#Dragonage Inquisition

[uhbambii]

Sweet as Frosting

The Dellamorte villa was alive with warmth and laughter. The golden light of the kitchen illuminated the flour-dusted counter, where Rook stirred a bowl of batter with a bit more enthusiasm than technique. Her hair was tied loosely back, strands already falling free to frame her flushed cheeks.

Lucanis Dellamorte leaned against the counter beside her, his dark eyes brimming with quiet amusement. He was dressed in casual crow attire, nonetheless a bit intimidating to outsiders, though the frosting smudged across his sleeves made him look just a little less intimidating than usual.

“You know,” he drawled, his voice smooth and laced with mischief, “if you whisk any harder, the bowl might retaliate.”

Rook shot him a look, one brow arched. “I’m trying to make this perfect. You’re the one who insisted on cake instead of pie, so…” She trailed off, gesturing to the mess of ingredients around them.

Lucanis smirked. “Don’t blame me for your ambitious standards, tesoro. You’re the one who said you wanted to impress me.”

“Impress you?” Rook laughed, pausing to flick a pinch of flour at him. “Amorino, I think you’re already impressed enough.”

He tilted his head, watching her intently as though agreeing with that sentiment entirely. Then, without warning, he reached into the nearby frosting bowl, scooping a bit onto his finger and dabbing it across her nose.

“Lucanis!” she yelped, dropping the whisk and swiping at her face.

He was already laughing, the low sound resonating deep in his chest as he stepped back. “You’re much cuter when you’re messy, you know.”

“Oh, you’re asking for it now.”

Rook grabbed a handful of flour and flung it at him, hitting his dark shirt square in the chest. Lucanis stopped short, glancing down at the pale smudge on his otherwise pristine attire.

“You’re going to regret that,” he said, his voice low and teasing.

But Rook wasn’t waiting for his retaliation. She darted around the counter, laughing as Lucanis chased after her with a determined gleam in his eye. They ended up tangled in a playful scuffle, smearing frosting and flour on each other’s faces and hands as they stole kisses in between bursts of laughter.

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The cake batter was forgotten for a while, though neither seemed to mind.

It wasn’t until much later, after the cake was baked and half-decorated, and Rook was perched on the countertop with Lucanis standing between her legs, their foreheads pressed together, that she glanced at the clock on the wall.

Her heart sank. “Andraste’s ashes,” she muttered, pulling back.

Lucanis frowned, his brows knitting together. “What is it?”

“It’s one in the morning,” Rook said, sliding off the counter in a panic. “I was supposed to be home by eleven. Viago’s going to kill me.”

Lucanis caught her hand before she could rush away, his expression softening. “Stay,” he murmured, brushing his thumb over her knuckles. “I can smooth talk Viago tomorrow, save you some trouble.”

She sighed, torn between the warmth of his touch and the dread of her brother’s wrath. Finally, she leaned in, pressing a lingering kiss to his lips.

“You’re impossible,” she whispered against his mouth before pulling away.

“And yet, you keep coming back,” Lucanis said with a smirk, watching her gather her things.

Rook rolled her eyes but couldn’t help the smile that crept across her face. “I’ll see you soon. Try not to miss me too much.”

Lucanis chuckled, “try not to get scolded too much,” his gaze following her as she slipped out into the night.

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The De Riva villa was quiet as Rook climbed through the open window of her room, carefully lowering herself onto the floor. She thought she’d gotten away with it, until the light flicked on.

Rook froze, turning slowly to find Viago sitting in a chair by the door, his arms crossed and his dark eyes narrowed. He was still dressed, his usual sharp crow attire despite the late hour, though his expression betrayed his annoyance.

“You want to tell me where you’ve been all night?” he asked, his tone deceptively calm.

Rook scrambled for an excuse. “I was out with Teia,” she said quickly.

Another chair turned, and Teia spun into view with an equally unimpressed look. Her brown hair was loosely braided, and though her expression was softer than Viago’s, it was no less effective.

“Wanna try again?” Teia asked, arching a brow.

Rook winced. “I… was baking. At a friend’s place.”

“Baking,” Viago repeated, his tone flat. “Until one in the morning?”

“It’s… a very complicated recipe?” she offered weakly.

Teia exchanged a look with Viago, her lips twitching as though she were trying to suppress a laugh. Viago, however, didn’t seem amused.

“You know I don’t like it when you’re out this late,” he said, his voice softening slightly but still firm. “Anything could happen.”

Rook sighed, guilt creeping in. “I’m sorry, Vi. I lost track of time, that’s all. Nothing happened. I was perfectly safe at the Dellamorte villa.”

Viago’s brows furrowed, but his expression softened slightly. “Lucanis, huh?” He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. “Look, I’m not going to lecture you about seeing him. He’s… decent, as far as men like him go. Better than I expected, even. But, Rook—” His tone sharpened, the protective older brother coming through. “One in the morning? At his villa? What were you thinking?”

Teia gave him a small nudge, her tone gentler. “Vi, let her explain. She’s fine. Don’t make a scene.”

“I’m not making a scene,” Viago shot back, though his raised voice said otherwise.

Rook held up her hands, trying to de-escalate. “We were baking. Baking, Vi. I wasn’t sneaking off to plot assassinations or rile up the Antaam!”

“That’s not the point,” Viago said, standing now, his dark eyes locking onto hers. “The point is you said you’d be home by eleven. If you’re going to see Lucanis, or anyone for that matter, you don’t just vanish into the night like some teenager with no sense of responsibility.”

“Vanish?” Rook repeated, indignant. “I didn’t vanish, Viago. I was with someone you know and trust.”

“I trust him to keep his blades sharp and his secrets buried,” Viago said. “That doesn’t mean I trust him not to make a bad decision with my little sister.”

Teia sighed, cutting in before the argument could spiral further. “She’s not a child, Vi. She’s more than capable of holding her own. And it’s not like she’s going to take any nonsense from Lucanis or anyone else.” She turned to Rook with a wry smile. “But maybe let your brother know next time if you’re running late? He gets… dramatic when he’s worried.”

