#elvhen rebellion

[queenaeducan]

On Life in the Lighthouse

This ancient logbook is filled with meticulous veilfire runes. Though it is encoded, flicking through it offers vignettes of borrowed memory.

Fearful refugees are ushered into the Lighthouse through eluvians, emerging from the infirmary and libraries as soldiers, spies, and scholars. Gardeners plant long-extinct herbs that grow, are harvested, and wither in the blink of an eye. The sharp smell of distilling medicine wafts from a window, and poison for the enemy drips into a vial. The arguments of a war council go on late into the night; forbidden songs are sun freely, with filthy lyrics substituted for the Evanuris' names.

Finally, a heated conversation silhouetted against glass with quick shadows darting behind it. The argument ends with a wordless but unmistakable impression: "You summoned them: you feed them."

[hallaslin]

Solas was never a baby and I don't think any spirit elves were coming through as babies but basically how do yall think he is with babies

[veilstr1der]

❝ i once followed the sound of drums for two days, ❞ feynirin explained, elbow deep in the remnants of one of arlathan's armored constructs. he pried the underplate loose with carefully placed leverage, the alloy resisting his efforts stubbornly. ❝ i could hear singing, not choir singing but the rowdy kind. you know, like you're sitting around a campfire with friends? ❞

he could talk about the mysteries and dangers he'd experienced wandering arlathan forest all day. the whispering trees, the sunken ruins, the fleeting visions of ceremonies and rituals repeating across the ages. ❝ it was like a . . . ❞ feynirin paused to drum his hand against the constructs chestplate, ❝ ar'lathviran, falon'lin vhenas! ❞

feynirin wasn't much of a singer, but fortunately the song he was trying to repeat didn't need to be sung on key. high they sit, fat and vain, called for a little more guts than the usual smooth delivery one might be used to with elvhen. ❝ you ever hear that one before? ❞ // @lastburden , gets a starter for bellara ♡

[maxx-the-queer]

One of my criticisms about Dragon Age, and this isn't unique to Veilguard, is how antirevolutionary their narratives are. (Spoilers for Veilguard ahead, naturally)

Narratively, they're not adverse to all change (since stories have to have some change in order to exist) but they're hardly accepting of it either.

Any change that happens to the status quo has to happen within the system, otherwise it's deemed extremism and wrong in universe.

Contrast that with when Anders or Grand Enchanter Fiona take actions against the systems of the Circles that spark the mage rebellion - they're vilified for it by the narrative and everyone around them. They're painted as fools at best, malicious murderers at worst. All because their steps for change were taken outside of the system. (Anders blows up a Chantry, Fiona starts a vote to disband the Circle of Magi)

In a worldstate where Leliana becomes Divine Victoria and disbands the Circles to allow for the formation of the College of Enchanters, she's celebrated because she stayed within the Chantry, rose to the top through unconventional but still allowable means, yet achieved radical societal change nonetheless.

If Dorian becomes Archon, his anti-slavery views aren't seen as unreasonable or too radical because he stays within the system. His work with the Shadow Dragons - an anti-slavery group, who by all standards aren't that different from the mage rebellion in the south, is deemed different because their leaders are still trying to work with the systems for change.

Solas gets both versions of this anti-revolutionary treatment. In Inquisition, he felt honestly quite reasonable to me in his motivations to tear down the veil, but he can't escape that same vilification as when he's trying to fit the mould of a force for rebellion, he's treated like a monster or has significantly more flaws in the narrative. When his motivations are framed as complete systematic change, he's shown to not view anyone in modern Thedas as 'real people.' In one of his approval scenes in Inq, he goes out of his way to tell the Inquisitor essentially "you're one of the good ones." He's ignorant, racist, and singlemindedly focused on destroying the world to have a second Elvhenan but better.

But in Veilguard, in order for the narrative to consider him redeemable, his reasons for wanting the veil to come down get changed from wanting betterment for the elves and restoring the Elvhen people, into personal regrets he needs to fulfill. He's no longer framed solely as a political, rebellious force for change, but as a mere man who went too far for a woman he loved. Suddenly the narrative gives the player permission to give him redemption. Because he doesn't actually want change, it's just what he thought Mythal wanted, so that's fine and different.

Your player character protagonist can never actually flat-out agree with the vilified rebel characters either. I can't have my pro-mage rights Hawke say "hey, actually, Anders was right to blow up the Chantry, I agree with him," you always have to ultimately condemn his actions, even if you agree with the outcome.

I can't have my Dalish Inquisitor or an Elven Rook say "hey, actually, maybe Solas has a point, this world does suck for elves and maybe the veil coming down would fix that," they always have to ultimately believe that the veil has to stay.

The games do everything they can to avoid letting the player come to the conclusion that revolution is a good thing. Instead, they force the idea that the only way change is ethical is if you do it within the preexisting status quo.

[olexiss-s]

What’s interesting about Solas’s portrayal in DA4 is that we see him mostly from Rook’s perspective. Rook only knows what Varric has told them and what they observe through encounters with a cunning and distant Fen’Harel in their dreams—dreams controlled by him through blood magic, as we later discover. The Veilguard unveils his deepest regrets and judges him at his worst. Solas doesn’t try to change Rook’s mind about why the Veil must fall, he doesn’t bother painting himself as the ‘good guy’ or explaining his motivations. He repeatedly dismisses them with, ‘it’s beyond your comprehension’ and ‘you can’t understand what was lost.’ He dismisses Rook as a God would.

Though he grows to respect Rook, it changes nothing, by this point, he’s at his absolute worst. He embodies Pride to a fault. The gentle, wise, and truly idealistic aspects of his character we saw in Inquisition have been lost to what he believes he must become to achieve his goal. The Veilguard focuses on the Mythal-shaped void in his past. It might seem as though his loyalty to her was the only thing driving him, because ultimately, her releasing him from this duty stayed his hand.

To understand Solas, we have to know that he was Wisdom spirit first. He gained a physical form, and Mythal turned him into a weapon for a war he never believed in, a trauma that still reverberates through everything he does. Her final admission, that she was wrong and she's freeing him from this burden was just the breaking point of an already weakened resolve, that had one final push in the 3rd act. This vulnerability allowed for an opening for the grief he’d kept locked away unresolved, grief for her, for his lost spirit self, for his people, the Elvhen, for the magic he separated from the world, for his rebellion, for Felaasan, and for all those he betrayed and hurt in his quest to set things right. This powerful moment stripped him of his pride.

Then he sees Lavellan, kneeling before him, just as he had done for her in Trespasser. In that moment, she's a glimmer of hope, there's a sudden realization that, though this grief will be the hardest thing to bear, she’s proof that this world went on. Its people have kept fighting, and there is still beauty and goodness worth saving. And with that, there's the possibility of redemption, not giving up but letting go and facing the world and himself. A new purpose arises, and now, he won’t be blinded by solitude that tainted his heart for so long.

[bdafic]

Insights on Elven

While stuck in bed being ill I went completely off the deep end while trying to understand the use of letter-doubling in Elven (spoiler: I think it's a feature of fusional language). I ended up spending two days collecting canon phrases with official translations, retranslating it myself, and then applying each bit of knowledge to the formation of other words and phrases... and I think I've stumbled into a few insights.

First off, the word "vallaslin". We know this means 'blood writing', and we've always assumed the 'lin' is 'blood' and 'vallas' is 'writing' -- and up until two days ago I thought this too. But the more examples I dug up the more I think it's actually 'val' that means blood as a root -- though not necessarily in terms of violence. I believe it originally referred to mortality. We already have use cases of "vallas" meaning "life" in canon (Vallasdahlen: "life trees"), but I think the most damning evidence comes in Veilguard, where an Elven Rook will comment that the word Anvallenim means "womb".

an (place/location) + val (mortal/physical life) + len (people, n.) + im (him, become) = where mortal life becomes.

I think the real root of the word vallaslin is exactly what Solas says it is: a chattel brand. val (blood/physical) +las (have) lin (person).

Second insight was the word 'lath': it's used to refer specifically to a person in physical form. Over time, it expanded to encompass feelings that involve the physical form (eg. love and sex). The World of Thedas vol 1 actually lists two definitions for it, and that first one was really pulling at me when I read it:

Some of Solas' banter with Cole may even confirm this: "Have you felt no interest in women since you came through the Veil?". Spirits are singular in purpose and don't reproduce -- they probably do not fall in love, need, or have sex.

Leaning into this assumption, I found that the presumed translation of 'ath' by the illustrious fenxshiral ('taking the characteristics of' or 'embodiment of') not only works, but actually helps clarify a number of other words. Like, 'athim' for humility. ath (relating to physical/human) + him (become). With so much commentary about the limitations (and consequences) of physical form, and the constant struggle to become better and more powerful in it, the origins of the word would seem to reflect the views of the culture it emerged from.

I think the "L" in "lath" is borrowed (or implied) from the words for 'people' (as in group, not capital-P-People, which is 'vhen' or 'Elvhen'), depending on use). This would make "lath" very literally "love of being".

Along this same path, we know 'eth' is canonically used for "safe". I think it can also mean 'trust'. This would make "lethallin" translate more literally to 'trusted person': friend or kin.

This would also clear up a currently-untranslated word spoken by Solas' spirit sentinels in Trespasser. When you approach, you're greeted with, "Atish'all vallem, Fen'Harel elathadra."

The only other time we see the "adra" at the end of a word is when you're greeted by Study in the Vir Dirthara. They'll greet Sera, or an elf Inq, as "honoured elvhen", or, "mirthadra elvhen". Mir has been used as a root in words about rebellion, fighting, or weapons -- and that tracks, given that the first thing everybody did upon getting bodies was start a war. If the "th" is coming from my interpretation of "lath/leth", that would make the "adra" apply a concept to an individual.

Honour + physical being + applying base term to that being: honoured.

Spirits embody a singular idea or feeling - they're only ever spoken of in that way. Once they began taking form, they'd need an entirely new vocabulary around the existence of a spirit who is not a spirit -- especially when referencing a feeling/state/idea as a personality trait rather than their whole existence.

So, that spirit guardian isn't saying "peaceful welcome". It's saying, "(come) in peace, those-who-became-physical". That untranslated word, "Elathadra" would be something like, "those loyal/close to the Dread Wolf".

