it for a moment but it begins to fade quickly.

She was happy but she could not help but let her mind wonder back to upsetting thoughts.  Maybe this news of a lost cousin wasn’t enough to mend the hurt she must have caused her clan or what if they wouldn’t accept Zevran as family. He seemed so excited at the prospect of extended family and the thought that she had gotten his hopes up made her wish she wasn’t so quick to tell him all of this. “Is something wrong Cugina? Did I upset you in some way?” The worry in his voice snaps her back to reality and she shakes her head.

“No not at all…I just…I should tell you Zev, I have no idea what my clan will say about all this. If I’ve lost their trust, they might not even respond to me.” She looks down remorsefully with a sigh. “I fear I may have raised your hopes for nothing.” A chuckle leaves his lips causing her to curiously look back up at him.

“My dear, it does not matter to me if not all my questions are answered let alone being a fully fledged Lavellan! Why ever would I need such things? I live a fantastic life as it is! I have a stunningly beautiful wife, a perfect daughter, powerful friends all over Thedas and now…I have you to call my family as well, yes?” He raises his eyebrow in question. Her eyes sting from the tears she holds back as she lets a faint laugh escape her.

“Maker of course, Zev. If we weren’t I wouldn’t have allowed you to call me cousin in your native tongue for the past hour now would I?”

“Ah a fair point indeed. In that case I am truly a lucky man. I never expected to learn anything of my mother or her clan so finding you is truly a miracle.” He delicately takes her hand in his. “I have been gifted many in my lifetime so trust me I know when I see one in front of me, and I have learned to treasure them always.” His other hand gently holds the back of her head so he can leave a chaste kiss on her freckled forehead.

The display of affection loosens her hold on her emotions once more as a single tear escapes her duct. Trying to hide it she buries herself in his embrace, not knowing what to say. He does not seem to mind as he lovingly pets her hair till he breaks the silence as he clears his throat and guides her to look at him once more.

“Well, I should go and tell my darling figilia she and I have a new cousin. She will be over the moon I’m sure! She is quite a lucky little pup is she not?”

“Yes I’m sure she’ll be quite ecstatic knowing she’ll have yet another highly regarded person to spoil her rotten. Because trust me I will if I haven’t been already.” Mabel says with a chuckle as she wipes the remaining tears from her face.

“Haha Yes, her mother The Hero of Fereldon, a uncle as King, an aunty the Divine and now her Cousin, The Herald of Andraste herself! Only the very best for mia figlia, no?” he says beaming with pride.

Mabel couldn’t help but feel just as lucky in this moment. There was much in her life to feel burdened by, but for the first time in what felt like ages, she felt hopeful. She had not be sure this past year if she had a family anymore but at least now, she knew even if she was cast away by her clan, she’ll still have family. “Yes and a loving papa to boot. Perhaps spoiled is not a strong enough word for what she is.” She says with a warm smile.

He tries to hide his reddening cheeks with another hardy laugh. “Ha! You may be right about that my dear, and yet I’d have it no other way.” He plucks Mabel’s letter from her hand causing her to yelp in surprise. “Before I see her though I will take our letters and see that they get sent off, yes? Oh! And after I do so, would you care to have dinner with us tonight? I’m thinking…crab cakes?”

His puppy dog stare and almost pleading grin easily makes her give into his offer. “Thank you Zevran that would be lovely. I just need to make a quick call before I take my leave.” She said as she grips the calling crystal around her slender neck.

“Excellent! I will see you soon then yes?” she gives him an eager but quick nod. “Then I will take my leave my dear Inquisitor.” He bows dramatically, “Do tell your handsome Magister friend I say hi!” He gives one final dashing smile and then begins to make his way down the stairs to the door. Mabel smiles and begins to open her necklace till she lets out a gasp in realization.

“Oh! Wait Zev!” she shuts the necklace closed and begins her way towards the stairs till she sees a head poke out over the banister.

“Hmm?”  He hums in question awaiting her response.

“You never told me why you came up here in the first place. It must have been important enough for you to not just come through the front door.” She props her fist on her hip with a raised eyebrow, ready for any news, good or bad. Zevran lets out an abrupt laugh in response.

“Oh, that! I but wished to check up on you my dear, nothing more. You seemed more on edge than usual today and I know you are not one to open up easily so I thought maybe sneaking up on you might get you talking.” Her mouth dropped in bewilderment. “One cannot say my devious plan didn’t work, hmm?” he asks with a prideful smirk on his face as he rests his chin on the banister.

Slowly she returns his grin and huffs out a laugh as she looks down. “I suppose so…Cousin?”

“Yes?”

She meets his gaze again and gives him a warm smile. “…Thank you.”

His grin softens to a bashful smile as he backs away from the banister and starts to descend the stairs again. “See you at dinner Mabel.”

She stands in the middle of her room once again alone with her thoughts, but for the first time in what feels like eons, her head is not fogged with painful reminders of the past or future. She does not think of her friend’s absence, her clan’s disappointment, and stresses of being Inquisitor, not even her Dread Wolfs betrayal or plans infiltrates her happiness in this moment. A happy sigh leaves her full lips as she allows herself to indulge in a true moment of silence. As she smiles to herself thinking of what the rest of the day has in store for her thanks to her Cousin, she feels a vibrating hum against her chest pull her back to reality. “Oh!” Mabel gasps remembering she had forgotten why she was even still in this room.  She fumbles her necklace open as quickly as she can. “Hello Dorian!”

“There you are! The blighted sun has most set over here and you have not called me once today... I was beginning to think you’d forgotten about poor little old me.” She can almost feel his pouting from across Thedas. She rolls her eyes but giggles at his annoyance of her tardiness.

“Oh stop your moaning, how could I ever forget about my dearest and most handsome friend?”

“Hmm, that is true. Fine you’re forgiven! But seriously where were you… is everything alright?” She smiles as his concern knowing for once when she said everything was fine, things truly were.

“Yes everything is fine I’m sorry I took so long I had some personal matter to deal with.”

“Oh? Did you finally send that letter to your clan?”

“Yes, yes I finally did. Thanks to Zevran actually.”

“…That flirtatious new spymaster of yours?”

“Yes oddly enough. He says hi by the way.” She hears him chuckle but allows her to finish. “Actually I found out something quite amazing about him today.”

“Oh really? Do tell.” She bites her lip in anticipation of what her friend’s reaction will be. She takes a deep breath and begins…

“Well, it might be hard to believe but...”

[allisondraste]

Betrayals, Vengeance, and Curses, Oh My!

It is a frigidly cold day, classes were cancelled, as well as any appointments in the clinic, so I have time to sit down and write up A Theory on which I have been noodling for weeks.  Sit back, buckle up, and keep your arms and legs and any other appendages inside the ride at all times, because I’m not the most efficient at lore meta, but I’m going to give it a good college try.

