#everyone around solas sick of hearing him talk about lavellan

[strawberry-halla]

back from the dead just to say solas is definitely a “my wife” guy. he will not shut up about lavellan.

“ah yes, my wife loves these. i’ll make sure to bring some to her.”

“maybe i should introduce you to my wife. you have a lot in common with her.”

“sorry i cannot stay, my wife is waiting for me.”

solas is a certified yapper. he yaps about the fade all the time. you think he’d ever NOT yap about lavellan? no. he will bring her up every time someone says something that reminds him of her. this lovestruck fool. this silly worm.

[bearlytolerant]

Fandom: Dragon Age

Pairing: Solavellan (Modern AU)

Ch Rating: T

Ch WC: 2169

AO3

Chapter 7

Another day at the office. Editing, emails and the ever elusive caller that enables equal opportunities for playing phone tag. A game Solas never enjoys participating in. The morning slides by and Varric is at his desk, twirling his keys around his finger.

“Lunch?”

Solas glances up and sighs. “I’m trying to get a hold of Seeker Pentaghast. Sera said she had more info on an agent that might have a lead on Crystal Red.”

“That sounds like a lot of maybes and probablys and a whole lot of I don’t give a fuck. You’re allowed to take a break and get some lunch.”

“What if they call while I’m away?”

“They can leave a message. Now let’s get out of here before we don’t have any time at all for food.”

Solas shoves back his chair and follows Varric. “I did pack a lunch today,” he mentions.

“Save it for tomorrow then. I’m craving some street tacos and there’s a truck just up the road. I’ll buy so you don’t have to worry about it.”

“I am less concerned about finances and more concerned about getting food from a truck.”

“Ah, live a little Chuckles,” Varric says as he gives Solas a whack on the back.

“If living a little, as you say, means spending two days on the toilet. Perhaps I do not wish to live a little.”

“Well come with me and grab something else. I’m sure there’s something you’d find worthy of your tastes nearby.”

A half hour later and Solas is holding a taco that’s worth the regret he’ll experience from his future self. Some chipotle mayo dribbles down his chin and he swipes it away while pulling out his phone.

He checks his messages. One from Sarya and one from Veda. He taps on the one from Veda first.

Connor went home sick. Pick me up after school today?

He checks the time and swears. How did he not realize he took such a late lunch? She needs to be picked up right now. He dials her number as he stuffs his arms into his coat.

“Veda needs to be picked up,” he tells Varric as he shoves the remainder of his taco in his mouth.

“Got you covered,” Varric replies.

He mumbles a garbled, “thanks” then takes off down the street. Solas is just a block away from his car in the parking garage when she picks up.

“Hey papae!”

“Hello. I apologize. I just now saw your text. I will be late.”

“No worries. I can always watch the band practice until you get here.”

“I will be there soon.”

“Okie doke.”

He says he loves her and hangs up. Sprints the rest of the way down the street, half choking and wishing he’d at least drank some water but makes his way to his little car without incident. He hops inside. Starts it and zooms out of the garage. He’s speeding which has him checking his rear view mirror constantly. But of course, the city has a million stop lights and he hits every red one. He gets to her school later than he ever intended.

He parks, shoving his glasses all the way up his nose, and searches for Veda at the stadium. He spots her in the bleachers, chin resting in her hands and her copper braids coming undone in the breeze. He takes the stairs to meet her two at a time.

“I am so sorry to make you wait,” he says as he wraps her in his arms.

“Seriously, papae. It’s not a problem at all.”

“But what if it had rained? Or stormed like yesterday?”

“I would’ve just stayed inside. Besides, that didn’t happen.”

He sighs, berating himself a little internally. Then he walks with her back to the car. Slides in and clicks his seatbelt in place.

“What’s this?” Veda asks.

Solas glances over at her. She has Sarya’s camera in her hands. He hadn’t even noticed it there. He calmly says, “a camera.”

“Pssh, obviously. But I don’t remember you having a camera.”

“It’s a friend’s,” he says. “We went out for lunch and they must’ve left it.”

“Oh,” she says. “How was work today?” She’s still fiddling with the camera.

“It was work,” he says. Thankfully she easily dropped the subject. “Not much was accomplished.”

She gasps. “Your friend is so pretty. You’ve never mentioned her before. New coworker?”

“No. Just a new friend I met.”

“She looks familiar—and she’s a wonderful photographer. Maybe we should have her take some pictures of us. We haven’t updated our family photos since I was ten.”

“That’s a wonderful idea Veda. However, my friend is only visiting for a short while. I’m not sure there would be enough time to squeeze some family photos in.”

“Bummer. You look so happy around her.”

“I don’t always look happy?”

“You look a different kind of happy with her. It’s nice.”

He takes her words and holds them close to her chest. “Anything interesting happen at school today?”

“Yeah,” she says, then she unloads a multitude of stories. How one of her friends got their tooth knocked out by a basketball in gym. How she accidentally used Elvhen in her Tevene class and didn’t notice until the whole class was just staring at her.

“Did you feel embarrassed?” he asks as they pull into the garage.

“A little. But I mostly found it funny. The way the other kids looked so confused.”

“Does anyone treat you differently when you speak Elvhen?”

She shrugs. “There’s a couple of kids who say stupid things but I don’t hang around them.”

“Veda, I’m happy to speak with the administration if your having trouble with other students—“

“While I appreciate that, I can handle a couple of kids who are jerks.”

“Very well but if you ever—“

“I know.” She slings her backpack in her back then kisses his cheek. “Can I go to Varric’s house? I want to see the cats and hang out with Cole for a bit.”

“Yes, so long as you check with—“

“Already did.” She steps out of the car. “Going to drop my stuff off inside then I’ll see you later.”

“Text me when you want to leave. I’ll pick you up.”

“Okay. See you later, papae.”

Solas sighs. He’s glad she still talks to him and he still gets to see her but there’s also this tiny ache in his chest that misses her always being around the house. But he reminds himself that this is a good thing. It’s just new and he pulls out his phone to read his messages from Sarya.

Hey I’m going to try and stop by your work around 3:15 today.

I stopped by your work but you weren’t there. Saw Varric though! He introduced me to everyone and it was fun! I really like Sera. She’s hilarious! And Merrill was so sweet! Anyway, hopefully I’ll see you sometime soon. 😉

—

“I fold,” Sarya says, she takes a drag from her cigarillo. Then throws her cards face up on the table.

“Already?” Han asks. “What a shame.”

“Your mind must be elsewhere, Sarya. I’ve never known you to throw a game,” Vilanti says as she shows her cards.

Han takes the game and lets out a whoop as he gathers them all to shuffle.

“I still can’t believe Dallen just up and left us. Did he say anything to either of you? About his plans.”

Both of them shake their heads.

“It’s really odd.”

“I don’t know why you care. Easier to keep yourself from using him. Easier for him to be happy this way,” Han says.

“Ouch,” Vilanti grimaces, then gestures for all the cards to be handed over. She shuffles.

“I do agree with that actually. It’s just that most who move on from our happy little family tend to give us more of a notice. We didn’t get to give him a proper goodbye.”

“I don’t mean to sound callous here Sarya, but you were the only one who cared about the guy. Makes sense why he moved on.” Vilanti deals.

Sarya picks up her hand and stares straight through the cards. “That’s not true.”

“Basically,” Han argues. He draws a card.

“Sometimes you both are mean.”

“Not mean. Just honest,” Han says.

Vilanti draws. “On another note, I heard Makon made a new friend today.”

“What?” Sarya nearly drops her cards. “Our Makon? Makon—stoic, quiet, unsociable Makon?”

“Yep. Met her at the gas station. She was passing through on her way to Wycome and her motorcycle broke down. He fixed it up for her on the spot and they exchanged numbers I guess.”

“What the fuck?”

“Good for him,” Han says.

Sarya draws a card. “Yeah, seriously. I hope that works out.”

“Our next gig is in Wycome and he plans to see her then.”

“Was it love at first sight or something?” Sarya asks. She folds and picks her cigarillo back up. Her interest in cards declining by the second.

