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trvelyans-archive · 5 years ago

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remembrance

commission of solas and avira for the wonderful @lavellanlove ! i’ve stanned avira for several years so the fact i got to write for her is RIDICULOUS to me, maia from 2 years ago wouldn’t believe it lol. thank you for commissioning me, lovely ! i hope you enjoy <3

solavellan, 5000 words, fluff/romance/angst

Varric has made a habit of befriending the new recruits.

They always have questions, and he’s always happy to answer.

Tonight, in the mess hall, it’s a short, red-headed elf with big ears and enough freckles to replace all the sand on Antivan beaches and then some. She’s from Orlais, she told him, from the Val Royeaux alienage, and even though he probably has even more questions about her after learning that, he doesn’t get the chance to ask them.

Because, of course, all anyone wants to talk about is the Inquisitor.

Especially nowadays. It’s hard to ignore the tension in the air when it hangs there, so hot and thick like it’s breathing down the back of your neck. Avira and Solas – if Varric can really even call him Solas anymore – are at a stalemate, and everyone’s just waiting for one of them to knock the other off the chessboard. And then, of course, for the entire board to explode into splinters and leave nothing but dust behind.

Tonight, though, everyone’s drunk or tired enough to pretend things are peaceful, and Varric isn’t going to pass up an opportunity to feel the same. Especially when there are plenty of recruits looking for company, and Varric’s looking to give it.

The elf’s chin is practically to the table with how far she’s bending in her chair to avoid Avira’s watchful eye as she strolls through the room. “She’s scary,” the girl comments.

“Is she?” Varric turns around in his chair to look at her. “Didn’t notice.”

“What?” she says. “How can you not notice? She’s… she’s…”

“I don’t know, kid,” he replies, turning back around to smirk at her. “Once you know someone long enough, see them at some low, low points -”

“Like what?” She pushes herself off of her chair, practically throwing herself across the table to get up-close in Varric’s face as she whispers, “Like when the Dread Wolf Fen’Harel abandoned her?”

He chuckles. “Hey, it wasn’t quite like that –“

“Well, what was it like, then?”

Ah. It always comes to this. Normally, Varric’s not one for gossip, but – well, okay, that’s a lie. But normally, he’s not one for gossip that could result in him getting his ass kicked by one of the most powerful women in Thedas, except, this time, it feels like it’d end up being pretty beneficial to the cause. All things considered, these young recruits they’ve wrangled up are probably going to end up doing a lot better for Avira if Varric strikes the fear of the Maker into them first. Even if it’s just a little. Also, it can be pretty entertaining (and sometimes Varric needs desperately to be entertained). When it comes to talking about Avira, people flock to Varric like they’re a bunch of little kids and he’s a grandmother reading them a well-worn copy of The Seer’s Yarn with a plate of elfroot cookies cooling off in an open windowsill.

Varric leans back in his chair, crossing his arms behind his head and kicking his boots up onto the table.

“I thought you’d never ask,” he replies, grinning. “To be honest, kid, they were weren’t always like this…”

Solas didn’t ever really leave his little corner of Haven.

If he wasn’t reading in his cabin (the one he unfortunately shared with several other members of the Inquisition, to his unspoken but very obvious dismay), he was outside, watching. Watching the hustle and bustle of the small town that had been thrown chaotically into the middle of the greatest catastrophe to grace the face of Thedas in recent history (including the Blight); watching the soldiers, young and old, mill about their day, occasionally sporting a new limp or cradling their newly sprained arm against their chests in a sling; watching, more often than not, the new Herald of Andraste – not that she ever liked to be called that - wander around between the buildings, talking to people, talking to herself, too, sometimes.

Maker, did that elf watch her.

Varric couldn’t help but watch him do it, either. No matter how long he did, he couldn’t tell what Solas wanted from her (though that was mainly because he couldn’t tell much of what Solas wanted at all, and that was after he’d spent more than enough sleepless nights with him). Did he want money? Connections? A promise that the Templars wouldn’t go after him if he changed his mind and left?