"Peaceful greetings mortals; loyal of Fen'Harel".

[brekkie-e]

Something I think about a lot when it comes to the Vallaslin debacle- whether they should be maintained as a tradition in the future and what they meant in the past- is Felassan's place in the rebellion.

Felassan and Vallaslin theory under the cut.

We see some of Solas's agent's in Trespasser, Tevinter Night's, and other media. And it's a bit of a toss up whether an ancient elf who serves Solas has Vallaslin or not. Based off the info we have about the rebellion and what the Vallaslin were, one would assume anyone who makes it to Solas's side wants theirs off. Isn't that notion backed up by the murals we see in Inquisition? Solas taking off Vallaslin by the dozens?

Which brings us back to the agents who still wear them. The first thought that jumps into my head is, "Oh, these must be spies then. People who opted to keep them as a way of offering a specific service to The Cause™️."

And…. That brings me back to Felassan. He's not a spy. He's a general. One might argue he could have fulfilled the role of a spy at some point or another. But in TME- he's not working overly hard to fit in. The guy is unapologetically behaving as himself. He doesn't care if he actually believably passes as a Dalish guy. Sure, he brings up old tales, but the whole time he's practically begging Briala to ask him if he's really Dalish.

In the memories we see of him and Solas, he's a second in command. He's leading people on battlefields. There's literally nothing he does in the name of subtlety. I don’t really see him as a character who has “cut out for spy work” in their resume.

So why does he still have Vallaslin? If any free elf of Solas's time wanted them gone, if they served no deeper cultural purpose than to mark someone as property, Felassan's decision to keep them is called in to question. His role in the rebellion that we get to witness would make sending him to spy a moot point. He's a known entity. He's the Wolf's right hand. So why does the Wolf's right hand wear the very thing that Solas hates on his face with no shame? The codexes he wrote in Veilgaurd don’t scream to me that he carried any significant devotion to Mythal, let alone in a capacity that rivaled Solas’. In TME, he tosses out “Mythal’s tit’s” or “Mythal’s bosom” whenever he finds the chance. So why would Felassan keep a mark of fealty to her when Solas, in contrast, does not.

My point being is, I stand by the idea that even before the Dalish- the Vallaslin meant something to the Elvhen people beyond slavery. To maintain such specific designs through the ages after Elvhenan fell- they had to have maintained the tradition from day one. Fought tooth and nail to keep it from dying out during the Empire's reign. When an Inquisitor tells Solas they want to keep them, he honestly reacts like it’s not the first time he’s heard that response before. Which makes sense when you think of his closeness to Felassan. I wonder if she reminded him of his friend in that moment.

Whether the writer's want us to think they were maintained with full understanding of what they were from the jump, I don't know. But it's the only conclusion I have ever been able to come to that makes any sense to me. It has never been a possibility to me that they only began the tradition of wearing them again once they made home in the Dales.

This is full fanon territory now, but here are some of my thoughts on what they might have began as. With the revelation of the Elvhen connection to spirits, perhaps it was a way to signify which variety of spirit you originated from. I know Felassan gives off the impression that he’s younger than Solas, but I still think he was a spirit that made a body. “He sat crossed-legged, calmed his breathing until he found his true self inside the shell of his flesh, and sprinkled the herbs over the fire.” This is a line in the last few pages of TME, and I don’t know about you but that sounds like someone who feels they’re a spirit inside a meat suit to me. Now, we all saw how much Solas looked like Mythal’s Vallaslin as a spirit. Part of my theory here is that her Vallaslin wasn’t a direct copy of him, but an homage to the archetype of spirit they were. If I had to make an educated guess, I would say Felassan was a wisdom spirit. His dynamic with Briala is based on guiding her to conclusions and helping her figure things out on her own. Not unlike Solas and the Inquisitor. Except Felassan looked at the young woman thousands of years his junior and developed a paternal bond with her instead of a romantic one because he’s a king with standards. Point being, if the original wisdom spirits gravitated to looking like Solas- then Felassan might have looked like that as well at one point.

I don’t think I’m the first person to wonder if the Vallaslin were all based off the Evanuris’ spirit forms, but I keep getting caught up in how that began. There’s something interesting to me about wondering if they had a hard time adjusting to their new bodies and way they experienced emotions similarly to how Cole did. Solas talks at some point about how feelings worked differently in the Fade. I can’t help but wonder if the very first Vallaslin were an attempt to identify themselves. Put their true nature on their face since it was now hidden behind a flesh mask. If it helped old friends recognize one another despite new forms.

I also like this because of how it would mean that the Dalish wouldn’t necessarily have the core concept behind the Vallaslin wrong. They have placed a misguided religious notion on it, but in the end the decision of which god they honor with their Vallaslin is also a declaration of which spirit they identify with most. It declares something about their nature that others can discern just by seeing the marks on their face. The real reason behind the practice may have been lost but in some round about way the purpose was not.

Now, I should note that there are a few holes in my theory. I don’t know that I think they entirely sink it because so much of the lore has layers, but they’re there. The first is the fact Dirth’amen and Falon’din seem to be one spirit split in two. Whether that happened before they took a body or not, I’m unsure. If the split happened before- I don’t think that detracts from my musings because it means they could have developed further into fully realized separate spirits. But if it happened after it does beg the question why people would give them seperate Vallaslin outside of slave marking purposes. The other, and most damning, point is Cole’s line about Solas burning Mythal’s mark off his face. If the mark was to represent his spirit nature then why would it be referred to as her mark as opposed to his? Unless the line between Vallaslin for self expression and slave brands was blurred very early on. Though, it’s still not out of the realm of possibility that it began as one thing and by the time he got rid of his marks it meant another.

Anyways, regardless of the origins and my theories- we have atleast one significant Ancient Elvhen character who had every reason to remove his Vallaslin but didn’t. So when asking questions about the future of the Dalish and this custom- I’m always going to keep Felassan in the back of my mind. If someone who lived the worst of their cultural meaning, and was incredibly close to Solas still opted to keep his then the modern Dalish have every right to as well.

The irony of using Felassan, the certified Dalish Hater, to advocate for Dalish cultural value is not lost on me. I don’t apologize.

[heylittleriotact]

𝓐𝓵𝓰𝓸𝓻 𝓜𝓸𝓻𝓽𝓲𝓼:

The normal cooling of a body after death as it equilibrates with the ambient temperature.

Takes place immediately following the ending of Act 3 and features Emmrich and Amina taking a moment to themselves after all is said and done. Emmrich takes care of his beloved Reaper, and following a brief discussion about their respective plans for the future, she returns the favour.

Rating: Explicit

Under the cut or on ao3:

The roar of victory was a dull thrum that followed them through the ruined streets of Minrathous, part elation that the Elvhen threat had been bested, and partly devastation for the many lives their success had cost. Amina acknowledged every single person she passed by: hugs and handshakes were reciprocated without question, and condolences were extended to the bereaved with all of the dignified sincerity of a Watcher. It took them nearly two hours to make their way to a damaged but still structurally sound estate secured for them by the Shadow Dragons but if asked, Amina would do it all again 

The ornate doors of the manor closed behind them and the cacophony outside was muffled. Amina took two steps into the manor, bent at the waist, and splattered the floor with the contents of her stomach. 

Emmrich was on her in an instant, holding her long black hair aside with one hand and running the other comfortingly down her back.

“What’s happening? What’s wrong with her?” Taash demanded, taking a step forward. Their voice was distant - drowned out by the screeching whine in Amina’s ears.

She felt her legs wobble and give out, her armoured knees colliding roughly with the ground as she threw out a hand to steady herself, barely registering that it landed right in her sick. Everything was too much. Too loud. Too bright. Too… real. It felt like she was being driven out of her own body like a wayward spirit, her essence clinging desperately to whatever it could hold onto that would tether her here. 

Just as distantly, Amina could hear Emmrich respond to Taash but his words were lost on her as she wiped her mouth with the back of her arm and lurched clumsily to her feet.

“Harding - I need to go to her mother–” Her voice broke: she hadn’t had time… she had intended to visit Harding’s mother in person to check in on her in the days following her daughter’s death, but Elgar’nan - and Solas - had made that impossible.

She clenched her teeth at the sensation of hot tears cutting through the accumulation of grime and gore and sweat on her face, snarling defiantly through the deluge of agony crashing through her, breaking her from the inside. 

There’s still work to be done…

She was pulling away from Emmrich, her course uncharted but steadfast as she attempted to draw strength from that agony as she always had: she needed to go. Somewhere. Anywhere. It didn’t matter, as long as she was doing something… as long as she was helping. But no matter how she pulled and tugged, he wouldn’t let her go: slender as Emmrich was, he wasn’t weak by any stretch.

With some effort he managed to put himself in front of her, gold rings clinking against silverite where he gripped her shoulders before pulling her tight against him. 

“Breathe, darling.” He instructed, enshrouding her diminutive frame in his own. “I need you to breathe… can you do that for me?”

She managed an anguished sob in reply but nothing more: any attempt to draw breath was met with unforgiving resistance as her airways slammed shut in seeming rebellion against life itself.

Arrangements need to be made - things need to be taken care of, and I’m the only one left to take care of them… 

“I’ve got you: you’re safe with me.”

More tears rolled down her cheeks as her eyes clenched shut and she forced a thin, ragged inhalation into her lungs.

“Well done, darling.” Emmrich encouraged, ever calm, ever heartening. “Now let’s try for another one, shall we? I’ll do it with you. Let out your breath on the count of three: one… two… three…” 

She felt Emmrich contract against her as he slowly exhaled with her. None of this was new to her: Nevarran breathing techniques were required learning for Watchers. Claustrophobia could present unpredictably, and if one found themselves turned around or overwhelmed in the Necropolis, being able to stay calm was vital to survival.

“Perfect. Now another breath in…” He waited while Amina drew another shaky breath then loosened his hold on her to gently cup her cheek. Within moments she could feel the familiar soothing tingle of Emmrich’s magic coursing intimately through her, seeping through her overloaded nervous system and providing some relief until another horror blundered into her mind with nauseating insistence. 

“Shit.” Her eyes went wide. “Manfred… Emmrich, wh-where is Manfred?!”

