#I made Solas suffer but I suffered with him

[fatale-distraction]

👀 lavellanxemmrich? do say more…. (for wip wed)

WIP Wednesday!!

This one literally started out as a little joke in my head and spiraled into kind of a legit ship.

It involves my Lavellan’s sister Evelyn as Rook. Evelyn absolutely detests Solas. She disliked him even before he started getting involved with Ellana, and hates him even more now. Which is great because now she’s stuck with him.

And Ellana. Well, she has two very particular types of people she’s attracted to: very tall women, and older men. So when Evelyn meets Emmrich, she has the brilliant idea to push her sister toward him. Ellana needs to move on, Solas needs to suffer, and Emmrich could use a pretty young thirty-something to gush over nerd shit with.

As far as Evelyn is concerned, it’s a win-win-win!

Here’s a snippet!

"I do not have an old man fetish!" Ellana shouted, stomping her foot.

A throat cleared behind her. Evelyn clapped a hand over the bottom of her face to stifle a snort while Cullen groaned. Slowly, Ellana turned. Emmrich stood in the doorway, knuckles elegantly raised to knock against the frame, a faint dusting of pink across his cheeks. Behind him, the rest of the Veilguard craned their necks to peer at the former Inquisitor.

There was an extensive moment of silence, before Ellana bolted forward and slammed the door shut with all her might. She pressed her back against it, arms braced on the wall behind her, and glared at her sibling.

"I hate you," she gritted out.

Evelyn wiped a tear from her eye as she cackled. "You don't even know," she wheezed. "The noise Solas just made…I've never heard him sound so undignified!"

Ellana paled. She'd forgotten that he could see and hear everything Evelyn did. She let out a cry of frustration, ripped the door back open, and dropped to the ground, skittering under the legs of the Veilguard to flee down the hallway toward her room.

"I missed her," Harding sighed happily.

*Evelyn is @erehttuoliveeht ‘s!

[splynter]

Very messy Lungs sketch because I’m sick and today has been stressful so I’m putting all that into him so he can have a tantrum for me

[arlathvhenan]

There’s something to be said about the fact that Solas is able to and does empathize with the people of Thedas even early in the game when he supposedly doesn’t see them as real. This is made evident in both his dialogue with the Inquisitor and companions, as well as his approval milestones.

Similar to Cole, approves when you show care and compassion for people. People whom, by his own admission, he isn’t certain are entirely real at first. Even so, he can’t bring himself to ignore their suffering. Even when he knows deep down he’ll have to destroy their way of life in order to make Thedas whole again, he feels compelled to make the years they have left as comfortable and painless as possible.

It would’ve been easy for him to let the Qunari follow through with their plot. An all out war between the North and South of Thedas can only have made his operation easier, especially once he has the Eluvian network. He could have used that chaos to his advantage. Who’s going to have the time to track him down when everyone is too busy fighting off Qunari invaders?

Instead he not only foils that plot, thus making himself a direct target of The Qun. He also tells the Inquisitor what his own plans are, which is also going to make his job much harder. Why give himself up like that? Why jeopardize the mission he’s apparently willing to sacrificed everything to accomplish?

Unless maybe he isn’t.

There’s a great post by @vlaakithstits positing that Solas wants us to stop him, or at least part of him does. Even if you have the Low Approval ending, it’s clear he isn’t really ok with what he plans to do, but just as it was when he made the Veil, he sees the alternative as a greater evil. To quote the man himself:

“Every alternative was worse.”

Another quote from Trespasser I dwell on frequently is one of the lines he says to the Inquisitor just as he’s about to leave:

“I would treasure the chance to be proven wrong once again.”

Obviously we know he’s referring to his plan here. He wants desperately to wrong about the Veil. Not the part about it coming down—that’s a must—but rather the means by which it must be accomplished.

Solas is an expert on magic and the Fade, and by extension the nature of Thedas itself. Even then, there are things he doesn’t know, and things he can’t foresee. He couldn’t fully predict the consequences of raising the Veil any more than he can fully predict the consequences of tearing it down. All he has are his expertise, and his past experiences. And most of what he’s experienced throughout his life has conditioned him to always assume the worst.

And so he does.

He assumes that there is no way to save his people and restore Thedas that won’t come at the expense of the modern world. Previously, that dilemma didn’t bother him so much, because he hadn’t yet come to see the value in the modern world. It’s why he says he wants to be proven wrong ‘once again.’ He’s admitting here that the Inquisitor has already changed his mind once when they changed his opinion of Thedas. He no longer sees the modern world as valueless, and that makes everything worse.

When Solas says that he’d love to be wrong again, it’s not that he wants to give up on saving his people in favor of modern Thedas. It’s that he wants to be able to save both. He wants to save his people—Elves, Mages, Spirits—AND spare the people living in modern Thedas. He just doesn’t think it’s possible, because he’s never experienced a situation that didn’t involve sacrificing something he loved for the greater good.

[dominadespina]

WHAT HAPPENED TO COUNTESS MARIA OF SALONA?

Maria Fadrique was born around 1370, the daughter of the last Catalan Count of Salona, Don Louis Fadrique, and his Greek wife, Princess Helena Fadrique, also known as Helena Kantakouzene or The Despina, Helena Asenina.

Not much information about her early childhood has been preserved. We do know that she grew up as an only child to the noble couple and was likely prepared and claimed as the only heir to the County of Salona.

In 1382, at the age of 12, she succeeded her father and became the Countess of Salona in her own right. However, due to her age, she was deemed too young to manage the county, so her mother, the Dowager Countess Helena Fadrique, took charge as regent. That same year, she was betrothed to Bernat Hug, a son of Felip Dalmau, but the betrothal was annulled.

Despite reaching the age of maturity in 1386, at 16, an age when she was now deemed fully capable of managing the County of Salona, her mother remained in power over all state affairs, and Maria had yet to step a toe into the world of politics. That same year, her mother betrothed her to a son of the Serbian Emperor Symeon Uros for political reasons, but this betrothal, like the first one was annulled. That same year, she was betrothed to an alienated associate of the King of Aragon, but the wedding never took place.

From the years of 1388-1391, Helena refused to repay damages to a Venetian citizen who suffered the loss of property aboard a ship from Ancona by her late husband, Don Luis Fadrique, in 1380. This made her mother very unpopular with Venice.

Her mother was quite hated by the people, who most likely would have preferred Maria to take charge over state affairs, but this never happened. Even at the age of 20, Maria had not taken charge over state affairs. This decision to keep the Dowager Countess in charge would eventually cause their deaths.

Though Necdet Sakaoğlu in his work “Bu Mülkün Kadın Sultanları” claims she was betrothed to Manuel II in 1393, I have not seen another source to confirm this claim.

In this same work, Sakaoğlu tells the story of the capture of Maria and her mother in late 1393 or early 1394. “Turkish soldiers captured the Frankish ship that was bringing Maria to Istanbul in the Dardanelles and captured its occupants.” - Necdet Sakaoğlu, “Bu Mülkün Kadın Sultanları,” pg 88.

Upon meeting the beautiful and affianced Countess, Sultan Yildirim Bayezid Han was smitten with her, and both the mother and the daughter were brought to his harem in Edirne, and Maria became his concubine, yet in other accounts he actually married her.

The Italian pilgrim Nicholas of Martoni, returning from Jerusalem by way of Greece in 1395, crossed the Gulf of Corinth from Vostitza (Aigion) to Vitrinitza in April. He was told that the district of Vitrinitza was then held by "the Grand Turk" who had acquired it from the lord of Salona ("Dominici de Sola") whose only daughter he had married. The Byzantine Family of Kantakouzenos (Cantacuzenus) Ca. 1100-1460: A Genealogical and Prosopographical, pg 163.

That same year in 1394, Helena died, but it is not clear if it was due to an execution or other reasons. According to Laonikos Chalkokondyles, the Countess Helena disgraced herself and brought shame upon the people of "Delphi" by committing her authority into the hands of her lover, a priest called Strateus, for which reason the Archbishop of Larissa denounced her to the Basileus (Sultan) and gave him the pretext for taking over the County of Salona. - The Byzantine Family of Kantakouzenos (Cantacuzenus) Ca. 1100-1460: A Genealogical and Prosopographical, pg 161.

As for Maria, she was executed a year later in 1395 after Bayezid allegedly found her unworthy of him, and eventually lost interest in her. However, this reason seems highly improbable.

When Bayezid lost interest in her, he wouldn’t have executed her but instead discarded her or even sent her away to the old palace in Bursa. The reason for her execution must be something else, either she was executed for political reasons or she went against the rules or even committed a crime, or even struck his ego in the wrong place. Nonetheless, it is highly unlikely for a Sultan to execute a concubine/wife of his because he lost interest in her.

( Sources: The Byzantine Family of Kantakouzenos (Cantacuzenus) Ca. 1100-1460: A Genealogical and Prosopographical, Necdet Sakaoğlu, “Bu Mülkün Kadın Sultanları".)

[anneapocalypse]

I made a lot of comparisons between Solas and Emet-Selch back in Shadowbringers, and to be sure there's a lot to compare there, particularly in terms of their goals and desires for the future of the world. But having finished main Endwalker (I'm at the beginning of 6.3), I realize now that in terms of the past, Emet-Selch isn't the Solas figure.

Venat is.

Venat is the one who broke the world--sundered it, even, a word both franchises are fond of--because, as Solas puts it in Trespasser, "every alternative was worse." The Evanuris would have destroyed the world and sacrificed untold lives to maintain their power. The survivors of the Final Days would have continued sacrificing untold lives to Zodiark in hopes of restoring their "paradise." Solas and Venat both know there is no choice they can make that calls for no sacrifice. They both simply choose to make a different one. And they both live for ages hence with the weight of what they've done, the suffering they have caused, because they believed the alternative was worse.

Emet-Selch in Shadowbringers is a version of Solas who never comes to see the people of the future as people, as lives just as worthy of saving as those of ancient times. (And even he kind of does in the end, it just takes, you know. dying. for him to acknowledge it.) But Venat, past and future, is more analogous to a version of Solas that a lot of fans (myself included) believe it's possible for him to become: one who believes in the future and in its people enough to let the past go.