Rook couldn’t help but grin at Teia’s dry humor, though she turned back to Viago with a more serious expression. “I’m sorry, Vi. I didn’t mean to worry you. I just lost track of time, that’s all. It won’t happen again.”

Viago exhaled, the tension in his shoulders easing a fraction. “Good. Because if you keep sneaking back at this hour, I might start sending messages to Lucanis about curfews.”

Rook’s eyes widened. “You wouldn’t dare.”

His lips quirked into a sly smirk. “Try me.”

Teia snorted a laugh, nudging Viago toward the door. “Alright, that’s enough. She’s apologized. Let her sleep, papa corvo.”

Viago huffed but relented, though not without a final glance at Rook. “Just… take care of yourself, okay? And next time, send a message through a crow.”

As the door closed behind them, Rook sank onto her bed, letting out a breath of relief. Her brother could be a pain, but at least he wasn’t trying to put Lucanis on some sort of watchlist.

But the lecture was worth it, she thought with a smile, the memory of Lucanis’s flour-dusted grin still fresh in her mind.

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I wanted to write something with a little bit of comic relief, sprinkled with a touch of protective older brother Viago (My headcanon for crow! Rook).

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Inspo for story: @trialsofthedas

Rook: *sneaking in through their window after a night at the villa*

Viago: *turning in their chair and flicking the light on* You want to tell me where you've been all night?

Rook: I was out with Teia?

Teia: *turning in their chair* Wanna try again?

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[lanawanderwoodfanart]

Trying to fill the hole in my heart by drawing cute solavellan moments which definitely happened

[mint-kaktuss]

No.

[marictheirins]

Dragon Age: Inquisition ( 2014 ) dev BIOWARE / do not reupload

[eryniell]

I drew this piece a while ago when my second Lavellan Inquisitor Ithil in romance with Solas still had her datv hair, while she has now dyed her hair black/blue. I haven't finished DA the Veilguard yet but I'm hoping for a happy ending for these two, if so maybe Ithil will decide to go back to her original silver hair 🥹🤍

[ryrycouch]

Her attitude is everything to me 🖤

[moltensmusings]

Cullavellan megapost because it's inquisition 10 year anniversary and I'll never be over this romance. I agonizing slow burn these two every time I replay the game.

[elizagoose]

Thoughts?

Hello everyone! I've been writing fanfiction in my spare time for personal enjoyment, and my husband encouraged me to share it. (This would be my second attempt—don't look for the first one, as I've deleted it for personal reasons.) I'd like to share the first unedited chapter here before posting it to AO3 to gauge the general reaction. The story will primarily be from Solas's perspective. While I know my intended destination, the journey there should be interesting. Please be kind and let me know your thoughts.

****************************************************

Solas' eyes swept across the bustling tavern, a mixture of anticipation and resolve etched on his features. The air seemed charged with an impending change, one that only he could foresee. In mere moments, the unsuspecting magister would unlock the orb, inadvertently setting in motion a chain of events that would reshape the world.

The weight of what was to come pressed heavily on Solas' conscience. Hundreds of lives would be snuffed out in an instant, their futures erased in a blinding flash. A fleeting pang of regret tugged at his heart, but he steeled himself against it. This was necessary, he reminded himself. A kindness, even.

In his mind, he saw the faces of those who would mourn, their grief raw and overwhelming. But he took solace in knowing their pain would be short-lived. The world as they knew it was a pale imitation of what it should be, and he was about to set it right. It was a mercy, he told himself, to free them from this unnatural, tranquil existence. The mortals would be released from a life half-lived, their suffering cut mercifully short.

As the seconds ticked by, Solas braced himself for the imminent chaos. His resolve hardened, pushing aside any lingering doubts. This was his path, the burden he alone could bear. The world would be reborn, and from its ashes, a truer reality would emerge.

The tavern's raucous atmosphere suddenly shifted as a tense scene unfolded. A human man, his words slurred by drink, reached out and grabbed the wrist of a passing barmaid. "There she is," he growled, his grip tightening.

The barmaid's reaction was swift and fierce. "Get your filthy hands off me!" she exclaimed, wrenching her arm free with a forceful tug. Her eyes flashed with anger and disgust.

Undeterred by her resistance, the man's lips curled into a malicious sneer. "Stop being so shy, lass. All I want is a little taste," he taunted, his words dripping with ill intent.

In a flash, the barmaid's hand connected with the man's face. The well- aimed slap left a red mark on the man's cheek.

Rage contorted the man's features as he shoved the table aside, rising to his full height. "You ungrateful little—" he snarled, his hand clenching into a fist as he loomed over the barmaid.

Solas heard it before he saw it: the piercing whistle of a bolt slicing through the air, its trajectory undeniably precise—a testament to the skill of its launcher. Before the man could retaliate, his collar was pinned against the wall. The result was immediate; a hush fell over the entire tavern, muting the once-lively chatter and laughter. Everyone present bore witness to the spectacle, the silence hanging heavy with stunned disbelief.

A gruff voice broke the stunned silence. "She's not interested," a dwarf announced, gesturing to his crossbow, "but Bianca here has a soft spot for drunk, dumb, and ugly." The words carried a hint of humour, but the steel in his eyes left no room for misinterpretation.

Undeterred, the human reached for his dagger. Solas, however, was quicker. With a subtle gesture, he summoned his magic, encasing the man's arm in a sheath of ice. The would-be attacker found himself thoroughly immobilized, his threat neutralized in an instant.

"Take a hint, human," the dwarf growled, his tone laced with disgust. Turning to Solas, he offered a nod of silent gratitude, a wordless acknowledgment passing between them. The tavern remained hushed, the patrons captivated by the unexpected display of magic and marksmanship.

The earth trembled and quaked with a ferocity that defied imagination as if the very fabric of reality was being torn asunder. A blinding green light, otherworldly and terrifying in its intensity, seeped through every window and crevice of the tavern, casting eerie shadows that danced and flickered across the walls. The air itself seemed to vibrate with energy, charged with a power that sent shivers down the spines of all present.