“Manfred is perfectly safe,” he soothed, “He’s in the abundantly capable hands of Myrna and Vorgoth for the moment. In fact, before I left, I overheard Myrna explaining to him Karloff’s Five Principles of Ethical Reanimation.”

“Emmrich,” she rasped, clutching at his chest. “I… I need to–”

“Do absolutely nothing.” He interjected sternly, his voice absent of any playful familiarity or scholarly flair, though it softened almost reflexively as he continued. “You’ve overextended yourself, Amina. You’ve been overextended for some time, but you’ve pushed through to see this to the end - and you have - but my love, you can’t evade the reality of what you’ve been through indefinitely… you need to rest and take time to come to terms with things.” He drew his thumb over her cheek, speaking to her like she was the only person in the room.

“But–”

“It’s so incredibly kind of you to want to give your condolences to Lace’s mother in person, but it need not happen this instant. The… actions of the Inquisitor will be communicated to the south in due course.” He hung on the word ‘actions’ seemingly unsure of its accuracy but ultimately too focused on Amina to care enough to select a different one. “You need to rest,” he repeated.

She opened her mouth to argue, but likely having anticipated this from her, Emmrich spoke first.

“You’ve done so much and helped so many without asking for anything in return - please let me be the one to help you now?”

His eyes searched hers, soft and pleading, and she studied the face of the man she loved: each pleasing curve and angle that she had committed to memory etched on her heart. The crinkled lines at the corners of his eyes, and the creases around his familiar mouth spoke of years of smiles offered to comfort and soothe. 

He was filthy too, and his hair was limp and dishevelled, strands of it hanging into his face… but oh Maker how she loved him…

“I love you…” he whispered for her ears alone, his lips ghosting over hers, “And I so look forward to reminding you of that fact every day for the rest of our lives… so let me begin now: let me take care of you.”

She couldn’t bring herself to speak: emotions overwhelmed her capacity for words. The immeasurable highs and lows had won out, capped off on the highest of highs by Emmrich’s solemn declaration: she would never face anything alone again. The fight left her as she closed her eyes and nodded, and this time Emmrich caught her tears and wiped them away. He pressed a chaste kiss to her forehead before turning to the others. 

“She’s in no danger,” he assured them. “The gifts of a Reaper are channelled through a place of deep sorrow and grief where one should not dwell indefinitely: she is merely exhausted, and in light of this ordeal coming to an end, her body and mind are insisting upon rest and recuperation for a time. I shall go with her to find a room and get her settled in.” 

“I’ll scour the pantry.” Lucanis announced without hesitation, already shedding his gore-slicked coat. “A house like this will have a well stocked larder: I cannot do much else to assist, but I will see to it that Rook gets a good meal.” 

“And I’ll find something strong to drink -  I think we could all use one - especially Rook,” Taash volunteered grimly. 

Davrin finished checking over a cut under Assan’s eye, deeming it to be harmless. “Assan can keep her company after I find him something to eat. I’m sure he’d love to cuddle up with his favourite person after a day like today.”

“I’ll make sure word gets around that she’s not to be disturbed under any circumstances - Maker knows there’ll be all kinds of people at the door wanting her attention.” Neve remarked. “She’s in good hands with you, Emmrich. We’ll take care of everything else: you take care of her.” 

Their words echoed in Amina’s mind as Emmrich started to lead her away towards the carpeted stairs. It wasn’t long ago that she would have fought tooth and nail to avoid accepting their help for fear that she didn’t actually deserve it - that she had somehow tricked good-hearted people into thinking that she was worth any amount of concern. But now with this aching, vacuous hole in her chest threatening to devour her from the inside, knowing that she had many sets of arms to fall back into… it meant everything. 

“I love you too,” she said as they walked, the gold rings tied to her boots to alert any nearby spirits of her presence chiming with each tired step. “I love you so much Emmrich, I - I…” Her voice wavered and broke again.

He shushed her gently as they rose the stairs and took her hand in his, bringing it to his lips to place comforting kisses to bloodied and dented metal. “It’s alright, darling. I know… I know.” 

They made it to the landing at the top of the stairs and Emmrich loosened his hand from hers only long enough to gesture through the air, causing the lamps lining the long hallway to illuminate with the familiar and consoling green light of veilfire - it reminded her so much of home… their home.

Meandering down the hallway, they apraised a few rooms - a study and a nursery among them - before finding a well-appointed bedroom near the end of the hall. 

The same veilfire that illuminated the hallway flooded the room with a self-assured wave of Emmrich’s fingers through the air, revealing the gilded frame of the largest four-poster bed Amina had ever seen. 

A modestly sized house would have fit comfortably within the textured red walls of the room, and every square inch was bedecked with glittering opulence and expensive furniture.

What had happened to the people who called this place home? She thought of the nursery, silent and dark, her heart sinking further.

“I know…” Emmrich’s sigh was put-upon. “It’s practically a hovel isn’t it? But our only option currently, I’m afraid.” The corner of his mouth twitched upwards in a wry smile and despite everything, she couldn’t help but smile a little too if only for the fact that his dry humour was at its most uplifting when things seemed bleakest: it was a rarely praised trait of a good Watcher to be able to maintain a sense of humour - sometimes being able to laugh was the only thing that could keep said Watcher sane.

He closed the heavy cherry door behind them softly and turned the latch, his definition of ‘recuperation’ clearly non-negotiable to anyone who found themselves outside of the bedchamber wanting to talk to her.  

The silence was inescapable now, contrasting strongly to the overwhelming chorus of sound she’d been subjected to for hours. It filled her head - made it feel full of cotton - and she frowned, standing perfectly still, observing Emmrich as he hung his staff from the rack by the door and shed his bloodied and tattered coat, hanging it with care before turning to Amina. 

“We need to get you out of that armour.” 

He set his gloves on a nearby console table and rolled up his sleeves, agile fingers performing the task with an ease that suggested he hadn’t personally assisted with the culling of a tyrannical elvhen god today. Amina felt her mouth go dry under his perceiving gaze - she’d taken direct blows from Hurlocks that winded her less than the intensity of those eyes. Overwhelmed and at her wit’s end or not, he was capable of sending something in her soul aflutter even at a time like this… that could only mean that she was still alive, right? That she hadn’t laid the last shred of her own mortal conscience on the pyre in the name of saving what little of Thedas remained to be saved?

She swallowed thickly. “I’m experiencing some sort of deja vu, I think,” she murmured, as he closed the distance between them and began loosening her baldric. “Because I feel like we’ve had this conversation before.”

An amused smile visited his face, his eyes downcast and focused on his task. “We have, haven’t we? I recall that convincing you to allow me to stitch you up on that occasion was also similar to pulling teeth.”

He kissed her again and went back to work, stripping away pieces of moulded metal in silence, shucking away the intimidating, unrelenting shell of a Reaper and exposing the soft, vulnerable person underneath. 

He had made it all the way down to her greaves when she emitted a sharp gasp and clapped a hand over her mouth. 

“My shield! Where’s my shield?!” She twisted in his grasp as if to look around the room for the worn and dented buckler she famously refused to part with. 

Emmrich’s brow furrowed and he worked another strap loose. “It was broken, darling, remember? By Elgar’nan.” 

At his words, the memory rushed back to her: massive fingers curling over the edge of her shield as she held it aloft in the darkness, determined to stand her ground, her body protesting with the sheer effort of keeping her defence up in the looming shadow of her ancient enemy… the sound of metal whining as it bent in that ungodly strong grip and finally shattered…

I dropped it and finished the fight with only my sword and the dagger…

“Oh, right… how silly of me to forget…” she said distantly as Emmrich finished with the greave and rose with a gingerness that at last indicated his own fatigue.

“Details will likely come and go in a disconcerting haze over the coming days.” He parted from her and peered into a secondary room off the one they were in and disappeared into it when it seemed to contain what he was looking for. The sound of running water soon followed and he re-emerged. “Try not to concern yourself with them: they are of little importance right now. You have no need for a shield or sword - we are safe.” He ran a hand down her shoulder affectionately. “I understand that contradicts a large part of your vocational education, but you must trust me. Now if you’ll follow me, we’ll take care of all of that… debris in your hair.”

‘Debris’ was hardly what she would call the grisly amalgamation of fluids and various clumped tissues that would make even the most decay-happy embalmers back home feel squeamish, but Amina took Emmrich’s hand and followed him without complaint.

A gigantic clawfoot tub was filling with water in the middle of the cavernous bathroom, and judging by the calming aroma diffusing through the air, Emmrich had helped himself to some of the scented bath oils that belonged to whomever owned the manor. 

He brought her to the sink and pulled over an upholstered stool from the nearby vanity, placing it in front of the sink and gently directing her to sit, his hand on her lower back guiding her. “The bath will be more relaxing if at least your hair is clean before you get in,” he explained, turning the taps and motioning for her to lean back. 

“Is this supposed to fix things?” Her voice was so quiet and insubstantial over the rushing water - she was surprised Emmrich even heard her as she settled the base of her skull at the rim of the sink basin and he began sweeping her long hair into his hands, wetting it and carefully picking out pieces of marble and bone and viscera as he found them. 

“There is nothing to be fixed, my darling - least of all you, if that’s your primary concern. You know as well as I that our work can be exhausting - mentally, emotionally, and spiritually. It’s why we are well compensated and encouraged to take time away from the Necropolis when we feel we need it. A lesson was learned at some point over the untold years that the Necropolis has existed and people have vowed to serve its departed souls, and that is: one cannot effectively fill the cups of others when their own is dry.” He reached over her and Amina looked up at him, hanging onto his every word. She did know all of this - in fact she’d dispensed similar advice to other Watchers and mourners alike in the past, but… hearing it from someone else… being told that it was alright and that she didn’t have to be strong right now was deeply comforting. “It is not demonstrative of carelessness to the plight of others to think of oneself. I’m of the mind that it’s one of the more selfless virtues a person can aspire to.” 

Amina closed her eyes and sighed, her nose filling with the delicate floral scent of the soap that Emmrich had started methodically working through her hair. “You always know just what to say, don’t you?” 

A tender caress passed over her temple. “I do try. Are you feeling a little bit better? It looks as though some colour has returned to your face.” 

“Now you’re just laying it on thick by implying that my face had any colour to begin with, but yes… I feel steadier, more grounded.” 