When I first played DA:O back in 2009 when I was but a mere 14-year-old child, I immediately got Big Bad Vibes from Flemeth.  They were the kind of vibes that I got from the evil queens in fairy tales.  I thought, “She is definitely more evil than she looks.  Need to watch out!” Then…

Nothing happened.  A Blight came, I killed Flemeth for Morrigan, only for her to reappear in DA2 with a cryptic message for Hawke & and Co., and then again in DA:I to take back the Old God Soul from Kieran (if it exists), to torment Morrigan, and to have some interesting Dialogue with Solas after the credits.  She was in The Stolen Throne, too,  from the very beginning “nudging” history in a direction.  Still, she always seemed to be behind the scenes, her motives unclear and her actions confusing.  We were distracted with darkspawn and archdemons, mages and templars, rebellion, breaches, red lyrium, Coryphenutz, and the Dread Wolf himself Mr. Fen’Harel.  

After seeing a thread of tweets discussing Flemeth’s “true nature,” as it is described in the RPG Sourcebook Faces of Thedas, as well as reading Morrigan’s banter with Solas regarding Mythal,  I was reminded of my initial feelings about her and my disparate shards of a theory began to fall into place, and here it is.

The Nature of Mythal

Conversations between Morrigan and Solas in the Temple of Mythal reveal to us that like spirits, Mythal’s nature is/was dual.  She is Justice, protective and fierce, but she is also Vengeance, brutal and merciless.  Solas reveals that most people who prayed to Mythal did so seeking out vengeance against those who wronged them.  “She is both and she is neither,” he explains.  Solas also shows some ambivalence toward Mythal, wavering between adoration and fear from one breath to the next.  It seems as if Mythal had a dark side, and that it is terrifying.

Mythal was killed by her own people.  “The best” of the Evanuris was destroyed, leading to the fall of the people.  Solas states that the Evanuris do not die so easily, and we certainly see Mythal pop up several times, so what is actually meant by “death?”  I believe that “death” in this context is the death of the aspect of Mythal that served as protector.  Justice disappeared and the once motherly woman be was consumed with Vengeance toward those who betrayed her.  How did she enact this revenge?  Stay tuned, because I will answer that very question.

The Possession of Flemeth

It is no secret that possession by a spirit of Justice/Vengeance can lead to some pretty serious repercussions, as the spirit’s purpose is affected by the feelings of the mortal it inhabits.  We watch Anders’ passion and anger toward the institution that oppressed him turn Justice into a stubborn, powerful force that will stop at nothing to see its ends met.  Anders, who just wanted freedom from the Circle and its Templars becomes consumed with the need to exact revenge instead.  

What then, if one were not only to be possessed by a spirit of Justice, but a powerful ancient elven mage who embodied those same characteristics?  We know that in her sorrow, Flemeth cried out for help and was answered by a wisp of Mythal.  Moved by the mortal woman, Mythal takes her form, and carries on vengeful, spiteful, and completely unstoppable in her mission, whatever that might be.

The Faces of Thedas conveys Flemeth as a master manipulator who is easily provoked into drastic, disastrous actions.  She is incredibly powerful and unable to be killed by anything less than someone of equal or greater power (sounds kind of like slaying an archdemon, doesn’t it?).  In other words,  she is immortal, invincible and Void bent on seeing those who betrayed her suffer.

Zathrian, Witherfang, The Lady of the Forest, and ...Foreshadowing? 

I am sure everyone here is familiar with Zathrian and his werewolf afflicted clan of elves.  Zathrian was forced to watch as a band of human men tortured and killed his children.  Filled with sorrow and fury, he summoned a spirit and bound it to the body of a wolf, which he then set upon the humans, causing them to become werewolves.  Even after 500 years, his anger and need for vengeance remain.  

The Lady of the Forest serves as a source of wisdom and calm that holds back the savage nature of the beast and Witherfang.  The spirit was pleased to be given consciousness and form by her maker, yet she did not relish in her duty to eternally punish these humans for the crimes of their ancestors.  She took no joy in watching them suffer, and began to reach out to Zathrian in an attempt to convince him to end the curse.  She is willing to die so that the curse will be lifted, but Zathrian refuses to submit until he is brought to his knees and given with no other option.

He lifts the curse, which kills him and destroys the spirit.

The Connection

In Trespasser, Spirit! Cole has several banters where he implies that Solas was a spirit of wisdom who never wanted a physical form, and never wanted to fight, but was asked to do so by Mythal.  He became bound to this identity of the Dread Wolf that struck fear into the hearts of his enemies.  But is the Dread Wolf simply an identity, or is it more than that?

In a lot of the murals we see depicting Fen’Harel, we see a corrupted dark creature with glowing red eyes that seems to call us back to imagery of corruption, red lyrium, and the Blight.  In some of the images, Solas seems to be one and the same with the wolf, and in others (such as the one from the new trailer) he seems to be in opposition to it.  

What if Solas, like the Lady of the Forest was summoned and bound to a curse that would serve to punish those who betrayed his summoner?  What if he is responsible for unleashing the Blight, but also the only barrier against it?  What if he has finally realized that in order to save his people who are now suffering needlessly, he must amass enough power to stand against Mythal and defeat her.  Like the Lady of the Forest, he is prepared to end his own life to save people who are paying a price for crimes they did not commit?

What Does This Mean?

Ultimately, if this theory is true, it means pain, and a lot of it.  It would seem that in order to stop Mythal’s vengeance, Solas would have to gain enough power to be her equal, and then kill her, absorbing her soul so that it can be destroyed instead of hopping into Morrigan or perhaps another who drank from the Vir Abelasan. Perhaps the WellDrinker will have to die, too, in order for the curse to be ended. Ultimately there are a lot more questions that arise because of this, and I know that there are definitely some major holes in the theory, but I cannot seem to shake it.  I think that Mythal, Solas, and the Blight are all connected in some way, and that perhaps it is a motif we have seen before in Zathrian’s story, in Flemeth’s story, and even further back in Andraste’s story even.  

I believe that the big evil force is and has always been Flemythal.  Her betrayal and murder by the Evanuris created a great, evil, and nearly unstoppable force.  I’m looking forward to learning the truth, to see how it compares with what I have hypothesized.

[nothisis-ridiculous]

A Most Unholy Inquisitor Ch. 30

Another Inquisitor Trevelyan Story.

With none of Andraste’s knickers!

Featuring Guinevere Trevelyan, and The Gang.

