#button lavellan

[pumpkinlass]

It's almost time for veilguard have you checked in on your lavellen's ??

[greypetrel]

WIP Wednesday

Tagged by @pinayelf : thank you so much Ellie! <3 Since it's the next week, you're tagged back if you have anything new to share :D

@shivunin (hi Mo, you're tagged!) sent me this cool video + analysis… I HAD TO draw Aisling doing it. With the right conditions, she'd fight on horseback, yes. Will say that it's not a big deal, horses are that much more stable than halla, it's not that difficult if you trust your horse. (seriously, look at the video... the skill it must take to make it look so effortless???? Insane.)

A death stare inspired by a recent theory going around. It's a collaboration. Try to guess.

Saw a video on maternity stays and corsets from the XVII century onward. Had to draw one to fully understand how it worked. Featuring Aisling, with her daily announcement of her pregnancy symptoms in details. She won't be the greatest fan of the experience, overall, but she'll feel very pretty once morning sickness stops. The city should really give her its keys, if you ask her. The city won't give her its keys becase she's obnoxious about it and will add 10 very embarrassing and gruesome details and isn't embarrassed by discussing bodily fluids.

A couple of sketchbook Whale (not) AU things that aren't as pretty. Meanwhile tagging: @salsedinepicta @ndostairlyrium @shivunin @melisusthewee @blightbear @daggerbeanart @dungeons-and-dragon-age @hollytree33 @inquisimer @heniareth and YOU!

[minoan-ophidian]

They butchered my Hawkes in Inquisition and I'm so ready for them to butcher my Inquisitors in Veilguard

[ndostairlyrium]

Uuuh I wanna contribute to the prosthetic arm topic too!!

It takes months (almost years) of research and testing before Ankh manages to craft a decent new arm, which is totally not functional as a limb per se but it's more of an aid if she's on a mission and needs stability in combat. Also it helps her regain confidence in her skills since she has to drop bow and arrows - can't really hold a weapon she can't feel the weight of.

Emotionally speaking, archery was something fundamental in her life, a talent that took years to be perfected. She feels a sense of emptiness, as if she has lost her identity and can't contribute to the world as an individual anymore. Working on the arm along with Dagna and Three Eyes helps her to cope with such a traumatic loss but like, even if she consumes herself on this task night and day she can't help but feel like she has no reason to do so. Most days she focuses on the new task to avoid to explore her feelings, so she overworks herself to the point she can't connect properly with her surroundings. She was sure she would die after walking through the last Eluvian at the Winter Palace, consequently sometimes she asks herself if that fate would have been better than living without what made her her. Luckily she has a strong support system, people that really appreciate her character outside what good she can provide to the world. Just like her new project, her mental health after Trespasser is a work in progress, basically.

Once she can grip to her resolve, she just starts to develop her ideas further. At first the arm is a regular prosthesis with two runes placed on the joints, to help her hold on objects, then it starts to become something more complex.

What she manages to do:

The arm is functional in a sense that it can be directed to move accordingly to the situation. There are buttons to push and levers to click if she wants to perform certain movements. It's like playing an instrument, using shoulder movements and the aid of her main hand to keep it in place whenever in need.

What she doesn't manage to do:

Handshakes, caresses and other gestures connected to physical touch don't seem to perform properly. Which is normal, considering a big portion of her arm is not linked to the brain. As I mentioned above, some movements can be performed only because of a complex system of levers, buttons and body movements that can symulate a realistic arm movements but the more Ankh goes further with the development, the more she starts to put aside what's realistic and shifts to functionality. You can see her perform strange dances from time to time so she could find a good balance, or just to bend the new arm to a certain degree.

About materials:

Since plastic and silicone aren't available materials and the ones already existing are heavy to say the least, it was hard to balance the arm in relation to Ankh's body weights system. This problem was partially solved by enchanting strategic points - the elbow and the shoulder in this case - as to make the structure less overwhelming and more manoeuvrable. The only catch is that a mechanical arm is still heavier than a regular arm, even if it's something not perceivable. The weight has still an impact on her body, so she has to be super careful to prevent overexhaustion. The part connected to the skin is composed by three different layers, one for elasticity, one for durability, and the other for comfort between skin and the hard layers. My math is terrible but I think it could be approximately 3-5 cm of thickness. The problem here is that the lighter the materials are, the more the arm is prone to damages. The structure in itself is designed to be practical for a very agile person - it has to be lighter - consequently it tends to malfunction from time to time because of sudden hits - or an overuse during reckless parkouring, knowing her << I'm not convinced about the harness' design but she definitely wears one to keep the arm in place, with a sewn on sleeve to make what's left of the arm feel comfortable with all that weight on.

She tends to wear it often, and she modifies it constantly, so to be prepared always if some asses need to be beaten <3 but also it improves her overall confidence.

[maythedreadwolftakeyou]

transferring 1,603 screenshots from my Gaming Computer to my Posting Computer via flashdrive so you will no longer be spared from 1000 photos of my inquisitor... soon...

[choccy-zefirka]

@lindenforest Oooh I am now also having thinky thoughts about Erik Cadash and Saarath Adaar, who were raised in Vhenas Lavellan's Dalish clan! Erik was there since he was a bebe, as the only survivor of a giant's attack that Vhenas rescued him from, so he speaks the clan's Elvhen dialect as the first language and then learns Common as he moves out to a shem town to try and open a toy workshop.

Saarath was a teenage Saarebas, abducted by bandits who told her they were "freeing" her but really wanted a living weapon, and Vhenas adopted her after those bandits attacked her clan. So she starts off speaking nothing but Qunlat (plus a sign language version of it on account of her mouth being sewn shut) and then ends up with a Qunlat-Elvhen pijin/familect that only her adoptive mom and clan siblings understand. Trying to decipher it probably gives Bull a headache.

[rachelamberish]

Just finished inquisition and found this fucking bullshit after the coryphipiss fight

(In regards to the orb being destroyed and solas despairing that it’s irreparable:)

LAVELLAN: “Are you sure? We could take the pieces, try to…”

SOLAS: “That would not recover what has been lost.”

No im sick like im actually sick trick weekes you are sick in the head for this one bc its so innocuous but it is also both of their character thesis statements in two lines fuck off.

She just wants to help him build a better world but he can’t. He can’t see the forest through the trees he is so stuck in his guilt and regret that he cannot process or move on from in any constructive way that he just won’t let. Anyone. Help. Him.

“I have to be a martyr. It’s what I deserve.” NO! YOU! DON’T! There are people LINING UP out the door to give you lifelines and you take NONE of them because your brain is so unfathomably traumatized over this thing you’ve done that has effected arguably for the worse the lives of every single person who has ever lived that it is actively refusing to do anything but hit the reset button. It rejects any other solution because any other solution means that it’s real and he has to live with it.

He can’t bear to look at an orb that’s been glued back together because it reminds him that he is the reason it’s broken. So better to just throw it out and start over.

[bg3daydream]

Rumors and Facts 1/3 (Solavellan Fanfiction)

Solas x Female Inquisitor Lavellan Fanfiction.

Summary: +18 (Rated explicit) Lavellan is tired of the rumors that she hears around Skyhold regarding her relationship with Solas, and with all the gossip surrounding her at the Winter Palace. It's nobody's business, and besides, she's done hiding.

There's 3 chapters, with chapters 1 and 3 containing smut, and there's fluff through the whole fic. Chapter 1 is set in Skyhold and chapters 2 and 3 are set in the Winter Palace.

Find chapter 2 and chapter 3

Lavellan could swear that when she walked into Solas’ rotunda that day, she had no intention of ending up in her current position, which was straddling Solas’ lap while he sat on the couch. She wasn’t very sure of how they’d ended up in that position, not that she’d complain, but still, she could promise she had not gone there for that.

She had gone to speak with Solas about Corypheus, to review all their information about him. At some point, she’d sat on the couch while Solas explained her what he knew. Then, he joined her. Then…then she wasn’t very sure how the conversation had turned into kissing.

The kiss had soon heated into something more, with Lavellan moving to straddle his lap, all thoughts of Corypheus and even where they were gone from her mind, as it always seemed to happen when Solas kissed her like he was starved and she was all he needed.

His hands on her hips caressed their way to her thighs, then to her ass, squeezing it and pushing her even closer. Lavellan moaned softly into the kiss, grounding down on him, and Solas gasped, their lips parting as he pulled back from the kiss.

“Vhenan…” He breathed. “We shouldn’t…”

This again. He always kissed her senseless, made her feel all heated and crazy with want, just to stop at the last moment. Lavellan wasn’t sure how much more her frustration could take. He never told her why, and it only added to it.