“That’s music to my ears, darling,” and indeed Emmrich seemed to sag in relief, his shoulders visibly relaxing as he rinsed away the lathered soap, his touch unerringly mild. Washing the hair of the deceased required a gentle hand - the follicles on the scalp dilated as the skin began to dehydrate in the hours after death, making it easy to accidentally pull out clumps of a decedent’s hair if one handled it too roughly.

So much of the world thought their calling was one of macabre vulgarity when it was actually an ineffable devotion of love and tenderness when it came to the handling of all things… alive or dead.

Excess water trickled down the drain as he wrung out her hair and gestured for her to sit upright with a light touch of his fingers on her shoulder - he was so good at that - so confident in his ability to impart instructions that he didn’t even need words to make his expectation clear. She turned on the seat, putting her back to him so it was easier for him to weave her damp hair into a braid.

She closed her eyes again and a satisfied hum resonated in her chest as slender fingers stroked through her hair, separating it and passing the strands from hand to hand. 

When he was done, he took her hand and helped her to her feet. “I’ll leave you to the privacy of your bath, but I will remain close by: if you require anything at all, my dearest love, just call.” He bowed his head respectfully, his thumb tracing the soft skin at the inside of her wrist before he turned to depart.

“Please stay,” she entreated, locking her fingers between his before he could step out of reach. He halted. “I… I would rather not be alone right now, if it’s alright with you.” 

He lifted their entwined hands and kissed the back of hers. “Of course. In that case, I’ll step out while you make yourself comfortable and will return when you’re ready for me.” 

Ever the gentleman. He clearly wasn’t going to let their passion in the Necropolis the night before get the better of decades of deeply ingrained propriety. She felt her pulse quicken slightly at the fresh memory of their night together and wondered if the invitation to keep her company while she sat naked in a bathtub made his heart pound too, but a wave of shame crashed through her just as quickly, smothering the heat that had started to smoulder in her belly: people were dead, and now was not the time for such thoughts. 

When the door closed behind Emmrich, Amina clambored out of her stiff, smelly clothing, grimacing as she peeled sticky fabric from her skin. She left everything in a heap and nudged it to the other side of the room with her bare foot, wanting to be as far away from the stench as possible. When she was satisfied, she sank into the bathtub, a purely reflexive moan slipping from her lips at the feeling of relief as warm water enfolded aching muscles. The water was almost instantly dirtied, but she didn’t care - it felt amazing. 

“You can come in.” She drew her braid over her shoulder and folded her arms on the porcelain edge of the tub, resting her chin on her hands. Even if it mattered to her there was no need to fear for her modesty: whatever Emmrich had added to the water made it semi-opaque and it looked very pretty in the light of the veilfire.

Emmrich sat on the vanity stool. “How is it, darling?” 

“It’s perfect.” She found his hand with hers again - it seemed she couldn’t bear to be parted from him for long… not when they’d come so close to losing one another.

“You have no idea what a relief that is to hear.” 

Her lips curved into a smile as she studied him silently, turning thoughts and feelings over in her mind. Her heart was heavy, and her body was spent. People had indeed died - tragedy and victory apportioned in equal measure, but Emmrich was right: she had given as much of herself to the cause as she was capable of giving… and then some. There was still work to be done - the restoration of Thedas would be long and difficult. But it was time to rest and take a hard-earned moment of peace for what it was, even though a persistent voice in the back of her mind screamed at her to cease dallying in the bath and get back to work. 

No.

“Would you like to join me?” 

The question was posed such that it caught Emmrich off guard, causing his eyes to widen and a flush of colour to creep over his pallid skin. His mouth hung open slightly.

“J-join you? I can wait until you’re done - that is to say: finished - I would hate to impose, you see–” 

She listened to him stumble over his words, enchanted by his flustered demeanour until she decided it was time to rescue him, and said, “It’s no imposition at all. Besides, if you’re in the same state as I am underneath all those clothes, I suspect you’ve got bits of darkspawn in places where even your flexible limbs can’t reach: a collaborative approach to bathing would serve us best in this situation.” 

Emmrich’s mouth worked soundlessly for a moment. “You make a compelling argument, I admit, but–” 

“We had sex in a coffin under the Necropolis last night because we knew the world might end in the morning, Emmrich - I think it’s fair to say that any notion that this is in any way a traditional courtship has gone out the window.” She reached out and popped loose the topmost button of his shirt. “Besides, the idea of having to wait through an entire courtship before I can have you sounds torturous…” her thumb and forefinger found another button, and he didn’t move to stop her. “I think I prefer our abridged approach, if I’m being honest…” she smirked and went for the third button but he intercepted her, graceful fingers catching her wrist.

“That may be the case, dearest, but I still intend to treat you with the veneration you are owed as my beloved.” 

A shiver ran up her spine - it might have been the sentiment - my beloved - or the fact that it was delivered in a tone half an octave lower than usual. She couldn’t settle on a conclusion, but she felt emboldened regardless.

“Then you can start by getting into this ridiculously large bathtub with me,” she whispered coquettishly, and she followed the path of his hand with her eyes as it released her wrist and drifted to that third button, slipping it free with a practised twist.

She felt herself smile properly for the first time that day as Emmrich disrobed and lowered himself into the water across from her: it was real - he was real - and he wanted her. Wanted her enough to occupy dirty bathwater with her without complaint. 

His legs brushed against hers under the water and she resisted the very compelling urge to launch herself at him just to feel his skin on hers as she had the night before. Instead, she grabbed a bar of soap and a sponge off the tray on the side of the tub and held them up. 

Emmrich tilted his head inquisitively but said nothing: the amused curl of his lips said it all. He turned his back to her and slotted himself between her legs and Amina wet the soap and began wiping away the worst of the dirt from his shoulders and back with the sponge. She took her time, relishing the warmth of him under her fingers as she washed away the remains of the day. 

“So… about those plans you mentioned earlier: care to expand on them?” She ventured. 

She didn’t want to think about today anymore, didn’t want to linger on thoughts of Varric and Harding… those would insist on themselves enough over the coming months as she grieved them, she knew that for certain. Right now turning her mind to thoughts of a future that was almost lost seemed like a better distraction.

Emmrich chuckled warmly, the comforting lilt reverberating around the room. “It’s an extensive list, I’m afraid, too lengthy and detailed to summarise neatly in a few breaths.” She squeezed the sponge and sent a stream of water and suds meandering down his arm, tracing the shape of his sharp angles and lissom composition. “Truth be told, I was actually hoping you might render some assistance.” 

“Oh?”

“As you know, I have pupils awaiting my return to the Necropolis: their studies have been regrettably delayed in my absence, not to mention Manfred will require oversight as he embarks on his own educational journey.” 

“But…”

“I’ve rather enjoyed my time beyond the walls of the Necropolis, and now that I’m not… now that I will most certainly…” He seemed unable to settle on a palatable way to say ‘die��. 

“It’s alright,” she squeezed his shoulder softly. “Go on.” 

“Thank you, dear - it’s only that my priorities have been somewhat reorganised given the revised trajectory of my life: I no longer have a theoretically unlimited amount of time in which to see the world, and I find myself wondering if it would be terribly selfish of me to defer the date of my return for a while longer - take a sabbatical of sorts so that I may continue to experience the wonders of the continent without the looming threat of annihilation… with you, should you wish to accompany me.” He looked over his shoulder at her and Amina wasn’t ignorant of the fleeting glance that wandered down to her soapy breasts, nor the desire that shadowed his eyes at the sight of her pale nipples just peeking over the surface of the water. Oh dear, he was getting distracted…

“Don’t know how much of the continent there is left to see after everything.” She wrung the sponge, making a subtle but very deliberate show of pushing her breasts together with the insides of her arms. Emmrich’s throat bobbed and he seemed to win some inner struggle after a moment and looked forward again. “But yeah… I think a break would do us both some good. Besides, ‘seeing the world’ was what I was supposed to be doing anyway before this nightmare started. I’ll go anywhere with you, Emmrich,” she smiled. “Especially if there’s a beach involved.” 

She scooted closer to him, bracketing him between her thighs, finding his skin with hers as she reached around him to start soaping up his chest. Spurred on by the breathy little gasp he made, Amina continued to wash him, kissing up the line of his neck as she did. 

“What other plans would you like to make with me, darling?” She whispered, softly catching his earlobe between her teeth and earning a tantalising whine for her trouble. 

“At the moment, none that are fit for polite company…”

“Good thing it’s just the two of us then.” She let go of the sponge and dipped her hand beneath the surface of the fragrant water, unable to see, but able to feel her way, fingers dancing over his abdomen, following the neatly tended to strip of hair that started at his navel, down, down, down until she found him - and she found him to be rock hard. 

He moaned in earnest now, his head falling back against her shoulder, hand rising to cup the side of her face as she slowly stroked the length of him, humming contentedly, unable to help herself: she wanted him in her, on her, and around her at all times.

“Care to hear about my plans?” She pressed a kiss to the expanse of skin under his ear. “We can compare notes after.”

“Please,” he breathed, eyes closed, a contented smile spreading across his face - the very definition of the cat that got the cream. 

She drew nondescript shapes on his chest with her fingers, lingering on the patch of hair at his sternum, the bar of soap forgotten and lost to the bottom of the tub. “First on my list when we get out of this bath: I’m going to make love to you - slowly… sweetly.” She drew her lower lip through her teeth at the throb of his cock under her fingers and the shudder she coaxed from him when she ran the tip of her thumb over his slit, feeling the slick texture of his anticipation even in the water. “... and after that, I’m going to do it again, and Maker-willing, a third time after that if I have my way…” 

His eyebrows rose, but his eyes remained shut, one corner of his mouth quirked upwards. “Aren’t we ambitious?” He purred, arcing up into her touch a little. “One can’t help but wonder what you’ll do after that…”

“Oh, find something to eat.” She answered matter-of-factly, entirely at the mercy of the rising heat between her thighs. “I expect I will have worked up quite an appetite, you see.” 

“It’s important to stay nourished,” Emmrich agreed, exhaling deeply as she continued to fondle him under the water. “That feels so good, darling…” 

“Good.” She smiled against his skin and kissed his temple. “Because that’s also part of my plan, broadly speaking: I’m going to make you feel amazing for the rest of our lives, Emmrich. Not a single sun will set on a day where you feel alone: your joys will be my joys, your sorrows my sorrows.”