The Inquisitor stumbled passed the throne, her heavily lidded eyes and cocked mouth alluding to her condition. Sheer nightgown kept from fluttering away by the tight folding of her arms. Hair dry, but uncombed. The slightest hint of makeup left behind in a hurried attempt to wash it away. The Herald had other matters more pressing than a refined appearance. She strode with a slow and steady determination. A left turn took loosely, and pace unfaltering as she marched through the chambers Solas inhabited throughout all hours of the day and night. No heed given to the elf or the biting cold of the wind that threatened to rip through her excuse for a cover. The Commander's door thrown open unceremoniously. "Guinevere," the man only taking a microsecond to recover from being startled, "I wasn't expecting- not that, Maker's Breathe aren't you cold?" The parenting Commander neglecting the papers he had been so diligently reading to attend to his Herald, quickly gathering her into his arms. Still dressed so casually as he had been just hours ago, "the one time you need to honestly burrow my surcoat, and it's-" he fretted on in little more than a mumble. With a heavy sigh, his nose settled into her hair, "it was foolish not to stay. Forgive me." He couldn't have expected the cold steel that pressed into his spine.

~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ The Knight-Commander of the Templar Order was not sure that the Herald of Andraste was quite herself. He had felt something thick, and slightly sweet build in his throat before she had even come through the door that leads to her private quarters. His attention being called to her, before he was aware that a figure would be exiting those chambers. It never beckoned something favorable, and the slow build of molasses did not coalesce until the mage had passed him. The servant that trailed her already crossing his path. "Inquisitor, I-" Far be it for him to pay attention to any of the gossips that galloped around Skyhold, but there had been many whispers about her many adventures during the night. And not the kind that had her scurrying away from the Commander to avoid embarrassment. That was quite well known and accepted; the sleepwalking was still a matter of debate.   His plea was ignored, and the servant gave a soft shrug. She was motioning after the moving mage, afraid that not keeping up might end in trouble. Barris let it sit for a minute before the tugging at his gut became unbearable. Even if it ended awkwardly, he felt bound to see this through. It took the next door to find another that was mildly perturbed by the persons passing through his space. "Is she just sleepwalking?" he asked in hushed tones, embarrassed to be bringing up a sensitive matter before one of her inner circle. But perhaps here this could end. The elf eyed him with scrutiny, pausing on an answer, "the Inquisitor has never made it this far." "A tryst?" gulping down the words. The man laughed, "the Inquisitor likes to retain the appearance of secret meetings." This conversation had cleared up absolutely nothing for Barris, and to top it all he was blushing. Still, he felt urged to follow after her, even after he now tried to fight his programming. She was a mage, but he didn't want to continue this line simply because of that fact. Something else had him worried, had him unable to let this string of madness go. "This feels off," he stated, soothing his reasoning. "She does usually wake before long," but even with his previously jovial words, the elf was not relaxed, "but something is amiss, a tune out of place." Barris' mind had not let that connection form, mostly out of pushing it out as a possibility. It called to him, or something in the Inquisitor's state did. Like the scent of fresh bread from the kitchens, or the lyrium on the breath of a compatriots words. It couldn't be utterly categorized like something was added to mask the usual flow — a door set where there should be a window. A third, and a trailing half joined with them in the circular room, golden eyes sweeping over the men, "seems we are all up at odd hours this evening." The conference convened much more rapidly than it had started, as the Herald's name was cried loudly from outside the main hall. Barris with a slight head start pushed roughly past the servant, taking in the scene, and subsequent shocked allowed the rest to albeit hindered, assess the situation themselves. ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ The Herald radiated blue, then flashed in bright green. Soon the two colors battling overdominance, the small office clashing in the war of colors. The bright blue was blinding, and the cooler green was giving only seconds of sight before the blinding light returned. In frames each party watched as the mage struggled to stay on her feet, both hands dripping blood and tendrils of energy. The Commander was immobilized, a blood cover dagger pointed with half faith in the direction of the mage. It dropped once he saw he was no longer alone, and vaulted the desk trajectory aimed for the figure pulsing in bright colors. Another one colliding the Herald between them, the male and female grunts coming at the same time. "Cullen, you must suppress her!" an Orlesian voice growled beneath a clenched jaw. "I couldn't, Maker's Breathe, she'd." "Now is not the time to be romantic! She'll kill us!" "Forgive me," he whispered. With the lights fading, the Knight Commander could add his strength to the Commanders. The five focused people in the room took stock of the situation. Leliana barking questions at Morrigan and Solas, after finding out that Cullen's complete attention was focused on the mage. Barris looked at the dagger and the blood that generously coated the floor. It seemed for now that the injuries were limited to the Inquisitor with some nasty wet gouges covering both palms, and some contact burns on the Commander and Spymaster. The one positive he could glean was that the thick molasses-like lump in his throat had left, leaving his head clearer. "Sister Lelianna!" Barris's notice turned the entire party to the rip of green that sputtered, then disappeared above the kneeling Inquisitor. "We need to get her out of here before she opens a rift inside the Commander's office," Solas advised, the slight uptick in his usually even tone a heeded warning cry. "The prisons, they are empty, the second section is large enough if we need to-" Cullen interrupted the Spymaster, "Now we're imprisoning her?" The momentary slip of his attention resulting in a hot blast of blue, traveling up the arm attached to the hand he wasn't aware he had placed on Guinevere's shoulder. "Unless you can tell us exactly what is happening, and that she will stop," Morrigan interfered, ignored the glare from Lady Nightingale. Cullen's shoulders slumped, "we must hurry." ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ Leliana watched in awe over the rift that threatened to swallow the entire basement portion of the dungeon. She had better things to attend to at this moment, but she was drawn to the black spires not at all distant from the tear unwillingly created by the Inquisitor. Pieces of a then light conversation with Solas had hinted she could open a rift, but that was all left at a theoretical standpoint, returned to her. Causing a chocked laugh to escape from her lips. Fortunately, the only one to catch her faux pas was Solas. Who issued in return a sly smile, before his attention returned to the Herald. "You must focus, you've cleared dozens of rifts this one is no different," he faltered, unsure for once, before his eyes returned to the rift. Drawn in by the black city before him, his intention divided between the person with the anchor and the massive rift right within his easy reach. The mage sobbed loudly, her inability to focus looked like unwillingness, she noted with a tinge of unease. The Commander was not fairing much better, the guilt very visibly building as he prepared to focus his energies on his lyrium addled lover once again. Any attempts he made at soothing her went unnoticed, and now bordered on dangerous as her mana flared again — the current in the air building to visible result. "On the count of three," Morrigan began again, unwilling to let much more time pass between another attempt. "One." Guinevere shrank, and the static in the air sharply declined. "Two." The rift pulsed, sucking into itself. The newly appointed Knight Commander gritted his teeth, sweat glistening his brow. "Three!" Solas yanked Guinevere's arm forward, holding her wavering hand steady as it strained against the green energy that issued forth. A wretched scream echoing through the chambers, the blue aura bursting back to life submerging the chamber in azure light. The window pinched, edges straining against the force that threatened to close the gap. The second scream precluded the rift returning to its previous size. The mage's mouth and nose bled. "We must stop this!" Cullen cried taking the stiff mage into his arms, lips pressing against the crux of her skull. His words turned to gentle whispers, pleading with the Inquisitor. "And leave the rift open?" Lelianna charged, "Endanger everyone at Skyhold?" "It isn't working! Perhaps," Cullen's words stuck, "perhaps she can't close it. Should we kill her on a whim?" "Commander- we can send for another templar to take your place." "Andrasta preserve me," he swore gently, "Guinevere please, you must try." "One." This was starting, the blue light that bathed the cavern faded. The Herald struggled a streak of red running from her eye in her torment. Her body shook violently. "Two." Barris' sweat ran in streaks, Morrigan and Solas's energy ready to focus on the Inquisitor.  The rift fought against the draining power, sputtering angrily at the ones attempting to curtail it. "Three!" Solas raised her arm tenderly, this time, pooling another wave of mana through the contact. The blue light had not exploded out this time, but funneled into her mark in a focused beam of energy.  Pulling shut the rift in an instant, free of the usual loud crash as the door was slammed shut. It was disappointing. Undiscussed, but necessarily, the Herald was disposed of with a quick pinch of nerves. A set of fierce, and protective amber eyes met her own. A strong grip held her wrist, intent on snapping the offending limb, "Cullen, you need to leave." "No." "Commander, you are relieved." His jaw set, the pressure around her wrist flared taking all of her poise to not yelp. The Commander could easily break it, of that she had no doubt. It wasn't a matter of him seriously injuring her, but of him causing the whole Inquisition to slow with an injured Spymaster. Not to mention his retroactive guilt- few in this room were acting in their regular manners. Expecting the fussy Commander to leave his hurting lover easily was difficult under ideal circumstances. After this tragedy; it could be almost impossible. "Cullen, please, I can watch her for you," counseled Cassandra, a face she did not remember entering the dungeon, but one she welcomed, "get some rest, it's already been a long night." Pinned between two women, and the stares of everyone else in the chamber the man released his grip with a growl. Storming his way out of the dungeon, with a single look back to his heart that he had left behind on the floor. "Can someone please explain what is happening?" Cassandra begged the lethargy in her voice pronounced, after forcing her commanding tone. "It seems like an event similar to meeting the Herald are repeating," the Nevarran looked at her with a little exasperation, "I can't be sure."