In the wake of this ethereal illumination came a shockwave of unprecedented magnitude. It tore through the air with a deafening roar, shaking the very foundations of the building with such force that it seemed as if the structure might collapse at any moment. The sturdy wooden beams groaned and creaked under the strain, dust and debris raining down from the ceiling as the walls shuddered and swayed.

The force of the blast was so overwhelming that it sent everyone within the tavern sprawling to the floor, their bodies tossed about like leaves in a tempest. Glasses shattered, tables overturned, and chairs clattered across the room in a cacophony of chaos. Patrons and staff alike found themselves suddenly prone, struggling to comprehend the sudden upheaval of their world as they grappled with the cold, hard floor beneath them.

Solas' mind reeled as he pushed himself up, grappling with the unexpected turn of events. This wasn't just a miscalculation; it was a catastrophic error. The sheer magnitude of the explosion and its far-reaching effects defied all his careful planning and predictions. After millennia of slumber, his weakened state had forced him to rely on another to unlock the power stored within his orb—a gamble that had clearly backfired.

As he stumbled to his feet, his eyes locked onto the sky, now torn asunder by a swirling vortex of otherworldly energy. The Veil, that gossamer-thin barrier between worlds, had been ripped apart with violent force. Through the gaping wound, the raw essence of the Fade poured into the physical realm, bringing with it a horde of demons that plummeted from the heavens.

A cold dread settled in the pit of his stomach, mixing with a growing sense of urgency. This was far beyond what he had intended, far beyond what he could have imagined. His plan to remake the world as it once was—a plan that hinged on reclaiming the power from his orb after the magister had unlocked it—now lay in ruins. His carefully laid schemes were unravelling before his eyes, spiralling into chaos.

Solas barely registered the dwarf's grumbled "Argh, not again" as they made their way to the door. His focus was solely on the sky, on the breach that threatened to undo everything. He knew, with grim certainty, that he had to act swiftly. The orb, his precious artifact, was now more than just a tool for his grand design—it was the key to averting a disaster of his own making.

As the sounds of panic and confusion rose around him, Solas steeled himself for what lay ahead. He had to find the orb, had to contain this breach before it consumed everything. This was his doing, and now, it fell to him to make it right—to salvage what he could of his plan to restore the world of old.

"Maker damn it," the dwarf growled, deftly retrieving a contraption from his pack and clicking it into place on his crossbow. His eyes darted to the staff in Solas' grip, a mix of scepticism and hope in his gaze. "That fancy stick of yours—is it just for show, or can you actually use it?”

Solas met the dwarf's scrutiny with a subtle nod, his voice calm despite the chaos around them. "Lead the way, Child of the Stone. I assure you, this 'stick' is more than capable."

The dwarf's eyebrows shot up, a hint of amusement breaking through his urgency. "Child of the—" He shook his head, cutting himself off. "We don't have time for flowery introductions. Name's Varric Tethras. Now come on, we've got a world to save."

Without waiting for a response, Varric charged deeper into Haven, his crossbow at the ready. Solas fell into step behind him, his grip tightening on his staff as they plunged into the fray. The unlikely pair moved with purpose, ready to face whatever horrors the breach had unleashed upon the world.

It had been millennia since Solas had engaged in any real battle, and the odds seemed stacked against him. His magic was dampened by his own creation, the Veil, and his body was unaccustomed to such strenuous movements after eons of slumber. Yet, as the fighting intensified, a startling realization dawned on him.

To his quiet horror and secret satisfaction, Solas found himself not just keeping up, but excelling in combat. Even in his current near-tranquil-like state, his movements were fluid, his spells precise and devastatingly effective. With each demon that fell to his magic, a dangerously familiar spark of pride ignited within him.

As he felled the last demon in Haven, Solas allowed himself a moment of reflection. The ease with which he had dispatched his foes was both exhilarating and unsettling. It served as a potent reminder of who he once was, and perhaps, who he still was beneath the façade of a humble apostate. The Wolf, it seemed, was far from toothless.

"Varric!" A woman's voice called from behind them, her soft Orlesian accent carrying over the chaos. Solas turned to see a figure approaching, her movement graceful despite the urgency in her steps.

Varric's face lit up with a mix of relief and wariness. "Good to see you're still standing, Red," he said, his charm undimmed as he holstered his crossbow.

The woman's lips quirked in a half-smile. "I could say the same of you, though I'm not sure how long that'll remain the case," she replied, her tone carrying a hint of playful warning.

Solas observed the exchange silently, his mind recalling the whispers of his spies. This must be Leliana, he realized, the renowned spymaster. He made a mental note to tread carefully; her reputation for cunning was well-earned.

"Is that your way of saying the Seeker's on her way back to Haven?" Varric grumbled, his earlier cheer fading slightly.

Leliana sighed softly. "I will do my best to aim her anger elsewhere," she assured him, though her expression suggested it might be a losing battle.

Varric's eyes narrowed, sensing there was more to come. "There's more, isn't there? Come on, Red. Don't leave me in suspense," he pressed, his jovial tone barely masking his concern.

The spymaster's gaze shifted to Solas, a flicker of suspicion and caution in her eyes before she seemed to come to a decision. With a weary shake of her head, she turned back to Varric.

"The Temple of Sacred Ashes... it's gone," she said, her voice heavy with the weight of tragedy. "Everyone at the Conclave... they're all dead."

Varric's face fell, the gravity of the situation hitting him like a physical blow. "Shit," he breathed out, the single word encompassing a world of dismay.

Leliana paused, her next words coming out barely above a whisper. "Except one."

The dwarf's eyes widened in disbelief. "How in Andraste's flaming knickers could anyone survive a blast like that?" he exclaimed, voicing the question that hung heavy in the air.

Leliana's voice wavered, her eyes wide with a mixture of awe and disbelief. "My scouts report... they saw her emerge from the Fade itself, stepping through a tear in the Veil."