And I love them all.

[bornnraisedinsilenthill]

I understand people who are disappointed in Dragon Age’s lack of darkness in the newer games.

Yes, it was funny, quirky and stupid. Always was and hopefully always will be.

But what I see most people missing, is how dark Origins could be and how little impact the dark stuff in Inquisition had. Example:

When you meet Hespith in Origins and learn about broodmother’s, it rightfully freaks you out. The gore lying on the floor, the poem being recited in the background and the realisation of what had happened, what has to happen to create a broodmother, all perfectly made to present the twisted shape of the enemy to you and add a vitality to your rise against the blight. It adds together almost beautifully to create the most horrifying quest in the entire game.

(I will not add a picture of the scene here, because Hespith’s haunted face genuinely unsettles me. Her face alone manages to encapsulate the horror of this scene.)

In Inquisition you fall into the fade and into the lair of an overpowered fear demon. Fear demon, whose purpose is to torture you with your nightmares. It is the perfect quest to go wild with the horror aspects, that built the Dragon Age games. To build up an unsettling atmosphere, so that the enemy and the setting could pay off on the idea. To have the demon torment you, perhaps isolate you, and haunt every player who replays the game. Instead the demon kind of roasts your companions.

This was merely the example that bothered me the most, as I played the quest, hoped for a lot and was left a little underwhelmed. It hurts especially after the quest, wherein you’re sent forth in time. That one used its’ darkness to give your Inquisitor a taste of the future, should the enemy succeed.

Similar games, like the Witcher or Baldurs Gate, are able to balance the light and darkness in equal measure. Sure, you get drunk with your Witcher buddies, but you will always rethink your choice to free or not to free the demon under the tree, to save or not to safe the children from the bog. It makes you understand Geralt’s decision to stay away from most choices. Sure, the sexy vampire is sexy, but also suffers from how he was used as a sexual object by his former master and how you can do the same. It makes you rethink your own actions and understand Astarion better.

When Solas tells you, that he is Fen’Harel, it was given all the buildup it needed and will forever be, in my opinion, one of the best plot twists in history. It makes you replay the game, analyse his dialogue and analyse him. I merely wish the rest of the game and its’ quests be treated with the same amount of importance and care. Because yes, Dragon Age is goofy, but that is not all it is. And we’re right to worry, that it may have lost its’ dark moments and with it its’ depth, as honestly tell me, how much did you find the side quest, especially the ones in the Hinterlands, in Inquisition interesting?

I want the Evanuris to make the impact they deserve to make in the world, story and the player. I want the story to not only give me a fun time, but to leave a certain darkness and sadness in it, to make the fun moments shine so much more. I do not want to play the game and find, that it lost its’ charm, because it was too afraid to tell a deep story and too interested in making money. I do not want to play a game of a beloved franchise, to find it hurting the name of the others, that came before.

[shift-shaping]

yet you love her all the same

solas meets an old friend in the fade.

rating: t

pairing: solavellan (discussed|)

previous fics | 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13

A spirit could take many forms. On this night, for whatever reason, Wisdom stood beside the water as a large grey heron. Solas watched it quietly, curiously, as it stared into its reflection and tilted its long, sharp head to the side.

"My friend," it greeted him in soft elven as he approached. Its eyes glowed, a mist of hazy blue magic drifting off them. When it spoke, it did so directly into his mind, without moving its beak.

"Hello," Solas replied warmly. The spirit stretched its wings, and he smiled at it. "You have not worn this shape in some time."

"It is comfortable, for now. You should try it."

"I should," he agreed, though it did not truly appeal to him. "Did something specific bring this on?"

The spirit made a chattering noise and retracted its neck before stretching again. "I wish to see what lies beneath the water's surface."

Solas smirked. "By... eating what lives there?" Wisdom hummed. "Why not take the form of a fish, then?"

Though it wore no true expression, somehow Wisdom looked upon him warmly. "How could we talk if I were a fish?"

"The same way we can when you are a bird.”

Wisdom looked back at the water, and drew its beak close to the surface. It was quiet for a time, and Solas gave it room to think. Finally it shook its head, feathers dancing on its crown. "No. I would swallow water and that would be unpleasant." It straightened again and turned to face him fully. "You have traveled so far, lethallin. Why venture to the northern plains?"

"The Inquisitor requested I accompany her on an urgent mission to Wycome. She received word from her clan's Keeper that her family is in danger."

Wisdom blinked at him, and the glow of its eyes was so strong it shown though its eyelids. "What manner of danger?"

"Strange mercenaries target her people." He frowned. "There are whispers of a purge." That a slaughtering of elves was so common there was a specific term for it made his stomach churn.

"A purge," Wisdom repeated. The word echoed around them. "What an ugly word." He looked away from the spirit, but it stretched its neck to look him in the eye. The gesture was so odd he couldn't help but smirk. "Not all suffering is your fault, lethallin. Leave some guilt for the rest of the world."

He exhaled and nodded. Though its words were ultimately false, he appreciated Wisdom's efforts to calm the inevitable downward spiral of his thoughts.

"And you have gone to help. Let that be something."

"I suppose it must be," he replied, but he knew that wasn't enough. Regardless of his friend's words, he knew every hurt in Enaste's life was, in truth, his fault. And not just her: that Sera was apart from her true self, that the Dalish of the Dirthavaren were so impoverished, even that the rebel mages were so damned that an offer of servitude to a Tevinter Magister was preferable to their current state --it was all the result of his actions, his mistakes.

"You must stop this," Wisdom urged. "You accomplish nothing with such thoughts." It nudged at him, jabbing his side with its beak.

"Please stop," he said, gently pushing it away. "Your face is too sharp for that."

"You are not good company like this," Wisdom asserted. It leaned back and flapped its wings. "Cease this misery, or I will find another wayward soul to pester!"

He couldn't help laughing at that. "Really? Who else will listen to your ramblings on Alamarri textiles?"

"An Alamarri craftsman!"

"And how many of those will meet with you?"

Wisdom grumbled and shrank back down, ruffling its feathers momentarily before relaxing. "They are not ramblings. My information is well-organized and presented."

"Of course it is," he replied. Wisdom looked at him sideways, glowing eyes narrowed. "I am sorry, my friend. I do not mean to be poor company."

"You are not. Usually." It straightened, and began to stare into the water again. They were both quiet for a long time, the silence settling from vaguely tense to something warmer, more familiar. That feeling of shifting silence, of nerves settling and relaxing, was something he always missed dearly when in the waking world. Outside the Fade, a stale conversation remained such when it paused. Emotions were more fluid here, and easier to detect as the boundaries from one being to another blurred at the edges.

Wisdom waded into the water, sending ripples flooding outward until they reflected back against the opposite shore. Solas sat in the grass at the water's edge and tried to do as his friend suggested. The spirit was right: this was no place to dwell on shame.

Eventually it spoke again, looking towards him from the water. "Tell me more about the Inquisitor."

“What would you like to know?" It was natural that Wisdom would be curious about Enaste given her sudden impact on the world. He had told it some things already, though, and was uncertain what more there was that Wisdom could not learn on its own.

"A great deal! You have told me facts about her history, her decisions, her allies, but there must be more besides her politics. You think about her so often, more than any mortal I can recall."

"It is not that often," he replied, defensive suddenly.

Somehow Wisdom managed to look at him witheringly. "Lethallin, please." 

"She is the leader of the Inquisition and the bearer of the Anchor," he replied, knowing full-well his friend already knew that. "Of course she is on my mind, occasionally."

"Occasionally!" It scoffed. "You embraced her." He averted his gaze and tried not to let the guilt overtake him again. Wisdom cocked its head, genuinely curious. "Why? If you only think of her because of her position, why are your thoughts as often on her lips as her words?"

"There are --it may be difficult for a spirit to understand," he deflected.

It bristled, feathers fluffing so it looked much larger than it was. "Do not insult me."He raised his eyebrows, not expecting such a reaction. "I am Wisdom! Of course I can understand desires of the flesh!'

He snorted, and it deflated quickly when it knew he wasn't intimidated. "How very prideful of you, lethallen." It looked annoyed. He shook his head and sighed. "But still, I apologize. That was unkind of me."

"You are forgiven." It waded out a bit further, watching the water. Occasionally a fish swam by, glittering and quick. Wisdom watched it, rather un-heron-like in its movement. "I only want to understand why she so occupies your mind."

Despite his efforts to avoid a conversation like this as much as possible, Wisdom inevitably drew it out of him. It was to be expected, he supposed --Wisdom was privy to much of his thoughts, and he could no longer pretend Enaste did not take up a significant portion of them. "She is..." But despite how much he thought of her, he found the words impossible to articulate. She was capable, and strong-willed, and confident in her own leadership. She valued knowledge, and expertise, and took advice from those she respected. Perhaps above all she was open-minded and curious, always asking him questions and listening thoughtfully to the answers.

She was also charming, and beautiful, with raven hair and hazel eyes that were warm and deep and wide. She laughed rarely, but more often around him, and the sound was honest and lovely and made his heart race. She was playful when she wanted to be, open in her desires yet embarrassed of them at the same time. Her lips were soft and full, her body pliant yet firm in his hands, her skin--

"Oh," Wisdom said suddenly, and he looked up from the thoughts he hadn't realized had consumed him. "You are in love with her!"

"No," he said, too quickly.

"How fascinating!"

He exhaled and squeezed his eyes shut, centered himself, forcing his mind back to the conversation at hand. "She is not what I expected from this world. I am simply --surprised."

"Why? Is it so hard to think there could be something worth loving in the ruins?" Wisdom waded closer to him, head tilted curiously, the water lapping softly at its feet. "A flower that grows where corpses lie is no less lovely for its surroundings." It paused. When it spoke again, its voice was gentler still. "Perhaps... it is even more so."

"It is a selfish thought to even entertain. I have already hurt her," he said. "I cannot twist the knife by betraying her so personally."