“I think we should,” she replied, barely a whisper, kissing him again and wrapping her arms around his shoulders. She could feel he wanted her too, hardening under her, but still, she made herself pull back, just in case she was reading this wrong and he didn’t want it. 

“Do you want to stop?”She asked quietly, leaning her forehead against his.

“Want?” Solas let out a humorless snort, his forehead nudging hers as he shook his head no.

“Then don’t.”

Lavellan rocked on his lap, purposely grinding against him. Whatever Solas was going to say, probably some variation on how they shouldn’t, turned into a moan that sounded heavenly to her ears. He kissed her again then, his hands back on her ass, holding her to him.

His lips moved from hers to her neck, kissing the underside of her jaw,  then a spot under her ear, and the feeling had her rolling her hips against his again. His gasp against the skin of her neck made her shiver in delight, and she hummed as he kept kissing her sensitive skin, until his lips reached the high collar of her shirt. 

Lavellan let go of Solas’ shoulders so she could unbutton the high collar, while Solas’ hands, still on her ass, held her securely to him. She began to undo the buttons, tugging the fabric loose and open, while Solas kissed her newly exposed skin as she went.

She kept going past the neck, opening the buttons down her neckline, tugging open the fabric so Solas could keep going, kissing down her cleavage. Solas placed warm, open-mouthed kisses on the exposed skin at the top of her breasts as he grasped her ass tighter.

Lavellan tilted her head back with a moan, pressing down against him, one of her hands flying to the back of his head, desperate for more.

A loud thump next to them startled them both. Solas lifted his head from her breasts, removing his hands from her butt but keeping his arms around her, holding her securely to his chest as he looked around, scanning the room for threats while Lavellan did the same, half expecting a breach to show up there somehow, spitting demons.

There was no threat, breach, or demons, though, but a big, heavy book that seemed to have fallen from the library upstairs, barely missing the couch.

“Ups, my bad,” came Dorian’s voice from upstairs. “I hope it didn’t hit anyone…but that’s the perils when you set your quarters under a library in which people are researching, right Solas? No need to bring it back, I’ll go get the book myself.”

Lavellan almost jumped from Solas’ lap, rushing to get up, remembering where they were and afraid Dorian was about to walk on them like that.

“Apologies, vhenan, I forgot myself,” Solas mumbled while he got up too, seeming a bit flustered and out of breath…Lavellan guessed she probably looked just the same.

“No, don’t apologize,” Lavellan replied. The only thing Solas could apologize for was not choosing a more private place to set his quarters.

She hurried to button up her shirt again, so Dorian didn’t walk in to see the Inquisitor with her boobs practically falling out of the garment, and Solas reached to help her. When they heard the heavy wooden door opening, they pulled away as if they were burning…considering how heated Lavellan was feeling, it wouldn’t surprise her that much if her skin could actually burn Solas’ fingers.

“Good afternoon,” Dorian greeted as he walked in. “Apologies again, the book just slipped past my fingers.”

Lavellan didn’t know if he’d gotten a peak of them from upstairs, or if he’d heard them, or if he’d just had a lucky guess, but with the way Dorian was looking at them, she knew he knew what he’d interrupted. 

Lavellan wasn’t sure if she should throw the book to his face or actually thank him for reminding them where they were and how little private Solas’ rotunda actually was. 

“So, how’s your research going?” Dorian asked with an arched eyebrow. “Great, I bet.”

“It’s…” Lavellan’s brain suddenly seemed unable to recall a single thing about what she and Solas had talked about before ending up on the couch. “...going.” 

Dorian snorted at her coming short of words, his amusement growing. At least, he was not openly commenting on what she and Solas were doing instead of researching, though Lavellan knew better than to expect no teasing from him on that matter from then on.

“We weren’t researching, merely putting in common what we know and the information we have until now,” Solas said, more articulately than her. “I thought you were the one researching…still for nothing, I presume.”

Lavellan rolled her eyes. The last thing she needed was Solas and Dorian bickering or, as Varric and she called it, engaging in their contest to see who had the biggest staff. Did they really not see how silly they sounded when they got at it? So much for the wise mages…

“Oh, I am researching, I swear if you follow me around you’ll see my face buried only in books and not in other places.” Dorian shrugged, all innocent and serious looking despite his obvious teasing. 

Solas gave him a murderous look, but the blush that spread across his cheeks and the top of his ears took away from it. It was kind of cute, but Lavellan knew that he’d be beyond mortified if she pointed it out.

“Are you still trying to find his real name?” She asked, trying to steer the conversation into serious matters.

Dorian nodded, picking up the book from the floor. “Once I know who he really is, I’ll expose him to the magisterium.”

“Okay…” Lavellan didn’t know much about Tevinter’s magisterium but she trusted Dorian knew what he was doing. “Let’s get to it, then.”

*

Lavellan walked into the tavern, heading to the bar. She tried to do so every couple of days or so, to ask the bartender how was morale doing. There were always people there, drinking, sometimes looking rather down, other times celebrating victory. The Iron Bull and his Chargers had taken residence there, and Lavellan waved at them.

The minstrel was singing a song about Sera. It was quite catchy, but Sera herself, who was sitting on a wooden banister, looked rather unhappy about it. Lavellan’d heard her muttering how the song was creepy, although the Inquisitor found it cute. 

“Good day to you, Cabot,” Lavellan greeted the bartender. “How’s people lately?”

“Fine. Drunk. Got some complaints about you having time to bed your allies,” Cabot said and Lavellan blinked at him, feeling frozen in place. Had she heard right? “I don’t judge. Much.”

She had heard right. Lavellan gaped like a fish out of water. How and why were people saying that? Had Dorian told people about Solas and her? No, he might tease them, but he wouldn’t go around talking about them. 

There were many things she wanted to say. Many things that she should say, like how it was nobody's business. Or why wouldn’t she be allowed some happiness and love, in her sparse free time? Wasn’t she doing enough, wasn’t she fighting enough, sacrificing enough. Were they going to judge her forever, no matter what?

Instead of saying anything of that, though, she heard herself saying, in a slightly panicked and high-pitched voice that didn’t seem her own, “there were no beds, only a couch.”

What, why would she say something like this?! Now the situation was even more embarrassing, if that was even possible.

Lavellan heard Sera’s laugh and she turned to see her looking so amused, that it made Lavellan feel more embarrassed and upset. Was it her who’d told people about Solas and her? How did she know? Or she didn’t know and had just wanted to joke around for her own amusement.

“On the couch!” Sera cackled, running upstairs when Lavellan rushed to her…she didn’t know why, she was probably looking even worse, running after Sera like an idiot while she kept laughing. “Did he call out ‘elven glory’? I bet he did!”

Still laughing, seeming thoroughly amused, Sera rushed into her room and tried to close the door in Lavellan’s face, but she was quick enough to get into the room too.

“Stop it!” She demanded, upset, but Sera just burst into another fit of giggles. “Is it you who’s been saying those rumors about Solas and me?”

“Rumors? You just said you did it on the couch!” Sera kept laughing and Lavellan was more and more mortified. Why’d she say something like that…and why would she run after Sera afterward. “Besides, no, I didn’t! It’s pretty obvious with how you two look at each other…ugh.”

“We don’t look at each other in any way.” Lavellan hated how childish she sounded. She thought they’d been keeping it private…

“Sure you don’t!” Sera huffed. “You look at him, like, all…Oh, Solas, come here!” She mimicked a high-pitched voice, dreamy eyes, and then smooching sounds, before pulling a face. “It’s embarrassing and disgusting, really. And he? Even more disgusting! Looking at you like he wants to eat you, ugh.”

“He doesn’t look at me like that!” Lavellan felt heat spreading across her cheeks…but maybe Sera had a point, the way Solas looked at her sometimes made her feel…things.

Sera snorted. “He does. The other day, you were sitting judgment, and he was looking at you like he wanted to kneel right there and eat you…yikes.” Sera put on a face before cackling again. “Better bang him on the couch than on the throne, though.”

Lavellan felt her face on fire, and she tried very hard not to imagine Solas kneeling between her thighs while she was on her throne. “I haven’t banged him on the couch!”

“But you just said-”

“I know what I said,” Lavellan interrupted her. “I just…I was just pissed at people talking about my love life…” Not only that, but also talking like she didn’t deserve one.

“You’re the Inquisitor.” Sera shrugged. “People’s gonna talk and gossip about you no matter what.”

“Yeah, I can see that…” Lavellan scoffed. It’d been like that since back in Haven. “I hate it anyway.”

“Why do you care?” Sera shrugged again. “Just ignore them, or better yet, scandalize them more!” Sera laughed. “But maybe Josephine will have a heart attack. She wants it all to be so proper,” she scoffed.