Vilanti shrugs and plays her cards, taking the game. “By the way he keeps talking about her, I’d say yes.”

“What’s her name,” Han asks, gathering all the cards into a pile.

“Athi. Athi Lavellan.”

“Another Lavellan huh?”

“Guess so. Maybe she’s related to you two,” Vilanti says.

“Doubt it. Or if she is, it’s very distant,” Han says.

In the distance they hear yelling and smashing bottles. They all exchange looks.

“Wonder who the hell set Deshanna off—“

“Let’s go see if we can smooth things over,” Han says with a sigh.

“You two can go. I’ll probably make things worse. I don’t think he likes me much.”

“That’s because you push his buttons. Definitely better for you to stay here,” Han tells her.

“Don’t have to tell me twice.” Then she waves at them as they slip out the door and finishes off her cigarillo.

—

It’s dark and quiet and Sarya gazes longingly out the window at a small patch of stars. The only patch not hidden by the clouds. She sighs and startles at the sound of knocking. Straightening herself out, she rubs the redness from her elbows and opens the door.

“Solas,” she says it like she’s expecting him but she’s truly surprised. She steps out with him, shutting the door behind her.

“You forgot your camera,” he tells her, holding it out in his hands.

She takes it from him, hanging it around her neck. “Thank you. I should really start keeping better track of my things or you’re going to start thinking I’m trying to bait you or something.”

“I would bite every time,” he says, his hands clasped behind his back. There’s a certain sparkle in his eye and she can’t read him. But she knows she wants to kiss him. So without another thought, she stretches up on her toes and takes him by surprise. He is frigid and she panics, certain she has misstepped. After all, friends don’t kiss like that.

“I’m sorry,” she says, a little out of breath. “I don’t know what…”

Her words are caught on the edge of his lips as he captures her mouth again. His kiss is unreserved but not what she’d call passionate. Like the kiss of a long time lover. A kiss of promise. Of commitment. Her mind screams at her to let go while simultaneously wishing and longing for more. His leg is pressed into her inner thigh and despite the chill of the air, she’s certain she is on fire. Her nails are in his shoulder, the camera even hurts just a little as it presses into her chest, and she doesn’t mean to let out a moan but it’s too late for regrets as he pushes her against the side of her trailer. One hand above her and the other in her hair. With each breath she steals between kisses, she studies his face. Memorizes it and stores it for always. Freckles for days and the tiniest scar above his brow. The only sign of his age lies in the lines of crows feet near the edges of his eyes and she tells herself to ask if he has a skincare routine. He certainly seems the type.

She studies his closed eyelids, there’s two freckles on the right and a singular small one on the left and she notices that there’s even some red in his brows and wonders if they’d have red headed babies.

She gasps then. Pulls away. Why in the hell is she thinking of babies?

“Perhaps I should…”

“Kiss me again,” she says to him. She won’t let one ridiculous thought ruin the moment. She knows that she’s falling for him. Too fast, too soon but she’s holding on for another day.

When they break apart she doesn’t want him to go. But it’s too much to ask him to stay. So she waves goodbye then clicks her camera, saving the image of him walking away.

[pikapeppa]

Professor Solas/Lavellan: Oceanic

Chap 4 of Inadvisable (professor Solas modern AU) is posted!

In which Nare Lavellan throws caution to the wind when she officially meets Professor Solas for the first time. 😏 Featuring both Nare and Solas POV!

~4300 words; read on AO3 instead. 

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

- NARE -

Nare tapped her fingernails on her empty glass as she scanned the bar. I don’t see him, she thought in disappointment, then turned back to face her new labmates with a somewhat perfunctory smile. 

Merrill was in the middle of telling a story. She covered her mouth with one hand as she giggled. “After that, Professor Abelas has never eaten any of the baked goods I bring in. It was only the one time, though. I don’t usually put a tablespoon of salt in my cakes, I swear.”

“Don’t take it personally,” Tamlen said. “Professor Abelas doesn’t even eat storebought baked goods that are brought into the lab.”

“I think that’s how he got so tall,” Dagna said. “Not eating baked goods.”

Tamlen smirked. “Dagna, you think everyone is tall.”

She tutted and poked his hip. “Silly. I’ll let you get away with that comment since you always get the files down from the top shelves for me.”

Athera tilted her head quizzically. “Is Professor Abelas going to come to this mixer?”

“He already came and went,” Merrill said. “He always comes right when it starts and leaves within the hour.”

Athera’s eyebrows jumped up. “He came right at eight o’clock? I bet no one was even here yet!”

“That’s why he comes on time,” Tamlen said dryly.

Athera snorted. “That makes so much sense, actually.”

Nare briefly stopped scanning the room to grin at her. “Are you going to gossip about him now since you know he’s not going to show up?”

Athera scoffed. “I’m not going to gossip about a faculty member at the campus bar. I’m not stupid.” Then she smirked and elbowed Nare. “I’ll keep the gossip for when we get home.”

“Oh good,” Nare said brightly. “I still can’t believe you told Tamaris about your day while I was in the shower.”

Merrill clapped her hands. “Athera was so impressive today. You didn’t cry once!”

Nare looked at Merrill and Athera in genuine alarm. “Cry?” she exclaimed. “Why would you cry?”

Athera rolled her eyes, and Tamlen helpfully replied. “Professor Abelas is, uh, stern.”

“I think his face will crack if he smiles too much,” Merrill said. 

Tamlen cocked his head thoughtfully. “His frown does kind of look like a golem, doesn’t it?”

“Yep, it really does,” Dagna chirped, “and I would know. Golems were the focus of my undergrad thesis.”

“Were they really?” Athera said keenly. “I only had one single lecture during my undergrad that even talked about golems. What can you tell me about them?”

Dagna launched into an excited explanation of the role of golems in ancient Orzammar, and Nare took the opportunity to scan the room once more, even though she knew she shouldn’t be. Really, if she saw Professor Solas at this mixer, it would be better if she stayed away from him. 

But at the same time, if she stayed away from him and he saw her, that would be worse, wouldn’t it? She was his new Master’s student and they’d run into each other earlier today, even though he didn’t know who she was. If he saw her here tonight and she didn’t talk to him, it would be weird when she formally met him tomorrow in his office, as if she’d been avoiding him. And she had no real reason or excuse to avoid him.

Aside from the juvenile but persistent fantasies she kept having about his height looming over her and his gorgeous voice curling out of those plush full lips. 

She nibbled the inside of her cheek and tapped her empty glass. Then Athera nudged her. “You’re starting to make me nervous now,” she murmured. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

Nare smiled at her. “I’m fine, I promise,” she said. Then she looked at her new labmates. “Does Solas — er, Professor Solas usually come to these mixers?”

Merrill nodded. “He does, yes. He’s probably here somewhere talking to someone.”

“Being told off by someone, you mean,” Tamlen drawled. 

Merrill tsked. “They only tell him off because they’re jealous.”

Dagna giggled. “Or because he embarrassed some Orlesian professor in one of their lectures by pointing out something wrong.”

Nare looked at him with wide eyes. “He does that in the middle of other people’s lectures while everyone is watching?”

“Yep,” Tamlen said smugly. “It’s kind of awesome, actually.”

Nare laughed, and Athera sighed happily. “I’d like to see that sometime.”

“You can, if you want,” Tamlen said, to Nare’s surprise. “Solas is insistent that all his lectures be open for anyone to audit. The administration almost had a fit at first because his classrooms were so packed that it violated fire regulations, but it’s calmed down a little bit in the past couple years.”

Nare stared at him. “Open for auditing? Wow.” That basically meant that Solas was doing his world-class lectures for free for anyone who wanted to listen. 

She sighed to herself. As if she needed more of a reason to have a crush on him. 

Merrill seemed to agree. “I think it’s brilliant. He’s trying to share the knowledge of Arlathan so openly! After so many years of their borders being almost completely closed to outsiders!” She sighed wistfully. “I hope I can go on an exchange to Arlathan someday.”

Dagna nodded enthusiastically. “That would be pretty amazing. Can you imagine how much we could learn?”

Nare smiled in agreement and glanced around, and her heart stopped.