"Yet you love her all the same."

"It is foolish. And ultimately, irrelevant."

Wisdom watched him pensively, and said nothing for a time. When it spoke again, the words sank in his chest like stones in the pond. "What does she want of you?"

"That... Is irrelevant as well. She would not want anything of me if she knew the entire truth." His voice fell, and he shook his head. "And she does not, and cannot. So we must remain as we are."

"You have no idea what she would want, my friend." Even in its prodding Wisdom was so gentle, so kind; he could almost believe it was right. "Perhaps she might even wish to walk beside you on your path."

He chuckled mirthlessly, unsettled by the thought of dragging her down with him. "That thought is far from comforting."

"Or maybe she is proof that you belong where you are. That this world, however broken, is the one you must accept."

He looked up at it seriously, frowning. "You cannot believe that," he breathed.

"I am Wisdom.” A teasing melody laced its voice. He could now say he’d seen a heron smirk. “I do not believe anything. I only want to know the possibilities."

"Then you know why acceptance is defeat."

"Is it? Or are you too proud to know the difference?"

"Clever," he said bluntly, and stood. "I can feel our time grow short, my friend."

Wisdom waded to the shore, leaving water dripping to the grass. "You are afraid."

"Of what?" He asked as Wisdom drew close. The spirit seemed slightly taller now, or perhaps it stretched its neck up higher. It looked directly into his eyes, in a manner it could tell unsettled him.

"Of her. Of what she could do to you if you let her." He sighed and looked away. "Yet you linger by her side."

He shook his head. "She needs my help."

"You could let her die."

"No, I could not."

"Why?" It asked, tilting its long narrow head to the side. "She will die regardless, in time. Then the mark is yours."

"Someone must stop Corypheus."

"Then kill her and take the Anchor yourself."

Solas balked, blinking at the spirit. "You-- are you seriously suggesting I murder Enaste?" He was genuinely taken aback, uncertain he'd ever heard it suggest something so merciless.

Its eyes glowed brighter. "You cannot murder a ghost, lethallin! Would it not be better, kinder, to sever one thread so the rest can be free?"

"I--" he exhaled and closed his eyes tightly. Wisdom fell quiet, waiting. "I am not entertaining this. I know what you're trying to do, and it isn't helping."

The spirit pulled back, tittering an odd little laugh. "Yes, it is."

Solas rolled his eyes. "We can continue this discussion another time." He sighed. "Or not, preferably."

Wisdom huffed a laugh. "Fine, then. But when you find yourself again in her arms, I will be here to say I told you so."

"You are obnoxious." He scoffed. "This form has made you meddlesome and tiring."

"I will not turn into a tree again. That was a very boring two hundred years."

He smiled at Wisdom, amused despite himself. "On that much we can agree. This realm was lonely indeed without your chattering."

It flapped its wings again. "Then perhaps I will remain this shape a while longer. I enjoy this form."

"So long as you are comfortable, my friend. And..." He hesitated, then gave the spirit a deep nod. "Thank you. In spite of my protests, I appreciate your counsel."

"Of course, Solas." Sometimes Wisdom called him that to tease him, to poke fun at his nature or call him arrogant, but now, like this, it was simply his name. And hearing it, in Wisdom's echoing, ancient voice, was enough to soothe his nerves and slow his racing thoughts. Here, even among such an ancient force, there was great comfort in knowing he remained himself.

<- prev fic | next fic ->

[an-established-butt-dent]

“Solas?“

“Yes, Vhenan."

“What are you drawing?“

He still has his eyes on the piece of parchment in front of him, but slows down the repetetive movements of his hand tracing the shapes on paper, as if that might offer him more time to find his answer. "Oh, just some practice. It helps me sort my thoughts," he says with the casual air of somebody trying to evade a question.

“Can I see, then?“

He glances up briefly and notices she has stopped reading her book on the early history of Neromanian magic. She has one elbow propped up on the table and rests her chin on her hand. She is looking at him expectantly, her book clearly forgotten.

He pauses the scratchy movements of his pencil and says rather hesitantly.

"It's not finished."

She leans forward a bit more, trying to catch a glimpse at his paper. He subtly angles it away from her. She might have barely noticed, had she not noted his newfound secrecy regarding his recent drawings. She has become increasingly curious over the past few weeks, and his forced casual demeanor after her question only fills her with more anticipation.

It makes her think of the first time he showed her his artwork. …

The first time she had walked into the rotunda in Skyhold and found Solas high up on the scaffolding with a paint brush in his hands and a concentrated look on his face, she was surprised to learn of his motivation.

"History needs to be documented," he had said when she asked him what he was working on.

After climbing down the scaffolding and taking a step back to admire the process of his work, he continued, "Not by the words of diplomats, but through the eyes of those skilled in artistry. Words will be forgotten, but images? Those will hold significance across time."

She had been moved then. By the bold lines in the fresco and the fierce look in his eyes as he regarded her as he spoke. Like she was someone worthy of admiration. Like he truly saw her. It reminded her of his words before their first kiss.

'You change everything.' He had said.

She didn't really believe him then. She didn't want to be put on a pedestal, far removed from the world and the simple and nomadic lifestyle of her clan that she was accustomed to. She missed roaming mountains and hills, not fighting blighted Templars and navigating treacherous games of power with nobles. That life had seemed like such a long time ago, even though it had barely been a year.

But perhaps she didn't need to suffer though all of this alone. She had her friends. Dorian with his jokes. Varric with his stories. Cassandra with her quiet support and camaderie. Iron Bull helping her with her fighting stances and teaching her new drinking games with Cullen. Even Cole, though he was still figuring out what the word friend even meant. She would help him with that, she had decided then. Friends; they made the aching pull of homesickness more bearable.

But Solas.

Who was he to her? She could call him her friend the supposed. She had the feeling they were becoming closer and yet there was an undeniable distance. Always leaving space for interpretation and mystery while never backing away from any of her questions. So much knowledge he shared, and still she had the feeling she barely knew him at all. He had slowly and unknowingly developed a talent for surprising her with new insights and he did so later again that same evening.

The next hour passed quickly while they were still talking about art and the different depictions of elven lore. He had stared at her intently for a moment, considering her.

"I want to show you something." he had said.

She never passed up an opportunity to learn more so she had indulged him, following him to a plain-looking crate to the side of the room. He removed the protective wards with a wave of his hand. He then uncovered some, by the looks of it, handbound books. He observed them one by one carefully, with a nod of acceptance when he seemingly found what he was looking for and handed her one of the books.

As she opened the first few pages she discovered they were sketchbooks filled with rough outlines in preparation for the next installment of the mural.

Excitedly he pointed to notes in the margin and spoke of where he learned the techniques for collecting and grinding his own pigments. There was a red ocre in the Western Approach that he had recently discovered on one of their missions which was apparently incredibly well suited for his purpose. At her encouragement he had shown her more of of his other drawings too. First of symbolism and color studies, but then more personal ones: of the views of the mountains from Skyhold, running Halla, drying herbs and even of some of the members of the inquisition she recognized.

In turn she told him about how she used to carve wood, especially when winters were rough and her clan was stuck in the same place for long waiting out the biting cold and punishing snow. To keep her fingers from freezing and her mind from wandering to dark places, she had started to carve.

"I haven't had the time since, well you know, this whole mess." she waved the fingers of her marked hand which flashed a sliver of green. Solas had looked thoughtful after her comment, almost like there was a tinge of regret behind his eyes.

The conversation steered in a different direction afterwards, like the seriousness of their predicament weighted more heavily on their shoulders than before. The mysterious books disappeared back into the chest and not long after she had excused herself and called it a night. Somehow she couldn't shake the feeling she had overstepped.

A few days later she returned from a short scouting mission. She climbed the steps to her sleeping quarters, exhausted. She hardly noticed there was an odd-shaped package leaning against her bedroom door until she almost stumbled over it. Her tiredness trading itself for curiosity, she moved to pick it up.

There was no note attached but once she unwrapped the bundle she discovered a beautiful and distinctive elven carving knife and a solid piece of oak wood.

She couldn't help the warm feeling that spread though her body, feeling the comforting weight of the wood and the cool metal of the knife in her hands.

….

She shakes her head as she's brought back to the present. That same rotunda they have since spend so much of their time together. Researching, reading and talking. There had been barely an evening where she didn't end up in the rotunda with Solas. At least when she wasn't away from Skyhold, trying to save the world on missions throughout Thedas.

She looks at Solas from her spot at the table with a mischievous glint in her eyes.

It takes a lot of effort to hide her smile.

Whith an amused tilt to the corner of her lips she says, "You know, Dorian told me he found some sketchbooks laying around, depicting a rather familiar elf. Anything you would know about that?"

Is he… Is he blushing?

"Um, Well you see." he cleares his throat trying to school his expression. "Those were private… And hidden for a reason."

She can't contain a smile. Solas flustered, that's a rare sight.

"You've seen them?" he askes quietly. She notices he has started fumbling with the edges of the paper. She didn't believe his ears could turn a brighter shade of pink.

"Maybe," she says while averting her eyes to the ceiling. She glances back to him out of the corner of her eyes.

Solas looks at her like she has grown an extra pair of ears.

She leans back in her chair and stretches out her legs comfortably under the table. Knowing she has him she doesn't want to push more and decides to spare him some of her teasing. She turns to look at him and softens her expression.

"I rather liked them."

Knowing that is probably not enough to explain why she had looked at his private belongings without permission and seeing the dumbfounded expression on his face slowly making space for embarrassment she decides to tell the whole story.

"I know shouldn't have overstepped, but Dorian said he had something urgent to discuss and before I was even halfway up the stairs he assaulted me with flying books, shouting about discovering my secret admirer. Either I would have stumbled to death or caught them. And, well… Once I started looking I couldn't look away… " she trails off with a slight tinge of shame in her voice.

"You liked them?“

She lookes at him, surprised by the hopefulness in his voice.

A wave of understanding washes over her.