“Wait until she hears that the Inquisitor was shouting at the tavern that she banged the elven apostate on his couch,” Lavellan groaned, mortified, and Sera laughed again.

“But why have you not done it for real?” Sera asked and Lavellan just shrugged…if only she knew herself why Solas kept backing out. “I think you should…I mean, it’s disgusting, but I think maybe if you get Solas laid it’d fix whatever is wrong with him.”

“Nothing’s wrong with him!”

“Sure it isn’t.” Sera snorted. “And I think you need to get laid too…even if it’s with Solas.” She made a face of disgust, cackling when Lavellan huffed. “You deserve it. Every time you win a fight, he should get his face bet-”

“I really, really don’t want to keep talking about this,” Lavellan rushed to stop Sera’s lewd comments. “I’m gonna go and try to do some damage control, say I was trying to joke or something…”

“Pfff…good luck with that.”

Sera’s laugh echoed as Lavellan walked out of her room.

*

When Lavellan walked to Solas’ rotunda, her mood was sour. She had caught some more insinuated comments about her love life and some looks, and she felt pretty done with the day. As she went to open the door, she heard someone snickering behind her, and she turned to glare at everything and everyone, but couldn’t catch the culprit.

Solas smiled when she walked in, but it turned into a frown when he noticed her face, as if reading her mood.

“Something wrong?” He asked.

“No, not really.” She didn’t want to tell him about the rumors. She didn’t want them perhaps ruining his mood too, and maybe turning him self-conscious. The last thing she needed was Solas pulling away from her. “But I just feel done with people for today…no matter what, nothing I do is enough and it almost seems like I don’t deserve anything good of my own,” she ranted.

Solas moved closer to her and took her hand in his. “What happened, vhenan?”

Lavellan considered telling him, but it still felt too embarrassing. She shook her head with a sigh. “I’m just tired of people acting like I’m not a person, just, The Inquisitor, always ready to be used…”

Solas squeezed her hand gently, but before any of them could say anything else, the door opened, revealing Sera there, grinning as she aimed her bow at…them?

“What are you doing?!” Lavellan yelled, she was not scared, just perplexed and angrier.

Sera just laughed, losing an arrow that embedded into Solas’s desk. With a curse, Lavellan jumped to grab Sera, hearing Solas curse in that way he reserved for the rogue, but Sera was quicker, closing the door in Lavellan’s face. When she reopened it, Sera’d disappeared through any of Skyhold’s multiple, labyrinthic corridors.

“Ignore her, vhenan, don’t go running after her,” Solas said, sounding as pissed as her. Sure, the Inquisitor running after Sera yet again, in a hall full of people, would have people talking and giving Josephine a headache.

“What in Mythal’s name has gotten into her…” Lavellan wasn’t sure if she was more angry or confused.

Sera and Solas tended to argue, but it was usually childish and petty (not that Lavellan would say that to any of them and become the new target of their disagreement), but it’d never escalated into shooting at each other…this was probably another of Sera’s odd pranks, but someone should talk some safety into her.

Lavellan turned to inspect the arrow on the desk and saw that Solas was tearing a paper from it. So the prank was not only shooting arrows but also leaving notes with them. Sure, who needed Leliana’s ravens when they had Sera’s arrows.

“So, what is it?” Lavellan asked but Solas didn’t answer, eyes on the note. He made to crumple it, seeming flustered, but Lavellan’s curiosity took the best of her and she reached for the paper.

On it, there were only two words “eat her” and then the doodle of a cat…a pussycat, Sera’d say.

“Oh…” Lavellan said, feeling her cheeks heating…why had she told anything to Sera?

The door opened again, saving them from having to acknowledge the note that Solas quickly crumpled. This time, it was Varric who walked in.

“Was that Sera shooting at you two?” He asked, eyeing the arrow on the desk.

“One of her new pranks, it seems,” Lavellan sighed and Solas scoffed. He still seemed flustered, though Lavellan wasn’t sure if it was due to the note or to Sera’s arrow-shooting antics. Both, probably. “Who cares she might fail and kill one of us.”

“It could be worse.” Dorian’s voice came from upstairs and Lavellan looked up to see him leaning over the library’s banister. “She could have thrown a bottle of bees. She likes that.”

Lavellan grimaced. “Did many people see her?” She asked Varric, who nodded.

“Most of the hall, they’re talking about what’s going on with her now,” he confirmed and Lavellan let out a frustrated groan. “Wait until Josephine hears about it.”

“I’m going out, and you all are coming with me,” Lavellan was more begging than commanding. “We’re going to loudly talk about how good our ‘surprise attack defense’ drills are going. Save Josephine the trouble.”

“If you say so, Inquisitor,” Varric chuckled.

“Then, any of you is going to distract Sera while I fill her quiver with ants.”

*

Today had been an odd day for the Inquisitor. 

Instead of researching their enemies, training, listening to reports, planning, and everything else she did on an usual day, she’d been studying Orlesian politique and learning about etiquette and manners with Josephine. She’d even practiced ballroom dancing with her.

Definitely, an odd day for Lavellan.

It was late in the evening and almost everyone had retired to their quarters by the time Lavellan walked into Solas’ rotunda. 

“Vhenan.” Solas was on his desk, studying some papers, but he looked up to smile at her when she walked in. “Do you know everything about proper Orlesian etiquette?” He joked.

“Almost everything. I think Josephine’s going to test me tomorrow.” Lavellan snorted, rolling her eyes. “Do you know what else I’ve been practicing? Ballroom dancing.”

“Oh?” Solas arched an eyebrow at her.

“Yes…do you happen to know anything about ballroom dancing?”

“As a matter of fact, yes I do,” Solas replied, taking Lavellan by surprise. She’d not expected that.

“Really? Where did you learn? Have you ever been at a ball before?” Lavellan couldn’t imagine him, considering what she knew of him, the lonely mage who studied the Fade and dreamed, but who knew.

Solas seemed a bit uncomfortable at her questions and Lavellan wondered if she was being intrusive, but she couldn’t help how curious and intrigued she was.

“I’ve seen some at the Fade,” he finally answered. Lavellan supposed it made sense, but she was still a bit unsure of how the Fade and Solas dreaming worked.

“Did you ballroom danced with spirits? It sounds good.” Lavellan half-joked and Solas gave her a half-smile.

“Something like that.”

“Dance with me now, then.” Lavellan smiled, reaching to take Solas’ hand. “So I’ll have more practice and I’ll surprise Josephine tomorrow with my improved technique.

“My pleasure, vhenan.”

Solas got up and Lavellan giggled when he pulled her to him. His hand was lower on her back and he held closer than it was probably proper in Orlesian etiquette, but Lavellan was certainly now going to complain.

She smiled as she let him guide her, feeling butterflies in her belly at the way Solas looked at her while they danced without music.

Eventually, she stopped, letting go of Solas’ hand to wrap her arms around his neck instead and kiss him.

“Is this a step in orlesian ball dances?” Solas joked.

“Only if I get to dance with you,” she answered before kissing him again.

“Dancing with the elven apostate won’t be good for the Inquisitor’s reputation,” Solas said.

“I don’t care.” She didn’t, she refused to hide Solas as if this was something to be ashamed of, and everyone was talking anyway.

Lavellan kissed him again and Solas pulled her to him with his hands on her hips, holding her so tight to him that Lavellan had to almost cling to his shoulders to keep upright and stay on her feet, bending back at the intensity of his kisses. She felt like she was melting, dizzy and light-headed almost, and still she couldn’t get enough.

She took a few steps back, struggling to keep her balance, and her ass hit Solas’ desk. He pushed at her until she sat down on it, opening her legs to accommodate him between them.

Solas let go of her hips to instead hold her face, kissing her deeply, before he moved from her lips to place kisses down her jaw and neck. Lavellan was wearing one of her high-collared shirts and she rushed to unbutton it, leaving more skin free for Solas to kiss, shivering in delight at the feeling of her hot mouth on her sensitive skin.

She kept unbuttoning past her neckline, reaching her cleavage. She forced herself to open her eyes, glancing upstairs. She couldn’t hear anyone at the library and it was late, probably everyone was already gone. Solas sucked on her neck and she gasped, squeezing her thighs to his sides, her fingers moving again, unbuttoning her shirt  past her chest, not stopping until it was fully open.

Solas pulled away from her neck to look down at her now open shirt, nothing under it, before leaning to hold his forehead against hers, nudging it ever so slightly. He slid a hand down her exposed skin, caressing it softly, from her neck down to her chest, his fingers brushing her nipple as he cupped her breast, making Lavellan gasp and press closer to him, kissing his lips again, while Solas’ hand kept its journey down, leaving a trail of warmth on Lavellan’s skin as he caressed her.