There he was. Professor Solas was standing near the bar in a fitted blazer and a collared shirt, smiling politely as a dark-haired man spoke animatedly to him. 

Her frozen heart bolted into a galloping pulse. Oh gods, she thought. Oh gods oh gods. He was here. She was hoping he would be here, and now that he actually was, she thought she might pass out from excitement. Or from anxiety. One of the two. 

She tore her eyes away from him and smiled idly at Athera and the others, but she could barely pretend to be paying attention anymore. Professor Solas was there, standing right there not twenty feet away and drawing her attention more readily than a lighthouse beam.

All of a sudden, she couldn’t resist the beacon anymore.

She held out her glass to Athera. “Can you take this? I’m going to the washroom. I’ll be right back.” 

“Sure,” Athera said, but Nare was already walking away.

She twined her way through the crowd and slipped into the washroom, then stepped in front of the sink and stared at herself in the mirror. Her cheeks were a bit flushed, but that could be chalked up to the crowded bar. Her hair looked good, half pinned-up and the rest spilling down her back in loose waves, and her makeup was surprisingly unsmudged. 

She took a deep breath to try and calm herself, but it barely helped; her anxiety was burning away and being taken over by excitement alone — a kind of reckless excitement that Nare was not accustomed to feeling. But then again, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt this kind of spine-tingling excitement about anyone. 

Honestly, she couldn’t remember ever being this desperately attracted to anyone. Too bad he had to be her fucking supervisor. 

It’s fine, she thought. I’ll just introduce myself and talk to him a little bit. It’s fine. It’s perfectly innocent. 

She smiled at herself, then pressed her lips together to quell a stupid little giggle. Then, before she could lose her courage, she swept out of the bathroom and back into the bar. 

- SOLAS -

Dorian raised his eyebrows winningly. “Come now, Solas, you have to admit that a collaboration would be a huge opportunity. An exhibit developed and created by both of us focusing on the interplay between Tevinter and Arlathani culture over the centuries? People across Thedas will be discussing it.” 

“I will consider it,” Solas said. 

“You should,” Dorian said. “At most, a collaborative project could garner patrons and sponsors for several years’ worth of funding for both of our departments. At the very least, it will get people talking.”

“That’s not something I have had particular difficulty with over the past few years,” Solas said wryly.

Dorian chuckled. “True, true. You and Abelas and your controversial theories. Come, my friend, your glass is dry.” He leaned over the bar and signalled the bartender. 

Solas hastily held up a hand to stop the bartender’s approach. “Thank you, but no,” he said to Dorian. “And I’m afraid I will have to cut our conversation short. This mixer is intended for mingling with the students, after all.”

Dorian sighed playfully. “I hear your message loud and clear. You’re sick and tired of me nattering your ear off.” He stepped away from the bar. “I will let you be. But promise me at least that you’ll consider a collaboration.”

“I will,” Solas said. And he meant it. But just because he considered a collaboration with Dorian didn’t mean he would agree to one, even if it did mean more sponsorship and funding. The Ancient Elvhen Studies program wouldn’t need funding beyond the next couple of years, after all. 

Dorian clapped him on the shoulder, then wandered into the boisterous crowd. Once he was gone, Solas let out a sigh of relief. He was far more adept at these sorts of gatherings than Abelas was, and truthfully, Solas didn’t mind coming to these events; he was always willing to engage in a rousing academic debate or an in-depth discussion of art over drinks. But just because he enjoyed the debates and the discussions didn’t mean he wasn’t exhausted by the time the night was done. 

And tonight was only half-done. He’d only arrived about a half-hour ago, and he really ought to stay for at least another hour. It was simply unfortunate that tonight’s mixer happened to fall on the sort of lazy weeknight that Solas would have preferred to spend on his couch at home with a book in hand and Fenor purring happily in his lap. 

He sighed and glanced around the room. Then his heart flipped in his chest.

A beautiful young elven woman in the crowd was smiling at him. A young woman he recognized, actually. Long russet hair, big blue eyes, long bare legs in a dark red dress…

It was the woman he had bumped into this morning on his way to the library. 

Collided with, more like, he thought ruefully. He really should have known better than to read while he was walking, especially when he’d forgotten his reading glasses at home and had to squint hard at the page. 

He nodded politely to her. Her smile widened, revealing a dimple in her right cheek, and she slipped deftly through the crowd until she was standing in front of him. 

“Hi,” she said. “We meet again.”

“So it seems,” he said. He was a bit taken aback by her confidence; it was a contrast with how shy she’d seemed earlier today.

“I didn’t realize that you were a student here,” he said. As soon as the words left his lips, he felt foolish. How could he have realized she was a student? They hadn’t even encountered each other on campus.

Thankfully, she didn’t point out his inane comment. “That’s okay,” she said. “I wasn’t heading toward campus, anyway.”

He blinked. “That’s right, you weren’t. Where were you headed?”

“I went to the modern art museum to see the neo-Avvar exhibit.”

Solas raised his eyebrows. “Ah. It’s a fascinating display, isn’t it?”

“It is,” she said enthusiastically. “I love the range of mediums they use in their work. The textiles were especially beautiful. I don’t know anything about textile art, but I feel like it would have been so hard to dye the tapestries in that kind of colour blending without any modern tech.”

“The textiles are truly impressive, aren’t they?” Solas agreed. “Incredible that such meticulous weavework could be done with bare hands. The Avvar are known for not using machines for their weaving.”

Her eyes widened. “Really? I just assumed that they used a loom of some kind.”

“No looms,” he confirmed. “Those tapestries were made entirely by hand.” He chuckled. “I believe my fingers would seize if I ever attempted such a feat.”

Her smile curled mischievously. “I can’t imagine that. I think you have the right kind of hands for weaving.”

He looked at her sharply, amused and surprised by her boldness. “Do you, now?”

He was further amused when she blushed. “I just… I can tell you’re an artist by your hands,” she said.

He raised his eyebrows, and her cheeks flushed even further. “I just mean that your… you have beautiful hands.” She laughed and patted her pinkened cheeks.

Solas smiled helplessly at her. There was something utterly charming about her confidence combined with her embarrassment, and… fenedhis, he knew he shouldn’t be encouraging this. He had no idea what department she even belonged to. But regardless of department, she was a student, and he shouldn’t be encouraging any kind of flirtation.

His wayward mouth opened of its own accord. “Do all artists have beautiful hands then, in your estimation?”

She waved her hand haphazardly. “No, no. I’m just being silly. Mine are nothing special, for example.”

He studied her with fresh interest. “Are you an artist yourself, then?”

“I… yes, actually,” she said. “I’m, um… I’m a painter. Digital and traditional.”

A painter as well? That was a happy coincidence. “As am I,” he said. “If you are a painter, you should know that you ought not discount your hands as being nothing special. A person’s hands speak of their character, whether the hands themselves are considered classically beautiful or not.”

She tilted her head. “Can you tell me more about that, professor?”

A warm feeling bloomed in his belly, and he eyed her carefully. Her tone and her expression were innocent, but there was something about the way she said his title that felt… not entirely innocent, somehow. 

Against his better judgment, he held out his hand. “Certainly. May I?”

Her eyes widened. But before Solas could retract his unwise words, she lifted her left hand and placed it in his. 

He studied her palm and her fingers for a moment, then turned her hand over. “You are left-handed.”

She let out a breathless little laugh. “I… yes, I am. How did you know?”

“A writing bump, right here.” He brushed his thumb over the small callused bump of skin on the knuckle of her fourth finger. “Incidentally, you may want to reconsider the way you hold your stylus or your brushes in order to avoid fatigue.”

She gave him a teasing little smile. “Oh please. You should know better than to mess with how a painter holds her brush.”

He chuckled. “You make a fair point.” He studied her the back of her hand. “No nail polish, tidy short nails: also indicative of a painter.”

“Nice try,” she said. “You knew that already.”

He looked up in surprise at her drawling tone, then grinned and released her hand. “You have caught me. I’m afraid I can’t tell you anything of note about your hands.”

She laughed. “Don’t say that. You figured out that I’m left-handed.”

He bowed his head politely. “You are overly generous with your praise.”