His eyes opened at that and he regarded her with that soft look of utter adoration that he was so adept at. He stroked her cheek and she nuzzled into his long fingered hand. “My dear… that was quite possibly the most romantic thing anyone has ever said to me.” 

“Delivered whilst pleasuring you no less.”

“You are beyond compare, darling Amina.” He sighed and lazily thrust up into her hand again. “And I daresay our respective plans indeed bear many similarities. I would even go so far as to say they align perfectly.” He sat forward and turned so he was face to face with her again, collecting her arms and drawing her close so their noses were almost touching. 

“Lucky me.” 

He traced each vertebrae of her spine with lithe fingers, bangles clinking together as they slipped down his arm one after the other, his hand finding the curve of her rear and drawing their centres even closer together. She positively ached with need for him as he cradled her face and kissed her deeply, unabashedly exploring her mouth and tasting her with a dominance she was not anticipating. When they parted her lips and cheeks were flushed, her pupils blown wide. 

“I’m going to make a home with you, Rook - that is my plan.” 

Amina considered him - his intelligent bottle green eyes inches from hers, their breath shared, their bodies practically flush. Despite how lust-addled her exhausted brain was, tears returned to her, driven by the sheer depth of Emmrich’s ambitions for them: A home. A life together and all that could come with it if she only dared to dream it - her: the Necropolis foundling who never felt like she truly belonged anywhere or mattered to anyone beyond the basic charity of some.

“We need to hurry up and finish with this bath,” she rasped, her voice low to keep it steady. “I need you. I need you now.” She crushed her lips to his hungrily and breathed, “I love you.” 

What immediately followed was a frenzy of soap and bubbles and water splashing over the tile floor as they finished scrubbing each other down with much less sensual flair than before. The plunger was pulled from the bottom of the tub and they towelled off as it drained, pausing intermittently to passionately embrace. 

“I never thought I could be this happy,” she panted, rising on her tip-toes to pepper his jawline with kisses. 

“Nor I,” Emmrich concurred. He turned her head and buried his nose in her neck, sucking a rosy mark onto her skin, unable to help himself as her hands roamed. He snaked his arm around her waist and hoisted her aloft, racing for the bedroom, her legs tight around him, her entire being coursing with the anticipatory thrill of their imminent union. 

He placed her on the bed with a tenderness that contrasted heavily with the urgency of their flight from the bathroom and prowled over the bed towards her, the inherent grace of his body setting her heart aflame as he splayed one hand over her lower belly and slid her leg aside with the other, opening her like the cherished pages of a beloved tome. He looked positively sinful between her legs, his hair dishevelled and dripping rivulets of water down his neck and shoulders. 

Her breath hitched at the feeling of his lips against her, the soft tickle of his moustache over the sensitive skin at the peak of her thighs. “Ohhh…”

His eyes were locked on hers. He parted her with his fingers, dipped his head, and —

Thump-thump-thump.

Of course there was someone at the door. 

Amina heaved a massive sigh and dragged her hands through her hair in exasperation. She’d seen Emmrich annoyed before - or at least she thought she had - but the look on his face now was one of primly murderous intent: the face of a man whose nearly boundless patience was being sorely tested in this moment. The expression softened, though, when he looked back to her and said, “I’ll see to it, darling - I shan’t take long.” He placed his lips sweetly against her swollen bud - a parting kiss - before sliding from the bed. 

He quickly donned an elegant paisley dressing gown that he snatched from the wardrobe, and Amina knew he would never have considered helping himself to someone else’s things under normal circumstances, but his clothes were in a filthy heap on the bathroom floor, and while they had all grown quite close during their time together, Emmrich preferred to keep some things private. 

She propped her head on her hand and stifled a giggle as he walked past a shelf, flung out an arm, grabbed a book without looking, and arranged it in front of him in such a way that it concealed his prominent arousal. She couldn’t tell who was outside as he opened the door and stepped out into the hallway, so she let her head fall to the pillow and rolled onto her back. It was a very comfortable bed: soft pillows, expensive linens.

Terribly comfortable. 

Weeks of broken sleep caught up with her all at once as she fought to keep her eyes open: she was so tired all of a sudden. 

So incredibly, inescapably tired…

If Lucanis had drawn any conclusions about the reason for his state of dress or his wet hair, he kept them to himself but for the briefest arching of a brow as he handed Emmrich the tray of toasted cheese sandwiches and bid him a long and restful night of sleep. Emmrich wished him the same and watched the Crow disappear back down the stairs before retreating into the room and locking the door again.

“Lucanis managed to scrape together–” he looked towards the bed and paused: Amina was sleeping soundly on top of the comforter, her face peaceful and unvexed: a rare sight indeed. Something in his chest pulled as he watched her even, deep breaths, her mouth slightly open as she slumbered. 

He set down the sandwiches and the book very carefully on the console table, not daring to make any noise that might startle her awake before making his way over to the bed and positioning her under the blankets with the same amount of care, manoeuvring her battered and scarred legs so she was covered and warm.

She had such plans for the evening, but as he shed the dressing gown and slipped into the bed alongside her, he was grateful that she had found rest at last: they had the rest of their lives to make love.

The veilfire light in the room was snuffed with a wave, and as he curled around her in the dark, losing himself in the scent of her, he found his own respite in the rhythm of her heart beneath his hand and the unpromised gift of tomorrow. 

[thedinanshiral]

Bellanaris.

After witnessing Solas' regrets through his murals in The Veilguard many wondered, what exactly was his relationship with Mythal?

Even the Veilguard members had questions and discussed about it.

Spoilers for everything. Goes with this one too, if you want more of Solas analysis from me.

He followed her without question -or reserving the ones he had- and maybe reconsidered that love in their friendship when her crimes with the evanuris outweighed what Solas could stand, when he asked her to run away with him and she declined, and by the time she listened and tried to stop the others it was sadly too late. When Solas started his rebellion he was already carving his own path away from her, but their love was still present and it was because of that love that he warned her, and that she finally decided to listen. She may have been his dearest friend and he did everything for her. When he writes to Ghilan'nain and says "you would not be the first to sacrifice your morals for love" he was talking about himself, he was referencing his personal experience because that's what he did with Mythal.

I'll be blunt, i don't think they were romantically entagled. It's been mentioned in past games that the ancient elvhen related with each other on different levels that present Thedosians may struggle to comprehend. Now knowing they were originally spirits helps understanding things a bit better; spirits are beings of raw, intense emotions, whatever they feel they do so on a much higher degree, and whatever words they used to communicate it once translated fail to convey their real, full meaning.

I think Solas and Mythal were friends, but friendship for them was felt much strongly. There was love between them but not in the sense we'd imagine it now.

They were not equals, there was an imbalance neither were truly aware of until Solas rebelled and maybe then he started understanding their differences and from there his feelings for her changed, as he changed, his purpose twisted from Wisdom meant to guide in times of war, into a rebel leader fighting in what were supposed to be times of peace. He went from being a friend to becoming the enemy.

The romance with the Inquisitor may have been a last minute addition to the game (I have my doubts, it's too perfect and fits too well with everything to have been improvised) but it makes perfect sense only a female elf Inquisitor can sway him like that..because it's reminiscent of his relationship with Mythal, that past bond coming back to haunt him except this time the roles are a bit reversed: he's the powerful god, she's the simple mortal. But Lavellan is far from being a simple creature and she reminds Solas of all he ever loved and cared about and changes a terrible broken world into something that can be fixed, She turns his despair into hope, the fact she came out in such a way from the same world he broke tells him something may still be saved..

In both instances Solas finds himself in the service of a powerful elven woman in a position of leadership trying to save the world. But with Lavellan there's no protocols, there's no real hierarchy, with Lavellan they're more like equals, they're partners. There's no master and servant, there's people on equal standing fighting together for a common goal.

Lavellan becomes Solas' partner in a way Mythal could not and would never be able to.

Mythal was possibly Solas' first relationship, whatever label you'd like to apply there, a loyal friendship sustained mainly on his one-sided devotion to her that he eventually grew out of. While Lavellan is real, realized love, a relationship that may have started out of necessity, finding mutual respect that turned it into friendship, later developing further into something both wanted and neither could ignore. There's no one-sidedness with Lavellan, there's only mutual desire, this love unlike the past one is overwhelming, requited and wanted. Lavellan makes the first move, she's the one that isn't running away and in fact, in Trespasser and later finally in Veilguard, she shows him she's the one willing to run away with him. She's the one willing to do for him the sacrifices he once made for Mythal, even when she doesn't have to, when there's no ancient bond, mandate or obligation of any kind. Lavellan is willing to be with him out of her own free will and for the love she holds for him.

For roleplaying and replayability it would have been great if Solas could have been romanceable by more Inquisitors, but by his nature and personal history it makes absolute perfect sense that only a female elf could. Now we know he was a spirit and spirits are at their core very simple and fixed creatures, interestingly ironic considering they come from a realm where nothing is fixed. Solas isn't just stuck in his ways, he's a spirit! There's a limit to what he can understand and experience, even if he's a spirit of wisdom and is very knowledgeable, his nature is still limited (as we all are), his focus is singular, and a female elf Inquisitor fits right into that singular focus of his. Making other races romanceable for him would have broken that and it would have taken away from the Thedas pattern and his personal pattern as well.

He left the fade to enter the physical world because an elvhen woman he loved asked him to, and he followed her loyal to a fault until he had to break away from her when she chose an abusive status quo over his desperate cry for freedom and justice.

He destroys the world as a result in a desperate attempt to save it, and wakes up thousands of years later to find one person who shows him something of all he loved lives on and in doing so gives him purpose. Spirits need and crave purpose and Lavellan gives him just that.

He falls in love, something he could have never foreseen, an event completely out of all his calculations, but the pattern is shifting, there's no longer an evident imbalance, he's treated as an equal, even when she learns who he is she still talks to him like he's just the man she loves.