Solas pulled back from her lips to lower his mouth to her neck, trailing a path of kisses down the length of it, past her collarbone, down to her chest.

He kissed a spot between her breasts and then moved to kiss her nipple. His warm tongue brushed over it before he sucked it into his mouth and Lavellan let out a moan, pressing her thighs harder against him and crossing her legs behind his hips, trying to push him closer to her.

She felt Solas gasp against her breast at it, before he circled her nipple with his tongue, moving then to her other breast, kissing his way to her nipple and giving it the same treatment. Lavellan placed a hand at the back of Solas’ head as her hips rocked and writhled, trying to brush and press against him.

Solas released her nipple and trailed a path of warm, open-mouthed kisses down her body, unwrapping her legs from him so he could fall to his knees, kissing her lower belly, before pulling back to look at her. The sight of him knelt between her thighs almost made Lavellan moan.

Solas had her hands half over her naked skin, half over the waist of her trousers, and Lavellan rocked her hips again, trying to lift them to him and encourage him to keep going, if he wanted to. She really hoped he wanted to. It seemed like so, with that hunger in his eyes and that way of looking at her like he was starving for her, but it was not the first time he stopped when things got heated between them, though they’d never gone this far.

His fingers pressed harder on her warm skin and Lavellan let out a small, needy sound, her hips writhing again, desperate for more of his touch. Solas smirked at it and leaned over to kiss her belly.

He pulled back so he could unbuckle her boots, taking them off, and then he hooked his fingers on the waistband of her uniform trousers, looking at Lavellan’s face, waiting. She lifted her hips, trying to encourage him and help him take off her trousers, and so he did, sliding them down her legs along with her small clothes, leaving her completely exposed.

“Vhenan…” Solas whispered as his hands caressed up her thighs. 

Her only response was a small, needy moan. Liquid heat pooled between her legs, and the heated way Solas was looking at her, like he couldn’t wait to devour her, was not helping.

Lavellan thought he was about to bury his head between her thighs, and her hips bucked towards him at the thought, but instead, Solas pulled back slightly to kiss her ankle, then up her calf, placing her leg over his shoulder.

His lips reached her thigh, placing open-mouthed kisses on it, while his hand caressed and kneaded her other thigh, opening her leg wider. He kissed her inner thigh and Lavellan called his name in a needy whisper, the ache between her legs unbearable.

Finally, he lowered his mouth to her. His tongue slidded up her wetness, slowly, and Lavellan took in a shaky breath, closing her eyes. She moaned when his tongue reached her clit, circling it, and her head tilted back. She reached a hand behind her, trying to grab onto the desk somehow so she wouldn’t fall back on it, her other hand flying to Solas’ head.

Small moans and gasps left her lips as his tongue kept pleasuring her, every nerve on her feeling like it was on fire. He stroked Solas’ scalp, gently first, but when he sucked on her clit, she couldn’t help but push his head closer to her with a moan.

His slow pace, with lazy, deep licks along her wetness and clit, alternating with his warm lips sucking her nub, was maddening and yet it felt so, so good.

Her hips kept writhing and lifting, trying to rock onto his mouth, and as they picked their pace, so did Solas, his tongue flicking her clit before sucking on it again. Lavellan moaned, and her thighs tried to close around his head, but Solas kept them open, grabbing them tight, and he moaned into her, making her cry out again.

Whimpers and moans kept falling down her lips as Solas kept going, his tongue and lips moving on her until she couldn’t take it anymore, the pleasure building up until she exploded. 

Lavellan cried out, pushing Solas’ face even closer to her while her quivering thighs closed around his head again.  This time Solas let them, moving one of his hands to hold her ass instead, squeezing. 

His lips were wrapped around her clit, sucking on it as she climaxed, and he kept going while she spasmed and moaned, slowing down only when her grip on his head relaxed. Lavellan stroked his head, trying to catch her breath while small moans still fell down her lips.

When her thighs stopped shaking and fell open, her legs unwrapping from around him, Solas pulled back, kissing her thigh a few times before looking up at her. Lavellan smiled at him, feeling a bit out of herself still, and she caressed his face, cupping his cheek and brushing her thumb over his lips, wet with her moisture.

The intensity with which he was looking at her made her belly flutter and her heart squeeze. He seemed as out of breath as her, and Lavellan tugged at him gently until he got back onto his feet.

“Come here, ma’arlath,” she whispered to him. Holding his face, she leaned to kiss him, and Solas seemed to almost melt into her as he kissed her back, holding her tight to him.

Lavellan slid a hand down his body, reaching the hem of his shirt and pushing it under it, caressing his warm skin, and she felt Solas taking a sharp breath against her lips. She moved to kiss his neck instead and Solas let out a half-gasp, half-moan.

“Vhenan…” He whispered, shivering when Lavellan trailed a path of kisses across his neck.

When she slid her hand down towards his groin, though, Solas reached to stop it, taking her hand on his. Lavellan pulled back to look at his face, worried that something might be wrong. Solas didn’t say anything, but lifted her hand to his lips, kissing it.

“Are you okay?” Lavellan asked him quietly, and Solas nodded with a soft smile.

“You?” He asked back, his voice huskier than Lavellan was expecting.

She smiled. “I believe I need another word…I’m much, much better than okay.”

Solas’ smile turned into a smirk, and he let out a low chuckle before he leaned to kiss her again. Lavellan didn’t try to touch him again or pushed him for more, this was the further they’d gone without Solas pulling away and stopping, and she didn’t want to risk it, even if she wanted to make him feel as good as he’d made her feel. She could wait.

Solas pulled back and reached down to take her small clothes and her trousers, sliding them up her legs again, and Lavellan wiggled until her trousers were back in place. Next, he got her boots, carefully putting them back on her feet and buckling them. Lastly, he carefully buttoned up her shirt.

Once she was dressed again, Solas gave her lips a soft, brief kiss, and pulled back, holding her hands on his and helping her off the desk. Her legs felt a bit shaky and bobbly, she felt like she might just melt or perhaps float, and Lavellan had to hold to Solas to keep her balance. She didn’t miss his quick smirk at it.

Lavellan wasn’t sure of what to do or what to say now, they’d never done anything like this before…she knew she wanted to stay with Solas as long as she could, though, and have him hold her again.

“I know it’s late but do you mind if I stay here with you for a bit longer?” She asked.

Solas smiled in a way that made Lavellan’s heart skip a beat. “Of course, vhenan.”

He took a book from his desk and walked her to the couch with her hand on his, sitting down and pulling her close until Lavellan was snuggled against his chest, his arms wrapped around her and the book angled in a way so she could read it too.

*

NA:

I worked hard on this fic, it was out of my comfort zone, and I hope some of you can enjoy it, please check the other chapters if you missed them and thanks for taking the time to read this.

If you liked it, please let me know in a comment, and as always, reblogs are more than welcome.

I'm not usually a smut writer, it's not my thing, I'm usually a fluff, hurt/comfort person, but I don't know what Solavellan has done to me.

The desk's the one in which I kept landing after jumping from the library.

I hope they can have their happy ending, but I'll have to write it if they don't.

Excuse my English, it’s not my first language.

[rubensmuse]

no button for nuance, she can cry when she pulls the trigger but you'll have to elaborate in the tags about that if you want

[mumms-the-word]

In the Company of Wolves

Characters: Solas x fem!Lavellan Summary: Solas spends part of the evening at Halamshiral admiring Iren and pondering the similarities between an Orlesian masquerade and ancient Arlathan. When he's not being grim and fatalistic about it all, he's imagining a few naughty things he would like to do with Iren, should the evening give them a chance. Basically it's a whole lot of Solas pining and pondering and wishing, at least for one night, that he were not the Dread Wolf after all. A/N: Some of this is inspired by information we learn in Dragon Age: The Veilguard, but does not contain any Veilguard spoilers. Also, tried something new with verb tenses and flashbacks. I haven't decided if I like it yet, but an attempt was made! AO3 link if you want to read it there! MDNI 18+ even though most of the smut is relatively tame (teasing and such, you know)

Solas cradled a glass of wine in his hand, lifting it to his lips as he watched the Orlesian nobility wandering past. Each one was dressed in their finest silks and brocades, buttons and buckles gleaming, feathers floating, jewels sparkling. There was more wealth in one antechamber or narrow hallway here than in whole towns and villages around Orlais and Ferelden. And as was the fashion, the requirement of Orlais, every single one of them was masked, their faces covered with thin plaster or porcelain, paper-mâché or paint, imitating lips and noses and mustaches and carefully plucked brows. Faces upon faces. Falsehoods upon falsehoods.