He hid the drawings from her, not because he didn't want her to see them but because he was afraid of her rejection. Even though they had spent the last few months becoming more and more tangled up with each other, stealing fleeting glances and sometimes passionate kisses, they still hadn't really taken a moment to talk about what there was between them.

When she saw the drawings he made of her she had finally understood his interest in her was genuine and went beyond anything resembling a casual dalliance - something she can now confess to have been rather afraid of, because she had developed deeper feelings for him from the moment he started sharing detailed stories dreamt in the fade and his perspective on magic intertwined with life. And then there had been that first kiss… Wel let's just say she's in way too deep to turn back now.

And for all the effort he put into keeping emotional distance between them, he had apparently failed from the moment he had started putting her likeless on paper. For she could see the passion and emotion in the lines, soft shadows and hidden meanings. It made them stand out from all the other drawings she had seen by his hand.

What he couldn't yet put into words, he had found a different way of showing.

"Yes I-" suddenly feeling unsure she pauses for a moment and crosses her arms looking for the right words. "The drawings, they reminded me of who I could be." She takes a deep breath finds her courage and continues. "Someone who people will tell stories about. Not stories about Divine intervention, but of an elven woman's fight for justice. For a kinder world. Somehow I never really managed to see myself that way when I look in the mirror. But those drawings… I guess it's easier to understand who I've become by seeing myself through your eyes. To see the change I'm part of, but most of all to remind myself of where I came from."

She had uncrossed her arms and angled her body towards him over the table. A determined expression rests on her face. He hadn't taken his eyes of her from the moment she started talking.

He looks at her thoughtfully for a moment, considering his reply.

"Very well" he says while some of the tension visibly drains away from his body. She raises her eyebrows in question. "Then it's only time you started showing me your carvings in return. Some good blocks of wood have gone missing. I overheard Blackwall complaining about recently." He shares the accusations with a bemused smile on his lips.

Now it was her turn to blush.

"I was planning on showing you, but first I wanted to practice… " she trailed off her sentence, knowing she doesn't actually have a valid excuse for hiding it from him. And it was not like she hadn't backed him into a corner first.

Feeling relieved he wasn't pulling away at her recent discovery she changes her mind with newfound courage and stands up abruptly while extending her hand in invitation. The purpose of their late night reading session forgotten.

"You're right. And I'm willing to offer you a tour of my recent carving exploits, but only if you can refrain from commenting over the woodchips carpeting the floor." He starts to move as if to get up but she makes him pause as she isn't done yet. "But in turn I will pose for your next drawing." Solas looks at her confused for a moment, as if considering her question.

She pauzes for a moment and adds without hesitation.

"Naked."

"What?"

"That's right."

From a balcony upstairs they could hear some muffled movement followed by a familiar voice echoing down "You know Solas, if you're looking for nude models you only need to ask!"

"Dorian!" they say in unison, horrified.

Solas quickly tucks the sketches under his arm and stands up to grasp her hand, surprising her by pulling her close so fast she has to steady herself with her other hand landing on his chest.

Only a breath away from her ear he says softly so only she can hear.

"It seems like you found yourself a deal, ma Vhenan."

She squeezes his hand in response and when she looks at him there isn't a hint of his previous embarrassment. Instead there is a look of hunger and challenge in his eyes. It's so easy then, to lean over and kiss him, her lips a promise and Dorian's earlier interuption temporarily forgotten. Before she can get lost in the soft press of his lips she pulls back and feels a delighted thrill in the way he slightly chases them as she takes a step back. With a teasing smile on her lips she tugs on his hand bringing him back to reality and encouraging him to follow. As they make their way quietly towards the door she throws a judgemental look over her shoulder towards where she imagines Dorian to be hiding.

She is just able to make out a muffled conversation on the first floor "… These lovesick fools seem to keep forgetting this is a public space, if they don't want an audience they should find a room!"

Not sure if she should be terribly embarrassed or slightly thankful for Dorians intervention she doesn't manage to hide her smile.

"Let's get out of here then." she says as they start to make their way through Skyhold.

He squeezes her hand.

"Gladly."

[cyanorhis]

I am obsessed with the idea that once the Evanuris are released, they will come for Fen’Harel’s throat and what could possibly be more hurtful for the man who is ready to sacrifice everything for a cause with little care for his own life? Killing him would be easy. He is doing something he knows he regrets, it would almost be a release. They want him to suffer just as much as he made them.

So what better than capturing, torturing, manipulating (not necessarily in order, not necessarily all of them) his vhenan?

He will either need to protect her from them, or pretend they never had a relationship (which I think is unlikely if Lavellan took out the vallaslin because I think it marks her). In any case I am really looking forward to that.

It also serves to me as a headcanon/explanation to why Lavellan might not be as present in datv. Because she is marked by Solas and by Thedas as the Inquisitor. Anyways, just my two cents.

[fatale-distraction]

Read this amazing post by @instantbee about whether Solas knew what the real impact of removing Lavellan’s vallaslin was. I immediately wanted to share my thoughts on my own Lavellan’s reaction to this, but I didn’t want to highjack their post.

Like many other lovely Lavellans, this was a moment that sowed the first tiny seed of distrust in Solas.

Ellanasha refused him.

She worked harder than anyone else in her clan to earn her vallaslin and intentionally chose the most complex form of Mythal’s markings. She had something to prove. I reimagined the Lavellan clan a little bit, so there’s quite a bit of canon divergence here. Most Dalish clans limit their mages to only two or three at the most to keep themselves safe. Clan Lavellan has always had truly unusual amount of mages born to them, and rather than sending them away, they have made a point of protecting and nurturing them, even accepting mages from other clans who had been tossed to the wilds. Ellana’s mothers and her sister were some of the most potent mages in the clan, second only to the Keeper. Most everyone in Clan Lavellan could do some form of magic, even if it was just a small enough spark of flame to start the campfires. Ellana, however, didn’t have a single drop of magic in her. The closest she got was an uncanny ability to befriend just about any animal she came across, but there was no magic there, just a sweet, gentle disposition and a lonely young woman.

Beyond that, much of the Clan blamed her for the capture of her mothers by Tevinter slavers, and incident which ultimately led to their deaths as they tried to protect their daughters. Ellana’s vallaslin was intended to prove to her clan that she belonged, that she was willing to sacrifice anything to protect them, endure the worst pain and dedicate her life to serving the greatest of their pantheon.

As OP pointed out, Lavellan is stuck in this incredibly fraught position where the vast majority of people see her as symbolic of the Chantry, including her own people. Chantry folk see her as their savior, a messenger and protector sent by Andraste and the Maker. The Dalish see her as a traitor to her culture and religion until she’s able to convince them otherwise. Even an Inquisitor who declares for the elves in their speech at Skyhold goes ignored. No matter what they do, Lavellan will always be viewed as a tool of the Chantry.

After the destruction of Haven and the singing of The Dawn Will Come, Ellana is terrified. She’s heard all the tales of Andraste’s martyrdom, but through the lens of the Dalish. Andraste as a woman who had the audacity to wield power, who was made to believe she was a chosen of the Maker, betrayed by her husband and murdered by fanatics in the name of a god who didn’t care enough to save her. A warning to young elves not to trust the Chantry. They would use you for their purpose, and let you die.

Ellana begged Solas in tears not to let them make a martyr of her. In spite of this, she agrees to lead the Inquisition. She knows it’s the right thing, she believes she can make a difference not just for the world, but for her people, for elves all over Thedas, Dalish or not. And that is more important to her than her own fears of martyrdom. Her identity as a Dalish elf is paramount, even more important when the world looks at her almost as Andraste reborn.

So when Solas suggests that her vallaslin are the marks of salvers and offered to remove them, Ellana was furious. How could he not understand? How could he reduce her sacrifice and suffering for her people to the very thing responsible for the deaths of her mothers? How could he suggest that she remove the one thing that marked her visibly, inarguably as DALISH? That she should find freedom in assimilation? He promised he wouldn’t let them make a martyr out of her, and to Ellana, here he was suggesting the very first step.

Even worse; when she refused him, he broke up with her.

If she’d accepted, would he have stayed?

Did she even want a man who would do such a thing to her? (Insert Florence + the Machine’s What Kind of Man here)

There’s no way Solas could understand the depth of what he was suggesting to a modern Dalish elf. To remove their identity, something they fought for, something that represented their entrance into adulthood, their duty to their people? All his careful observation could never prepare him for the reality of living among a people whose history and culture has been irrevocably lost, clinging to the shreds left over with bloody, desperate hands.

[deilmo]

Elgar'nan's true origins

One Tweet has me going crazy.

It was a twitter post talking about how Mythal was as much a voice of justice as she was a voice of vengeance and-

I found it strange that Mythal was associated with both Justice and Vengeance when Elgar'nan was also the god of Vengeance. It was weird to have them both embody the same virtue. And if we are to believe the gods are spirits, what's to say Elgar'nan was ALWAYS Vengeance?

I looked at his codexes, especially the one of his origin because it's the most complete and-

"Elgar'nan was furious at what his father had done and vowed vengeance. He lifted himself into the sky and wrestled the sun, determined to defeat him. They fought for an eternity, and eventually the sun grew weak, while Elgar'nan's rage was unabated. Eventually Elgar'nan threw the sun down from the sky and buried him in a deep abyss created by the land's sorrow." Codex entry: Elgar'nan God of Vengeance

This seem to confirm that Elgar'nan changed into Vengeance rather than being born as Vengeance. But the codex doesn't mention much HOW Elgar'nan was before turning to vengeance.

So I went digging. We know that the same "demon" can be corrupted from different spirits, (ex: Wisdom and Faith spirits can both turn into Pride) meaning Elgar'nan didn't have to be a spirit of Justice like Mythal. With that in mind I went searching what kind of spirit could embody the "opposite of vengeance" in the known spirits.