Something… more?

Not that the elf seemed like he was looking for that kind of thing, especially not right now. Still, Varric couldn’t quite put his finger on what Solas wanted.

And he was dying to know.

But one night, it just so happened that he was hanging out in the grumpy apothecary’s Adan’s cabin when, through the open window, he heard the Herald and Solas talking.

So he waved a hand at Adan to shush him and listened in curiously as he stuffed his salves into his pocket.

��The advisors are pleased with the outcome of our expedition to the Fallow Mire, I take it?”

Avira tugged on her glove, fitting it more smoothly over her hand. “Yes, they are,” she answered.

Solas nodded. “I am glad to hear it.”

“I agree – it was not an easy journey…”

“No, it was not.”

Varric could’ve told them that much. He still had water in his boot.

They were facing away from each other, staring out at the town as the sun set, slanting orange-pink light across the freshly fallen snow. That seemed like it should have been the end of the conversation, but both of them lingered, anyway.

“A crow flew in this morning for Leliana,” Avira continued after a long moment of silence. “Attached to it was a message from a scout. They explored the Fallow Mire further after we departed for Haven, and found an old road that leads to the mountains.”

“Hm. That will prove to be useful, I suspect.”

“It will,” she replied, “though the advisors have left it up to me to decide what the route should be used for.”

“I see.” Solas tilted his head to look at her. “What are your options?”

“Josephine claims that merchants will pay a great deal for the knowledge of the road,” Avira explained, “and, knowing merchants and traders well, I agree. Commander Cullen suggested we use it as an easier travel route for Inquisition soldiers. The Spymaster, however, suggested we hide all records of it away and use it as a route for her agents.”

He nodded thoughtfully and said nothing more, looking back out at the town.

“What do you think?”

Solas turned to her again. “You wish to hear my opinion?” he asked.

She turned to him, too. “Yes,” she replied. “I do. Unless you do not wish to give it –“

“Hm.” Solas clasped his hands behind his back and looked skywards. “I think that the Spymaster’s scouts could make good use of it.”

“Yes, I agree.”

He raised an eyebrow, just slightly enough that Varric almost missed it. “Is that your decision?”

“I was considering it.” She tilted her face towards the town once more. “I have until tomorrow morning to decide.”

“I believe that you will come to a suitable conclusion.”

“I do, too.” Avira nodded in his direction. “Thank you for your input. Have a good night, Solas.”

“You as well.”

Varric heard the next day that they designated the route for Leliana’s scouts.

Everyone in the travelling party had paired up with someone else to wind down for the night. A fire was burning, the ale was about as cold as it could be when it had been carried around in a bottle at the bottom of Varric’s pack for the past week, and the food, while not entirely appetizing, was filling, which meant they would all have enough energy to continue on their journey the next morning.

Varric didn’t have any energy left, so he was kind of glad, for the moment, that everyone had decided to ignore him, and he was left sitting by himself in the middle of one long, cold log beside the campfire, listening. (Maybe taking notes of lines he could us in his next book.)

The Iron Bull’s chair was tipped back against a large tree, and Enchanter Vivienne stood in front of him with her hands on her hips as they exchanged some sort of heated discussion. On the other side of camp, closer to the cluster of tents at the mouth of the shallow cave, were Solas and Avira, plucking handfuls of bread from the same loaf and eating it while the other spoke.

“… And so he gave me half of his stock,” Avira said, smiling at the memory. “Half of all of it. The Clan was fed for weeks… Some of the older members didn’t like it, mind you – they thought that it tasted too differently from the food they were used to – but the children…”

“I am sure they enjoyed it.”

“They did,” she replied. “Absolutely, they did. I had to learn how to make a few of the recipes from scratch just so they’d stop pestering me about it – well, I suppose I didn’t make it for them, but… well… you know what I mean.”

“Your clan,” Solas said after he swallowed a mouthful of bread he had been chewing. “Have you heard from them?”

She nodded. “I’ve received a few letters,” she responded. “Not as much as I’d like.”