"Andraste's ass, that—" Varric began, his voice a mixture of disbelief and awe.

"—is not possible," Solas interjected, his tone measured but firm. His eyes, usually calm and detached, now held a spark of intense interest. "To achieve such a feat, one would need to accumulate more power than any mortal could ever hope to wield and survive. Such a display of magic has not been witnessed since the days of ancient Tevinter, and even then, it required the combined efforts of no less than seven magisters."

Varric and Leliana exchanged startled glances, caught off guard by the stranger's depth of arcane knowledge. Leliana's eyes narrowed, her analytical mind already at work, while Varric let out a low whistle, his storyteller's curiosity piqued by this mysterious man's words.

"You're an apostate," Leliana stated plainly, her voice carrying a hint of suspicion beneath its calm exterior.

Solas met her gaze steadily, his posture relaxed yet dignified. "Indeed I am," he replied, his voice smooth and controlled. "But you may call me Solas. If it would put you at ease, I am willing to relinquish my staff." He made the offer casually, as if surrendering his primary means of defense was of little consequence.

Leliana's brow furrowed, her suspicion now tinged with curiosity. "You, an apostate surrounded by Chantry forces, would willingly give up your best hope of defending yourself? Why?"

Solas's response came with unwavering conviction, a subtle note of urgency underlying his words. "The Breach poses a threat far greater than the conflicts between apostates, Templars, or even the Chantry. I am more than capable of setting aside my personal reservations for the sake of the greater good. My hope is that those who might otherwise see me in chains can find it within themselves to do the same."

Varric chuckled nervously, all too familiar with how Seeker Cassandra typically handled such situations. "So, you're offering to help? Just like that?"

Solas paused, his gaze sweeping over the faces around him. He could see the weight of their circumstances etched in their expressions, the gravity of the situation reflected in their eyes. With a slight nod, he continued, his voice soft but resolute. "If you'll have me, I stand ready to offer whatever assistance I can in this dire hour."

Leliana's expression softened almost imperceptibly, a flicker of relief passing across her features. She exchanged a quick, meaningful glance with Varric before turning back to Solas. "Very well," she said, her voice a blend of caution and grudging gratitude. "We need all the help we can get. Come, there is much to be done, and precious little time to do it."

****************************************************

Walking in stride with the Seeker, Solas ventured down the dimly lit corridor that led to Havens holding cells. His mind flitting fast between thoughts, looking for an explanation on how a mortal could survive an explosion of such magnitude, let alone physically walk out of the Fade. After all, the orb was not a tool that just anyone could manipulate.

"Liliana has shared with me your keen interest in the mark and your theories on how it might be used to seal the Breach," Seeker Pentaghast spoke, her voice echoing off the stone walls as she halted in front of the heavy, iron-clad doors. "However, your expertise with the Fade and potentially the mark are not the only reasons I've brought you here."

Solas raised a brow, curiosity piqued. "What other reason could there be?" he questioned, exercising caution in his tone.

The Seeker's face turned grim. "The prisoner is dying. Each time the Breach expands, the mark spreads, consuming her. Haven's Alchemist, Adan, has nearly exhausted his skills and resources, but it's not enough. I need her to survive," the Seeker revealed.

Solas nod in understanding. "I possess some skill in healing. Perhaps that, coupled with my knowledge of the Fade, might be enough to keep your prisoner alive," he offered.

"Good," was Seeker Pentaghast's simple, approving response.

With a heavy creak, the Seeker swung open the dungeon door, stepping aside to allow Solas to enter first. Her gaze piercing, watchful as she followed him in. Four heavily armed Templars stood vigilant at each corner within the shadowy chamber. In the centre of the room, a woman lied prone on a makeshift bed of straw, her features obscured by a cascade of long, silver-white hair. Solas was struck by a devastating wave of emotions as his eyes adjust to the dungeon's darkness.

"Your prisoner is—" Solas began, barely maintaining a semblance of calm.

"An elf, yes. But not like any we've encountered before," the Seeker interject. "She bears no Dalish markings, and her attire is far from typical for a city elf. Even one in the service of a wealthy patron wouldn't don such garments."

The Seeker had no idea how right she was, nor could she possibly fathom the true nature of the prisoner before them. Regaining his composure, Solas folded his hands behind his back and turned to the Seeker, his tone firm. "To work efficiently, I must insist on being left alone."

"Out of the question," Cassandra replied sharply, her eyes narrowing with suspicion. "You may be here to help, apostate, but that does not mean I trust you completely."

Solas's tone remained calm, but his eyes held a glint of defiance. "Seeker, I implore you to consider the delicacy of this situation. The presence of Templars, with their... particular set of skills, could disrupt the subtle energies I must work with. Their abilities, while formidable against mages, might inadvertently interfere with the delicate balance required to stabilize the mark. Surely, you wouldn't want to risk the prisoner's life due to an abundance of caution?"

"Then I must insist Adan is present," Cassandra declared firmly, her tone brooking no argument. Her eyes narrowed slightly, a mix of suspicion and determination evident in her gaze. "He will oversee your work and keep me informed."

"Very well," Solas conceded, his tone measured and diplomatic. A hint of resignation coloured his words as he continued, "I suppose having another set of eyes could prove beneficial. Though I must stress the importance of minimal interference during the delicate stages of the process."

"Understood," Cassandra replied firmly, her jaw set with determination. She turned to the Templars, her voice carrying the unmistakable tone of command. "You are dismissed. Return to your posts."

The Templars saluted sharply, their armour clanking as they filed out of the room. Cassandra's eyes remained fixed on Solas, a mixture of wariness and hope evident in her gaze.

Solas inclined his head slightly, his voice calm and measured. "Your trust is appreciated, Seeker. I assure you, I will employ every means at my disposal to aid in this... delicate situation."

His words were carefully chosen, revealing nothing of his true intentions or the turmoil that roiled beneath his composed exterior.

"See that you do, Apostate," Cassandra replied, her voice stern but tinged with a hint of desperation. "Adan will be here shortly. I pray your efforts are successful - for all our sakes."