The one that stood out the most to me were Honor and Valor, in media they are usually pitted against Vengeance: vengeance usually has no honor nor valor in those depictions. So those two known spirits could work BUT-

We know spirits are twisted from their purpose by something that is so against their nature that they change. It could work on Honor and Valor. But knowing what twisted a demon can help us identify what it was. (Think Solas saying forcing Wisdom to fight was so against its purpose it twisted). And the legend does give us the reason of Elgar'nan's wrath:

The sun, looking down upon the fruitful land, saw the joy that Elgar'nan took in her [earth] works and grew jealous. Out of spite, he shone his face full upon all the creatures the earth had created, and burned them all to ashes. The land cracked and split from bitterness and pain, and cried salt tears for the loss of all she had wrought. The pool of tears cried for the land became the ocean, and the cracks in her body the first rivers and streams. Codex entry: Elgar'nan God of Vengeance

Reading that made me think it echoed more with a spirit of Compassion, like Cole. Powerless, Elgar'nan could only watch as his father (the sun) burned his mother and her work to ashes. It could be that powerlessness over someone's suffering was what twisted Elgar'nan into Vengeance.

Another possibility is in Mythal's origin. When she rises from the sea to make Elgar'nan see reason after he imprisonned his father into an abyss:

It was at this moment that Mythal walked out of the sea of the earth's tears and onto the land. She placed her hand on Elgar'nan's brow, and at her touch he grew calm and knew that his anger had led him astray. Humbled, Elgar'nan went to the place where the sun was buried and spoke to him. Elgar'nan said he would release the sun if the sun promised to be gentle and to return to the earth each night. The sun, feeling remorse at what he had done, agreed. Codex: Mythal the Great Protector

The further we are going down this thread and the less my hypothesis have hard proof, but i'm just covering all bases and possibilities. This highlighted section made me tick because it has very specific word choices: Humbled. He was not calmed or appeased, he was humbled. Now we have no proof of such spirit existing but Humility IS a virtue, meaning it could be a potential spirit unknown to us at this point.

The last and least supported possibility would be that Elgar'nan was a Mercy spirit. We have no proof of such spirit existing, and there is nothing in any codex that could hint to us to that. The sole reason I'm mentionning this is because Mercy is the closest antonym we could think of to Vengeance (when excluding Justice).

Mercy is more or less literally a kindness that allows you to forgive someone who has wronged someone (usually you), Vengeance on the other end is punishing someone that has wronged someone (usually you). Those two concepts cannot co-exist. You cannot give mercy when you are filled with thoughts of vengeance.

IF Elgar'nan was a spirit of Mercy, it could also explain why when Mythal couldn't give a sentence in one of her judging, she let Elgar'nan do it. When it was agreed he wouldn't give judgement because his wrath would destroy everything. (Codex: Ancient elven writing & The Judgment of Mythal)

TLDR; Elgar'nan most likely wasn't a spirit of Vengeance in the beginning, but twisted into it. His previous spirit self could be: Honor, Valor, Compassion, Humility or Mercy

[arlathvhenan]

Time for a controversial opinion here, but I think Felassan was wrong.

Now before you come at me, let me elaborate. I'm not saying he was wrong to consider modern Elves people (which itself is debatable considering how little he seems to care for the Dalish, hes arguably worse than Solas in that regard) but that he was wrong to try and put the entire future of the Elven people on a single young woman.

I've already written about this in another post, but I'll reiterate. It doesn't matter how much progress Briala may or may not be capable of in her lifetime. It doesn't matter how much progress she and her followers may be capable of over the course of several lifetimes. Because we have already seen how willing the humans are to take back whatever gains the Elves have fought for through whatever means necessary, and those means will almost always include widespread violence.

Andraste herself promised The Dales to the Elven people. The very prophet upon whose legacy the Chantry and nearly all of human civilization in modern Thedas was built. She fought to give the Elven people a home, it was her promise to them, and her own followers would later break that promise in her name. They finally had a home of their own, but the Chantry just wouldn't stand for it. Humans wouldn't stand for it.

Think of any given indigenous population in our own world and look at how they've been treated over the centuries. How they are still being treated. Who's to say that isn't the same future Briala would bring for the Elves, because at the end of the day she is only one woman against a perpetually surging tide of bigotry and racism. She is one woman, trying her goddamn best, but Thedas is a monstrous place full of monstrous people and ideologies.

Think of Ameridan, and everything he scarified. He saved the people of Orlais at the expense of his own life and the lives of those he most cherished, only to have his heroism forgotten. That Orlais was spared the wrath of a rampaging dragon by an Elf didn't matter in the end. He was forgotten. His home would go on to be destroyed by the very people he'd fought to save.

Think of Shartan, who fought beside Andraste. Like Ameridan, his contributions were nearly lost. The Chantry made sure of it. They de-canonized the scriptures that told his story and altered artworks of him to hide his racial identity. I wonder how many other Elves have suffered such a fate. Think of how many marginalized people in our own world have had their legacies hidden or destroyed, simply because their racial identity was inconvenient for those in power.

I wonder if Felassan considered any of this when he made his choice in Masked Empire. I wonder if he had any idea what he was putting on Briala's shoulders, or the long, hideous road her people would walk. I wonder if he had any way of fathoming just how cruel and relentlessly brutal a world Thedas really is.

[psalacanthea]

idk just some DAI Solavellan stuff. Solas POV, 2.6k, Mature.

Three hours of pensive searching and troubled wandering had finally borne fruit.

Ellana had been impossible to find since their tumultuous arrival at Skyhold, a habit which had become her silent protest against what she could not change or control.  Solas understood, but he knew it was not merely suffering that drove her away.  It was also spite and anger, two emotions she felt perhaps more deeply than even he realized.  At first he had thought her reticence was merely distrust.

Now that they were acquainted, he could see instead the rage that fueled her silence and stubbornness, the hatred she bore towards the Chantry that had made an icon and a prisoner of her.

He had no doubt that Leliana had an idea of where the newly-christened Inquisitor was, but she and the spymaster had an odd understanding.  He hadn’t intended to overhear Ellana taking her own life hostage to make a point to Leliana, but it had deepened his understanding of her.  Solas had little doubt Ellana would in fact kill herself if they tried to drive her too far.

There was a selfishness in her he abhorred, but a desperation he understood.

Unfortunately, to find her forced a contemplative stroll through the ruins of what had been built over Tarasyl’an Te’las.  It was foreign enough to dull that distant pain, but every now and again there would be a sign.  A piece of Elvhen statuary shattered into gravel, visible only due to its material, hints of older stonework at the base of some walls.  The bones of an ancient dragon encased in stone formed long after its death.

She was atop the walls, in the center of an intact section bounded by shattered stonework; a destination with no easy path to reach it.

A tower kept it from view, but he had heard the sounds of metal on stone in the distance, giving her position away.  After navigating the crumbled stonework to the top, she came into view at last.  The way between them was treacherous, a long section of fallen wall caved by ancient siege weaponry, no doubt.  It was tumbled into a pile, some of which had fallen down the side of the cliff.  

She sat on the intact wall beyond it, her back to Solas, a campfire lighting her silhouette.  Tendrils of deep mahogany hair were pulled free of her messy braid, streaming in the cold wind that blew past; the only signs of motion from her.  He knew instantly why she had gone silent and still.

Better to simply admit his approach, then, since she knew he was coming.  “Were you intending to stay all night, I wonder?”

In one fluid movement, she rose.  Her limbs unfolded, and then extended, arms stretching over her head until she stopped, short and sharp with a wince.  The left elbow again, he imagined. The fingers stretched wide over her head towards the evening sky curled in, hands balling into fists as her arms fell like dead weight to her sides.  Turning on her toes, she faced him at last.

Her impenetrable, sharp-jawed face was calm, eyes dark with their current distance and the light behind her.

Wide lips pursed minutely as she walked to the edge of the wall, the crumbling gap and the tempestuous mountain wind between them.

“I am displeased to see you, falon.  You should take care.  If you keep pestering me on word of the Andrastians, I may begin to think of you in the same light.”

“The only curiosity I sate is my own, lethallan,” he said, ignoring her return to sarcastic formality.

A grim smile touched her lips, but not her cold voice.  “Not going to fetch me for Cassandra this time?”

“No.  I asked that she no longer involve me.”

Her expression was bland and unreadable, but her eyes were alight with a gleam of curiosity.  “Why?”

“In light of your considerable and ever-increasing quarrel with the Chantry, I have decided to alienate them rather than you,” Solas replied, rather than lying to her.  She accepted lies without question, but counted them, and he had already lied to her more than he was comfortable with.  Every lie compounded, and renewed scrutiny might see things he would rather not be seen.

Finally she smiled, half-hearted and rueful, shaking her head.  “Your placation skills are as impressive as ever.  Don’t feed me medicine and tell me it’s honey, Solas.”

“It was a great unkindness, what Leliana did.”

Her smile faded away, and the light left her eyes.  “I’m tired of shouting over the wind.  Find your way across or go away,” she said, turning on her heel and returning to her fire.  He could see the frustration in her sharp steps, in the way she threw herself down on the stones.

By now he knew that his struggling might amuse her, but it would garner no sympathy or softening of her attitude.  And so, rather than making a show of attempting the dangerous climb, a feat which would be simple for her, he made the trek simple for himself as well.  Using magic, of course.  

Whatever occupied her continued to, and he knew it wasn’t merely a show of ignoring him.  

  Crossing the ruined wall was completed in a heartbeat, and as she was watching he didn’t bother to reduce his ability down to a spell she might recognize and accept.  Ellana seemed intensely familiar with magic, he’d cast before without a staff in the midst of a fight and he’d seen her discreetly checking his hands for injuries at camp.  Which he’d had, of course.  Some singed fingertips were a small sacrifice to his facade.

Not that she had any herself, but unlike the humans she treated it as something unremarkable as lighting a fire with flint and steel.

“Mac na galla,” she cursed under her breath, in a language he recognized but did not understand.

Something from the Free Marches, which made sense considering her origin.

As he came close, able to see over her shoulder, he could see what she was doing.  A small, rectangular metal box rested next to her knee, an array of tools and half-finished pieces spread before her.  Resting in the heart of her fire was a small crucible approximately the size of a teapot, which was filled with melted metal.  The source of her curse seemed to be a shorn nail, which had torn the delicate skin underneath, leaving a thin, ragged piece of nail behind at the edge.  It was bleeding, but she’d apparently already dismissed that injury, tossing a piece of her nail aside and picking up a half-finished arrowhead.