[funkypoacher]

Better or Worse

summary: Solas and the Inquisitor finally go further than making-out.

tags: multiple orgasms, cunnilingus, vaginal fingering, anal fingering, masturbation NSFW

prompt: multiple orgasms

Read it on AO3

They were together now, for better or worse – though each knew it was both and neither.

Better came with the relief of knowing she now had someone to confide in. Pillow-talk consisted of whispered worries, insight sought; questions about this or that, though never without purpose. Her heart lay bare as they bedded down, and, just as the Inquisitor came unburdened from her Inquisitor’s mantle, there was a nakedness to her words that her form could not match.  The honest fears of an honest leader found an ear with him, and Ma’ven thought clearer and acted better for having Solas in her life. His mind was both a resource and a relief.

His body, however, was neither. Night came with chaste kisses, placid smiles, and the man rolling over and going to sleep. A snore here; a hitched breath there, tapering away to a sigh. Worse came with the heat of his body next to hers. Worse came with the night. And the silence.

For Solas it was the same. Because as soon as they lay out, before the blankets were even covering, Ma’ven insisted on pressing in closer. Her hair would be about him, the only thing he could smell was the fresh bathwater on her skin, and, when her form became flush against him, every sexually-frustrated huff or coy sigh rolled through her body and somehow concentrated in her hips and then she wiggled, just slightly, in an act that seemed like innocent dozing. But it was not innocent. Not when Ma’ven insisted on sleeping naked (having affirmed with Solas that it was alright). Not when she pushed back against his budding erection and left him mustering every ounce of strength so as not to react hurriedly, but thoroughly; frenzied, and desperately.

Kissing was one thing. It was a languid thing; something simple as he navigated and negated her fears by easy, soft distraction. Ma’ven hummed while Solas buried into her neck, nipped at her ears, and it had to be enough as their lips met once more because he did not trust himself. Solas had worked hard to cultivate a reserved façade, and it cracked and wrecked when his lips were on hers. He was never so honest as when Ma’ven was in his arms, pulling his silent secrets which came in the form of his candid passion. At least with his tongue laving over hers he could not articulate words enough to form an out-right confession.

But bedding her was different. Would be different. So he kissed her and they lay in their private torment. And it certainly wasn’t better, but the alternative was far worse.

Until it wasn’t.

Her gasps were lilting. With each step closer, Solas wondered what wound she’d suffered to be losing these stifled sounds. He had left her in the morning, but she’d had no duties more dangerous than paperwork, and it was impossible that a paper-cut warranted such distressed gasping. Upon reaching the Inquisitor’s room, he saw that it was the old pain –the one he knew as well as she. And the sight of it hit him straight in the gut.

There was no look of pleasure leaving her lips slack and brow slick, however. Ma’ven sat on her bed, just as frustrated as she would’ve been were she working at treaties instead of her own sex. The woman’s fingers were crammed down her trousers, only the first few buttons having been left loose, and she was rigid and upright. Hair kept falling in her face, and she kept blowing it away as though the whole situation could not have been more annoying. And when she realized Solas was standing there, staring, finally she seemed to concede to the situation in a way that was appropriate: shock.

“Oh, fen— Solas!”

She’d been thinking about him. She’d been thinking about him watching her, with his posture straight and eyes hard, and realizing he was there made Ma’ven’s body warm violently. She wished she was more embarrassed. It would have been easier, because Solas might have left her to it, but no: the desire she’d been wallowing in all morning, and attempting to forget all afternoon, had abated to a constant numbness in her nethers that she now just wanted to get rid of. Empty loneliness had left her unable to climax, however, and now... Solas was watching her. It wasn’t what she’d pictured.

“Was there something you needed?” Ma’ven opted for casual as she canted her head to the side. She sounded calm except for the tremor playing baritone with her accent. Solas’s brow rose while hearing wanting in the waver.

“I expected you sleeping,” he explained, “but thought you might like waking with company.”

Solas’s hands knit together behind his back, and his gait was soft, confident; strutting. Ma’ven watched him practically float towards the bed while she left her hand caught in the cookie jar, as it were. Realizing she was about to be held accountable, she tried to formulate an argument that didn’t leave her appearing like a lust-addled youth, but then Solas sat at her side, hands on his knees, and she knew that look in his eyes: longing restrained by respect, and love dampened by secrets. This wasn’t about her – it was about him, although that was more what she chose read of the situation.