“Maybe you can make it up to me,” she said.

“What do you suggest?”

She cocked her head. “You could draw my hands sometime.”

His belly flipped. Her eyebrow was quirked, and there was no mistaking the coquettish angle of her head.

He cleared his throat and folded his hands behind his back. “I… don’t think so.”

“Why not?” she asked.

“I… anatomy is not…” He faltered before he could tell the lie that anatomy was not a specialty of his. “It has been a long time since I did any anatomy studies,” he said instead. 

“Really?” she said. “I got the feeling that you’d be an expert at handling anatomy.”

The warm feeling in his belly flared hotly — and perversely. He gave her a chiding look, but he could feel his traitorous lips curling into a smile. “This is… hardly appropriate,” he said in a low voice.

Her cheeks flushed once more. She smiled at him, then dropped his gaze and tucked a stray strand of hair over her ear. “I know. I’m terrible, I’m sorry. Do you want me to leave you alone?”

No, he thought. Truthfully, there was nothing he wanted more than to continue this conversation with this alluring young woman. But he couldn’t keep this up. It was against university regulations. 

“It would be inadvisable for this conversation to continue,” he said carefully.

Her answering smile was sheepish this time. “You’re probably right.”

“The faculty handbook confirms that I am,” he said dryly. 

She laughed. “I guess so. Well, will you have a drink with me? Just a drink,” she said quickly. “A collegial drink, I promise.”

Her sky-blue eyes were wide and innocent – deceptively innocent. Solas eyed her shrewdly for a moment, then gave in. “I suppose one drink can’t hurt.”

She beamed at him and leaned over the bar to signal the bartender, and Solas idly studied the shape of her spine. Then his disobedient mind conjured an image of her bending over the desk in his office with her spine curved in a similar shape. 

Mortified by his own thoughts, he hastily tore his eyes away from her, but her voice instantly called back his attention. “Professor, what would you like?” 

Professor. She couldn’t keep saying his title. It was doing things to his imagination that it shouldn’t be doing. 

He looked at the bartender. “Half a pint of Arlathan pale ale, please.” He looked down at his overly-tempting companion. “And for you?”

“Vodka tonic for me,” she said, and she pulled her wallet out of her purse. 

Solas held up a hand to stop her. “Allow me.” 

A slow smile began to curl her lips. By the time she was grinning, Solas’s heart was pounding in his throat. 

She laughed softly. “Buying me a drink? That’s very collegial of you.”

Her tone was suggestive, and he liked it far too much. “It is collegial, in fact,” he said. “I can charge it to my department since this is a university-hosted gathering.” He gestured for the bartender to add the drinks to his tab.

 “Ooh,” she said teasingly. “That’s a clever loophole.”

Vixen, he thought incredulously. He couldn’t believe he’d ever thought she was shy. She was bold and beautiful and tempting, and she made him want to be bold as well.

And that thought – that wish to meet and match her boldness – was one that he absolutely could not entertain.

He forced himself to hold back the flirtatious comment at the tip of his tongue. “It is not a loophole. It’s the truth,” he said instead. 

She nodded and sipped her drink. Her expression was pleasantly neutral, but her eyes on his face were sly and warm, and Solas knew he ought to look away. He ought to break from her gaze and look at something else – anything else, really, aside from this beautiful woman that he absolutely should not be thinking about in increasingly carnal ways.

But he couldn’t look away. Her eyes were so clear and bright, and even in the dim light of the campus bar, he could see that they were an unusually lush shade of blue: not quite sky-blue like he’d originally thought, but a deeper, richer shade closer to cerulean. 

Solas gazed into her cerulean eyes and sipped his ale, and she stared back at him as she sipped her vodka-tonic. By the time Solas had finished half of his drink, he still hadn’t broken from her steady gaze. Neither of them had said a word, and as he stared into her eyes and mindlessly sipped his drink, he slowly realized that not only were they not talking, but that they shouldn’t talk.  

No, he shouldn’t talk to her anymore. If he said another word to her, he would only be digging himself deeper into the hole she’d started. 

He finally broke from her heated gaze to drain the last drops of his ale, then placed his glass on the bar and leaned toward her slightly. “This is an impossible situation.”

She blinked at him – such an innocent gesture, but her pinkening cheeks betrayed her. “What do you mean?”

He lowered his voice. “You know precisely what I mean.”

She didn’t reply. Instead, she grinned at him again: a bold, beautiful grin full of mischief and heat that made him want to sink into her right here on the spot. 

He licked his lips, and her cheeks flushed even more. Then her purse chimed loudly. 

He hastily stepped away from her, and she exhaled loudly. “Damn,” she muttered. She pulled her phone out of her purse and checked the screen. 

She wrinkled her nose, then looked up at him once more. “I have to go. My friends are leaving and I said I’d leave with them.” 

He sighed – with relief, of course, certainly not with disappointment. Truly, he should be thanking whoever had sent her such a timely text. “I see,” he said. He nodded politely. “It was nice talking with you.”

“You too,” she said. But she didn’t step away. She was studying him thoughtfully, and as Solas met her gaze, he realized what her eyes reminded him of. 

They reminded him of the ocean: the perfectly clear ocean off the coast of Arlathan. And if he wasn’t careful, he was going to drown himself in her oceanic eyes. 

He stared at her, his heart pounding and the blood thrumming through his body in a way that was really not appropriate for such an event. Then she stepped close to him and placed her hand on his shoulder. 

He froze. She was lifting herself on her tiptoes and leaning in close to him. Her heated eyes were coming closer, and his lungs were frozen and his brain was completely paralyzed with excitement as she raised herself higher and nearer to his face…

He parted his lips – to tell her to stop, to back away, certainly not to invite a kiss – but before he could say a word, she brushed her lips over his cheekbone in a demure Orlesian greeting.

She lowered herself slowly back to her heels, and her hand left his shoulder. “Goodnight, professor,” she murmured. 

He didn’t reply. He couldn’t reply. The sound of his title in her voice and the brush of her lips on his cheek had left him utterly stunned. 

She smiled at him one last time, then turned away. His hand moved involuntarily to reach for her, but he stopped himself in the nick of time. 

A second later, she had disappeared into the crowd. 

Solas stood stock-still at the bar for a long moment. His pounding heart was a drumbeat in his ears, drowning out the cacophony of conversation and music and laughter in the bar. Heat and disbelief and desire were thrumming through his limbs and into his cheeks and — fenedhis, he couldn’t ignore it any longer: he was hard. Shamefully hard and throbbing, his mind totally preoccupied with the feeling of her lips on his cheek, brushing over his cheekbone so close to his mouth — such pretty smiling lips. Ah, to imagine those smiling lips wrapping around his shaft and taking him deep into her throat…

He rubbed his hand over his face. He couldn’t think like this. He didn’t understand why he was so deeply affected by this particular woman. It wasn’t like this was the first time a student had come onto him, and it had never been a problem before to tactfully rebuff them while making it seem as though he was unaware of their intentions. 

So what was it about this particular young woman — this particular student — that had so captivated him that he was suffering from all sorts of tawdry thoughts that he really shouldn’t be having?

I should avoid her, he thought. If he avoided contact with her, he could avoid having any further carnal thoughts about her. Perhaps if he asked the administration to look up her name, he could…

Suddenly he realized something: he didn’t know her name. 

She hadn’t introduced herself before launching straight into a conversation with him. 

He laughed softly at his own sheer idiocy. Had he even introduced himself to her? Had his wits entirely left him the second she’d graced him with that mischievous smile?

He drew a deep breath, then exhaled heavily and stepped away from the bar. Enough of this, he thought. You must stop thinking about this. He ought to spend more time speaking with the students; he hadn’t even spoken with any of the students from his own lab yet tonight. What he really should be doing was looking for his new Master’s student, Nare. Surely she was here tonight. Perhaps she had found Merrill and Dagna. 

I should have stayed home with Fenor after all, he thought morosely. With one last sigh, Solas stepped back into the crowd. 

[elizahgodswood]

Teaser Time

I've got a few fics in the works right now that I am hoping to have posted soon. For now, here is a couple teasers of them!