And on his lowest point when he's about to repeat a past mistake and destroy a world trying to save it, he returns to the Fade accompanied by the elvhen woman that loved him back with a devotion he was never shown before. Some may argue they're not equals, because he's Fen'Harel and she's a mortal elf he lied to for the better part of a year, that they're not equals because he always kept that secret from her and maybe took advantage of her affection to get what he wanted. But they are equals in the end in the sense that they feel the same way, and are capable of the same sacrifices for each other, and their respect is mutual in equal measure.

Solas may have been mistaken, but had their circumstances been different you know he would have stayed with her, as he wanted to. Most of his dinan'shiral is fueled by monumental guilt, regret, shame and a hurt sense of duty and that's what prevented him from giving in to his feelings for Lavellan, just as he understood Lavellan wouldn't abandon the Inquisition for him, and wouldn't just let him burn the world without opposition. Because Lavellan also has duties she's devoted too as much as she's devoted to him. They're an unstoppable force and unmovable object clashing against their will and if it weren't for the people around them you know a Lavellan that is on equal standing with Solas would have confronted him, maybe neither would have succeeded, maybe they would have died in each other's arms if it came to it.

But fortunately it didn't have to end that way, and yes, I'm sure Solas knows too well he doesn't deserve her (because she's too good), that she doesn't deserve him (because he's such a mess), but Lavellan has always been there to prove him wrong and he welcomes that with a smile.

I headcanon my Gallia Lavellan would be a spirit of Devotion. Wisdom and Devotion make an odd pair, but she's Devotion all around, mostly for him, their love that endured everything, but she's also devoted to the truth, to their causes, to the people, to Thedas, she's devoted to doing the right thing and to doing it as best as possible; she's devoted to continue learning about the world, protecting those she love, and those who have no one to look after them.

She does all that by following him into the Fade, by becoming the fixed point in his life, his North, his Anchor, to remind him what should be done, not only what must be done, to remind him of what truly matters. She doesn't simply follow him into the Fade out of love for him but out of love for the world, which is another thing they have in common.

Lavellan is truly his match, and Solas is aware of it in a way that makes him more ashamed for everything he's done and feel more undeserving of what is yet to come for him by her side.

I don't think Wisdom turned to Pride, I think Wisdom became Pragmatism in the wars, later turned to Regret for most of his life and through Devotion's love and perseverance he returned to Wisdom with a renewed love for life. Maybe he's become Love now, love for her, love for the world he's protecting, love for his people, and for all that love he decided to sacrifice himself, his own freedom, to spend in eternity with his one true love.

And for once in his very long and troubled life i think this time he made a choice he does not regret.

[amaryllis-sagitta]

Hi again, going through the different endings of DAV, I was pretty surprised to hear Solas being all like "I am a god!!" when Rook beats him in a fight. I know he has pride issues but that felt so OOC to me?? I was wondering if you had an opinion on it?

Hi, thanks for asking again!

There are 3 tiny (or not so tiny?) moments that I think push the envelope on Solas's characterization in a way that allows us to portray him as more genuinely sinister than the main line established in Trespasser, post-Trespasser media and most of DATV, which is the "Pathetic, stubborn man ridden with massive unprocessed guilt and shame, who can't make a choice without some catastrophic collateral for the life of him, and the unforeseen consequences of his choices repeatedly push him to double-cross people and have them do his dirty work".

One moment that had me thinking is the third memory of the rebellion - I mentioned earlier how Solas's pose and facial expressions make him unduly smug when Felassan calls out that they were supposed to do better than send out an army of spirits, appealing to their nature in seemingly good faith, when they were really a distraction doomed to fail. It shocked me because it seems to strike at one of Solas's core values. It's supposed to hurt more in relation to spirits because we know how much Solas despises wasting, destroying or twisting spirit purpose. And yet, in his confrontation with Felassan, he seemed content, smug even, about achieving victory against Elgar'nan and didn't show a trace of regret.

Another moment is the jab in the Fade that "at least you have Varric to talk to", again with a smug sense of satisfaction. Learning about this line took me by surprise because for all the disingenuity Solas is capable of, I never had him for someone who takes delight in such petty cruelty, especially when the matter is also personal to him to a degree. Varric's death should have hurt him by virtue of their mutual respect gained in DAI, so has the game underdelivered in representing this? Or are we really pushing a narrative that he never really changed his mind on non-elves, or chose not to acknowledge them as people, so Varric was just a disposable fool?

The third specific moment that shows Solas in a worse light is the moment you mentioned in the ask. Though, watching this scene, I feel we need to cite the full sentence:

Rook: [...] I am not alone, but you will be. The Veil needs to be tied to the life force of an elvhen god. And now it is, Dread Wolf. Solas: You sneer at me as though you understand. You are mortal! Compared to you, to your infinitesimal existence, I AM A GOD!"

This is a conditional state of an ending, when you decide to fight him and at least the companions in your party have reached the Hero status, which means they survive Solas's counterattacks, so in the end Rook doesn't stand against him alone, and does not end up in the Fade prison with Solas. This is where Solas is at his most desperate, I think, because when Rook remains alone in the Fight ending, it's a pyrrhic victory. Solas doesn't lash out then, because he isn't done with Rook. The context of "I am a god" is that Rook will soon perish while The Dread Wolf will prevail for centuries still, and no mortals can stop him in a way that matters.

But could it also be a trigger for his greatest fear: that there's a realistic chance he can very nastily die alone with his regrets and self-loathing? Because he does not say he is immortal - he never bound a dragon, so he can't take advantage of the Evanuris perk. Neither does he accept a definition of godhood. It's a matter of scale and comparison; in this final moment, he's looking for a way to belittle Rook and their team.

In fact, the "I am a god" in this context represents the extreme of the views he's held about mortals before - arguably, before joining Inquisition. Though I think that even then, he had trouble humanizing races other than elvhen. If his mind has really swayed throughout DAI, it feels barely half a step towards acknowledging that mortal elves, especially the Dalish, might have a point in their approach to history. Then, in Tevinter Nights, he says to Charter that the elves who survive the un-Veiling might find the "new" world better. Not really a win.

I believe a proper background for this is found in two conversations. First, when Rook keeps poking at Solas's plan to tear down the Veil and he stops eluding the question, Rook says "Spoken like a god". Solas's reply in this moment frankly sounds... too deflective. Like it's coming from someone who genuinely needs someone to constantly whisper "Remember you are but a mortal, Caesar" in his ear.

The second moment is when, after having the loud argument with Elgar'nan to get Rook out of a Fade pocket of despair, Solas admits Elgar'nan is who he feared becoming - callous, tyrannical and contemptuous. I guess Solas's worst moments are supposed to show how close he really could get, because the "I am a god" most definitely defines an ego trip that comes from a place of great insecurity.

If I were a hater looking for a hook to make an uncharitable argument that "He was amoral all along and his gentler side was a mask that just waited to slip", I'd start there.

[telanadasvhenan]

Solas, Lavellan and Home

I've been thinking again, unfortuantely, about solavellan and the idea of home. I read an extraordinary think piece regarding Solas & Leaving by @/gangrelslut that everyone should go read because it is BEAUTIFULLY written & has changed the way I see him, and it's made me consider what home is to Solas.

Solas only mentions his past in brief, vague sentences. A village long lost to time, barely ruins, was his birth place. But it is not home. What we know about Solas is surprisingly so little that most is speculation, but i like to believe that to him, People are home. I don't mean specific people either, but the concept of them. The feeling of community, of togetherness and love, that is home. He has been a leader, of a rebellion and a saviour. He lives his life for others, specifically, the Elvhen. They are his home, where his feet take him and where he finds his peace. And they are gone. Lost. Barely ruins.

There is no physical place for Solas to return to, yes because Arlathan fell, but because the people are gone. All he knows, that love, the community and the connection, is gone. He can never go home and how could he? What could compare in his adoration and commitment to his people, so much that he destroyed them for it. Cole is somewhat a foil to Solas sometimes: Compassion is precious and far too uncommon, but it can kill without mercy. Solas, like cole, did not know his actions were wrong until it was too late. His love killed his home.

Then there is Lavellan, Dalish and far from home. It is interesting that for the Dalish, their home is so similar to Solas'. Home is the people, the love. It is not so much a place but a tangible thread to keep you connected. She knows what it is to miss and ache for a people, and what it is to find comfort in that home, even if you cannot be there.

This is purely my own feelings now but I like to believe that Solas first felt home once more when he met Lavellan. She is wise, wonderful and open minded. She reflects his favourite colours of the world and sings like the morning birds he'd forgotten the song for. She is real. What must it be, to feel a connection after years of slumber, only to awaken to a horrific tragedy? She wraps her love around his pinkie finger and kisses his knuckle. Vhenan. Heart. Home. Elven as a language is inherently poetic there is something striking about the simple meaning of the word. You are my home. In that grove, crestwood, where he almost gives in, you can see the ache and yearning in his eyes. It is so clear, to me at least, that he wishes to confide in her and allow himself that, to allow himself a home once more.

But lessons are lessons, and Solas knows to learn them. He is wisdom as much as he is pride, and in that moment he falters. He lies about his intentions, and sees Lavellan for what she is and what she could be to him. Lavellan could be his home, but what would he do to it? "There is only Death on this Journey. I would not have you see what I become." In trespasser, Solas tells us of what he is and what he became for his people, and what he will become for them yet. How could he call her home, knowing what he is and what he must do? What cruelty could he conjure, kissing her and promising her heart whilst his hands are bloody for a home he can never truly forget?

The people need him. The love between them is there and it matters. But it is not enough. Lavellan cannot be his home. Look at what he did to the last.

[bloedewir]

Don't want to get my hopes up because there's almost zero chance to know the truth but...

I really REALLY would like to know everything about elvhen rebellion.

How did Fen'Harel manage to succeed? I mean, there's 8 evanuris, Mythal is out, so it's 7. Seven most powerful mages called gods. How did he trapped them? How did he trick all of them? Someone must've helped to achieve it. And it wasn't the slaves he freed. Who? Forgotten Ones? And then what.. he tricked and trapped them too but not in the Fade but in the Abyss? So it wasn't just one great plan but two in one? Double strike??

And why does it remind me of a chess move called castling? (I'll mention it in the end).

Not trying to be rude here but we already had: Corypheus and the orb (confirmed fail), Vows & Vengeance (fail under question) and Veilguard prologue ritual (either fail or cunning plan). No offence, Fen'Harel, buddy, but it's messy anyway, not in the slightest impeccable. And defeating 7 godlike evanuris is something different. Something like that requires to be perfectly planned.