“You were lonely,” Ma’ven realized warmly. She smirked good-naturedly, and thought about brushing over his cheek with her free hand, though she refrained.

Solas nodded. He had no intention in steering their conversation down the bitter road, however, so he smiled small – a wolfish smile. “I was. As were you, it seems.”

Ma’ven shrugged. It called attention to where her hand still was. Extracting her digits with a self-depreciating laugh, she turned to him frankly. “Not lonely so much as enjoying some alone-time. You know I love going to sleep together. Well, I love waking up together, anyways. Going to sleep together is…”

“Precarious?”

It was one of his half-truths, but it sounded like a completed confession. Ma’ven beamed. “I’d like to take that as a compliment.” Then she considered. “Although it really just makes me realize how pathetic my self-control is.”

“You’ve been respectful,” Solas approved. He adding in deep, dark, serious tone, “Somewhat.”

Ma’ven feigned offence. “Hey, I’ve been respectfully refraining from, you know…”– exaggerated hand gestures indicated the situation– “this while you’re sleeping beside me. For, what, a month now? And it’s hard. Because you’re… you know...”

She looked the picture of bashful indiscretion while falling short of admitting he was perfect. The bulk of his shoulders which belonged to a fighter rather than a scholar; his freckle-flushed cheeks that seemed more familiar with smiling, though they insisted on sobriety. Even the lines about his face that became drawn and dark in the sparse light of the rotunda: they highlighted understanding in his eyes, and the years that he carried and she'd yet to hear about. But she loved to listen, and... Perfect – perfect in her eyes.

Solas noted it, the curtailed compliment, but lingered instead on the image she’d suggested: that of Ma’ven, hands entangled and furious, as she worked herself to an end while he slept beside her. The thought stole his breath, and Solas swallowed thickly upon realizing that the room smelled of her arousal.

"You do what must be done," the man prattled distractedly while staring hard at his hands. Harder than necessary – he hoped the metaphorical weight would keep him from looking over to Ma'ven's unbutton trousers. "You do what must be done, in duty or otherwise. If you find relief necessary..."

"Solas." Her voice was flat; hard, even. She knew. "I'm not trying to make you uncomfortable. Or feel pressured into anything. As you say, I've got to do what I've got to do, but I’m not expecting anything more from you. I want you to be comfortable. And happy.”

This earnestness was as seductive as a hand gliding up his thigh and cupping his cock. And his apathetic glance was as much a lie as the rest, for Solas was touched, and, moreover, rocked by the effect her honesty had on him. It was not simply the sincerity its self, but it was also the patience that washed over him like hot breath on his neck, and the adoration that pulled him close and held him from behind. Ma’ven knew nothing of the Wolf. Ma’ven knew only that Solas was hesitant, and she would wait for him to tell her why. And, on top of everything else, she would shoulder the burden of her desires alone because she wanted him to be happy.

Ma’ven sat there prettily, eyes bright with the hearth light, lips curled by familiar affection. Solas watched her, wondered, and plotted. For confession was a two-way street: one could not answer incriminating questions when the other was too busy screaming to ask anything in the first place.

Solas moved in close. Ma’ven took this proximity as a prelude to his lips on hers, but her brow darkened when he merely hovered near her face. He wanted to see just how nervous or grateful she might be; to observe her dark yellow eyes burn to gold with lust or misplaced guilt. Either would be fine. Neither would go ignored. Both would be remedied.

Solas slid a hand down her pants.

Squeaking, Ma’ven jerked her hips forward. Solas didn’t delve in immediately; one hand steadied himself on the bed behind, and the other brushed over below her belly, at her womb, and it made her anxious for just how damned tender it was. His strong fingers fell back and forth like brush strokes over sensitive skin, and Ma’ven worried because this was the softest part of her. He could, if he tried, cradle in his palm the protrusion of her stomach beneath the belly button. She wanted to be perfect for him. She wanted to lay out and be beautiful. She wanted—

“Solas,” she choked as his thumb joined the dance and his eyes held her still. “I don’t… Mmm. I don’t want you to feel like—“

“Yet I do,” he said, lips ghosting over hers. His voice was rich; soothing. “I feel. I feel want; affection. My reserve is not from lack of desire. I will not breach my bounds, Ma’ven. I will go as far as I am comfortable, but trust that I do not feel forced. There is no coercion here.”

She pursed her lips and nodded vigorously. It hadn’t taken much to convince her, but she’d only done what he’d asked: trust.

Solas’s finger inched down over her stomach, the mound of her pelvic bone, and sensed the promising heat at the parting of her lips. Ma’ven might have received the exploratory smoothing of his digit over her clit, but Solas felt the wetness of before when she’d been alone, for her smalls were damp, and how soaking she was now, because as he tried to enter her there was a squelch. He felt he was the luckier.

“Lay back,” Solas requested softly.

Dreamily, Ma’ven rested on the bed (it had never been this soft), and trembled as the man brought his hand out. The remaining buttons on her trousers gave. They were not pulled down, but room was made, and she wasn’t exposed but she felt like she was – and also that she was empty and needing. Solas’s breath was the only sound in the room because Ma’ven had forgotten how to inhale like it was a lost art.

Solas’s hand moved deliberately over her smalls. He teased the length of her clothed core in steady strokes, but he might as well have been rubbing her naked folds. Fussing quietly, Ma’ven gripped the bedsheets beneath. He pressed harder and harder, flicking over her pearl with the back of his forefinger, and it sent echoes that rushed to her legs. She existed only in the repeating, heavy pressure at her cunt, and the light, musical laugh Solas lost at her adorable frustration until— until—

It hadn’t even begun to build, but in a second Ma’ven pressed into the mattress while screaming silently and riding out an intense orgasm. As the room took shape again, some delirious moments later, and her eyesight made sense of things, she snorted at the beatific look on her lover’s face as Solas looked down at her.

“To be fair, I did most of the preliminary work,” Ma’ven smiled deviously. She went to sit up, but Solas’s hand pressed on her chest and kept her down. She gave him a questioning look.

“But I… I’m good,” she insisted, finally realizing a niggling of guilt now that the distraction of her lust was dissipating. Solas tilted his head, and Ma’ven smirked knowingly. “Ah. Recompense?”

Standing, the man went about shimmying off her slacks while she remained where he’d left her, watching.

“You may return the favour easily,” Solas said, standing between her legs still hanging off the bed. “Clamping around my fingers; screaming my name. Boring your heels into my back. I am not done yet.”

Grinning, he took inspiration from her startled, wordless wheeze and went to his knees. The thick scent caught up in her smalls made Solas appreciate every breath taken as he settled on the floor. There was a place for using time as his agent. A tool of provocation; a means to drive her wild and raving. That place was in bed, but instead Solas pulled her closer, so that she had to support her weight with her little feet and he would have better access.