It was as familiar as it was foreign. Had he come here alone, had there not been any threat of Corypheus and his Venatori conspirators, he would have been content to watch and observe. Smile to himself at the frivolous concerns of a nobility that cared more for their appearances than anything else and stand unseen and quietly amused at how seriously they conducted their clandestine affairs in half-hidden alcoves and darkened stairwells.

In this sea of masks, it was all too easy to believe they were little more than mindless animals, prettied and painted up to appear as intelligent creatures. If he wasn’t careful, everything would seem as a dream, each person drifting by as no more than a blur of meaningless color. Not real. Completely beneath his notice.

But then she would appear again, sweeping quietly through the hall, and the world would sharpen into focus again.

Iren. His vhenan.

She stood out among the crowd as easily as a single star in a void of night. Whereas everyone else here was dripping with color, turning about the room in their jewel tones, vibrant satins, and complex patterns, she was dressed simply and elegantly in a white dress of soft linen and breezy chiffon that left much of her sides and all of her arms bare. A brushed gold collar and matching thin belt gave the dress shape and held it close to her body, preserving all the necessary modesty that the court required, though her bare arms and sides had already been the subject of several scandalized whispers. Solas alone had overheard a handful of remarks here in this hall where he lingered, so he could only imagine the talk that went on in the ballroom proper. The court was undecided on which was the most offending detail, the sight of her bare skin or the dark red vallaslin she wore so boldly on her face, a vallaslin that also adorned her back and curled gently beneath her collarbone, faintly visible even beneath two layers of chiffon over linen.

She was ornamented lightly with gold in the same brushed finish as her collar and belt—a golden armband around one bicep, a set of simple thin bangles around both wrists, earrings that threaded thin chains between her earlobe and piercings that sat halfway up the line of her pointed ears. And of course the thin ring she always wore in her lip, the gold indenting her bottom lip and drawing the eye there every time. She had painted her hands with dark henna, a pattern of swirls that matched the markings of Sylaise on her face and darkened the tips of each finger to a shade of dark rust red. Crowning it all was a gold headdress of sorts, shaped in curving lines to form a pair of halla antlers that stretched back from her head.

She looked like a long-forgotten goddess among distracted mortals, a being from an ancient empire whom nobody could remember. She appeared simultaneously as a creature out of place and a being that rose above as something more.

She looked like one of the ancient elvhen.

No. He smiled to himself. Even among the nobility of ancient Arlathan she would have stood apart. There, the nobility had been just as opulent and colorful. More so, in fact, when Arlathan was at the height of its power. Iren, in all her simplicity, wearing only white and gold, would have appeared not as one of the Evanuris, but as something set apart. Something not even they would know what to do with.

He doubted she knew the effect her appearance had on those around her. She had wanted simple and she had gotten it, for better or worse. For here, simplicity was an outlier. Here, simplicity was rare.

Simplicity meant every eye was on her now, rather than passing over her.

As she drifted by him again, offering him a small smile that he returned as she made her way toward the gardens, he recalled how nervous she had been in the days leading up to this ball.

She paces his rotunda restlessly as she frets over the ambassador’s choice of fashion and uniform. “She’s talking about corsets and laces now, Solas.”

“Oh? Has our ambassador already selected your outfit for the evening?”

“She’s working on it.” She stops with a sigh, resting a hand on a stack of books that stand on his desk. “I requested her to go as simple as possible, but I’m not sure she understands what that word actually means.”

He laughs at that and takes her hand from his books, raising it to his lips for a gentle kiss. “Lady Josephine can be reasoned with, after a fashion. She will honor your wishes if you communicate them clearly.”

“I just want to be…comfortable,” she says. But he knows that isn’t the word she wants to say. She wants to be helpful. She wants to heal hurts and move on. She wants to be invisible. She wants to be herself. It is, in part, why she is so drawn to Cole, and so protective over him. If she were a spirit, she would be Compassion.

But she is flesh and blood, and the Inquisition needs an Inquisitor. Who better than the woman who heals the sky and who stops the pain of every conflict ravaging the land?

He gently pulls her in close for a soft kiss. “Whatever you wear, you will be beautiful, my heart. You always are.”

And she was. The light of hundreds of candles illuminated golden light over her warm, dusky skin as if to cast her in polished bronze. The dark red of her vallaslin and henna added an enchanting, otherworldly effect to her natural beauty that these Orlesians, in all their paints and powders, didn’t know what to make of.

So as with anything they did not understand, they warped fear and curiosity into scorn and hostility.

Primitive. Rabbit. Savage. Knife-ear. Witch. The nobles used these words so carelessly, as though the sight of her bare skin and unmasked face were an open invitation. Like wolves, they surrounded her, thinking they scented blood, ready to sink their teeth into her flesh and tear her to shreds. They saw the halla antlers that adorned her head and thought her a prize beast to fell in a hunt.

She had predicted that.

He steps into her rented room in the city of Halamshiral, nodding quietly to the assistants who are putting the final touches on her face. A subtle dusting of shimmering powder on her eyelids, a line of dark kohl around her eyes, and a dark red stain on her lips, just a shade or two darker than that of her vallaslin and henna. Iren sees him in the mirror and dismisses the assistants with a smile.

“What do you think?” she asks, standing as the others file out of the room, leaving them alone. “I doubt I’ve ever worn this much finery in my entire life. This part in particular seems a little excessive.”

She touches the golden horns that curve and curl back from her head, an elegant mimicry of halla antlers to remind the court of her proud Dalish heritage. Her dark hair has been carefully arranged to cover the headbands that keep them secure on her head, the rest of her long tresses left to fall loose down her back and over her shoulders. He clasps his hands behind his back and smiles.

“You wear them well,” he says. “And the court will certainly have opinions about them.”

“Of course. I can’t wait for someone to call me a halla rider and think it’s a compliment. I’d almost rather they just insult me outright.”

Her eyes drift away from him, toward a painting that hangs on one wall. A group of Orlesian nobility dressed in the fashion of the age long since passed, gathered as a hunting party, their bows drawn. At their feet and beside the fine horses, sleek gray hunting hounds lead them through the forest. Their prey, a white halla with silver horns.

“They hunt them for their pelts and antlers, you know,” she says quietly. “In Orlais, a single halla is worth a fortune. Dead, of course. No point in capturing the creature alive.”

He says nothing. He is all too aware of the destructive tendencies of a people who would rather attack first than seek to understand, to appreciate, to learn. After a moment, Iren purses her lips, playing idly with the bangles around one wrist.

“I wonder what they will think of me.”

“They will think you are simple and easily defeated.” He smiles. “And like the stubborn, clever halla, who has no doubt felled many an arrogant Orlesian hunter, you will prove them wrong.”

She had said nothing to that, but he had seen how she entered the main ballroom, how she had navigated the first hour of the masquerade. As they thought, the nobility here watched her with predatory stares, eager to pounce on a single mistake. They tittered behind their fans and perfumed the air with cruel whispers. They murmured ridicule just low enough to sit at the edge of one’s hearing,

She had acted as though they hadn’t spoken, keeping her back straight and her chin high as she entered the ballroom on the Grand Duke’s arm. She had curtsied to Empress Celene, walked a confident circuit of the ballroom, and made it out into the hallway where Solas had taken up a place in one corner. It wasn’t until she had slipped her hand in his that he noticed the tremor in her fingers, the fine trembling tension that sang in her body as her blood thrummed with adrenaline and fear. On the surface, she had kept all of that hidden away.

He was the only one who knew how terrified she was.

“You will be fine, vhenan. And I will be here if you need me.”

But she didn’t need him. Or at the very least, she had no need to rely on him as a wounded man might rely on a crutch. She was, above all, adaptable and clever, and she had a natural grace and elegance that made her seem nearly at home among the more civilized Orlesians. They still derided her, of course. But they found very little purchase for their barbed words and veiled insults.

He watched her through the window as she perched on one of the railings that lined two sides of the Winter Palace garden, only a few feet away from him. The only things separating them were clear glass panels, but she didn’t look his way. She sipped from a glass of wine and pretended to find something interesting in the statuary of the fountain, but he knew she was listening for secrets. Feigning indifference or boredom to lure others into a false sense of security, where they may let slip something vital within earshot.

But then, as he watched, she lifted a hand and traced one finger against a spot on her neck, beneath her hair.

Ah. He smiled again. Perhaps her mind was not as much on the mission as he thought.

She turns to look again in the mirror of that room in Halamshiral. Her eyes are on the halla horns she wears, contemplating his words about proving the court wrong. He comes up softly behind her and wraps his arms around her from behind, resting his chin on her shoulder. Beside her, he looks pale and sharp, his indigo eyes darkened by the falling evening light. Still weak. A shadow of what he had once been. A humble disguise he didn’t even have to fabricate.