Not to mention creating the Veil. The idea itself is a novel concept. How did he end up with this? Just woke up one day and: "Hm, why wouldn't I create a thing that will separate Fade from the reality? Seems like a good idea. Ambitious". How much power did he possess to change the whole world? Where did he take it from? How did he create a prison no one of seven could escape or break? How did he trapped Forgotten Ones? Why did he end up as the most powerful of them all? All alone?? HOW???

It's either Deus ex machina and we'll never know or bad news for Rook because Fen'Harel isn't trapped at all and it's just a part of a bigger plan that remains to be seen.

And here I go back to start and mention the castling. The only move in chess that allows somebody to move two pieces simultaneously - King and Rook. (It keeps King safe and quickly develops Rook).

22 days left

[rilamelafin]

We'll Figure It Out

Fandom: Dragon Age The Veilguard Rating: T Pairing: Female Mourn Watch Mage Elf Rook/Lucanis Dellamorte Tags: 5+1 Things, Falling in Love [Read on AO3]

~~~

His escape from the Ossuary had been too fast for formal introductions. Venatori, demonic experiments, Calivan. Lucanis had barely given his rescuer — an elvhen woman who went by Rook — any information about Spite, only what was strictly necessary. Then, it had been the news of Caterina's death, and his new contract to kill the elvhen gods. He was still reeling from it all when they had returned to Rook's base in the Fade, a place she called the Lighthouse.

There had been concerns from the other two mages — Neve and Bellara — of course. Neither had answers to his circumstance that didn't involve killing him. Not out of the question, he figured, but not the ideal solution. He had a job to do, and he couldn't complete it if he was dead.

Spite threw a tantrum like a child, of course, when denied what he wanted. Lucanis asked for a moment to himself after that, to wait out Spite until he became bored. It was nearly an hour before Rook returned to check on him. He opened the floor for her questions, preferring to get this part over with sooner than later. Bad enough he was an abomination, he didn't need lingering doubts about his abilities hanging in the air. Rook asked him how he had been captured and taken to the Ossuary and, more surprisingly, if he was alright with the contract to help her. As if he could refuse the contract, even if he had wanted to. Besides, he owed her a debt for getting him out of that prison.

"You haven't asked about Spite," he noted when she gave him a warm welcome, as though she were preparing to wrap up their conversation. He was grateful she didn't give him a pitying look.

"We'll figure it out," she answered. They were not words that inspired confidence, though she spoke them easily. "I'm no stranger to spirits, but if there's anything in particular you think I should know…"

"Leave Spite to me. If he's trapped in this world, he has good reason to fight for it."

She surprised him again by calling him admirable for what he endured in the Ossuary, but he deflected. Called himself stubborn instead, and it made her laugh. At least he hadn't forgotten how to do that in the past year.

---

Weisshaupt was an unmitigated disaster. The eluvian had been moved. Darkspawn and blight around every turn. His lungs burned, smoke and rot entering his body with every breath. He'd learned quickly since escaping the Ossuary with Rook that she was a magnet for 'a change in plans'. It seemed every time she made one, something happened to turn it on its side.

The undead rebellion she'd told him about that got her removed from the Grand Necropolis in the first place.

The attempt to disrupt Solas' ritual, which resulted in their current mess with now two elvhen gods attempting to destroy all of Thedas.

The recruitment of the Grey Warden, Davrin, only to be followed by joint attacks against Minrathous and Treviso. She'd saved his city, but Neve's home had suffered.

And now here in Weisshaupt, where Ghilan'nain loomed over them in the sky.

"She's a cloud!" he shouted over the chaos as they sprinted through the massive keep. "How do I kill a cloud with a dagger?!"

"We'll figure it out!" she yelled back.

To her credit, she didn't sound nearly as panicked as she should have.

---

They had all but dragged him back to the Lighthouse; he'd barely been able to stand on his own. Whatever Illario had done to him had sapped his energy, and left Spite oddly silent. How his cousin had been able to use blood magic, Lucanis did not know, but he needed to find out. He could not be that vulnerable again. He — He lost control of Spite and nearly killed the last remaining member of his family. Lucanis' stomach twisted at the memory. The demon's anger as Lucanis was forced to be a spectator in his own body. The feel of his dagger in hand, so familiar but all wrong. It had taken every ounce of his willpower to hold Spite back — to beg Moira to get Illario out of there. Instead, she and Emmrich had needed to carry Lucanis himself out of Treviso and through the Crossroads. It had been unusually quiet — and still was — with Spite silenced as he was. Lucanis wasn't sure when the demon would reawaken, but he knew he wasn't gone. He could still feel Spite, as though curled into an angry little ball in the back of his mind. There was a gentle knock at the pantry door before Moira stepped inside. "How are you feeling?" she asked. It felt like a loaded question. With Spite silenced, Lucanis felt physically weakened — like half of his strength belonged to the demon now. How much of him was truly still left? "I'm fine." From the frown on her pretty lips, that was the wrong answer. "You don't have to do that, you know." "Do what?" "Pretend nothing is wrong. I was worried about you, Lucanis. I am worried." "You have more important things to concern yourself with. Once Spite awakens, I'll —" As though summoned by the utterance of his name, the demon roared to life. Betrayer! Kill. Him! Moira flinched, no doubt struck from the force of Spite's anger and sudden appearance, though she could not hear Spite in the same way that Emmrich could. Lucanis managed to keep control of his body this time. Moira was gracious enough not to comment on the outburst. "You're important to me," she said instead, straightforward in the way she always was. "So you're important enough to worry for." No worry. Kill! Lucanis tried to focus on what Moira said next, but between Spite's enraged shouting and his own efforts to keep the demon at bay, he missed nearly every word. It was why he was surprised when her hand found his and gave it a firm squeeze. "Spite, I understand you are angry, but you need to let Lucanis and I talk." He was always a little in awe of how she spoke so easily to Spite, unafraid yet sympathetic. It was the same as Emmrich, no doubt a result of their respective time in the Mourn Watch. Always talk. Even more surprising was the way Spite always seemed willing to listen to her, though even now he grumbled about it. Still, it was blessedly quiet in Lucanis' mind again. He could kiss her — but no, that had nearly gotten him in trouble once before. "Thank you." "Share your burden with me?" "What would you have me say? I lost control and nearly killed my cousin. If you and Emmrich hadn't been there—" He cut himself off, unwilling to think of just what, exactly, Spite would have done "But we were," she answered, voice soft and altogether too kind for the mistakes Lucanis had made. "And you did hold Spite back." "And what am I to do about Illario?" It was the question he truly wanted an answer to, but was afraid of what that answer might be. If Illario was working with the Venatori — with Zara Renata — could Lucanis afford to let him live? Could he live with himself if he truly had to kill the last of his family? Moira squeezed his hand again. "We'll figure it out." And she sounded so certain, he didn't have room to argue.

---

He cherished these quiet moments between them, seated on the couch in the library, her legs across his lap as she read a book borrowed from Emmrich's personal shelves. His own book — the one Harding had chosen for book club, Mistress of the Scarlet Moon — wasn't holding his attention well, but that mattered little. He was enjoying the time with Moira, late into what passed for night in the Lighthouse, when everyone else was sleeping. One of his hands rested on the calf of her leg, thumb idly tracing over the fabric of her trousers. Their relationship was still fragile — new and not entirely defined. She was patient, content to let him set the pace of… whatever this was. The Ossuary was not yet far enough behind him. Spite, though he and the demon had come to an agreement, was still an unpredictable force in the back of his mind. He hadn't realized he had been staring at the same line in his book for far too long until Moira's hand settled on his, a shock that snapped his eyes to her. "You're thinking very loudly," she teased as she gave his hand a gentle squeeze. Lucanis closed his book, a finger kept between the pages to mark his place. He hadn't even noticed her setting her book on the table, he'd been so distracted with his thoughts. "Just realizing that I don't know what I did to deserve you," he answered, pleased to see a pretty blush across her cheeks even as she beamed at him. His own emotions were still so tangled with regard to her. He wanted her — he would have to be blind not to — but he'd spent the better part of a year shutting down every part of himself that had ever dared to hope. Hope for freedom. Hope to feel a soft touch from another person again. Hope for a future. There was so little of himself that he could offer her. "You're thoughtful." He shouldn't have been surprised that she was giving him an answer, but he was anyway. "The first thing you did after you settled in here was make a grocery list of foods to make our team happy. You made a Nevarran hazelnut torte because it pairs well with my favorite coffee." "It was nothing." "Or not enough, I remember." Her hand squeezed his again, the lines around her eyes soft as she looked up at him. "What brought these thoughts on?" Lucanis looked away from her now, struggled to find the words. "I am… not the man I was before the Ossuary." An oversimplification, but a place to start. "Yet you still wanted me. An abomination." "Lucanis…" "Spite and I, we have an agreement now, thanks to you. But he is still unpredictable. Still a demon." He glanced back in time to see her bite the inside of her cheek, no doubt to stop herself from correcting him again. Spirit, she always said. "How can you see beyond that? How are we going to…" Lucanis sighed, squeezing his eyes shut as he slammed the spine of his book into the couch. There was a moment of silence between them, her hand still firmly grasping his. Moira waited until he finally opened his eyes and looked at her again before she answered. "We'll figure it out." With her, he was starting to believe it.

---