He mouthed a hot breath of air from the back of his throat through the soaked fabric covering her womanhood. Ma’ven squeaked like she had before, and jerked her hips forward like she had before. She tensed for the misstep. Solas growled as she ground into his mouth, but it was out of hunger, and want. Pulling the cloth away in a desperate flurry, Solas stilled as he met with Ma’ven’s naked, flushed petals that shivered with the rest of her while she waited for more.

“Solas,” she choked out, toes curling on the floor at his side. She sounded so far away; so lost to letting him make her feel. So needing, and so his.

The man’s erection was persistent but ignored as he kissed softly along her inner thigh to her swollen lips, swiped once with his tongue, and Solas was surprised by the thick taste. Not by the flavor, but that it tasted at all. It had been so long since he’d been with someone, and everything, all of it, was at once new and familiar. Sweat was beading on Ma’ven’s body in the summer heat. Solas’s knees were getting sore already, but even that pain was recognized and remembered. His back was going to hurt, and his jaw… he couldn’t wait for the raw pain of rough use to agitate even to his teeth. So he started laving heavily, almost violently, along her folds and through them, licking then with just the tip of his tongue at her clit in rapid, unrelenting bursts. And there –perfection– her hands at his crown, scratching and holding.

“Fenedhis, Solas, I—“

Flicking at her pearl with his nose, Solas mouthed sloppily, assaulting her with conflicting stimulation as he buried his tongue as deep as possible while rubbing left to right at her labia with his face. She was tight but giving around his tongue, and he burned in the heat of her while Ma’ven clutched at his head, scrabbled, and then tugged at his ears. He grunted. She pulled again and he moaned. It moved from his mouth and through to her core and she cried and came as Solas spread her legs out further, stretched her out, and she was undone in a sodden, soaking, trembling second that caught him at unawares, though she’d felt it climbing for what had seemed like eternity. She came and she shuttered around his tongue, though Solas swore that next time it would be around a finger or two. One cradled in the damp warmth of her core, the other crushed by the strength of her tight—

“I need… Stop, Solas, please.” Ma’ven couldn’t stand even the softest teases at her folds. They were both numb and crazed by sensation at the same time. Her body buzzed, though that was abating, yet she felt off about this now. It wasn’t the over-stimulation. It was… something. It was feeling everything and not seeing him. Somehow she was lonely, though they’d never been more together.

“Come lay with me,” Ma’ven asked. She struggled to pull herself up onto the bed proper, and noted weightlessness in her legs as Solas walked over, now bare-chested, and joined her.

She smiled to her teeth. “Ooh,” she purred approvingly. Solas sat against the headboard, and Ma’ven snuggled up to his breast all clouded and confused with freckles. “That’s a nice sight. Almost distracted me from other pointier things.”

He laughed softly, though its lustre didn’t reach his eyes. Still, Solas kissed her hair line and pulled her close. His lips hovered near her forehead for minuets unending.

“We make up a whole outfit,” Ma’ven eventually noted, looking from his naked chest to her naked legs. The man followed her gaze, and brushed a large, elegant hand over her thigh, staring at the skin as though entranced. But he said nothing. Ma’ven frowned.

“What is it? What’s wrong?”

Solas sighed. However, he took care to make it sound contented. He shrugged; forced the stormy grey of his eyes to a serene, cloudless blue. Ma’ven didn’t buy it. She reached for his confined half-erection, though she did not grip or tug. She merely placed her hand on it. The ebbing hardness struck her as erotic nonetheless and she swallowed a moan. Solas blew through his nose, but did not stop her.

“What should I be asking? Is it about your past, or…?” The woman left his groin alone and dragged her fingers down his chest. The motions were as tentative as her voice. The scrape of her neat, buffed nails was pleasant, though. The trails they left cooled, warmed; carved lines of sensation that lasted. He almost wanted to ask her to drag a little to the left: over his nipple, in a stroke of delicious feeling that would tickle to his—

Solas rested his head back, and stared off into space.

She didn’t know. Maybe one day she would. The longer Solas knew the Inquisitor and loved Ma’ven, the more he wondered what it would be like to tell her all his terrible secrets. But for now it was enough for him to bear it alone.

They could have made love for years. Before the Veil; before what he’d done. And that was really all it was right then.

“I love you,” she called sweetly from far away in the room. Her face was lost to him in the dark

 Why not tell her?

“I saw in the Fade a fragment of time captured specifically for all the lust and frenzy of the moment. Two beings were one; two bodies became unified in their tenderness, and in their touch. Years rolled over them unnoticed. They were ancient elves, immortal, and it was their right to ignore the world and live in each other. Where one took breath, the other exhaled. When one caressed in supple, generous gestures, they felt it just the same for they were the same. They shared everything." He paused. "Eventually they shared a grave.”

Ma’ven cuddled closer. Her arms wrapped around Solas best she could while she kissed his breast soft and often.

“Usually your Fade stories don’t go so maudlin.”

“Maybe you’re not listening.”

Ma’ven laughed and nuzzled into him.

“Hey, I’m a great listener!” Sighing, she pillowed her head on his chest again. Her tone deepened. “Be here. With me. I know the Fade says a lot, but don’t worry about what could have been. We have time. And this is perfect. We don’t need any more. Just this.”

Solas stared down at the face staring up. Her vallaslin branched out under her eyes, and made her face wide and beautiful. Its colour matched her gaze: gold, like honey, though far sweeter than anything that came from flowers.

He’d told her –confessed– and still she was here.

“Perfect,” Solas echoed.

His mouth crashed into hers. He sucked at her bottom lip, licked along it, then returned his tongue to writhing against hers. He swallowed her happy moaning by the mouthful, and sought her womanhood with the hand which was not holding her about the waist. He fingered through soft, velvet folds, and found her hot and

 Still wet.

Solas hissed.

Ma’ven’s head fell back as he stroked over and passed her clit, once, twice, a dozen times before seeking the cradle of her channel. She spread her legs. She fretted. She took two fingers, but huffed at a third.

Peeling away, Solas shuffled down the bed to bury his face in her once more. All the numbed and sleepy nerves fired awake, and Ma’ven couldn’t breathe or stop from jerking her hips with each thrust of the fingers he now introduced passed his lashing tongue. Her cunt hummed, but it wouldn’t hammer along with her heart or Solas’s bucking hand because she couldn’t. It was too much at once; she felt stretched, soaked, but it was just one feeling: one constant, hazy flow through her body that didn’t peak. Her labia, her clit: they felt good, so good under Solas’s ministrations, but good wasn’t good enough. Biting her lips in frustration, Ma’ven frowned and pounded one fist into the bed.

“I can’t, Solas, I—“

Something silver sparked in her vision. Gorgeous warmth washed out from her thighs, began collecting back in her belly, but…

“I can’t.”