1. The Storm: (Ethira Lavellan x Solas)

The rain came down in a blanketing drone. The whole mountain valley was grey with fog, slowly creeping towards the hill where Ethira stood. In the distance, a quiet roll of thunder drummed. Flashes of lightning illuminated the dark wave of storm clouds.

With a slow inhale, Ethira took up a wide stance. As she exhaled, she grabbed her staff from its clip and held it before her in both hands. The worn wooden shaft brought back memories of golden fields, summers spent playing by the creek, running through valleys and hills, wild, free. Its rough grooves and grain were far different from the smooth steel and leather staff she wielded now, a reminder of how far she had come, and how far she still had to go.

Another rumbling roll of thunder roared, closer to her now. It was only a matter of time before the eye passed on and the battering wind and rains engulfed her camp once more.

Taking another slow, deep breath, she rose the staff high, bringing it to her lips as she counted through the seconds until the thunder stopped. She reached out, calling to the magic that tingled at the tips of her fingers, forever burned in the back of her mind, watching, waiting, ready. As the connection solidified, she exhaled, feeling the staff grip warm under her touch.

Another inhale, this one anxious, anticipating, waiting to strike, poised. The rain droned on for a few moments longer. The thunder sounded again, louder still this time.

One

She lashed out with the blade of her staff, exhaling with a low growl, feeling the power chanel down into the staff’s crystal. As she spun around, she dropped to her knee and jabbed out. A jet of fire spewed from the tip of the staff, hissing and steaming as the rain attempted to extinguish it.

Two

She rose back to her feet, spinning her staff in front of her. With a snarl, she swung the blade around in an arc before her. Spinning with the momentum, she released another jet of fire, watching the amber flames spin out in a spiral, steaming and hissing. The magic continued to flow, in tempo with her breathing.

Three

The thunder rolled on still. Wind began to tease her cloak, playful and gentle for now. The rain came down harder, colder, sharper, hissing as it hit the staff. It bit through her hood, and nibbled at the tips of her fingers. But the magic kept the worst of it at bay, for now.

Four

She focused on the target she had placed on the opposite side of the clearing. A chill sent a shiver down her spine and out to her fingertips. Charging forward, she stuck out with the staff, sending a shard of ice hurling towards the target.

Five

Ethira leapt up into the air, raising her staff above her. The wind blew back her hood, showering her face in cold rain. The magic thrummed through her now, coursing through every vein, pumping with every heartbeat. The thunder had reached a crescendo with a tremendous crashing up above.

Six

As she landed, the blade sliced through the target, spilling the fine sand within. Rolling to the side, she stood still, holding her head back as the rain soaked her. She waited on baited breath, knowing what would come next

Seven

A crackle of energy spliced the air, hot, wild, untamed. Ethira tightened her grip on her staff and stamped it on the ground. Lightning struck in the distance, illuminating the storm’s grey overcast. A single bolt struck the crystal, dancing about its surface as it illuminated her, breathless and alive.

Eight

With a final arching swing, she redirected the lightning skyward, piercing the dark gloom one last time with a dazzling shower of sparks. The thunder faded into silence once more as the last of the light faded.

Chest heaving, Ethira cut herself off from the flow of magic, sinking to her knees as the energy faded. Again the rain drowned out all else with its monotone drone. She breathed slowly for a moment, letting her own strength return to her.

2. Draped in Gold (Assan Lavellan x Dorian Pavus)

There were many things Assan seemed to have a knack for: archery and bad jokes seemed to be his specialty; suave comments and heart-stopping glances were another set of skills in his arsenal. One thing that Dorian didn't think would make the list was a taste in fashion.

And yet, there he was, resplendent​ in his attire for the ball: he wore a deep scarlet velveteen tunic with a black leather vest. A golden sash with the inquisition's seal embroidered into it draped from one shoulder down his side. A cape lined with fine white fox fur at the shoulders billowed down his back. He wore black and gold leggings with knee high black boots. Upon his face he wore a golden dragon mask. The Vallaslin that was showing under the mask had golden paint mixed into it. The whole effect was stunning to say the least.

"Dorian," He said with a slight purr.

"Amatus," Dorian responded, hoping that his face was nowhere near as red as it felt. He just looked so...  stunning.

 "Shocked, are we?" Assan teased as he held out an arm for him.

"Hardly," Dorian scoffed. "I'm merely impressed that you matched your colors properly."

"Oh please, Josephine picked the colors. I merely picked the mask."

"A dragon mask, for the proud dragon hunter? Someone's going for brownie points with the court."

"Anything to get them talking in our favor. Shall we go?"

Dorian took his arm and followed him outside to the carriage waiting for them. Bull and Blackwall sat inside already. They looked up as they took their seats.

"Going all out, eh, Boss?" Bull grunted. He itched at the collar of his red shirt. Josephine had commissioned identical outfits for the rest of the inquisition attending the ball at the Winter Palace. Crimson button-up shirts trimmed with gold, blue sashes, and ungodly knee high brown boots. Dorian had never felt so shabby. The only thing that made it better was that everyone else looked just as ridiculous.

"As if I could do any less," Assan said as he leaned back in his seat. The carriage rocked as it moved forward. Soon, they would be amidst a throng of nobles vying for more power and favor. Undoubtedly, the night would be incredibly eventful. Nothing normal ever happened to them.

"The evening will not be all fun and games, though," Blackwall said. "There is the peace talks we have to worry about. And the would-be assassin in a room full of fools wearing masks."

"That'll make this night all the more exciting," Dorian said. "Fine wine, fine dining, and the fate of an entire empire in our hands. Choose wrong and we destroy the world. No pressure."

3. The Blood Cure: Chapter 1 (Pavellan AU)

“He’s moving.”

“Keep steady. We don’t know what will happen once he’s fully conscious.”

Assan groaned as he heard the words. They came at him slowly, echoing as though coming at him through a tunnel. All he could feel was cold floor pressed against his cheek. Something was digging into his wrists and ankles.

Slowly, he pushed himself to his knees. He dared open his eyes and squinted in the bright light. Surrounding him were several soldiers, all pointing their guns at him. Painfully tight handcuffs dug into his wrists. His ankles were chained together.

“Finally awake?” A harsh voice asked.

A woman walked a circle around him, glaring in disgust. Ordinarily, he would have been scared, trying to find a way to talk a way out. But, he seemed to be beyond the help of a few cunning words and fake smiles.

"What’s going on?” Assan demanded.

“You damn well know what’s going on!” The woman snapped, kicking him to the floor. “Tell me how you did this!”

“Did what?” Assan snarled.

Another kick to his back was his answer. He hissed as a sharp pain shot up his side. He could hear a faint hitch in her breath; she was failing to keep composure. Something had deeply upset her, and he was apparently tied in with it.

“You will explain this to me now, or so help me, I will kill you,” She snarled, pressing the barrel of a gun against his cheek.

“You tell me what’s going on, and I’ll answer your damn questions.”

There was a silent pause. Another woman’s voice, this one a bit more gentle, answered. “You really don’t know?”

"I don’t even know what I’m doing here. Or how I got here.”

A red haired woman helped him up to a sitting position. She looked him dead in the eyes, “The Divine was trying to settle things between the mages and templars. Then, the whole building was blown to pieces. A foul disease is spreading everywhere. In the midst of the chaos, we found you, healthy, but unconscious. Everyone else was either dead or sick.”

“What does any of this have to do with me?”

The other woman stepped forward, her tone somewhat softer, but her face was still a stone mask, “There is a strange machine in the midst of the chaos; we believe that it is the cause of the sudden outbreak. Hoards of people are now roaming the streets, hysterical and deranged. The dead hunt the living. You are the only one in a state fit to interrogate. We want to know what happened.”

Assan stared down at his hands. He couldn’t remember anything. No machine, no explosion, and certainly no sick people. He looked between the two women, seeing how desperate they were for answers. Answers that he just didn’t have.

“I don’t understand….” He said finally.

“I think… we better show you, if you truly don’t know,” The dark haired woman stood and addressed her companion. “Go to front line, Leliana. We will meet you there.”