He focuses on her instead, admiring the curve of her brows over her dark brown eyes, the shape of her lips when she purses them faintly as she considers the two of them in the mirror.

He presses a slow kiss to her bare shoulder. “You will be the envy of all the court, ma vhenan.”

Her lips flicker with a darkly amused smile. “No, I won’t. Even with all this finery, I have no doubt I’ll be the most underdressed guest at the masquerade.”

He hums into her skin as he brushes another kiss against her shoulder. “But you are beautiful. You are enchanting. I doubt even the empress herself could compare.”

“Only to you, perhaps.”

To that he says nothing. Instead, he carefully moves aside the long, dark hair that trails over her shoulder, pushing it back to bare her throat above her golden collar. From his place behind her, he has easy access to the space just below and behind her long, slender ear, and it is there that he kisses now, lathing his tongue against her neck before gently taking her skin between his teeth in little nips. She relaxes against him, nearly melting, listing her head to one side to give him better access.

“Solas…” His name is a sigh, a breath from her lungs.

“Relax, my heart,” he purrs against her throat.

One of his hands finds purchase in her skirt, slowly and carefully drawing it up until his fingers brush against warm skin rather than cool fabric. He brushes his fingers up the inside of her thigh, inching closer and closer to her heat, only to smooth his touch back down and away. Teasing and tempting, the game they play, have played, since that first kiss in the Fade. She shifts, parting her legs to give him better access as she leans back against him, but he ignores the invitation. They don’t have time for what he wants, what he has planned. It would have to wait. For now, though…

He flicks his gaze back toward the mirror, watching her eyes flutter closed as his fingertips brush featherlight against her inner thigh again, close but not quite where she wants him. He sees himself in the reflection, too, his lips pressed against her skin as he sucks a dark mark onto her throat just below her ear. He watches them both, his gaze hungry, intense, while she relaxes back against him with her head to one side. The halla antlers curve back over their shoulders, glinting in the warm evening light. As the last of the daylight falls, shadows creeping into the room, his pupils reflect gold-green, a predator’s gaze in the dark.

If they had a few moments more…

A knock at the door brings him back to his senses.

“Are you ready, Inquisitor? We are gathering outside at the carriages now.”

The ambassador’s voice. Iren shifts as if to draw away, but Solas wraps an arm tighter around her, determined to finish what he started with the mark on her neck. “Y-yes,” she calls. “I’ll be down in a moment!”

He listens for the telltale sound of a latch being thrown at the door, but instead they hear footsteps drawing away. Satisfied, he finally lifts his head, brushing her hair away to admire his work.

There, just below her ear, a red love mark almost dark enough to match the red of her vallaslin and henna. By the end of the night, it will be bruise purple. A semi-permanent mark of his own making. One more adornment to add to her finery.

He smiles and rearranges her hair to cover the mark, hiding it from view. A secret, just for them.

Back in the garden, she seemed to catch herself and dropped her hand in her lap, idly rubbing the fabric of her dress between her thumb and forefinger. She had chided him when she caught a glimpse of the mark in the mirror. But her hair hid the bruise, so long as she kept it over her shoulder, as she did now. No one knew it was there, except for the two of them.

She turned her head again, following the sound of some whispered secret or another. With her dark profile set against the white and blue of the Winter Palace, he was free to admire the curve of her aquiline nose and the plump shape of her lips. Strong features. Regal features. You would not have found them among the nobility of the ancient Elvhen, who favored delicate noses and pointed chins, large eyes and small mouths. But the ancient Elvhen had not made her.

She was a product of this world. The world he had been forced to create and had hated with each step in its hollow realm. Millennia of elves fighting, surviving, fleeing, dying, carving out an existence in a world that should have been their ready inheritance, all funneled down to the happy accident of her birth, her creation. Solas hated the Dalish for the same reasons he hated the Orlesians—their arrogance in thinking they knew the world, knew their own history, better than any outsider might. But for all that he disliked the Dalish, they had done one thing right.

They had made her.

She was so beautiful. But that wasn’t the only thing that had drawn him in. She was kind and empathetic; she felt every emotion too deeply, raw and ragged, even as she was forced to suppress it all to maintain her solid facade as the Inquisitor. And she was stubborn, too, as immovable as a rock in a churning sea. She didn’t stop until a task was complete and someone got the aid they needed, whether that be healing a wound, clearing out bandits in a fortress, or saving a wayward druffalo. She sought wisdom and guidance when she needed it, but once her mind was set, there was no persuading her.

But she wasn’t reckless. If anything, she was patient, selfless to a fault, watching everyone else and planning ways to help them, often at the expense of herself. He recognized these traits easily. He shared them, or he had once, when the world was different. When the Evanuris ruled, and these traits were what he had aspired to. Kindness. Patience. Resilience. Selflessness. She bore these traits better than he ever had.

His stare must have been more piercing or intense than he intended. She turned her head, as if feeling the weight of his gaze, and their eyes locked through the panes of glass that separated them. He offered her a light toast with his goblet, a smile playing on his lips.

To your hunt, ma vhenan.

A hint of a smile flickered on her plump lips. She pretended not to notice his toast, turning her head away again. But then she gathered her hair carefully over one shoulder, bearing her neck toward him. Bearing the side that was, as of yet, blemish free. He saw her dark eyes flick back toward him, trying to gauge his reaction in the corner of her eye.

An open invitation, or a tease. Solas suppressed a smirk.

He wasn’t certain whether it was the wine or the atmosphere or some other terrible influence that was weakening his resolve, but the sight of her skin, offered so freely, tempted him almost beyond his control. He longed to pull her aside into some hidden shadowed corner and make a mark to match the one she already wore beneath one ear. To guide her away, his hand on her hip, fingers brushing over her bare waist, while the eyes of the court followed them and whispered about how dreadfully forward the Inquisitor’s elven serving man was being, to touch her so openly and boldly. Then to find a private corner away from all else and press her back against the cold marble of some column or wall, inhaling her surprised gasp as he closed the distance between them for a kiss, slipping his hands through the opening of her dress to the smooth planes of her back.

If this were any other party, if they were there for any other reason than to stop a madman’s agents from threatening chaos over an entire nation, he might give in to such fantasies. It would be all too tempting, once he had her there in those imagined, stolen moments, to lose himself to her henna-stained touch. To guide her fingers to the buttons of his coat and press in close, hiking her skirts up just enough to slip his thigh between her bare legs and leave her with nowhere to go, save closer to him. Her sex against him. Her perfect breasts heaving against him. Her panting breaths mingling with his.

They’d have to get rid of the halla antlers, of course, if he was going to make such ample use of the wall to satisfy them both. Pull them free from her hair and toss them aside as he caught the skin of her neck between his teeth again. A halla caught in the jaws of a wolf…

His smirk faded as the thought, unbidden, bitter, sarcastic, invaded his fantasy. What was that old Dalish curse? May the Dread Wolf take you? And now the fantasy was ruined, as reality crashed down around him. A reality of his own making.

Not that she had any way of knowing the irony. Here, she thought the Orlesian nobility were like wolves, crowding around her on the hunt for blood. If she had any idea who he was, who he had been, would she bare herself so openly to him? Would she look at him the way she did these days? With nothing but tenderness and care, and perhaps more than a little hunger of her own? No. If she ever truly knew…

There was no one here to warn her save himself. And he could not. It would risk everything, ruin everything, and it…it was too soon.

Even so, he could all too easily imagine the whispers that would follow her if his secret was known. Old Dalish warnings and snide comments from the ancient elvhen, allies of the Evanuris, mingled together in his mind.

See how the Dread Wolf stares at her, so lurid and open. See how his great, fanged jaws salivate for a taste of her flesh. Cavort not with wolves, young elvhen, lest you fall prey to their charms. For He Who Hunts Alone may devour you, if you let him draw close, and then where will you be?

He tightened his grip on his glass of wine and then, after a moment, set it aside. This masquerade brought too much of the old Solas out of him. All this courtly intrigue, this heady blend of power, intrigue, danger, and sex, it all felt so familiar that he could easily conjure the sort of talk the elvhen would have said, had said, about him.

Some things never changed. The scorn was the same, it was only the words that differed. And here, just as it was then, the powerful preyed on the weak and boasted their victories prematurely, while others lay in wait for their chance to usurp, to upset the balance, to rebel and create change.

Like his Inquisitor, he supposed. For all his wine-muddled thoughts about wolves and halla, predators and prey, Iren was ultimately neither. Though she wore the halla antlers for the sake of costuming and carried herself with the elegance of nobility, and though she was on the hunt for agents of the Elder One to stop his plans before they even began, she did not fit so easily in these categories. She was neither halla, nor noble, nor huntress.