The Seeker left the room slowly, her eyes never leaving Solas as he moved about the holding cell. He repositioned the unlit candelabras, bringing them closer to the prone figure on the ground. A simple flick of his wrist ignited the wicks, casting a warm glow across the chamber. Only when the heavy thud of the prison door echoed through the room did Solas dare to look up, confirming his solitude.

Assured of his privacy, Solas sank to his knees beside the prisoner. His hand hovered uncertainly over her form, trembling slightly as his eyes traced the painfully familiar contours of her attire. The weight of memory pressed upon him.

‘The sweet scents of spring lingered in the air. The sun's warmth blissfully caressed the earth as a gentle breeze carried winter's last farewells. In Arlathan's great forest, Solas stalked alone. He shouldn't have been there—countless important tasks demanded his attention, and frolicking in the woods was not a luxury he could afford. Yet it seemed his most crucial task of the day had slipped away from him. A gentle melody of laughter caught his ears; Enlea wouldn't allow him to catch her so easily.

"Lady Enlea," Solas called out, his voice a mixture of feigned exasperation and underlying amusement, "why prolong the inevitable? You know I'll find you... as I always do."

“You're starting to sound like Andruil-” Enlea called out before rounding the tree and revealing herself. “-You and my beloved sister both seemed to have forgotten a simple truth.”

"And what is this 'simple truth'?" Solas asked his voice a mixture of curiosity and amusement, eager to hear her wisdom.

"That the capture of your prey is not what dictates a good hunt." Enlea's eyes sparkled with mischief as she leaned against the tree, her silver hair catching the dappled sunlight. "It's the thrill of the chase, it's the dance between hunter and hunted, that truly matters."

Solas couldn't help but smile, admiring her wisdom and playful spirit. "A lesson well taught, my lady. Though I must admit, the prize at the end of this particular hunt is quite enticing."

Enlea's laughter rang out, a melodious sound that echoed through the forest. "Oh, Solas," she teased, her eyes twinkling with mirth, "you flatter me so. But tell me, what prize could possibly be worth chasing through these woods all day?"

Solas stepped closer, his gaze softening as he reached out to gently tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "The joy of your company, my lady," he murmured, his voice low and tender. "That is a prize beyond measure."

"Well then," she said with a coy smile, "I'll make this chase particularly thrilling."

With a playful wink, Enlea darted away, her silver hair streaming behind her like a banner of moonlight. Solas chuckled, his heart light with joy as he gave chase. The forest seemed to come alive around them, branches swaying as if to join in their merry game.’

As the memory faded, a muffled sob caught in Solas's throat. With trembling hands, he gently rolled her onto her back, her silver-white hair cascading away from her face. His movements were deliberate and tender as he cradled her close, her familiar form a bittersweet comfort in his arms.

The weight of millennia crashed upon him at that moment. Over two thousand years of sorrow, rage, and crushing regret threatened to overwhelm him, poised to shatter his carefully maintained composure. His chest tightened, each breath a struggle against the tide of emotions that sought to break free.

Solas gazed down at Enlea's unconscious form, his eyes tracing the features he had once known so well. The sight of her, here and now, was both a miracle and a torment. His voice, when he finally spoke, was barely more than a whisper, thick with unshed tears and longing.

“Ir abelas ma’ evune, ma vhenan, ma Enlea, tel vara em mala. Ma te’elan vara u’em sal.” He whispered **against her hair as he willed his magic through her to the Anchor. (I am sorry, my moon, my heart, my Light, do not leave me now. You cannot leave me alone again.)

She lay motionless at his words, her chest rising and falling far too quickly. The Seeker's assessment rang true; his mark was indeed draining her life force, slowly killing her. A desperate thought crossed his mind: by transferring the Anchor, he could awaken her and whisk her away from those who sought to condemn her. With his power, he could easily overcome any who would try to stop him.

But even as the plan formed in his mind, Solas knew it was a fleeting hope. The Anchor, it seemed, had other plans as it resisted his attempts, stubbornly clinging to Enlea's form.

Solas's brow furrowed in concentration as he poured more of his magic into the effort, his fingers trembling with exertion. But it was to no avail. A soft, anguished cry escaped his lips as the Anchor suddenly flared to life, its violent green light flooding the dim chamber. The mark's power surged uncontrollably, and Solas found himself helpless to contain it.

His heart clenched with a mixture of fear and frustration. This was not how it was supposed to be. The orb's power, his power, was now beyond his control, threatening the very life of the one person he had never expected to see again. The irony of the situation was not lost on him – his plans, now hinged on saving the life of someone he had long thought lost.

"Enlea," he called softly, hoping against hope that she could hear him, that his voice might rouse her from the brink of death.

The realization struck Solas with crushing clarity: if he couldn't transfer the Anchor, his only option was to stabilize it. Though Enlea was far from mortal, her current state was alarmingly fragile. The power that now coursed through her veins threatened to overwhelm her weakened form.

Footsteps echoed faintly down the corridor outside the dungeon, signalling Adan's approach. With practised composure, Solas gently eased Enlea back onto the ground and rose to his feet. His hands clasped behind his back, he schooled his features into a mask of serene professionalism. The weight of their shared history—a history spanning millennia— threatened to pull him down and drown him, but he knew he couldn't allow even a hint of familiarity to show. With Enlea under the Seeker's scrutiny, Solas couldn't afford to leave anything to chance.

The heavy door opened with a creak. Adan walked in, carrying many bottles and herbs. Solas acknowledged him with a measured nod, his face a carefully crafted expression of detached concern. As the alchemist drew near, Solas steeled his resolve for the delicate task ahead: to save Enlea while maintaining his guise as a mere helpful apostate. The stakes were higher than anyone in Haven could possibly imagine, and Solas was determined to navigate this precarious situation with utmost caution.

[hunkyartz]

been playing dragon age: inquisition and gotten quite irritated by him when trying to safe the mages instead of templars. if the inquisitor stood before them, offering to take them back to haven, I can still hear him

"w-we can still go back and get the-" LEAVE ME ALOOOONEEEE

[raywhitfield92]

When you're hyperfixated on two things at the same time and one has a character called Stolas and another one called Solas...