The red haired woman drew the hood of her purple sweatshirt, “Be careful, Cassandra.”

She turned and left the room, followed by several soldiers. Cassandra unlocked the shackles around his ankles and gave him a look that clearly said 'if you try anything, you’re a dead man' before unlocking the handcuffs. Assan rubbed his wrists. He doubted he would get very far with four armed men and an even more heavily armed woman escorting him if he tried to run. They had him cornered.

They pushed him from the room, guiding him down the hall. Soldiers ran to and fro; not a single one’s face wasn’t grim as they escorted civilians or carried supplies from one room to another.

They were in a hospital, but there wasn’t that usual feel to it. It was depressed, despaired. The main power supply was off, so only the emergency lights run by the generators were on, which definitely didn’t help with the atmosphere. The whole place gave off a  serious ‘please kill me now’ feeling. Great, he thought, that’s a hopeful sight.

“Things seem pretty bleak,” Assan said, finally noticing that all the windows were boarded up. There were wooden planks and metal plates nailed to every window. “Is it really that bad?”

“You will see soon enough. Come; to the roof, first,” The guards left them as they neared the stairs. She motioned for him to go first. He started up the stairs, noticing how uneasy the air felt once the door shut behind them. The muffled sounds of screams and wails made the hairs on his neck stand on end. He slowed his pace, dreading reaching the roof. Did he really want to see what had happened?

[heartslogos]

send the morning ]82]

“I’m too old to start again,” Varric groans as soon as he sees the elf striding up to him, eyes narrowed against the light glinting off of the snow and the ice. “Do you know how many years Daisy took off of me? Years?”

“I assume that by Daisy you do not mean the common flower but Sabrae,” Lavellan says, pale eyebrows raising, “And am I not following your advice as I said I would? If I am killed for this, know that I will be extremely cross but also slightly vindicated as it happens. And I would take at least two down with me.”

“Maybe,” Varric says, waving the man aside  and rushing them out towards the sparse treelike before someone hears him talking and decides that he’s too much trouble to actually listen to, “Maybe consider not saying those kinds of things out loud. Around people with swords. And more authority than you. Take it from someone who is used to that kind of situation.”

“Why?” Lavellan tilts his head, “Because it is disconcerting to hear?”

“Yes.”

Lavellan slowly blinks at him, “Tethras, that is exactly why I say it.”

“Good to know that all elves have the self preservation skills of nugs.”

“Nugs have lasted this long, no? Who do I speak to, Varric Tethras? Who here has the authority to say that I am obviously not the one responsible for this? I request that you take me to them.”

Varric cringes, “Right. About that. Well. You see, that person doesn’t exactly have good feelings about me. In fact, me bringing you to them would probably get you behind bars just because we shared the same air for a while.”

Lavellan’s eyes narrow. “Explain that.”

“It’s a very long story.”

“Condense it.”

“Petty feelings of unfounded betrayal.”

Lavellan frowns, “What do I have to do, exactly, to make it clear that I have done nothing to warrant being killed on sight?”

“Probably not be seen talking to me.”

“Who else in this camp full of Andrastian humans would I talk to?” Lavellan gestures. “These people hunt my people for sport and tell their children that we eat babies. Everyone knows that there’s no point in eating juvenile animals because it’s a waste of resources and bad animal husbandry unless you’re culling a population. That and it’s much, much more likely for the parents of the child to cannibalize in times of necessity.”

“Again, you should probably hold back on saying some of those things out loud. Around the people with swords. The Andrastian humans who hunt your people for sport.”

Lavellan scowls, “Do they not like the truth when it it is presented plainly?”

“Not usually,” Varric shrugs, “That’s what people like me are for. Anyway. Here’s what we’re going to do. I’m going back in there and I’m going to find Solas - he’s also an elf and he’s  - “

There’s a loud and almost deafening crackling boom in the direction of the Breach, followed by a flash of green that Varric almost thinks he imagined. But Lavellan’s eyes widen and his head snaps towards the direction of the ruined Temple of Sacred Ashes.

There’s a sound of horns — alarms.

“Well, shit,” Varric says, “I guess you’re good. I mean. You aren’t there obviously, so it can’t be you.”

-

“You were meant to be watching the boy!” Krem exclaims as he gapes at the scene in front of them.

Grim shrugs and continues mopping up a mess of flour, dough, possibly fruit, gravy, maybe someone’s sick, and ale. It is the floor of the Herald’s Rest so three of those things are usually there anyway.

Flyssa’s stern eye turns somewhat bemused, “To be fair to Grim, he is a hard boy to keep track of.”

“I don’t see how the boy being unusual and peculiar leads to this within an instant,” Krem says, “Do I want to know? Maker - sorry, miss, for the trouble. Andraste’s flaming sword. At least no one got hurt.”

Krem turns and holds up a finger at Rocky, “You? You don’t count. You brought this down on your own damn self.”

After a moment’s thought, he changes the finger he’s holding up.

“Fuck you too, Aclassi. Pardon the language, miss.”

“I’ve heard worse from your mouth,” Flyssa says, “Grim, careful. You are about to step into something, dear.”

Grim makes an appreciative sounding mm and carefully reorients himself to continue cleaning.

“Where’s the boy now?”

Everyone points up and Krem sighs.

“Don’t worry, Evelyn got here first,” Rocky says. “She’s already gone up to talk to him. I figure that Evelyn’s good at this kind of thing. She was a teacher in the Circle, or something like. She’ll get it across to him in a ways he can figure without getting too tangled up about it.”

-

“I just want my cut,” Mahanon says, “Before Dorian finds out I’m here and that I won a bet based on him losing. Hurry and count out my coins, Trevelyan.”

“But we never spend time together, anymore, Mahanon. You’ve become ever so popular among the spymaster’s ranks that you’re always too busy for me,” Maxwell says. “I miss it when we went on adventures together.”

“Are you, by any chance, referring to when I had to take you hunting because we were all starving in the middle of the mountains without a supply chain?” Mahanon says slowly as Maxwell sorts out coins.

“You make it sounds incredibly dull,” Maxwell says.

“That was not adventure, that was a job we had to do and for whatever reason we ended up stuck doing it together,” Mahanon says. “Possibly because they thought my skill would be able to overcome your inability to do anything involving stealth.”

“That’s very hurtful, after all, I’m the one who holds all the betting information because I am just that good at hiding gossip.”

“That’s because you have the same face the fancy humans have,” Mahanon says, “The default face that I want to push into a latrine just to see what would happen. Your face gets stuck in an endless loop of polite interest and subtle agreement. It would be infuriating if it wasn’t so banal.”

[lafaiette]

Joy and Humility - Chapter 7

Scarlet Lavellan’s parents decide to visit Skyhold and finally meet Solas.

Mama Lavellan is thrilled. Papa Lavellan is not exactly amused.

(In which Papa Lavellan finally starts to consider Solas part of the family and his worst fear is confirmed.)

Chapter 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6

Other Solavellan fics: here

“And then Solas used one of his spells – don’t ask me what it was, ma’am, because I have no idea – to burn to a crisp the darkspawn attacking us in Storm Coast.”

Bull swallows a big gulp of ale, while Nehn next to him graciously accepts the salted nuts the Chargers offer her.

“And then…!” the Qunari continues, flashing a grin, “he used that weird Fade magic he knows to make a fist appear out of nowhere and kill the last one of those fuckers, saving Boss’ life!”

“Oh, my!”

Nehn turns to her daughter, smiling happily, clearly enjoying Bull’s colorful descriptions and stories about Solas.

He and the others have been telling her things about her daughter’s mate for a good hour, now, and she knows exactly what they are trying to do. She isn’t sure whether to believe everything they are telling her – Varric swore Solas (or Chuckles, as he calls him) froze a dragon midair, making it fall onto the ground and crash into million pieces -, but she admires and respect the sentiment and doesn’t doubt that the elven mage is talented as they say.

There is a large bag at her feet, full of books and volumes Dorian and Vivienne gave her during her visit at the tower Scarlet restored for the mages in visit at Skyhold; they are mostly simple books about elven history and lore, but they are incredibly precious for the Dalish and her daughter assured her that she can bring them to the clan if she wishes to, because the mages already copied them down or there are more copies to be found at Val Royeaux.