He hadn't meant to start dozing — naked, head on her lap, her fingers brushing gently through his hair — and denied falling asleep when she called him on it with affection and laughter in her voice. He didn't want to waste any time now that she had returned to him. Those weeks Moira had been missing, locked in Solas' Fade prison, had been agony for Lucanis. He'd thought he would never see her again, and that idea had gutted him — to lose her without ever telling her how he felt about her. He hadn't allowed himself to even acknowledge those feelings, too afraid of the marks the Ossuary had left on him. Of course, she had just spent the better part of the night tracing every scar on his body with her lips and tongue. "You still have to sleep sometimes," she teased. Her fingers continued to brush through his hair. "With you here, like this?" He gave her body a slow, deliberate once-over, drinking in the sight of her pale skin, full breasts, toned stomach. A light blush spread across her cheeks in response to his gaze. "I'd rather stay awake." "Stay awake all night? However shall we pass the time?" Moira's question was asked lightly, with no real expectation. That she never placed any on his shoulders, after an entire life of obeying Caterina's commands, was just another thing he loved about her. "Would you talk to me? Your voice is a comfort." A month ago, he would never have asked. Would never have shown such vulnerability. Losing Moira and finding her again had shifted his priorities. "I'll tell you the tale of the charming rogue who stole the heart of a hapless hero," she offered. How she thought so little of herself, he couldn't understand. She had saved him so many times from the moment they had met. Lucanis didn't want to imagine what he would do if he lost her again. "Moira… Tomorrow…" She pressed a finger to his lips, effectively silencing his fears. "Whatever happens, we'll take it on together," she answered. "All I have to do is kill a god to keep you out of trouble. Easy." Her smile was soft, affectionate. "We'll figure it out." Looking in her eyes, feeling her skin against his, he believed her. Lucanis reached out and cupped the back of her head, drawing her in to kiss her. Whatever tomorrow brought, he didn't want to waste another moment when he could taste her on his lips instead.

---

She stood before Lucanis now, possibly their last moment to speak to one another before they faced Elgar'nan. It wouldn't be their last moment ever — he would make certain of that. Spite was restless, eager to enter the next fight and he done with all of this, but Moira was a balm to both of their spirits. Lucanis had shown her a dozen different ways the night before how he felt about her, how important she was to him. Yet here she stood, anxiety curling over her shoulders enough for him to notice. "If I'd never gone to the Crows," she said. "If I'd never found you… I'm just so grateful I did." There was fear in her voice. Was she truly so uncertain of his affection for her, even now? He was a bit ashamed to realize he'd never before expressed it in words. "As am I," he answered. "More than I've ever told you. Rook… Moira… saying I owe you my life is not enough. You know my mind." She had walked through it herself — had faced each of his insecurities since he'd left the Ossuary physically, if not mentally. "I've assumed you know my heart because… it beats for you. It's been beating—" His throat felt tight and there were tears gathering in her eyes. Lucanis took a breath. "When I wanted you. When I was afraid to want you… Tell me this ends with me asleep in your arms, and I will kill any god you ask." There was nothing she could ask of him that he would refuse. "Lucanis," she whispered. "I—" Spite reminded him, ungraciously, that he still hadn't said it. "I love you, Moira. And I won't let you down." A smile pulled at his lips, a confidence he had little right to carry settling in his chest. "Whatever is next, we'll figure it out." Moira broke into a watery laugh, the tears finally falling over her cheeks as she cupped his face in both hands and kissed him fiercely, with no regard for who might be watching. "Yes, we will."

[mischiefmagpie]

When Varric tells Rook to go meditate that's actually just Solas feeling lonely and wanting to verbally spar w his bestie in the Fade

Rook being an insufferable and cocky smartass: (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶)

Solas Fen'Harel, Elvhen god of (sarcasm) lies, treachery, and rebellion depending on the story: (💢,,>﹏<,,) b-baka!

[kcwriter-blog]

An Argument in Favor of Solas as the Family Dog

It’s been posited, sometimes facetiously, that Solas was the “family dog” in his younger days. It’s a theory I have been kicking around for a while. If I’m right (and I’m probably not) Solas as the equivalent to the family dog makes a lot of sense – especially when it comes to what he has done in the past and what he plans to do in the future.

My theory is based on the number and positioning of the many Fen’Harel statues found throughout Thedas and in some of the places our Inquisitor travels to in Trespasser. There’s also the odd role wolves seem to play in Elven cuture. Finally, there is Solas’ personality. More under the cut.

We see statues of wolves all over the place but generally they are found in front of ancient Elvhen sites. There are statues at the Temple of Mythal, the Temple of Dirthamon and the grove in Crestwood. I also recently found one near Ghilan’nain’s grove. We see a lot of wolf statues in the Dales (we will get to the Emerald Knight companion thing, presently). Given that Fen’Harel was a rebel in ancient times and the equivalent of the Dalish devil in current day Thedas, what gives? Why all the statues? At the very least they should have been destroyed when he rebelled. It doesn’t make sense.

Let’s look at the positioning of the statues. Invariably we see a reclining wolf placed outside what we’ll call the inner sanctuary. That is, they are always at the front before you go into the place you would pray or make your offerings. It’s not a stretch to believe these statues are guarding the temples. We also see wolf statues placed all over the Vir Dirthara. That’s an even weirder place to see them because Solas implies that he isn’t called Fen’Harel until after his rebellion – so why a statue and why one in a guardian position? We do see howling wolves sometimes. They are mostly seen decorating eluvians. Again, they seem to be guarding or protecting something.

Moving along, we learn about the wolf companions the Emerald Knights have. This is also odd. Why wolves? Fen’Harel is theoretically a Trickster God and responsible for locking up the other gods. Usually, when a culture equates a god with negative attributes, people are wary around the animal representing it. Not in this case. These are guardian wolves and there are statues of them all over the Dales. I don’t think all the statues are of wolf companions. Many of the wolf statues are carved into mountainsides and they are gigantic. It would take a long time to create those without magic. And let’s not forget the statues we see underneath waterfalls in Watcher’s Reach and the Exalted Plains. They should be worn away by the water but aren’t. Watcher’s Reach is an old Elven ruin. Magic presumably keeps them from being worn down. Why? Because Fen’Harel is guarding the Dales.

Fen’Harel as guardian can also be seen in Dalish practice. A statue of Fen’Harel is always placed outside the camp to guard against demons. Given that he is thought of as practically a demon himself, this is again, weird behavior.

The stories we hear about him in Masked Empire are also interesting, particularly the Slow Arrow. In it, a village is beset by a monster. The other gods refuse to help so they turn to Fen’Harel. He answers their prayers by showing up. He realizes he can’t defeat the monster. He is then presented with a hard choice. He can attempt to kill it, even though he knows he will probably die and if that happens so will everyone in the village, or he can do something clever and save some of them. So, he launches the slow arrow. The monster comes, kills the adults but dies before it can kill the children. This is in keeping with Solas’ fairly pragmatic personality. It also illustrates that Fen’Harel, out of all the gods, even Mythal is always willing to come to the aid of the People.

So, what can we make of this? I believe Fen’Harel was and still is tasked with protecting the People. In a sense he fulfills the position of an Aavar hold beast. How did this happen? I’m not sure. Mythal could have called him out of the Fade with the purpose of protecting the People during the war with the Titans. His spirit could have been bound to a giant wolf. In the Deep Roads there is a codex that indicates depictions of Mythal were found alongside those of Fen’Harel. We know spirits can be reborn. If the giant wolf fell in battle, it might have been reborn and placed in an Elvhen body. Was it a body of it’s own or did it share a body in a similar fashion to Anders and Justice?

Solas as guardian of the People fits in other ways. If he wasn’t one of the Evanuris, he would have been part of the inner circle. He has some very nice castles and talks about missing court intrigue. He had status. If he wasn’t one of the Evanuris, serving as their guard dog would give him that status

Also, in the library, the spirits replay the final days of the elves when the Veil goes up. They are shocked that Fen’Harel would do something like this. Why? He’s been rebelling for a while so why the surprise? Maybe because he’s supposed to protect The People, not hurt them.

What could have happened? As the Evanuris became more corrupt they began hurting the People. They enslaved them, used them for experiments, hunted them and sacrificed them. If your purpose is to protect the People, what do you as a spirit do?

We see how Cole is diverted from his purpose as a spirit of Compassion into a spirit who performs mercy killings. He’s not the exact opposite of Compassion but he isn’t fulfilling his purpose either. A spirit with a body seems to be more complex. It’s not so binary. If Solas was a bound spirit, the only way to protect his charges might be to do what he did.

Fast-forward to the present day. He wakes up, sees how his people are treated and feels duty-bound to do what he can to save them. In this case by tearing down the Veil. It could be seen as a compulsion.

I’ve probably missed a ton of other evidence but in my opinion, all signs point to Solas at one time being the Protector of the People whose purpose was then twisted. I’d be interested in knowing what other people think. 

[rosella-writes]

solavellan rivalmance things

since I'm replaying Virelan's file and she and Solas are actively hostile to one another in Haven, I thought I'd write up my idea of how it'd go if the da2 rivalmance system stayed in place and was better

the only two elves at the heart of chantry forces in the middle of a mage rebellion for how long? surrounded by people who assume they'd get along by nature of their matching ears? just adds insult to injury that Varric jokes about their conflict from the very first instant they speak (they're not Fenris and Merrill, Varric, please I'm begging)

they're drawn together by familiarity that's on this side of wrong, more willing to sit together and fight than be alone and at peace

the nights grow longer and so do their arguments, which turn into debates, which turn into stories, until it's almost dawn and neither of them have slept

Lavellan calls him 'flat ear' — he curses them in elvhen so old that their Dalish dialect can't parse it apart

Lavellan clings to Dalish tradition and prays the prayers every morning in camp, just to spy Solas regarding them with something like pity, or grief

he corrects their elvhen pronunciation and grammar — they call him 'hahren (derogatory)'

"I saw it in the —" "Elgar'nan, we know!"

Lavellan dismisses blood magic as evil and spirits as non-persons but they keep asking questions, more and more questions, and Solas isn't sure if they're asking because they're curious or because they want to mock him

he doesn't stop answering though

Lavellan notices at first that he only looks at their vallaslin when he speaks to them... and by the time they close the Breach, he glares into their eyes

Lavellan protects him, like they promised, and they shout at him to be more careful

Solas heals their wounds and scolds them under his breath… but it sounds suspiciously like worry

Lavellan tells Solas to go when Corypheus attacks Haven, pushes him towards the Pilgrim’s Path and doesn’t let him follow as they distract the dragon alone

He searches for them in the snow in the aftermath, a mournful, enraged wolf howling in the storm — why could they not have listened?

Lavellan’s alive

The sensible choice is to lead them to his home, his heart, where he held the sky back — he feels it too as Skyhold falls in love with Lavellan and their Inquisition

They find him in a dream, and things are easier for him in the Fade

“You’re the one who started with tongue” “I did no such thing!”

I mean I could go on lol