I keep calling Solas, Stolas and vise versa...

[hax-an]

I miss Cullen and liking Cullen but what I don't miss is the people who purposely put others down for liking him. People who would make hate blogs to shit on art/fan fic of him with the inquisitor. DA fans are super cruel and I'm tired of pretending they're not.

[uhbambii]

A Quiet Morning in the Dellamorte Villa

The dawn light crept through the gauzy curtains of the Dellamorte villa, painting the bedroom in soft golds and shadows. Rook stirred beneath the weight of the silk sheets, her hair spilling across the pillow. Her eyes opened slowly, the remnants of a rare, peaceful sleep fading as her gaze landed on the man beside her.

Lucanis Dellamorte, famed heir to one of the most dangerous families and a Crow through and through, lay sprawled on his back, his sharp features softened by sleep. His dark hair framed his face in messy strands, and his angular jaw was shadowed with faint stubble. Despite the peaceful scene, there was something distinctly Lucanis about the way he lay there—an awareness in his stillness, a subtle control even in his rest. He was never really unguarded.

Rook allowed herself a moment to admire him, a rare indulgence. The two of them were not exactly the sort of people who could enjoy idle comforts. But here, in the quiet of his villa, with no one watching and no knives in the dark, she felt safe enough to linger.

Sliding out of bed carefully, she cast a glance over her shoulder. Lucanis didn’t stir. Her lips curled into a faint smirk as her eyes caught sight of his discarded shirt from the night before. Why not?

She slipped the oversized button-up over her shoulders. The fabric hung loosely on her frame, brushing her thighs. It smelled like him—spiced wine and gourmand, danger wrapped in charm. She rolled the sleeves up her arms and padded silently toward the kitchen, a thought forming in her mind.

Muffins.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

The Dellamorte villa’s kitchen was absurdly lavish and well-stocked, for someone who rarely ventured home. Rook found the ingredients she needed with minimal fuss. She worked quickly, her Crow training making her as silent in a kitchen as she was in the shadows.

Rook stirred the flour in a bowl, humming softly under her breath, when a familiar voice cut through the quiet.

“Well, this is unexpected.”

She jumped slightly, spinning to see Lucanis leaning casually against the doorway, his arms crossed over his broad chest. He was shirtless, his dark eyes glittering with lazy amusement, his hair still mussed from sleep.

“You’re lucky I didn’t have a knife in my hand,” she said, her tone dry but her lips curving into a smile.

“And here I thought nothing could catch a Crow by surprise,” he replied, pushing off the doorway to saunter toward her. “But this… cara mia, this is a sight I wasn’t expecting to wake up to.”

His gaze slid pointedly down to the shirt she wore, his shirt, the top buttons undone to reveal just enough to make his smirk deepen. “Is this your way of staking a claim? I didn’t realize you were so territorial.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” she shot back, turning back to the bowl. “I was cold. And you’re lucky I’m feeling generous. I was going to make muffins.”

“Muffins,” he repeated, the word dripping with exaggerated disbelief. “I must still be dreaming. Rook, the infamous Crow, is baking muffins in my kitchen? What’s next—embroidering handkerchiefs?”

“Keep talking, and I won’t save you any.”

Lucanis laughed softly, his voice low and rich as he stepped closer. His hands settled on her waist from behind, his presence warm and undeniably distracting. “You know,” he murmured near her ear, his breath brushing her neck, “you’re whisking that flour like it’s a target, you’ve received contract on. If you want these muffins to be edible, you’ll need to be gentler.”

Rook tried to focus on her task, but the way his hands slid along her hips wasn’t helping. “And what would you know about baking?”

“More than you’d think,” he said, his tone smug. “The Dellamorte name didn’t always keep me well-fed, you know. I had to learn a few things back when I was going through training.”

She snorted. “You? Starving? Hard to imagine.”

“Hard to imagine you in a kitchen, cara mia. Yet here we are.”

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t fight the smile tugging at her lips. Lucanis always had this way of disarming her, slipping past her defenses with that wicked grin and sharp wit.

He leaned closer, his hands tightening slightly on her waist as he teased, “Though I must say, this shirt looks far better on you than it ever did on me.”

“Are you going to help, or just stand there and flirt?”

“Why not both?” His voice was low, and before she could respond, he turned her to face him, lifting her effortlessly onto the cool marble countertop.

“Lucanis—”

He silenced her with a kiss, slow and deliberate, his lips brushing hers with maddening precision. One of his hands trailed up to tangle in her hair, the other remaining firm on her waist. The kiss deepened, his usual charm giving way to something more intent, more real.

When he finally pulled back, Lucanis lingered, his dark eyes locked on hers, warm and brimming with a familiar, maddening confidence. His fingers traced a slow, deliberate path down her arm, and a crooked smile played on his lips. "You know," he murmured, his voice low and rich, "you don't have to sneak off in the morning to make muffins. You could just wake me up. Though I can't promise we'd get out of bed anytime soon."

Rook raised an eyebrow, fighting the flush that crept into her cheeks. "And what exactly would you do, Lucanis mio, if I did?"

His grin widened, the kind of grin that usually preceded trouble. He leaned in closer, watching her carefully. "Oh, I can think of plenty of ways to make it worth your while. None of them involve flour."

Her lips twitched into a smirk, but she turned her face before he could see the warmth blooming across her face. "You're trouble, you know that?"

"I've heard rumors," he replied, stepping back just enough to grab the whisk from her hands. "But if you're sneaking around in my shirt to bake muffins, I must be doing something right." His eyes roved over her, slow and deliberate, lingering just a little too long. "It's a good look, by the way.”

Before she could reply, he stepped between her legs, settling his hands on her bare thighs. His lips hovered just above hers, close enough that her breath caught. "You could have stayed in bed," he murmured, his voice a velvet promise. "And I could've kept you... busy."