Truly a miracle, Nehn thinks, before thinking about her husband and Solas, currently exploring that underground library she heard so much about all by themselves. She hopes they are alright and that nothing bad happened; she saw and heard her husband apologize to Solas and they left quite happily, but her husband is a stubborn man and Solas carries his pride in his name.

“He kisses Scarlet’s eyes every night before falling asleep.” a new voice tells her, close to her. She gasps and turns, then a smile blooms on her face as she recognizes Cole. He smiles at her, too, not seeing Scarlet’s blush and not hearing her strangled noise.

“One kiss to wish her goodnight, one to wish her a good morning for the next day.” he continues and even if that detail is much private and causes Bull to make a whistling sound and Cassandra to gasp with pleasure while Varric takes note of it on his journal, Nehn is overjoyed by it. It tells more about her future son-in-law than all the stories Scarlet’s companions told her.

“Is that so?” She turns to her daughter and sees her blush and look down at her lap with a bashful smile. “Oh, da’vhenan! I knew he was a romantic!”

“They always walk hand in hand.” Dorian adds and Varric senses that’s a good moment to speak up as well: “They gave me the inspiration for a new chapter of my smutty book, you know? Not that I saw them doing anything racy in daylight. But they are quite passionate.”

“Guys!” Scarlet exclaims, redder than her hair and the wine Cabot is pouring with a smirk.

“They call each other ‘ma sa’lath’.” Cassandra says, mispronouncing the word a little, and Nehn giggles at that, while her daughter groans and bangs her forehead against the counter. The older Dalish woman is even more convinced, now, that Solas is the right man for her daughter and she begs his friends to tell her more.

And even if Varric and Bull tend to exaggerate a lot and Sera keeps insisting that he is an ‘egg’, for some mysterious reason, she sees and finds truth in their words and her joy increases, spreading across her face in the shape of a blush and two big dimples, while Scarlet listens with a goofy smile on her face and eyes cast down, long fingers playing with the hem of her precious shirt.

And that’s when Solas and Athim enter, the latter carrying a second bag full of books. They are talking civilly to each other and her husband is even smiling, a small, but warm smile like the ones he gives only to his family and close friends.

Solas looks more relaxed, at ease; he walks with his hands behind his back and he stands tall, but he is actually walking behind Athim, even if almost imperceptibly, to offer him respect and show that he isn’t superior to him. He is smiling, too, and his smile only grows when he spots Scarlet at the counter.

Bull and Varric whisper something to each other, then the first roars, letting everyone in the tavern hear him: “And then Solas summoned a giant fireball and the whole group of Venatori surrounding us kneeled on the ground, begging to be spared, and the mage of the group even complimented his magic and…”

“Now that’s a story I’d like to hear.” Athim snorts, smirking at the Qunari before turning to Solas, who sighs and blushes, shaking his head at his snickering companions. Dorian and Cassandra have the gall to look completely innocent, while Bull and Varric don’t deny what they are trying to do.

“How was the underground library? Did you like it?” Scarlet asks, rising to kiss her father on the cheek. Nehn takes his hand, squeezing it lovingly, because she knows that he and Solas behaved well and she and Scarlet did well in trusting them.

“I see you found some good books, too! Dorian and Lady Vivienne gave me some incredibly interesting volumes, vhenan, and Scarlet said we can take them to the clan!”

“Are you sure?” he asks his daughter with wide eyes and she laughs, nodding.

“Of course! We have copies of them and I’m sure Keeper Deshanna will find them useful for her lessons.”

“Speaking of lessons…” Dorian starts, curling his mustache with nonchalance. “Solas is extremely skilled in teaching, you know? Scarlet and I once watched him teach a new trick to the young mages in visit here.” He grins at Scarlet, who has gotten all red, probably remembering a very particular detail of that episode. “I remember you complimented the way his fingers moved, my friend.”

“Dorian!” she hisses, but Athim seems unfazed by it for once. He just grunts as he sits down next to his wife, while Solas glares at the Altus and his ears turn pink like Scarlet’s.

“Well, I witnessed his great knowledge just earlier.” Athim says, gratefully accepting the cup of wine Cabot just poured him. “We met two Dalish elves, Cillian of clan Ralaferin and Loranil from Hawen’s clan.”

The companions and Scarlet pale at that, while Nehn gasps and brings her hands to her face, beaming like a star. Everyone suspects the worst, everyone fears the meeting went bad, that Solas was mortified or left in a corner and everyone - except for Scarlet, who has no idea what Loranil feels for her - thinks the young Dalish elf ignited his jealousy and self-deprecation.

“I heard many things about Cillian and his clan! Oh, I had no idea he was here!”

“He is a good fellow.” Athim says with a smile and Dorian and Cassandra exchange a worried look, while Varric desperately thinks of something else good to say about Solas and Bull tries to come up with more extravagant stories.

But then Athim turns to Solas, who is sitting next to Scarlet with a surprisingly pleased expression on his face, and adds: “Solas knows much about the discipline Cillian is studying, so he accepted to teach him and others the ancient elven ways he learned in the Fade.”

Everyone turns to Solas at that and his smile grows, turning a bit timid, but also proud, and his eyes are filled with love when Scarlet cheers and throws her arms around him. It’s a great step in the right direction, she thinks, the perfect way for him to finally have more friends, connect with more people, and let himself go around others.

And the way Athim spoke, clearly glad of what happened and respectful of Solas’ knowledge, means that the old Dalish man is finally changing his mind about the other elf, if not quickly, at least surely and steadily. Nehn is aware of that, too, and she thanks her husband with a discreet kiss on the lips.

“He knows every corner and every shelf of the library, doesn’t he?” Varric intervenes, continuing his and the others’ plan to celebrate Solas and put him under the best light possible. “Chuckles always had a great memory.”

Some playful light twinkles in Athim’s eyes and he hums, before nodding and observing his daughter talk animatedly with the elven apostate; she is talking quickly, excitedly, oozing joy and warmth from every pore and red strand of hair, and Solas looks at her with loving eyes, a hand on her waist, the other on her knee.

“Always so brilliant, always so ready to help.” Dorian continues and it’s true; despite Solas’ aloof manners and his maybe-too-polite smiles, he is also very kind and many people witnessed his gestures of selflessness, when more refugees than usual came to Skyhold and he helped heal them all, or when he personally prepared potions and concoctions for the sick, coughing pilgrims and their children.

“Always eager to learn more.” Cassandra adds, hoping the Dalish appreciate curiosity, and Cole enigmatically says: “He knows much, but now he wants to learn everything about this world. He likes it now. Sniffing the air and thinking it has a good smell, he explores the new woods.”

Athim shoots him an odd glance, thinking that if anyone here knows what Solas’ haunted past is – because he is sure the young man is haunted by something -, that someone might be Cole. Spirits are supposed to know a lot, right? And this one in particular – Compassion, he was told – might indeed reassure him immensely.

“Say, Cole,” he starts, fully turning to the mysterious boy, whose giant hat almost hides his pale face completely, “Solas told me you’re a dear friend and a very special creature. Person.” He clears his throat, not wanting to offend the boy, but Cole looks extremely pleased and happy.

“You’re very dear to my daughter, too.” Athim continues and Cole looks about to burst into an explosion of light and bubbling laughter. His smile is a particularly sweet sight.

“Thank you!” he exclaims and the old Dalish elf can’t help but chuckle at that.

He turns to the others, who are listening intently, and he doesn’t miss Nehn’s confused look. They don’t understand what he’s trying to ask, so he hurries to do so, turning back to Cole and saying:

“You know him well, right? So…”

“You want to know if they’re happy?” Bull interrupts him, scratching his chin. “Man, everyone can see they are!”

“No.” Cole says gently, never looking away from Athim. “You want to know if he will keep making her happy in the future, too.”

“Yes.” Athim’s tone changes suddenly, turning heated, impatient, urgent. He grasps the spirit boy’s wrist, not too strongly to avoid hurting him, but the grip is powerful all the same. The spirit’s skin is cold and dry, maybe too thin, but he tries not to focus too much on that.