He was silent for a moment before clearing his throat. “I’m sorry.”

Taken aback, Avira blinked at him. “What for?” she asked, her voice a murmur.

“It must be difficult,” he replied slowly. “To be so far away.”

“It would only be one ship from Denerim to Wycome,” she tried to say, forcing a smile before letting it falter and flicking her eyes away from him. “Yes, it is difficult. Do you find it difficult to be away from your home?”

Solas was staring at the ground while he plucked absentmindedly at his handful of bread. Neither of them were looking at each other anymore, but Varric could tell they were still tuned into each other’s movements. “I have seen far too many things to miss my past,” he responded.

“Yes, yes, you’ve told me all about your ancient ruins and lost civilizations,” she teased.

A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “I am sorry,” he told her. “Since you seem to think my stories are boring, I will try to act more like Varric in the future if that would please you.”

(Varric resisted saying anything about that, because he was actually slightly flattered.)

“I was joking, Solas,” Avira replied, rolling her eyes when he wasn’t looking and reaching forward to wrangle another handful of bread from the loaf. “In truth, I think you are anything but. You - I mean, er, your stories – are… endlessly fascinating.”

He glanced over at her again. “Is that so?”

“It is.”

Before Avira could pull her hand away, Solas moved forward to grab a handful of bread for himself. Their fingers brushed. They both tensed.

And then Solas smiled, but it didn’t feel very honest. “Perhaps we should turn in for the night,” he said under his breath, grabbing the cloth that the bread had been wrapped in and stowing the rest of the loaf in his bag. “It is getting late, and you will need to be well-rested for our journey tomorrow.”

Avira frowned. “Solas, if I –“

“Please,” he interrupted, holding a hand up and tilting his head towards her. “You did nothing wrong. I have just realized how tired I am after the day’s travels, and would like to get some sleep before morning.”

“Liar,” she teased, standing up and placing her hands on her hips. “You’re just going to take a dance through the Fade and see if you can find anything interesting.”

“Perhaps I am,” he replied. “If I do, I will be sure to tell you about it.”

Now, in the mess hall, the short elf with red hair wrinkles her nose at Varric. “That’s it?”

He laughs and shakes his head. “Oh, no,” he says, “there’s much more to it than that.”

On a similar night a few months later, after Haven had been destroyed and the Inquisition had moved into Skyhold, Varric was on guard duty in their makeshift camp when he heard a rustling behind him.

He spun around in his chair, aiming his crossbow into the shadows between the Inquisition tents. As big of a disaster he was sure Hightown – and all of Kirkwall – would be at that time, he’d take that over sitting in the middle of the woods at night with his thumb up his ass any day. He breathed out slowly, standing up from his seat and looking for the source of his noise.

It came from his left. He spun around and, before his vision adjusted, leveled his crossbow at Solas’s chest, who had been emerging from Avira’s now-dark tent with a book in his hand.

“Oh,” Varric said as he pointed his crossbow to the ground. “Shit, sorry.”

“Did I scare you, Varric?” Solas asked with a coy smile.

“No,” he replied. “What are you doing awake right now? It’s my turn to take watch.”

Unfortunately.

“I was…” Solas let out a short huff. “I was speaking with the Inquisitor.”

“What, did an assassin get into her tent or something?”

“No,” Solas replied. “Nothing of the sort. She had posed a question to me earlier I wished to answer before she fell asleep. Anyway,” he said abruptly, clearing his throat, “good night, Varric.”

He headed off towards his own tent, clearly wanting to get away from the conversation, but Varric was grinning widely. “Not a chance,” he said, hurrying after the elf. “Seriously, what were you doing in there?”

“I told you,” Solas said, “I –“

“Yeah, yeah, she had a question, you answered it.” Varric pushed his crossbow into the ground and leaned against it. “What’s the deal with the two of you?”

“I do not know what you –“

“Oh, come on,” Varric interrupted. “You can cut the bullshit with me, elf, I’ve seen the way you look at her.”