She was what she had professed to be from the start, when she had first introduced herself to him. A shepherd guarding her flock. A Dalish Keeper in training.

Therein lay the true irony. He should have seen it from the beginning.

“I am surprised you offered to stand watch,” he says, approaching her as she sits by the campfire in the midst of the Ferelden Hinterlands. After only two weeks of knowing her, she remains a mystery. Beautiful. Gifted in magic and in healing. Quiet, but stubborn. She is the bearer of the Anchor, a gift that should never have been hers, but which she has learned to use with surprising rapidity. But as with so many others in this world, she still seems a little unreal. Unfinished. Unrefined.

Yet he can’t help but be drawn to her, at least a little. The warm tones of her skin, the soft fall of her dark russet hair, the ring she wears in her lip that never fails to draw his gaze. The way she tilts her head, listening closely to his words when he speaks. The way her eyes flash with surprising anger when someone attempts to dissuade her from a path she has chosen to take. There are hints of cleverness within her he wants to see more of, despite knowing that what he ought to do is keep himself distanced and aloof.

At his casual remark, she looks up at him, the glow of the firelight warming her dusky skin. “Pardon?”

“I would not have expected one of the Dalish mages to be accustomed to the task,” he says, by way of explanation. “I suspect most of them sleep comfortably while their hunters do all the watching…and lose all the sleep.”

“Oh, on the contrary,” she says, smiling dryly. “In my clan, the Keeper, the First, and the Second each take one of the three night watches with the hunters. The Keeper always takes the first watch, then the First takes the middle watch, and the Second the third watch early in the morning. In Clan Lavellan, there is always a mage awake and relatively alert every hour of the night. Just so you know, the middle watch is the worst.”

He tilts his head. These Dalish clans never do the same thing twice, he’s found. “Fascinating. And what do you keep watch for? Bandits and wolves, like your hunters do? Or are you there to watch for demons?”

Her dry smile is still on her lips, but it shifts. “Any of it. Among other things.”

She twists a thick sylvanwood ring on her first finger, carved to depict a wolf flanked on either side by delicate elven figures. The elves face away from the wolf, as if marching toward a destination not depicted on the ring. He recognizes the scene instantly. A depiction of the Betrayal. Or at least, how the Dalish remember it.

It was a gift from her Keeper to guide her on the way to the Conclave, she had once told him, the first time he had noticed the ring. A reminder of the people she left behind. A people she hopes one day to return to and eventually to lead.

“Anyone can watch for bandits,” she continues. “But we were meant to watch for something else. Someone else.”

She twists the ring on her finger again. He knows the answer even before the name crosses her lips, a title he will never be able to escape, not even in death.

“Fen’Harel. The Dread Wolf. It is our job to keep him from leading our people astray.”

If she only knew…

No. It would shatter her. She would be left ashamed and embarrassed, or worse, betrayed. He would lose her in an instant.

He would never be able to tell her the truth. No matter how much he longed to. No matter how much he saw in her the traits and strengths and the determination that he himself had once exemplified in his early days of rebellion. If this were another time, another place, perhaps then he could bring himself to trust her with the truth. But those days were long gone. Elvhenan was gone. He had destroyed it.

How different would things be, would things have been, if she were there in the days of the Elvhenan empire? Would she have sided with him in rebellion, or clung to Sylaise as a devoted follower or slave? He doubted sincerely that she would be content in slavery, content to sit idly by while people suffered the whims of the powerful and the corrupt. If she had been born in the time of ancient Arlathan, if she had been part of his rebellion against the Evanuris, if he had been drawn to her in the days after Mythal, would she have been able to find a better solution that he could not see at the time? Would her wisdom have shown her better paths?

Would he even have listened?

That was the real question, and he knew the answer. He wouldn’t have. He hadn’t listened to the friends he’d had. And even now, seeing what world he had created, he wasn’t entirely certain that if he had the chance to go back and correct his mistakes he would choose any differently.

All this, to stop powerful tyrants and would-be gods…

“Solas?”

He blinked, drawn from his brooding thoughts by the sound of Iren’s voice. She stood now just a few steps away, waiting for him to see her. And as before, the world crystallized with her at the center. Everything made a little more real.

He softened his brooding expression as best he could. “Ah. My apologies, vhenan. My mind was…elsewhere.”

She fought a smile, but he could see it twitching at the corners of her mouth, her lip ring glinting in the candlelight. Unbidden, his thoughts were drawn there, focused and warm. He wanted to catch the ring between his teeth and tug gently at her lip while his hands pulled her flush against him. He wanted—but then she smiled, amused, and he realized how brazenly he stared at her mouth.

“I can guess where your mind was,” she murmured. “But…later. We still have work to do.” She stepped closer and lowered her voice even further. “No matter how much I might wish otherwise.”

“Indeed,” he breathed. Better that she thought his mind wholly distracted by her than to suspect him of other treachery. And, if he were honest, it was all too easy for his mind to turn, again and again, to the subject of her beauty, in praise of her figure, lost in fantasies of what he would do if he didn’t fear the consequences so much. He cleared his throat gently. Back to work. “How goes your search?”

“Something is happening in the servant’s wing nearest the ballroom,” she said, keeping her voice quiet, lest anyone try to overhear. “It has me worried about the elven servants…”

“You think they are involved?”

“I think they’re being killed, and that worries me.” She gnawed at the corner of her upper lip a moment. Then she forced a little smile, as if they were once more flirting, their words meaningless and shallow. “Can I interest you in a distraction soon?”

“You are already a distraction, ma vhenan,” he said softly, taking the risk, despite all the eyes and ears potentially turned their way, of taking her hand and lifting it for a brief kiss. “But I understand your question. I would be very interested. And I am ready whenever you are.”

“Good. The door in the next room, down the stairs, to your left. I’ll have it unlocked soon. Meet me there in a few moments.”

“As you say.”

“And…Solas?”

“Yes, vhenan?”

She hesitated, the first obvious sign of reluctance or even doubt he had seen in the time since they’d entered the grounds of the Winter Palace. Her hand was still in his. In her hesitant silence, she gave his fingers a fierce, firm squeeze, as if she were nervous and seeking reassurance.

“Nothing,” she said quietly. “I’m just…I’m glad you’re here with me. That’s all. I don’t think I could do all of this without you.”

And just like that, he remembered just how mortal, how fragile she was compared to the elvhen, the Evanuris, compared even to himself, weakened as he now was. This was not Arlathan. She was not one of the People. She was Dalish, part of a quickened race of elves who forgot everything and clung to legends and fanciful stories as if they were true history.

And he loved her. His foolish bleeding heart couldn’t help but love her. Try as he might to harden his heart, to remain callous, distanced, cold, neutral, he couldn’t. With her hand in his, drawing strength and courage from his touch, her warm brown eyes earnestly seeking his to convey not just gratitude, but love, her plump lips holding the hint of a smile meant just for him and no one else, how could he do anything but love her? As she was. Mortal. Dalish.

Real.

He wished he could be anything but the Dread Wolf in that moment. That he could be nothing other than an odd, wandering, elven apostate, a scholar of the Fade. That he could set everything aside and be what she needed him to be, nothing more, nothing less. That this night would end with a victory, in some form or fashion, and her hand once more in his as he led her to a private room to celebrate. No more danger of the Dread Wolf leading the Dalish Keeper astray. Just a man in love with a woman and proving his love with searing touches and whispered words. He would give anything to be just that, to be the man she believed him to be.

She saw the best in him. He wanted so dearly to live up to her vision.

Perhaps, for tonight, he could try.

Let there be other wolves. For one night, let him be as he began, simply Solas, and as he wished to become, a man devoted to his heart’s desire. His Inquisitor. His Iren.

He lifted her hand to his lips for another kiss, reverent and slow, a silent response to her remarks. Then he let her go, watching as she slipped her hand reluctantly from his and drew away; watching as the eyes of Orlesian nobles and elven servants alike turned to follow her as she left the room.

She had nothing to fear from them. She had already faced worse than an Orlesian court. Like so many other obstacles she had already faced and overcome, she would find a way forward, a way to help those who needed help, a way to stop the Elder One from sowing chaos. She would succeed, one way or another, because that was simply what she did. She could handle a few predatory glares and poisonous whispers, in light of all that.

She would be fine. She had grown accustomed to the company of wolves, for better or for worse, whether she knew it or not.

But for tonight, he would not be another among them.