Having just been unmolded, it was rough and covered in burrs from its casting.  She picked up a file and began working at them, barely moving as he circled the fire to sit across from her.  There was a flicker of a sidelong glance, but nothing else.  

She had obliquely invited him to stay, and so he had no qualms about interrupting what was obviously some form of meditation. Self-soothing, perhaps, or simply a repetitive task to help clear her mind.  The Inquisition had plenty of arrows.

“Your finger is bleeding.  Might I assist?”

“Bleeding cleanses the body,” she muttered, which was entirely untrue.

“I am fairly certain all that bleeding accomplishes, in most cases, is to relieve you of your blood.”

“You can do some blood magic with it if you want,” she said, finger dripping onto her thigh as she filed down a spike of pebbled iron from the edge of the arrowhead.  It was a narrow, pyramidal one, of the type she tended to use against templars.

“I will abstain.  Was it you that left the basket in my tent?  If so, thank you– it is exactly what I was in search of.”

“The mountain pine trees have good bark for weaving.  The inner bark, not the outer.  The outer makes excellent fire-starters, especially if you can find a pitch-knot.  If you soak their cone-buds in honey for six months, strain, boil, and then ferment it, it makes something called melash, I think, but we just called it pine wine.  I learned it from a Frostback clan during the Arlathvhen.”

He had to admit, privately, that at times her presumption that he was an ignorant, helpless scholar that needed to be taught everything did grate.  On the other hand, in his company she was completely free with her speech, manner, and all of those vicious bristling edges she hid from everyone else.  She treated him, for better or worse, like she would any Dalish despite their disagreements about her people.  With one glaring difference– Ellana habitually acted as if he was a bird fallen out of a nest, something pitiable and fragile.

At least he had proven he knew how to forage, which had quelled her fears that he was three seconds from starving to death at all times.

Her concern was amusing, but knife-edged and imperious.  He knew it by now intimately, and no longer felt any arrogance in it.  She simply knew no other way to show people that she cared.  Not with her guard up constantly.

She and Sera were constantly at odds due to it, which was amusing to witness.  

Solas sat in quiet, contemplative silence, watching as she finished the arrowhead and moved to the next.

The metal box split in half, width-wise, revealing an interior packed with damp sand.  She pressed it back into each disheveled half, leaving it flat, and then carefully pressed her new arrowhead into the surface.  Then the box was closed over the arrowhead, to force its impression into the sand.

It was calming to watch her, scarred, graceful hands moving with authority and purpose, not a moment’s hesitation to impede her work.  He could imagine her as she doubtless had been, doing this exact same thing at a thousand firesides, during a thousand nights, small practiced movements as intricate as a dance and just as full of beautiful artistry.  The arrow was removed from the mold, and she set it atop her left knee, perched for later use.

The mold closed again, with a small reed caught between the halves to leave an opening for the metal to pour into the cavity.  The metal glowed, a sullen fiery hue, as she used a small metal ladle with a spout to scoop up the molten iron and tipped it into the mold.  The arc of magma-hot liquid iron was transfixing, despite the brevity of the moment.

She set the mold aside to cool, and lifted her narrowed eyes back to his face.  “You heard her threaten me.  You heard me threaten her.”  It was a statement, not a question, so he waited until she continued.  “You must be disappointed again that I had to be forced into the role they have chosen for me instead of happily sacrificing myself to save Thedas like a good little icon.  So please, tell me how selfish I am for attempting to choose my manner of death.  Make certain to be abstruse, or I won’t know how smart you are.”

“Yet again I am scolded for preferring specificity in my speech.  Lethallan, were I to write a treatise on you, it would be filled with contradictions.” 

Solas was pleased to see her smile, sly and barely-stifled.  Still, he hadn’t quite spoken his thoughts, which was what he had come here to do.  It was a faint hope that his words– marred by secrecy and a thousand lies– would do any good to comfort her, but he could try.

“It need not end in death, Ellana.”

“It will,” she replied placidly, staring into the fire.  “One way or another, it will.  To be raised up is to be chiseled down, the pieces of yourself that are inconvenient, or wrong, or too uncomfortable removed from you.  By force, if necessary, and by history, inevitably.  Whatever survives this will not be me, if anything does.”

She looked up at him, eyes reflecting the molten metal, gleaming like a predator in the night.

“I am already dead, Solas, I’ve told you.  I can feel them killing me.”

It was too matter-of-fact for dramatics, the words laden with a hard-won weariness and resignation that gave them a vicious certainty.  

“If you can think of any wisdom, any wisdom at all that will make this burden lighter for me, then speak.  But until the day I do not feel my back breaking under the weight of their expectations every time they look at me, this is where you will find me.  But eventually…”  She reached over and knocked open the mold, pulling a jagged arrowhead from it.  Lifting it, Ellana shifted her gaze over to it, gently spinning the metal in her fingers.  “Eventually there will be nothing of me left.  But there is no sympathy for me, no.  Because I am a thing, a beacon, a hand and not the woman connected to it.”

She turned the arrowhead one last time, and then tipped it towards him.  He could see the flaw in the metal, a hollow that had not filled properly during the casting.  It was thrown back into the crucible, his eyes tracking it, watching the metal begin to soften at the edges as it gave in to the heat.

“Would it make for a better tragedy for me to be hopeful, Solas?  To rail against the very sky, to stand up against an ancient magister like a child flinging stones at a giant?  Would that make it sad enough?  How pathetic must I be?  How humbled?  Tell me, Solas.  What form of martyr must I be?”

There was no answer that was both kind and true. “Ir abelas, my friend.”

Ellana laughed, soft and hollow, graceful, able hands limp in her lap. “Are you disappointed in me?”

“No,” he said quietly, “I am not.”

The wind whistled past them as the conversation fell silent.  

Fading from the edges of the sky, the day finally ended, leaving them in a circle of firelight   with the darkness all around them.  Ellana made no move to craft another arrows, busy, helping hands unable to do anything to lighten her burdens.  The guilt he felt in that moment eclipsed, even for a moment, the shield wall of duty and distance that kept him focused on his goals.

They had always felt small, these vestiges of the Elvhen, but at this moment he felt as overwhelmed by inevitability and grief as she did.

In this moment they were joined, and equal.

Victims of his grief.

“I’ve been thinking about when we spoke of your dreams.  Your Fade journeys.  It was some time ago, when–”

“I remember,” Solas said quietly.

“Not even the spirits will really remember me as I am, but as whatever they make of me,” she said with a small, faint laugh.  “Somehow that makes it all worse.”

“I will share my memories of you," he said, an odd, uncomfortably impulsive promise. It was no burden to make, of course, but it came with an emotion that must be ignored. Thrust aside. "Such as they are."

"Unflattering?" she joked grimly, and shook her head, leaving a smear of char on her forehead as she pushed her hair away. "The truth often is unflattering, Solas. You have ink on your chin."

Hastily he reached up to lick his thumb and wipe it away, her tired laugh easing some of the tension in the air. When he glanced up, she was smiling at him, and her eyes were clearer. Less heavy.

"Will you tell me a story?"

"I would be glad to," he assured her quietly.

And he did- ensuring it was a story with no villains, no struggle, and most importantly, no heroes.

There had been enough tragedy already.

[beneathcandycoatedclouds]

Thoughts on the source of the Regret demon in the rotunda in the short story Callback;

I have seen some posts circulating this app about the regret demon in Tevinter Nights’ Callback and if it is the regret of the inquisitor, Solas, or combined, and had to bring up my favorite thing in the story: Regret’s dialogue is in Solas cadence (Hallelujah!)

Furthermore, other than some of the obvious lines like “I am the regret of a god!” I do think there are some interesting parts of Callback that point to the specific regret and choice that the demon was formed from. Obviously, the demon takes form from the Solas’ paintings/frescoes of the inquisitor’s choices and story in Inquisition that Solas witnesses. However, there are some other interesting hints. Firstly, while the signs point mostly to this being the regret of Solas, there are some hints to some of the Inquisitor’s regret as well.

Throughout Inquisition, the Inquisitor and their might is often compared to that of a dragon. Solas is the dread wolf. In Callback, the form of the creature is described as follows; “It snarled a toothy growl, a sound that - like its shape - was somehow between wolf and dragon” (Pg 122). This could serve two purposes; as a connection to the specific guilt that Solas has regarding the inquisitor, whether that is how he sort of used them while they are in possession of the anchor, the betrayal when he leaves, the lies he told that he was simply an apostate, etc. It could also be regret regarding his relationship with them.

However, the Inquisitor is not the only one to have dragon imagery. The elvhen goddess Mythal is also compared to a dragon; "Mythal is often depicted as a dragon or a female humanoid figure with dragon head and wings. Some scholars have speculated that the constellation Silentir, which is depicted as either a dragon in flight or a man carrying a horn and wand, may have originally been a representation of Mythal" (Link). Beyond this, Mythal's known host is Flemeth, who has the ability to turn into a dragon, likely from her connection to Mythal.

The description of the wound that the demon suffers from Sunderland follows the description of the creature. While the wound was just created, it feels too intentional after a description of the demon’s form. “The wound in its chest remained, but it filled and discolored with new material” (122). My personal take on this is the heartbreak from the regret that Solas suffered, whether the inquisitor romanced him or not, and the possibility of the heartbreak of Mythal's murder in ancient times being repeated through Inquisition. More importantly, it symbolizes dealing with heartbreak through other means - not really healing or recovering from it, but filling it with something else to abandon the feeling rather than own/accept it. Regret seems to agree based on what follows.

We later get a glimpse into Regret’s experience and how it thinks about Solas’ regret compared to the fight in the short story. “Regret expected resistance. It had never been accepted. Never owned” (133). This tells us that even after years, the regret over the choice Solas made was never really fully processed by him. This is equally heartbreaking considering the likelyhood that this is a repeated heartbreak, first with Mythal and later with the Inquisitor, romanced or no.