“I do not know what you mean,” Solas said.

“Sure,” Varric said. “You can keep telling yourself that.”

Solas’s eyes narrowed. “I would appreciate it if you refrained from further discussion of my relationship with Avi- the Inquisitor,” he told Varric. “It is none of your concern.”

“Alright,” Varric replied, throwing a hand up in defense. “If you’re going to get your underclothes in a twist about it…”

“And I will take watch for an hour or so,” he continued, pointedly ignoring Varric’s taunt. “I am not tired, and I would like to finish this chapter of the book I am reading by the fire.”

“I can keep you comp-“

“I will take watch,” Solas repeated. “Good night, Varric.”

Varric stared at him coolly for a moment before chuckling, pulling his crossbow from where he had thrust it into the dirt to lean on and slinging it over his shoulder again. “Alright, I get the message,” he replied. “Just… be careful, okay? These woods can be… well, pretty scary.”

Solas nodded and sat down by the fire, opening his book to what seemed to be a random page and looking down at it while Varric, incredibly tempted to continue bothering about it, disappeared into his tent.

Not five minutes later when he poked his head out to make sure the elf was still there did he see him standing in front of Avira’s tent once more, moving his hands in circular motions and muttering something under his breath while wisps of green light floated in front of him.

It took some thinking, but eventually it hit Varric: Solas was casting wards over her tent. To keep her safe, presumably – after all, if she died, everything they’d accomplished so far would have been for nothing. But maybe there was another reason he was doing it. In any case, Varric was certain that the elf wasn’t doing it for anyone else in their party.

He laughed as he closed the flaps of the tent once more, shaking his head as he flopped down onto his bedroll and snuffed the light in his lantern out.

Solas had cut himself on the pages of his book.

To be fair, it was dark out – which is why Varric didn’t even know he was reading in the first place, but that’s besides the point – and he was also sitting relatively far away from the fire compared to the rest of the group. (Well, compared to Varric and Dorian, who had slumped over against the log with his fingers still curled around the handle of a cup.) He was frowning but didn’t protest as Avira smoothed some sort of ointment over the cut with her thumb, holding his wrist in place with her other hand, occasionally stroking the pads of her fingertips over his veins.

He also didn’t protest as she kept on giggling.

“I can’t believe it,” she muttered. “You come out of fights unscathed every day and reading a book is what makes you bleed?”

“Yes, yes,” Solas replied, watching her, “it is very amusing, Inquisitor. Would it not be more efficient to use healing magic, instead?”

“I promise this will work,” Avira answered, looking up at him from underneath her eyelashes. “I made the salve myself, and I used it on a cut of my own last week.”

He didn’t seem to be convinced, watching her work with the slightest wrinkled nose. Avira picked it up on and swatted gently at his forearm, smiling in annoyance. “I do know what I am doing, Solas,” she said somewhat defensively. “My mother taught me how to make the salve back when I was child. I still have the recipe written down somewhere.”

“Did you learn much from her, working alongside her in the clinic?”

“Yes.” She sat back on her heels, reaching into her pack and pulling out a roll of bandages. “She showed me a few little tricks like this.”

Solas was still watching her, fiddling with the fingers of his folded hand which sat impatiently in his lap. “And your father?”

“He kept me sane,” she said with a gentle laugh. “Taught me how to fight, told me stories.” Her eyes flickered to his face. “Not as good as yours, of course,” she added with a hint of cheek.

Solas probably would’ve rolled his eyes if he didn’t seem so transfixed by her working. And if he wasn’t so exhausted. Maker, they were all exhausted. If Varric wasn’t eavesdropping on their conversation, he would have retired to his tent an hour ago. “Did you enjoy living in Amaranthine?” Solas asked.

“Yes,” she answered quickly, then frowned. “There were… parts of it I liked, some I didn’t. I wish my mother let me explore the city more.”

“She wanted to protect you.”