[wardenevka]

seeing some weird discussion on twitter but... if the default inquisitor in datv is a lavellan that romanced solas... how does that affect you? genuinely. whatever is default in the game can be changed. whatever bioware considers their own "canon" does not change yours. there is no reason to be mad.

on the flip side, being smug about lavellan being default/'canon' is also weird. the 'canon' hof/champion/inquisitor means nothing beyond maybe being mentioned in the comics/books. it is a video game. you get to chose the buttons. what are we doing?

[rainwolfheart]

Generated first names for Rook

I'm a huge nerd about naming customs, and I'm really intrigued by this name generator feature in the Veilguard character creator, so here's a compilation of the generated first names I've seen in videos so far.

Disclaimer that I can't guarantee that all of these were generated by the game rather than by the player, but in most videos you see the player replacing one of these with a name of their choice, so I figured it was a safe bet. Shoutout to Ghil Dirthalen on YouTube in particular for actually talking about the name generator and showing several generated names!

Burhan (qunari, she/her?, woman?, Lords of Fortune, source)

Esha (qunari, she/her, woman, Lords of Fortune, source)

Esha (qunari, she/her?, woman?, Lords of Fortune, source)

Filip (qunari, she/her?, woman?, Lords of Fortune, source)

Grier (elf, he/him, man, Shadow Dragons, source)

Jirell (qunari, she/her?, woman?, Lords of Fortune, source)

Kalais (qunari, she/her?, woman?, Lords of Fortune, source)

Lorant (dwarf, he/him, man, Veil Jumper, source)

Lorant (qunari, she/her?, woman?, Lords of Fortune, source)

Turvi (qunari, she/her?, woman?, Lords of Fortune, source)

Veryl (qunari, she/her?, woman?, Lords of Fortune, source)

There's one more name I came across that seems likely to have been a player input, but that I can't verify:

Veil (elf, she/her, woman, Antivan Crows, source)

The namebank seems limited, as I saw a two names come up more than once: Esha and Lorant. While both Eshas were essentially the same build, both Lorants were quite different: a Veil Jumper dwarf man and a Lords of Fortune qunari who I guessed was a woman. That, plus the fact that it generated Filip (a name I would instinctively associate with a human male) for a (presumably female) qunari, leads me to believe there's a single namebank that doesn't take into account lineage, pronouns, gender, or faction. But who knows!

There also seems to be a name generator for Inquisitors, but I haven't seen anyone click that button yet, so the only name I've seen is the default female Lavellan name, Ellana (source). I wonder if the namebank will be the same as the one for Rooks, or will be separate?

Please let me know if you have more info on this, and I'll keep this post up to date!

Also, if you're also a name nerd, follow my new name blog @rains-onomatology

[arlathen]

im just curious :)

[damallarky]

"Truce" Snippet

This fic is fighting me guys. But here are two snippets so I can share something and get the fic worms out into the ether. Enjoy.

-

"If there was one truth Neria Lavellan knew above all else, it was that she hated Solas with every fiber of her twelve-year-old being. It was her opinion that the man who abandoned her and her family before she was even born did not have any right to any of their time. Yet in the days following his release from the Fade, Neria noticed her family’s carefully constructed unit begin to shift and change to make room for him anyway.

It started fairly innocuously, with Mamae checking in on him when she could. It seemed Solas was apparently left weakened by his stint in the Fade and needed the bedrest. This was fine to Neria; it meant she wouldn’t have to see the man, and it gave Mamae a chance to do what she loved most: fret over people.

Yet, as Solas regained his strength and could leave his bed, he continued to weasel into her family’s lives, starting with Neria’s mother. Unless Solas was needed for Veilguard stuff, he was stuck to Mamae like a tick.

A stupid, bald tick.

Wherever Aisling Lavellan was, Solas was not far behind. If Mamae was cooking, Solas would be there to “help.” If Mamae was holding Neria’s new baby sister, Enasali, and she began to fuss, Solas would sweep in out of nowhere and offer to hold her. If Mamae was doing embroidery work in the library, Solas was close by, reading a book.

What was worse was that Mamae seemed to enjoy having Solas around. It did not escape Neria’s notice how Mamae would leave Veilguard meetings with her hand (always her real hand) entwined with Solas’s own. Nor did Neria miss the look on Mamae’s face whenever she would feed him a bite of whatever it was she was cooking… By hand.

It made Neria want to hurl..." -

"...The leather was old and worn, covered in a thick layer of dust like it had been forgotten for years. Upon opening it, she saw that the writing was tiny, impeccably neat, and seemed to alternate between common and Elven. Along with what looked like regular journal entries, there were also diagrams, formulas, and countless sketches.

Neria had a sneaking suspicion as to who this journal belonged to. So, with a vindictiveness she didn’t even know she possessed, she turned to a random page.

It was a journal entry written in common and, according to the date, was written on what would have been her fourth name day. It read:

‘I have a near mountain of work, yet I have accomplished nothing. Today is Neria’s name day, and is the case every year, I am finding it hard to concentrate.

She is turning four years old this year. Four years old! I am still unused to the flow of time in this new world, and I fear that when I next see her, Neria will be a woman grown…’

The next passage had what looked like water droplets smearing the ink and making the text nearly illegible. Neria thought she saw the word ‘heart’ and perhaps ‘mother,’ but she couldn’t be sure. Frustrated, she skipped to the next few lines.

‘I had one of my agents deliver the gift I had picked out. I found it while I was working with my contact in Kirkwall.

It was a toy stuffed wolf, and it was quite the odd-looking thing with its misshapen body and mismatched buttons for eyes. Yet I found it endearing (and incredibly soft), so I couldn’t help but purchase it.

I can only hope that Neria enjoys it as well...’"

@buttsonthebeach @beardedladyqueen and all the others, thank you for cheering me on. It helps a lot. :D

[ellstersmash]

Veilguard loves & hates:

Love It:

the banter!!

overall the armor is very cool looking

don't really have to take a balanced party (but detonations help A Lot)

enjoyable mix of linear quests and exploration

at least some puzzles

more qunari lore that isn't "qun bad chantry normal"

GORGEOUS locations fr. like under the sea? you kiddin???

a lot of the quest location and actual quest designs were intriguing and engaging

the soundtrack on the quests was better than the main theme, in most cases

only experienced one bug (on PS5) so far and it was fixed with a reload

THE HAIR!! love that I can change it often—and I DO because there are so many cool options!

honestly the whole CC is very excellent

im in love with all my friends 🥴 and my friends love each other!! much more successful found-family vibes than Inquisition; more akin to DA2

so much talk about food and using food to come together and show love!!! big fan of that

I CAN PET AND HUG ASSAN (and will. all day.)

I do wish I could hug or interact with my romanced companion....but the overall romance and amount of references to it were acceptable. more than enough to get me daydreaming about my Rook and Taash 🥰

Rook's idle animations near the edge of something make me smile

the final battle (like the whole set of quests) felt appropriately dramatic and significant

my completionism paid off :}

the emotional stakes!! I cried like a baby more than once.

DREAD WOOF \o/

the ending (the one I got this round anyway) felt relatively satisfying, even though **

Hate It:

no lighting swap for the Inquisitor CC

no warning before the first major decision point/point of no return. never had my coffee date :(

no armor/outfit dye mechanic, and my god some of the color combos are.. certainly choices

no crafting system

very few legitimately casual outfit options

the main theme sounds like Harry Potter to me

so few meaningful callbacks to past games and choices... it felt impersonal and disconnected from previous game experiences

the way certain areas are walled off (either exploration areas during quests or vice versa) by some nebulous white haze is lazy

I love a DIY home base in my viddy games, but the decor mode is basically pointless. like that's time that could've been better spent elsewhere (like maybe improving the above point??)

loading a save drops you at a respawn beacon, so I'm always forgetting what undiscovered location I was gonna explore next

combat can be fun but is often an exhausting mash of swipe-and-dodge, since unless you use a companion's Taunt skill, every enemy will prioritize Rook for no reason, minus a few swings at the companions here and there (in Adventure mode)

no dedicated Open Map or Open Journal buttons

can't talk to solas whenever I want :(

the evanuris altars are boring. at least the fen'harel ones have some challenge to them, even if it's not a very difficult one

Davrin's talk about the Dalish is.. idk. mixed bag (update: I like his arc though, and Bellara provides another great perspective!)

the Crows are a good and benevolent organization now?? I thought Caterina abused Lucanis? I need to reread his story but it really felt like the writers didn't.

humorous dialogue options are rarely actually funny

dialogue trees don't flow very well, especially if you take one of "more information" options. they need better transitions

too much mythal 😤

**the ending left me with quite a few unanswered questions AND made my Lavellan look a whole-ass fool (I will be headcanoning otherwise, because I am a whole-ass fool)