However, the story ends on a hopeful note regarding this regret; in two specific places, firstly; “For a moment, the sunlight illuminated something within - a sliver of the spirit that might have been. Not the opposite of regret. A different flavor, or shade. Contemplation. Introspection. It felt the echo of the actions that had summoned it” (135-136).

This could mean several things. One of which, that Solas’ inner conflict about the “realness” of the people he was working with was so potent that it attracted a spirit from the fade of contemplation or introspection. At multiple points, romanced inquisitor or not, Solas must come to terms with the Inquisitor’s inner circle being made up of real people. He forms relationships with everyone the inquisitor travels with. Varric and Solas are fast friends, and Varric makes him question his beliefs constantly, with Solas admitting he hadn’t thought about things a certain way or that he was just wrong before Varric explained a different way to look at the world and it’s people. Iron Bull and Solas’ relationship begins as hostile, with Solas pushing Bull and prodding him about the Qun at every opportunity, so blinded by his paladin-esque beliefs in freedom and choice to realize that Bull barely follows the Qun or lives like other Qunari. This challenges Solas greatly, and Solas has to really face this if he is brought on Bull’s personal quest with the Qunari dreadnaught;

Gatt: I don't see any tattoos, but you're carrying a staff. Are you from a Chantry Circle? Solas: No. And I would prefer not to discuss it. Gatt: Have I done something to offend you? Solas: You joined the Qun. Gatt: After they rescued me from slavery. Solas: And put you into something worse. Solas: A slave may always struggle for freedom, but you among the Qun have been taught not to think. Iron Bull: Solas, not the time.

To Solas’ conversations with Bull after the quest, if you side against the Qunari;

Solas: You are not Tal-Vashoth, Iron Bull, not really. Iron Bull: Well that's a fuckin' relief. Solas: (If the Inquisitor is Qunari) No more than our Inquisitor, whose parents left the Qun before s/he was born. Solas: You are no beast, snapping under the stress of the Qun's harsh discipline. Solas: You are a man who made a choice... possibly the first of your life. Iron Bull: I've always liked fighting. What if I turn savage, like the other Tal-Vashoth? Solas: You have the Inquisition, you have the Inquisitor... and you have me. Iron Bull: Thanks, Solas.

Solas and Iron Bull are just two examples of friends Solas makes during his time with the Inquisition that challenge his beliefs on how “real” they are. Any time spent in the rotunda at Skyhold watching Solas proves that he is just as deep in thought, pacing and pondering and thinking in his idle animations more than the other companions. There is an anxiety to it, as though everything he believes is being challenged. This all being said, either his introspection/contemplation was so tangible that it summoned a spirt of introspection or contemplation (spirits we have not, to my knowledge, heard of yet) OR, as the theory that Solas and the elvhen people are actually spirits in physical form has gained traction, he could be that very spirit of introspection or contemplation, and left behind a piece of him. We know that there isn’t much to go off of when it comes to spirits taking a physical form because, to our knowledge, the only time that has happened or even could is IF Cole decides to got the more human route. Solas either does not know how Cole came to have a physical form or does not reveal it, so as far as the Solas-is-a-spirit theory goes, we know that process and all it would entail would be complicated to say the least.

The idea of Solas leaving a piece of him behind is only strengthened by the knowledge that the Regret demon was not a spirit’s opposite. Every demon shown before has been a spirit twisted into its opposite. The theory further strengthens when we examine the other hopeful note at the end of the story; “[The demon] glimpsed the spirit realm beyond the Veil, and a faraway glimmer. Familiar, and somehow far brighter than what had drawn it here. It knew where it would go” (136). I can’t find the post, but some have theorized that the spirit senses the lighthouse or Solas in the fade and knows where to return. The deep, tangible regret that was so strong a demon was created is a weaker force than this summons home to the fade - to its home.

All this being said, I believe the regret that Solas feels is over making the same decision for a second time. The first time Solas made a decision that impacted the world and humanity itself was when he decided to seal away the elven pantheon and the forgotten ones. This included Mythal, despite their close relationship. He betrayed his friends because their power got to great, they were corrupted, and he could no longer sit and watch as his friends oppressed his people.

Solas: What will you do with the power of the Well once Corypheus is dead? Inquisitor: (I'll rely on those I trust) I'm not arrogant enough to think that it's my decision alone. Whatever happens, we'll do it together. S: You think to share your power, to avoid the temptation to misuse it. A noble sentiment... But, ultimately, a mistake. I: Why? S: Because while one selfless [woman] may walk away from the lure of power's corruption... No group has ever done so. I: (What, never?) There's a first time for everything. S: Perhaps... But it will not be this time. I believe even you know that. I: Why is this so important to you? S: You have not been what I expected, Inquisitor. You have... impressed me. You must not let false modesty allow you to pass your power to someone else. There are few regrets sharper than watching fools squander what you sacrificed to achieve.

Alternatively;

Solas: Because while one selfless [woman] may walk away from the lure of power's corruption... No group has ever done so. Inquisitor: I trust my friends. Solas: I know that mistake well enough to carve the angles of her face from memory.

Solas is faced with a decision: to watch the Inquisition, after defeating Corypheus, either become exactly what the elvhen gods became, or risk the chance that they might be better. As Solas points out in the first instance, however, even the Inquisitor knows that corruption is inevitable. They first saw this in Haven, when Leliana told her spies to kill a friend of hers who had turned. Even early on in the Inquisition, corruption was always likely. As the Inquisition gains more power and it is easier to displace kings and queens and eliminate threats with the wave of a hand, what realistically will happen? Worse, is Solas really just to sit there and watch, or will he leave the Inquisition and work to make the world better? (As a side note, this is where we look at Trick Weekes' words on this exact thing in this post about "gracefully accepting things as they are". It would be absolutely out of character for Solas to trust that maybe this time power will not be abused.) Does he wait for the corruption to spread to his friends, who one day could turn on his beloved Inquisitor as the elvhen gods turned on Mythal?

Mythal's fellow elven gods killed her in their lust for power. This act was the final straw that led the Dread Wolf to banish them. However, the first of his people do not die so easily. (Link)

As for the mistake of trusting in his friends - "I know that mistake well enough to carve the angles of her face from memory." I believe that this refers to his relationship with Mythal. From the statue of Fen'Harel in the temple of Mythal to the imagery of the dragon and the wolf, to the sweetness that Solas shows Flameth/Mythal when they meet at the end of Inquisition, their relationship as at least friends is all but certain.

Mythal's Well of Sorrows knows the secret greeting from those Fen'Harel trusted, which suggests that Fen'Harel and Mythal were close. (Link)

As for the specific betrayal, I tend to err on the side of caution regarding Mythal still. Mythal still branded elves, still had slaves. Was this the betrayal that Solas can carve from memory? Does he worry that one day the inquisitor will fall to this as well? Or does it simply refer to Mythal's murder by the other gods?

After all this, however, it still leads us to wonder what the "better choice" the regret demon, restored to a contemplation/introspection spirit, thinks might have been a better choice. It is likely that it is just contemplating, as it's nature, on the vague idea that there was something better. This is what I lean towards, but the wishful thinking part of me hopes that his "better choice" would be trusting the Inquisitor with his true identity and that they could come to see why his mission is important, as there is an opportunity to beg for that in Trespasser when you meet him. While a group of friends might become corrupted, Mythal might not have been, and maybe rather than working towards his plan alone without her she might have lived. Maybe this is yet another thing that is history repeating itself - leaving the Inquisitor rather than trusting that they could work together to make the world better.

[ruiningsalads]

Finding a letter they weren't meant to see for Solavellan :D Happy friday!

woof! I had trouble deciding which way I wanted this to go.

this is set after Veilguard, once the dust has settled.

"Vhenan?" Solas ventured into Lavellan's workroom, expecting to find her busily writing at her desk, as she so often did. To his surprise, she wasn't there. Her desk was covered in letters for her friends and former inner circle, but his eyes were drawn to a thick stack of parchment laid off to one side. Had Varric finally returned her accounting of the Inquisition? The dwarf had agreed to help her edit, but Solas suspected he was also pulling from her writing to supplement his own book.

Curious to see Varric's comments, he sank into Lavellan's chair and pulled the stack closer to him. Immediately, he could see that it was not her manuscript, but was instead a large stack of unsent letters -- addressed to him. It was beneath him to snoop, but his curiosity got the better of him, and he read.

Though written like letters to him, he quickly realized she used them as a sort of diary. The earliest pages were fresh with pain, betrayal, determination -- but as he read, he could feel as she grew ever more tired. Her arm no longer troubled her, but the pain in her heart, the pain caused by him, festered. He had known how much she suffered, at least to some degree, but to read it laid out in her handwriting chronicled over the decade they were apart...

He felt unworthy of her. After all she had done, all she had sacrificed, he broke her heart and left her behind for his own selfish purpose. Of course nothing went to plan, and that served to bring her back to him, but would it have been better if he kept his distance? Guilt weighed heavily on him, seeping under his skin like the vallaslin he so despised, leaving him marked and tainted.

"I could never figure out where to send those." He whipped his head around to see her leaning against the doorway, watching him. "You never left a mailing address."

"I... Vhenan, forgive me. My curiosity got the better of me, and..." His voice trailed off. No explanation felt sufficient, not after reading her soul laid bare.

"It was written to you." She padded over to the desk and picked up the page he had been reading. "I never thought you would actually read these, but it brought me some comfort imagining that somehow you would."

He felt unclean, like the lowest darkspawn skulking in the deep roads. When he moved to get up, she placed her hand gently on his chest to keep him in place. Then, she perched on his leg, much to his surprise.

"You already know much of this." She sorted through the pages, skimming the details briefly before moving on. "You had agents tracking me all along."

"I... Yes, I knew most of it."

She lowered the pages to look at him, one corner of her mouth twitching upwards. "Careful, Dread Wolf. Your reputation will be ruined if word gets out that you have such a soft heart."