“I felt so… stifled.” Avira unrolled the bandages and tore a short strip off from the rest. “I know she wanted to protect me, but… Perhaps I could have found something to protect her with. Instead the Darkspawn assaulted the city, and I left without them…”

“I’m sure your parents would not regret their decision,” he said in reassurance, pushing his hand a little closer to her so she could wrap the cloth around his finger. “Saving you… That was most important to them.”

“I know that,” she replied. “I know that, I just… They were my parents.” Her eyebrows gathered together in the middle of her forehead while she concentrated on tying the bandage in a knot. “We were supposed to join the Dalish together… I was not supposed to nearly die on my way to find them and wake up in their camp days later by myself.”

“It was worth it,” he said. “That you lived. Everything…” He cleared his throat. “Everything was worth it because you lived.”

She secured the bandage tightly around his finger, but didn’t move her hands away. “Thank you, Solas.”

“I should be the one thanking you,” he said with a smile, pulling his hand out of her grasp and flexing his fingers. “You have better things to do than tend to my wounds, and yet you do so anyway.”

“Just out of the goodness of my heart,” she replied.

“Yes, I did not expect you to have done it for any other reason.”

He was still smiling at her. She didn’t seem to notice – she was too busy smiling herself.

Then Avira stood up and stretched her arms above her head, bending down to wipe the dirt from her knees afterwards. “Is it a good book you’re reading, at least?” she asked him, sitting down beside him on the bench and gesturing towards it. “Some Orlesian mystery novel, perhaps?”

“No, no, hardly that exciting,” he responded. They shared a laugh.

“Is it one you’d be willing to share with me?”

He glanced over at her out of the corner of his eye. “Perhaps,” he answered. “We have not finished our other one yet.”

“That’s because it isn’t very good, Solas,” she said. “Maybe I should pick the next book for us to read together.”

“Yes,” he replied, “maybe you should.”

“If you’re not reading, then would you like to come on a walk with me?” She stood up again and held out her hand, wiggling her fingers. “I saw a clearing earlier today that probably has a wonderful view of the moon…”

Solas looked at her outstretched hand for a moment before putting his book down on the log and standing up, taking her hand in his. “Let’s hope the bears do not attack our camp while we’re gone,” he murmured.

“Varric can take care of them,” she reassured him, intertwining their fingers together and swinging their hands back and forth in the space between them. “He’s a very good shot.”

“He would be were he not asleep, vhenan.”

“He isn’t.”

“Oh.” Solas chuckled under his breath. “I did not notice,” he said.

“That’s alright,” she replied. “I was trying to distract you, anyway.”

Before they disappeared through the trees, he leaned over and whispered something to her, and she threw her head back and really, really laughed. (It was probably loud enough to actually wake up any bears nearby.)

Varric had never heard her laugh like that before.

He was still sitting around the fire when they came back. They weren’t holding hands anymore, but Solas was looking down at the bandage wrapped around his finger with another smile.

It was their last night in Skyhold before they left for Halamshiral and Adamant, and Varric couldn’t sleep.

He was sitting at a desk in the library, trying to write, but no words came to him – not even bad ones, which he would have preferred over nothing. He had never been so uninspired for so long, and it was about as frustrating as you could imagine for a novelist not be able to work on – or even start – a novel.

He ran a hand through his hair and threw his quill down on the table, watching it skitter across the wood before stopping an inch away from the edge. With a sigh, he leaned against the railing, and was about to close his eyes when he saw movement in the rotunda below him.

Frowning, he pushed himself higher in his chair and looked down.

Solas held Avira in his arms on the loveseat, playing with the ends of her sleeves. The light in the sconces on the walls had been blown out an hour or two before – Avira wasn’t there when it happened – which left the room steeped in heavy shadow, save for the light streaming down from the rooms above them and the lone candle flickering on Solas’s desk. It was enough light to see them. It was enough light that anyone who walked into the room could have recognized who the two of them were and how close they were sitting together. Neither of them seemed to care.

Solas was whispering something in her ear. Varric couldn’t hear what he was saying, but it didn’t seem to be helping much. Avira stayed anyway.