Gone.

And then her whole body excited.

A new, slow touch, having slicked in her juices, worked down to her ass and wriggled at the puckered ring. Ma’ven felt herself immediately and greedily take the head of a thumb that worked back and forth, in and out, but only a little, and fuck, fuck, fuck—

Shem curses spilled from her lips in a string of vulgarity that surprised Solas. Ma’ven tensed as the digit worked away, the natural lubricant of her want dwindling and now it burned, raw and full, her plucked entrance wringing pleasure that bore deeper and deeper than she’d known before, to somewhere very black and complete inside her.

Her hands fisted the bed sheets. Solas stilled for a moment, gauging the sudden tautness of her body.

“Ma’ven?”

Breathing hard, she was only waiting for it to begin again.

“Ma’ven, is it better or worse, vhenan?”

The woman bucked her hips and mewled as his thumb, still in her ass, stretched her gloriously. She saw stars. She felt everything.

“It’s better, Solas. It’s… ngh… fenedhis, more, please.”

With that and a smile, Solas sped her towards her end.

One hand whirled her clit. The other traded his thumb for his forefinger, and he curled it once seated inside her ass. The tightness was crushing. It suggested so much gripping sensation that he broke into a sweat. Unconsciously, Solas started rutting into the bed as he finger-fucked her, and, though his erection was now no longer ignorable, he didn’t care and didn’t stop. He wanted to spend with her, or just spend period. He would not until she was crying with her bliss, however, so he quickened the swirling at her pearl because he almost couldn’t wait for her.

Ma’ven was a mess of half-articulated curses, sweat, tears, and wet as she reached the precipice. She felt herself open and force out an orgasm that did not last long, but it was strong and convulsive, and for the first time in a long time it left her legs feeling like jelly. Somewhere Solas was crying too. She hadn’t strength to lift her head, but Ma’ven’s hand found the smooth cap of his crown and she noted him twitching where he lay.

“Ooooh.”

He stayed there quietly, face in the sheets between her legs. Ma’ven eventually sat up, laughed despite herself, and took the tips of his ears in her fingers and rolled them.

“Want me to go get you some clean pants?”

Solas’s voice was muffled by the bed.

“Please.”

Sputtering with giddy, tired, elated joy, the woman sighed.

“Alright. But what are you going to do for me?”

The slant of his brow and the smirk at his lips as he looked up was perfect.

“Fine, fine.” Leaning forward, Ma’ven kissed his forehead and smoothed her palms over his cheeks. “I love you.”

Solas stayed there, heart crushed with feeling, limbs light from exhaustion, until she returned.

[redinkofshame]

FOR U HAVE TO FIX WAT U DID: “Stop asking me to put out the inferno that you lit inside of me.”

Alright, so, some context on this for everyone: last night, as I’m in bed, @tel-abelas-mofo here messages me to ask if I’m going to bed soon. I ignore the fact that I’m already in bed, because I’m having a hard time sleeping anyway, though I do tell her she should be in bed. She says she wants someone to be irresponsible with, though.Well, I’m glad to oblige! I share the story I was just telling myself in my head as I tried to sleep, because I have so many AUs I know I can’t possibly write them all, so who cares about spoilers, right?

Edit: This is a 1950s AU.But, normally, I’m a happy ending girl. This fic? It’s an exception. A painful, painful exception. And it takes me until 3am to freaking tell it, bc mobile, so we’re both just crying in the middle of the gd night when we could have been sleeping and happy instead.. So this prompt is a fix-it fic for the fic that hurt us. The one that doesn’t exist outside my head and only two people know about. A fix-it fic for my own damn unwritten fic.Enjoy. @dadrunkwriting

He clung to her in thedoorway, desperate, pleading. His hands framed her face, an inch in front ofhis own. Her eyes were bright, shining with tears that feel freely in a facelined with exhaustion and grief; he knew he looked just the same. Her handsgripped his wrists, holding on but holding back. He swears he can feel herwedding band digging into him. The matching band is worn by another.

“Please,” he wasbegging her. “There must be something I can say, some promise I can make, tohave you choose me over him. I will do anything for you, ma vhenan, I swear it.”

But she shakes herhead, again and again. Her voice is thick, raspy, broken. “I chose him before Iever met you, my love. You were thechoice I should never have made.”

It is unfair. He neverhad a chance; if he had known her back then…

“Please, don’t do this, if only—” he begins, but she denies himagain.

“I can’t. I’m sorry.In another world—”

“Why not this one?” heinsists.

Her only answer was tokiss him. It is their final kiss, and it is an awful thing, sloppy and shakyand breathless and wet with tears.

“I’ll never forgetyou,” she promises.

He can’t let her go,he won’t, but she pulls his hands slowlyoff of her and darts out the door. He watches, numb, as she pulls her collar upagainst the chill for the walk home, as she sobs into a handkerchief, and soonshe is around the bend, out of sight, out of his life. He imagines he can stillhear the click of her heels over the sound of the rain, the sound of his worldbeing lost, of his heart being ripped away from him.

“Allergies, again, Mr. Solas?”

Wynne’s kind voice broke him out of his memories, and henodded to the librarian working under him.

“It hardly seems to matter what time of year it is,” he liedeasily. He sniffed as he pulled out his handkerchief, and it is only half forshow. He dabbed at his running eyes by rote, and old familiar habit by now.

Everything he does is by rote, it seems. The last severalyears he has lived only out of habit. He goes through the paces, vaguelypursuing ambitions he could recall having when he was a younger man. When hehad heart. Now, he couldn’t seem to bring himself to care where his life ledhim.

“Oh, is that the latest ‘In Another World’?” Wynne asked.

A proud smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, despitehimself. “Yes,” he answered, running a thumb over her name on the cover: JANEA. LAVELLAN

She’d done it, had finally pursued publication on her own.Soon after they’d parted, it seemed. She’d been prolific ever since, publishingtwo or more novels a year, and gaining a very large readership.

He couldn’t help but notice that she published under hermaiden name.

“Did you read the acknowledgments at the end?” Wynne asked.

His brows knit together. “No, I’ve only just finished thefinal chapter.” It was what set off his remembrance. “Why?”

Not that he needed reason to read the notes that Jane leftat the end of her novels—her About the Author section was sacrosanct, holdingshared glimpses of her life, stories of her twins entering high school or her family’sstruggles with their new dog. Teasing hints of what it would be like to stillknow her.

“I haven’t read it yet, I’m still several book behind in theseries” Wynne was explaining, “but I hear it’s quite scandalous in this one.”