How did she do it? How could she bear to look at him and smile after everything?

"Solas." Her warm hand on his cheek shook him free of his spiraling thoughts. "You're here now. You've made amends. I need you to acknowledge that." She peered searchingly into his eyes. "Don't run away from me this time. Please."

He sighed and wrapped her in his arms. "For you, vhenan, I will try."

[broodwolf221]

very stressed again so I'm just gonna talk about solas bc he's my comfort blorbo atm

one quick clarification: I tend to use elven to describe modern elves and elvhen to describe ancient elves. it's just smth I started doing a while back and now it's habit.

I've already talked abt his personality/behavior and my theories on his distant past. so now I wanna talk about his actions.

joined the inquisition

even with lowest approval won't leave the inquisition

kept the inquisitor alive

helped seal the rifts/breach

painted the inquisitor's actions

helped kill corypheus

"killed" mythal

exposed the qunari plot

spoke to the inquisitor at the end of trespasser

now to dig into these.

joined the inquisition

this one is pretty wild. according to his conversation in trespasser, he woke a year before the conclave. one year. afaik it's unclear when he drew the veil vs. when he slept, but what is clear is that he woke up and had only a year to begin acclimating to a wildly different world, one he held significant guilt over causing to form. in this short time, he manages to acclimate enough to gain agents and find out about corypheus, someone he feels he can use. and solas wouldn't mourn corypheus' death, nor would the world, so it must have seemed such a perfect solution

then it obviously goes all to shit. and solas is too weak to take charge of the situation and remedy it on his own - besides which, his anchor is now attached to someone else. so what does he do? well aware that this world hates and fears both "apostates" (that must have been a strange revelation for him, considering how elvhen culture lauded mages) and elves, he nonetheless turns himself in and surrenders his staff

he decides to help. and no, it's not selfless - he needs the anchor. but there's so much more to it than that. he wants to help ease the harm he's inadvertently caused, the damage corypheus wrought. he's not trying to "save" the world, exactly, but he is trying to give it peace while he works to restore the world to what he feels (maybe rightly!) it should be. it's selfish. it's selfless. it's kind. it's deceitful. essentially: like him, it is nuanced.

but still, pretty wild that an elvhen apostate joins the human chantry's arm (and eventual army) of change

won't leave the inquisition

the reasoning here is fairly self-evident. he needs the anchor, and he wants to help. the inquisition is his sole means to achieve both goals. but it's still worth noting that even if he absolutely hates the inquisitor, he'll stay on as a core part of the inquisition right up to the bitter end.

and it's interesting bc he doesn't actually have to. he could have made sure the inquisitor wouldn't die and taught them how to seal rifts, then left. or he could have left after the breach was sealed. the inquisitor - and by extension, the anchor - would NOT be hard for him to find, because everyone and their dog knows where the inquisitor is at all times. also, at this point I'm not sure if he knows he'll need the anchor.

further, he could "leave" but continue to spy, including through the fade. but instead he stays right there. he leads the inquisition to skyhold. he involves himself at a fundamental level. it's interesting. he didn't have to.

does he get dragged in despite himself? does he grow attached to the rest of the inquisition, or its goals, even as he tries to hang onto the comforting lie that these people are so much less-then the people he knew? does he feel obligated to help right the harm he caused, their drawn out suffering harder to bear than their sudden cessation?

kept the inquisitor alive

I have to assume there's a reason for this, a reason he couldn't just take the anchor from them while they slept. likely it was because he was still too weak to remove it, although that seems a little strange - what was he planning to do once corypheus died opening his orb? but given the potential nature of the inquisitor, including many non-mage options and including dwarven options who are cut off from the fade itself, it stands to reason that getting the anchor placed by touching the opened orb may be much easier than removing the anchor, even prior to it being used.

perhaps he could have removed it, but was worried the inquisition would kill him. early on, how was he to know that cassandra's bark was so often worse than her bite? and it's entirely possible that she might have killed him if the inquisitor had died under his watch, particularly if the anchor was "mysteriously" removed at the same time.

I also imagine that he genuinely didn't know if the anchor would function if he just... cut their arm off and ran with it. but at the same time, I assume he was constantly monitored so that probably wasn't much of an option

helped seal the rifts/breach

couple of core reasons for this, I think: first, he genuinely wants to help. the people of thedas are terrified and at risk; so too are the spirits from the fade who are being drawn into the waking world against their will, which may well be a stronger impetus for him to work on sealing them. second, I have a theory that he won't be able to, or fears he won't be able to, tear down the veil in one with all these rifts.

rifts are tears in the boundary, right? so if he tried to pull the veil down around them, what's to stop the veil from catching against the rifts and keeping these boundaries in existence? like... trying to remove a sticker when parts have been nailed in. not only will the parts under the nail remain, but whole strips might be left behind. what would that create?

and the thing is, everything he's attempting and considering is so highly theoretical. maybe it wouldn't work like that at all. maybe it'd be fine. maybe it'd be worse. he doesn't know! but it feels safe to assume that, given his character, he'd want to proceed in the safest way possible with the best likelihood of a good outcome. he's methodical that way.

painted the inquisitor's actions

this one gets me just like it gets everyone. there's so much to it... he's using an ancient elvhen technique to memorialize the decisions of today's holy order and its leader. he's creating frescoes which are meant to last, and he doesn't know if they will. he's creating meaning in the moment, for the inquisition itself, and possibly for the future, even a future where everyone he knows is gone, killed through his actions.

it's a way to honor them. it's a headstone. it's a history. it's a gift. it's art. it's effort he doesn't need to expend. it's the closest he can come to an apology.

helped kill corypheus

of course, he's always wanted corypheus to die, so in that sense this really isn't that surprising. and in game corypheus can sometimes feel ridiculously easy to kill. but the fact is, corypheus is perceived as one of if not the single greatest threat they have to face.

and solas helps face him.

what if he died? what if he was killed? it's wild that someone who's so determined to change the world constantly puts himself at such risk, but it's part of both his nature and the means of meeting his goals. it's necessary. but is it necessary for him to face corypheus?

the time has come, the inquisitor and inquisition are prepared.

why doesn't he leave? come back after the battle and reclaim his orb? yes, the inquisitor broke it, but I don't think solas even recognizes that as a possibility. to him, the orb would have been there. and, bonus, maybe the inquisition is so damaged in the battle that they'll struggle to pursue him. if he has the orb, or thinks he would have it, he wouldn't necessarily need to protect the inquisitor any longer, because why have the anchor when he has the orb? unless of course its power was transferred to the anchor, which is a distinct possibility, but in that case... why mourn the orb so?

I think that he at least believed the orb could create another anchor. so losing it meant he needed to possess the anchor currently in existence. but again: he went into this battle thinking orb and anchor alike would exist at the end. why risk it? why not just dart in and recover what he needs?

he cares about them. even if he hates the inquisitor, he cares about the people of this world. he won't turn his back on the inquisition in their hour of need, even if he risks death

"killed" mythal

I've given this so much thought. I understand why he did it, to a point, but at the same time... it's always put me at a loss. he sealed the evanuris away because they killed mythal. he killed her to take her power, presumably a necessity after the loss of his orb in order to reclaim the anchor. and I do agree that she may very well still be alive, either entirely or in a way. I'm not sure if he's aware of that, though.

but it's all very complicated. he knows he should be the one punished - these are his sins he's trying to right, for the people (elvhen? spirits? everyone? including but probably not primarily dwarves? I've seen so many takes on this and it's always fascinating)

so. he takes something of mythal, very possibly believing he's killing her, and possibly actually killing her, in order to restore the world to what it used to be. he doesn't want to do this. it's utterly tragic and horrifying at once when you see it the first time (and, well, every time after if you're me). it's painful. but he does it.

he's willing to shoulder so much pain. loneliness, too, because mythal is presumably the only one left from his time. he destroys his sole connection to his past in order to right his mistakes. putting aside the issue of whether he's right or not, that is a monumental burden to bear.

he endures. he always endures. how horrible to always endure.

exposed the qunari plot

because I've discussed this previously I won't dig too deep into it, but the fact is 1) he didn't have to do this, 2) doing this actively makes it easier for the inquisition to pursue him, 3) doing this might actually make it easier in a way for the qunari to focus on strengthening the veil, and 4) apparently, he did it. not an agent. he dragged the qunari into the winter palace.

why? why risk himself like that? to get a glance at those he left behind? did he rush through the motions and disappear, or did he linger? did he look at them and consider what more he would have to endure?

spoke to the inquisitor at the end of trespasser

he needed the anchor, yes. but did he need to answer the inquisitor's questions, soothe their inevitable curiosity? absolutely not. he could have kept lying. it would have been smarter to keep lying. why, why tell them who he is, why let the entire inquisition know?

he already gave them a clear path to chasing him down and possibly stopping him. now he's telling them his basic plan? sure, he spares the details, but what does that really preserve?

and the thing is, even if he absolutely hates the inquisitor, he still tells them the basics. the way he does it is... genuinely so funny and it cheers me up inordinately he is so sassy about it but that's not important. what is important is that he even tells someone he loathes who and what he is and what his basic plan is.

why not just leave? "the anchor is killing you and it's mine, i'll take it back. goodbye." why not just that?

it's hard for me to believe it's anything other than: he wants to be stopped. a part of him wants so, so badly to be stopped. the same part that wanted to tell a romanced inquisitor the truth in the crestwood scene. the same part that keeps giving all these hints and answering questions sincerely even when it makes people wonder about him. the same part that only lies by ommission.

the part that is lonely and wanting and cares.

not only is he fundamentally a kind, caring man who wants to minimize the harm he does, not only does he value and want to reward curiosity, but he wants to be stopped. and the inquisitor/inquisition is about the only force in the world that can stop him, directly or indirectly.

they know him. he knows them. and while it's implied that the inquisition/inquisitor can't stop him directly because of this familiarity, they are the ones who find new forces to array against him. if he'd just lied and left, that wouldn't be a possibility.

he made himself an enemy. he could've had a clear playing field and all the tools he needed: instead, a force at his back.