Watching them together reminded him a little too strongly of someone else…

He had known this would happen since those first days in Haven, of course. The two of them had a connection that neither of them had with anyone else. Even though it made things a bit more complicated, and none of the advisors seemed particularly thrilled, Varric was thankful for it, actually. He didn’t feel very at home in the Inquisition – his home was still across the sea in Kirkwall, of course – and Solas had been prickly at first, but Avira… She softened him up. Smoothed down his edges. Made him the type of man who proved to be a cuddler.

Not that he wasn’t prickly anymore, but he’d actually started greeting Varric once in a while when he passed through the rotunda during the day. (Although Avira was around whenever that happened, so maybe that was why…) He smiled more. Laughed every once in a while.

He seemed happy. They both did. And Varric was happy for them, too. Things weren’t always as easy as it seemed between them.

Varric watched them for a few seconds, thinking, before reaching over and grabbing his quill once more, dipping it in his pot of ink and pressing the tip to the page.

All this love and romance left him feeling a bit more inspired than when he had trudged up here a few hours ago looking for something to write about. He made a note to dedicate his next book to Solas and Avira – and what would probably end up being their ten kids.

Unfortunately, it didn’t last much longer than that.

The night they returned from Adamant, Avira ignored Solas, sitting on the opposite side of the main clearing in the Inquisition camp than he did. He tried to reach out to her a few times after the healers had seen to their respective wounds – ones they had received in the Fade and in the fortress - but after the third time she turned him away, he clenched his jaw and gave her a curt nod.

“As you wish, Inquisitor.” That was all he said before backing away and retreating to his tent, and he didn’t come out again until the morning.

Varric wasn’t surprised, though. After the argument they had about the Wardens – after seeing how angry Avira had been at the suggestion to exile them - it didn’t seem like there was any sort of relationship left to be salvaged.

And what was left dwindled in the following months – from a burning fire to cold ashes. They spoke on rare occasions, but neither of them seemed to enjoy it. They shared meals at the same table on opposite ends, neither of them looking in the other’s direction. And they journeyed together – and sometimes they tended to each other’s wounds – but their interactions were not friendly. Their relationship didn’t seem as easy as it used to be. In fact, it seemed harder than anything.

Harder, still, when he left.

Varric never talked to Avira about it. After defeating Corypheus, he never found the chance. She was busy, and seemed, at least to Varric, like she wanted to move on, and who was he to stop her from doing that? She had more things to deal with than she had before they stopped Corypheus – more Orlesian nobles coming to visit, more Chantry scholars, more refugees and pilgrims and people vying for her attention – and dwelling on what could have been, dwelling on what she could have done differently, would do nothing to help her.

Varric knew that much, so he let it drop. She probably wouldn’t talk to him about it, anyway. And he’d thought that was the end of it.

And then they went back to Halamshiral for the Exalted Council, and, well…

“That’s it?” the red-headed elf asks. She’s a couple more drinks into her night than she was before, and she stares at him with bulging eyes. “He just left?”

“Yep,” Varric replies. “He didn’t even say goodbye, didn’t leave her a note. I thought they were going to be together for a long, long time, but it wasn’t even a year before he up and left. He left all of us, too. I was starting to warm up to him, actually, by the end, even after things between them were finished.” He grimaces. “I wish I hadn’t.”

“No wonder she hates him.”

“That’s not why she’s doing this, kid.” Varric takes a swig of his own drink, looking over his shoulder to where Avira exchanges quiet discussion with Cassandra and Leliana. “She’s doing this because Solas – sorry, the “Dread Wolf” or whatever it is that people call him nowadays – has to be stopped.”

The girl bites her lip. “I find her even scarier now,” she whispers. “If she can live through that, she must be unstoppable.”

“I sure hope so,” Varric says. “If not… well, maybe Solas isn’t going to be the only one that doesn’t make it out of this shit alive.”

#my writing #my commissions #solavellan #solas x lavellan #hmm idk what else to tag this as #long post #i hope u enjoy ! this was a fun one #also FT baby riel

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