Distracted, Solas made some automatic response, a nod, maybea smile. He disappeared into the back room of the library, his office, to readin private.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

As many of you know, Ilike to express my gratitude for those who help me turn my silly ideas intopaper and ink. From my editor at Tethras Publishers, to the research librarianswho spend hours explaining why I’m wrong, to my readers who make it allworthwhile: Thank you. Your dedication makes this happen.

But there is onereader in particular whom I’ve neglected. At least, I dearly hope he is one ofmy readers.

Because, you see,every book I finished has been for him. He is my Muse; every love story I’ve writtenhas been with the hope that someday he might read the words, and he would knowhow I wished our story had ended.

The memory of himfuels me, as though adding logs to an endless bonfire. I write, hoping eachsentence will help to douse the flames, that I might get some rest andreprieve. I am tired, yet I write, breathing the emotions his memory still fansinto me into my characters in turn.

I think that,somewhere out there, he must wish for my happiness. His memory haunts me, tellsme to accept the bed that I have made, to move on.

To his ghost, I say:Stop asking me to put out the inferno that you lit inside me. This is no bed inwhich I lay, but a pyre, and it will surely consume me.

That ours was not ahappy end was my doing. I alone made the choice to break both our hearts.

But oh, my Muse, I waswrong. I allowed my head to make a choice that belonged to my heart.

I know not whetherthis plea will ever reach you, or only ashes. Are you out there? Have youforgiven me?

Most likely I willhear nothing in response to this call. Perhaps you will reply with a kindletter, and a photograph of your happy family. Would I be strong enough to behappy for you, I wonder?

I’ve looked for youand found only cinders, and I cannot bear it a moment more, because if there iseven the smallest flicker of a chance that I would not have to wait for anotherworld to see you again…  I would tell younow what I should have told you so many years before:

Youare my choice.

~~~~~

Solas was beside himself, frantic, terrified of the painfulhope the burned in his chest until he choked. It couldn’t be real, not afterall this time. Is it possible she meant another, one who came after him?

His fears tormented him as he called the switchboard operator,the publisher, and every second on hold was a torture.

Finally his call connected, and he explained inelegantly thathe was calling about the note in Lavellan’s latest novel, that he needed tocontact her. The man, Varric, asked for his name to make sure it was actuallyhim and not a hoax. Solas gave it feely, but he was scared of the man’sresponse. What if that somehow wasn’t the name they were looking for?

“You’re Solas? No shit?” Solas winced as the man laughedloudly into the receiver. “You’ve made me a wealthy man, Solas! I have a lot ofbets to call in; I knew it was a long shot, but I just couldn’t bet against ourgirl Jane.

“Now, some day you’ll have to tell me how you got anadvanced copy of that book—it’s not set to hit the shelves for a few days yet—butfirst answer me this: What are you intentions with Jane?”

“I… Excuse me?”

Varric’s voice became serious, almost threatening. “Look,the woman has been through a lot. I told her that I’d help you contact her nomatter what, but—well, that was a lie. You see, I consider the woman to be afriend of mine, and she doesn’t need any more hardship. So if you’re alreadymarried, or planning to hurt her, or looking for a woman to mooch off of—”

“No! I assure you, I…”

“You what?”

What could he say? This was unexpected, sudden, he had noway of knowing what Jane truly wanted from him.

“I chose her long ago. I would give her only what she wouldhave of me.”

Varric chuckled.  “Ican work with that. Are you ready? Grab a pen. I can’t give you her address–security reasons you understand–but I can tell you what her phone number is.”He told Solas the information to reach Jane’s phone, but then added, “Though,you won’t be able to reach her this time of day.”

“Oh, alright. Do you know what time—”

“Yep, this time of day she’s busy working. She has a dayjob, after all.”

“Right, I—”

“She’s a librarian. In fact, I think you know the place, don’tyou? I believe you used to work there. Together. At the library. And, since youcan’t call…”

A breath escaped Solas, a small, broken laugh. “Yes, I thinkI understand you, Mr. Tethras. It’s a long drive… Will you tell her?”

“Now, where’s the fun in that? It’s a much better story thisway. Good luck, Chuckles.”

“I thank you, Mr. Tethras.”

~~~~~

Solas had been right—it was a long drive. Plenty long enoughto think and re-think, to worry, to wonder. This was foolish, he should havecalled. This all seemed so surreal; he’d gone mad, surely, this couldn’t betrue. Oh, but to see her again was worth the risk…

It had been early morning when he left his own library in arush, but he managed to get to hers before closing, every mile closer to hertown, to familiar sights, weighing heavy and anxious in his gut. The parkinglot was empty. He got out of his car, and only then thought to worry about howhe must look.

Hopefully not haggard, after spending the day speeding downthe highway. Older than when she’d seen him last, of course. His suit was in some disrepair; he’d let many things go unheeded in his time alone.

None of that mattered. He entered Skyhold Library. Herlibrary, once his, once where they worked together.

His eyes were drawn to her shape immediately. She wastowards the back, picking up a stack of books.

She looked up, saw him standing, but he couldn’t tell if sheknew him. He slowly removed his hat, out of habit.

She set the books back down.

“Solas?” Her voice was timid, but the library was empty,silent, and he heard her perfectly. His feet suddenly remembered their purpose,rushing forward with large steps as she said, “Oh damn that Varric, he couldhave warned me. I…”

Her voice choked up as tears formed in her eyes, herbeautiful eyes, and she took a few tentative steps towards him, but he wasalready to her. He was uncertain where to stop, but she reached for him, restingher hand along his face as if to check that he was really there.

He tried to say her name, but no noise came from him. Hecovered her hand with his, gripping her tight, and she felt real, so real.Their faces only a tense breath apart, he ran his thumb over her knuckles, andcouldn’t help but notice that she wore no ring. They stared at each other, eachquestioning silently, as his other hand skimmed her wet cheek. He wondered, onlyvaguely, when he had dropped his hat.

To the Void with words.

His hand wrapped behind her neck as he kissed her, hisheart, his lost love. She melted into him instantly, wrapping her arm aroundhim as he tried not to devour her, but he couldn’t help but be intense, ragged,as she easily bent backwards over his arm.

When, breathless, he allowed them space to breath, tried toremember that he was a gentlemen, her hands still pulled him to her. “Oh, mymuse… You saw it, then. My letter. Do you forgive me? You would allow me tochange my mind?”

“Ma vhenan… My heart made its choice long ago. It has beenyou, always you, every day that we were together, every day that we’ve beenapart.” He smiled, shakily. “I have had no choice in the matter. It is not asubject for debate.”

She laughed, and he wipes away the tears that spilled fromher eyes. “I’m yours, Solas. I’m sorry I didn’t realize it much, much sooner.”

“That would have been preferable, I admit.”

She laughed, pushing against him playfully. He made up forthe jest by kissing her again, softly this time, treasuring the feel of her.

When her eyes flickered open again, she said, “We have a lotof catching up to do.”