"Some of us like to start our mornings productively," she managed, though her voice was softer than she intended.

"Productive?" he teased, his eyes scanning hers as he spoke. "You're in my shirt, with no pants, making muffins in my kitchen. And here I was thinking you just wanted to drive me insane."

She smirked, leaning in just enough to brush her lips against his in a quick, teasing kiss. “Maybe I did,” she murmured, her tone as sweetly provocative as the look in her eyes.

Lucanis let out a low groan, his hands tightening briefly on her thighs before sliding up to rest on her hips. His forehead came to rest against hers, his voice a husky whisper laced with amusement. “Strega mia, one day you’re going to be the death of me.”

Her smirk widened, her hands slipping to his shoulders as she tilted her head playfully. “Is that a complaint?”

“Far from it,” he replied, his lips brushing against the corner of her mouth in a maddeningly light touch. “If I go, at least I’ll die happy—and very, very distracted.”

Rook laughed softly, pushing against his chest just enough to make him step back. “Well, I wouldn’t want to deprive Treviso of its most charming Crow just yet.”

“Il più affascinante, per favore,” he laughed with a wink, retreating only far enough to grab the whisk again. His gaze swept over her once more, lingering on her bare legs and the way his shirt clung to her. “Though if you keep parading around my kitchen like this, amore mio, I might be tempted to retire early.”

“Tempted?” she shot back, sliding off the counter and standing toe-to-toe with him. “I’d think you’d have better self-control than that, Amorino.”

He leaned in, close enough that their noses nearly touched, his voice dropping to a seductive purr. “With you? Self-control doesn’t stand a chance.”

She arched an eyebrow, fighting the grin threatening to break free. “You’re full of it, you know.”

“And yet, you tolerate it,” he quipped with a grin, echoing her earlier words as he turned back to the mixing bowl.

Rook leaned against the counter, watching him work, her smirk softening. Despite all his bravado and charm, there was something grounding about the way Lucanis moved in his own space, so at ease yet so attuned to her presence. She could feel it—the way he made her a part of his world without ever saying a word.

“So,” he said, breaking the silence as he gave her a sly glance. “Breakfast today, cara mia. Tomorrow… dinner?”

“Tomorrow?” she asked, feigning surprise. “You’re awfully confident I’ll still be here.”

Lucanis grinned, setting the whisk down and stepping closer to her again. His hands slid around her waist, pulling her flush against him as he murmured against her ear, “Oh, I’m very confident. After all, tesoro, I always get what I want.”

Her heart gave an unsteady flip, but she kept her smirk in place as she leaned back to meet his gaze. “And what is it you want, Lucanis?”

“You,” he said simply, his voice low and unguarded as his dark eyes held hers. Then, just as quickly, his lips curved into a devilish smile. “But I’ll settle for muffins… for now.”

Rook let out a soft laugh, shaking her head as she pushed him toward the stove. “You really are trouble.”

“And you love it,” he tossed over his shoulder as he turned back to the batter.

She didn’t respond, her gaze lingering on him for a moment longer than she intended. Because, damn him, she did.

———————————————————————————

Is it possible to fall in love with my own writing???

IM EATING IT UPPPP!!!

———————————————————————————

[lanawanderwoodfanart]

- Skyhold evenings -

[caffinedragon]

Bear with the Heart of a Dragon

Chapter 3: What do your elfy eyes see?

Ursa chuckled as Sera blew a raspberry at Solas for trying to speak Elvhan to her, knowing the type of person she was.

She had been a elf from an alienage somewhere, her culture so far removed from her as to be unrecognizable.

She was the direct generational result of the majority of the elven population being so completely cut off form their history and culture that they just started all over from scratch.

Something Solas was having trouble understanding because there home of Arlathan was still new and fresh in his memory.

Whereas for Ursa, she was practically in the same boat as the young elven woman due to the trauma she wanted to separate herself from.

Hopefully, having her around would help her really bring it home to Solas how much the world and their own people have moved on from the world they once knew.

And maybe help reinforce why, what she suspected he wanted to do, was a really bad idea.

"Vhenhadas Lasa." He sighed as he apparently gave up and fell into step next to her.

Ursa just shook her head and continued walking down the dune, the Oasis in sight.

"I do not understand why she would be so disdainful of her own heritage. Why does she want to reject it?" He spoke in old Elvhanan.

"Because to her, Lethalan, it isn't her culture." She responded in the same. "To her it feels as if your trying to force your belief of who she is supposed to be down her throat and ignoring who she is."

"But it is her culture, is she not elven?"

Ursa sighed, "Solas, you have to consider that to you, mentally, it feels like the war and the fall of Arlathan only feels like it occurred maybe a year or two ago. To myself and the rest of Thedas, it has been a millennia. And during that millennia, the history and culture of the world we knew was wiped out twice over. What little there is left, is only gathered by the Dalish clans. Clans that are forced to keep moving so they aren't forced into an alienage in the city. Those elves like Sera who grew up in an alienage, have had no access to the literal scraps that are left. Our world may as well be a fantasy drummed up by some washed out drunkard trying to make their life worthwhile then actual historical fact. Because to them, even if they found out it was true, it would just make their situations feel ten times worse. It just doesn't serve them anymore, so they made their own. Hence..."

She pointed over at Sera who was drawing a crude sketch of something she couldn't quite make out but was guessing it was probably a butt or something knowing her.

"Twice over?" Solas asked shocked.

"Yeah. I mean if you count the actual fall, you could say three but, not long after we lost our magic, human's realized they still had it and made an empire based of of that fact. An empire that slaughter, violated and enslaved our people. And when conquers enslave a people they..."

"Try to erase their history so they wont have cause to rise up."

"Exactly. So, generations of that isn't gonna leave a lot behind, and then when you add on the Chantry's Exhalted March into the Dales because the elves they helped free didn't want to convert..."

"They do the exact same thing, destroying even more history."

"And also round up all the elves they can catch and force them into alienages where they..."

"Are completely cut off."

"And thus..."

"Sera."

"There ya go." She saw the anger in Solas's eyes as it all sunk in and to keep him from ruminating as he often did, she wrapped an arm around him. "Solas, I honor what you are trying to do, but, our world is gone. I watched it get washed away in the rising and falling of emperors over and over again. The same shit, different day just with a lot less magic and a lot more stabbing. It hurts. And it fucking sucks. But we have to grieve it and let it go."

"IS that what you did?" His tone wasn't angry and bitter like she expected, but desperate, like a grieving loved one trying to stay strong and barely holding on.

"What else could i do? You get a lot of chance for introspection over 1000 years and if my kids could do it despite what happened to them well, what excuse did i have?"

Solas looked down and leaned in to her side, "I...don't know...how to do that."

"When we get back to Haven, I will teach ya."

He nodded before his eyes traveled back to Sera again.

"If you want to try and find some connection to her. I would suggest on finding some common ground first, that isn't completely centered around the fact that your both elven."

"Why?"

"Because, when you grow up in an alienage, all people care about is that your an elf and attributed it to everything your expected to be and do. Ya know, like a slave. So..."

"Ah. I now understand why that may be offensive. I will...find a different approach. Thank you Lethalin."

"No problem." She patted him on the shoulder and moved to start finding all the shards.

After finishing up the final skull, Solas started again.

"What color is the sky, Sera?"

Ursa stood up, still holding the last shard she grabbed under her arm. "The fuck?"

Solas raised a finger indicating he had a whole spiel he was about to do.

She stared at him with an eyebrow raised, placing her free hand on her hip.

After she answered his question he asked, "And when you looked past the Breach? As perhaps you were drawn to do?"

Ah. Now she saw where it was going.

She continued to the next shard the skull had indicated.

"Greenish? Then clear a long ways, and kind of... felt like falling. Ugh! Makes my head hurt. You make my head hurt."

She chuckled again as she climbed up a ladder to grab the shard at the top. Just as she reached it, Sera called out.

"You, Herald or..whatever."

She grabbed the shard and slid back down, "Ursa."

"Wot?"

"My name. It's Ursa. Means Bear."

Sera gave her a very hungry elevator look, "The name fits..."

She shook her head, amused, "You needed something?"

"Oh right! Your elfy right?"

"Eh."

"Eh?" She asked.

"Like...I am more 'elfy than someone who grew up in an alienage but not quite as 'elfy' as the Dalsih so...Eh."

"Elfy enough. So, What do you see when you look at the Breechy thingy?"

"I don't know. I have only really looked at it long enough to close it. I have been avoiding it otherwise."

"Why don't you look now. Tell us what you see."

"I don't think it's a good idea."

"There is clearly nothing to be afraid of with the way baldy here goes on about it, so go one, have a peak, tell me what you see."

She sighed as she looked up at the breach fully prepared just to see a whole lot of green and maybe a few spirits.

What she was met with instead, was the sounds of screaming spirits and the familiar laughter and voices of those who hurt her the most and were the reason, three of her children were dead.

She tried to pull her eyes away but found she couldn't move as she was dragged into an old memory.

-----

"Ursa? Ursa? Hey Solas, somethings wrong, she she's stiff as a board and her eyes are like, far away. What's going on?"

Cole appeared from nowhere as Solas ran up to her.

"Screaming. So much screaming. They are hurting them, chaining them, they can't-" Cole stood next to her as Solas looked at her dazed eyes and tear streaked face. He had seen this before. She was locked in a flashback.

Cole continued, "We locked the monsters away but their victims came for us. Killing, Torturing, and violating, taking their rage out on those they deemed just as bad because they had the same shaped ears. I saved as many as i could but...I failed them. And they willingly allowed themselves to be chained so they wouldn't come for them too."

Solas felt his heart start to break as he realized what Cole was talking about.

Just as he went to try to draw her back Cole gasped and started to scream.

"No, not again! Don't go up there! Don't let the monsters out! Don't let out the black-" He calmed again, "Too late. The fools brought it back with them. The monsters didn't escape but the black-" Cole stiffened and slapped a hand over his mouth as he cried, "Mother-it hurts-it's breaking me! Please, help me! It hurts! Please kill me-stop me or I am going to-" He calmed again. "From seven to four. Two, kept to the surface, never to sleep so the black wouldn't find them. Two corrupted, died, then brought back again, reborn but different. But three...the black took, never to come back. The worst thing a mother can endure is outliving her children. Seven, down to four."

She had heard them.

Her children.

Those that had been found, corrupted and turned into Archdemons...she was able to hear them.

"Oh, Lethlin...I am so sorry."

"What? Is creepy over here sayin Ursa lost her kids? Is that what she is remembering?"

"Yes." Cole answered, "She had seven. Five were tainted by the blight. Two survived because she was close enough to take them to get help, three didn't."

"Ooof." Sera winced, "I assume it must have been from that last blight yeah? That's rough."

Before Cole could respond, Ursa came back to herself, "Ugh. Fuck. What happened?"

Solas turned to her, "You slipped away from us for a while, Lethalin. Are you all right?"

"Yeah, Ursa, you okay? You look a bit like you need a nap. All this Herald stuff getting to ya?"

"Maybe. Haven't been sleeping well. But, with the hole in the sky I don't have a lot of time to rest. Maybe once it's done I can pass out for a few...days."

"Well in that case, we should finish what we are here for and get back to it as quickly as possible." Solas suggested.

"Yeah. Good idea. Then i can have some coffee."

"Oh! Can i have some?" Sera asked.

"You don't need-"She started then was reminded of her late daughter Zazikel, "Actually, you might benefit from some. I will talk to Josie about it when we get back."

"OI! What is that supposed to mean?"

"We will find out once you drink some."

[catyo90]

Did I see the Veil-Guard Trailer and want to draw my OC's from the trio.....

Yes...Yes I did.

Queen Alania Cousland : Hero of Ferelden

Scarlet Hawke : Champion of Kirkwall

Amora Lavellan : The Inquisitor

[eryniell]

Morrigan 💜