“Once this awful war is over, do you know – can you know - what will happen to them?” He glances furtively at Solas and Scarlet, who are still discussing his future lessons and this great opportunity.

Nehn looks about to protest and tell him to stop, but she is Scarlet’s mother and even if she clearly trusts Solas completely, while Athim still wants to be a little cautious, she has every right to worry and expect some enlightenment from a spirit. So she holds her breath and leans closer to Cole from her stool, clasping her hands in a silent prayer to the Creators.

The others are curious, too, included Dorian, who should know that Cole’s abilities can’t look into the future; he knows that and Cassandra knows it as well, but Cole is such a peculiar spirit and there is always a first time for everything and the Fade and its inhabitants are great mysteries that not even the greatest expert – probably not even Solas – can completely explain up to the smallest detail.

And since Cole looks so serious and solemn - a rare event since he usually looks either gloomy and shy or enthusiastic and curious -, they have all the reasons to move closer and wait for his response.

“I don’t know.” he answers in the end. Athim deflates a little at that, but Nehn keeps looking fervently at the spirit boy and he slowly continues: “But if they keep talking like they are doing now, things will be fine.”

“Communication is an important part of a relationship.” Nehn confirms, nodding solemnly, and Cole nods, too, more solemn than her. They look like two elven statues, Athim thinks, full of truth and answers.

The companions briefly redirect their attention elsewhere to discuss what Cole just said – they have been reassured, comforted, and they believe there will be no dark shadows on the horizon for their dear friends, for sweet Scarlet and brilliant Solas, because how could communication ever stop existing in a relationship like theirs? They always talk, they always fix everything by talking, opening up to each other, and revealing their biggest fears to the other.

Athim is humble and so he accepts Cole’s prediction humbly, thanking him, but he’s also stubborn and even if he likes Solas, even if he knows he loves Scarlet a lot and he’s willing to welcome him into the family, he still can feel something isn’t right, like a minuscule, black dot on a white sheet, slowly spreading and showing itself to the world.

He grasps Cole’s shoulders – so bony and sturdy at the same time – and leans even further in until he’s hidden under his hat with him. And then he whispers, locking eyes with the spirit, gazing into his deep, blue irises so full of knowledge and innocence:

“He’s hiding something, isn’t he?”

Cole doesn’t answer, but his silence is answer enough and Athim sees something flicker in his eyes, maybe surprise, maybe hesitation. He tightens his jaw, sets his mouth into a straight, thin line, then pulls away, sheepishly smiling at Nehn, who didn’t hear his question and is fretting over him and the boy.

“Athim, please! What is this about?”

“Nothing. It’s all good now.” He kisses her to apologize, then thanks Cole again, but the spirit boy has become unresponsive and his face – ageless and young at the same time – is thoughtful, as if he’s lost into deep, important considerations. He smiles a little when Nehn talks to him and brushes back the hair from his face, but there is a weight in his posture, now, and Athim feels responsible and guilty for it.

The rest of the day proceeds well. He visits the mage tower and the rest of Skyhold, with its many rooms, nooks, hidden passageways, and doors. He listens to Solas, asks him questions and answers his and a sincere affection for the young man grows in his heart, replacing the silly jealousy and fears he had before.

He doesn’t bother Solas and Scarlet when they kiss or smile at each other; he still tries to catch his daughter’s attention, because he hasn’t seen her for so long and he thinks he deserves to spend more time with her before leaving, but he happily shares the rest of his time with her friends and her boyfriend and soon he’s busier than ever.

Nehn blooms under their daughter’s attention and care; it didn’t look like it before, but Scarlet’s departure from the clan affected her greatly, too, and only now she’s recovering from it, sure that she will be protected and kept safe, respected and loved. She cries on multiple occasions, always out of joy, and Solas becomes a second son to her, so much she asks him to accompany her everywhere and her motherly affection puts a big smile on his face and a nostalgic light in his eyes.

They decide to stay there five more days, accepting Scarlet’s tearful, hopeful offer, and time passes quickly; Athim and Solas talk a lot before falling asleep and he still has some doubts and he doesn’t always understand what the young man is talking about or studying, but he has seen Scarlet’s joy and that’s enough to convince him.

A shard of fear remains stuck in his heart, but he calmly ignores it, preferring to concentrate on Solas’ smile whenever he mentions Scarlet, the light in his eyes whenever he talks about her brilliance and kindness, his confidence as he tries to explain his theories and studies.

Cole hasn’t told him anything else and Athim doesn’t have the courage to insist and ask more, but his instincts are rarely wrong and he observes Solas sleep at night with a serious expression and a quiet acceptance in his troubled heart.

Then, the five days end and he and Nehn stand at the gate of the fortress, holding their crying daughter and reassuring her that everything will be alright, that they will always be there for her.

Five guards – gentle, robust people from all races equipped with well-crafted weapons - are respectfully waiting on the bridge; they will accompany them safely to the Free Marches, ensuring their safe return to clan Lavellan - Scarlet’s orders. Athim is actually grateful for it, because the big majority of Thedas knows about him and Nehn, now, and he doesn’t want anyone to try hurting their daughter through them.

Nehn apparently adopted all her friends, too; Sera is still wary and awkward around them, but she gives them two jars of good, Nevarran honey, stolen from only-Creators-know-where, and she accepts Nehn’s hug with red cheeks and a weird, endearing pout.

Dorian, the Tevinter, actually sheds some tears. He is “our shem son”, Nehn told Athim, and he never dreamed to ask for something like that, but the lad is a good man and he was able to get to know him better and appreciate his humor, kindness, and irony in the past days. Scarlet adores him and he adores Scarlet, so Athim has learned to approve of him, too, and Nehn always seizes the chance to smooch his cheeks and fix the collar of his robes.

And then there are the others; Bull and his Chargers, which Nehn recognized them as his family and treated as such; Cassandra and her pragmatic, but warm manners; Varric and his stories, often revolving around him more than he realizes and admits; Lady Vivienne and her motherly ways; Blackwall and his quiet, humble bravery that Athim admires a lot; Leliana, Josephine, and Cullen, each with their own kind of kindness and thoughtfulness; and then Cole and his sweet compassion, accompanied by the secrets he keeps for others.

Solas is the last one they hug and say goodbye to, because they want to do it right and memorize his smile and touch before they go. Nehn holds him tightly and he timidly returns the hug, like a child who isn’t sure his mother wants to be hugged today. But Nehn always accepts hugs and she already loves him greatly, so she pats his back and Solas finally smiles.

“Take care of my da’adahl, yes?” she says, cradling his face in her small hands. He nods, swallowing a hard lump in his throat, and if Nehn misses the scared flicker in his eyes because she has to dry hers, Athim doesn’t and he approaches Solas with a calm, but serious demeanor.

“Lethallin.” he says, pulling him into his arms before pulling back and clasping his shoulders. “Once this war is over, we will wait for you at the clan.”

Something breaks in Solas’ eyes, but he holds his emotions back – or at least tries to – and his only answer is a slow, short nod and the hint of a shaky smile. So up close, Athim is able to glimpse tears in his eyes and his worst fears come back, together with the half-formed certainty that things won’t go as well as everyone is sure of.

He will keep this to himself, though, because he can’t be completely sure and maybe it’s just his paranoia whispering ill things into his head. He saw the joy and love in both Scarlet’s and Solas’ eyes, he saw how happy they are – he can’t keep causing her trouble and pain like he did the first day.

“Watch over Scarlet for us.” he continues and there is a promise written on Solas’ face, now, and he finally speaks, his voice soft and hoarse: “Of course, hahren.”

Solas squeezes his arm, then lets him go and steps back to take Scarlet’s right hand. They stand there, under the main gate, with their friends and wave at them as they walk across the bridge with their guards.

“Isn’t he a good man?” Nehn says as they wave back and she’s still sniffling and barely holding back her last tears. “I’m so happy, Athim, so happy! I can’t wait for this wretched war to be over, so they will finally be able to get married.”

“Yes.” He watches his daughter and her mate from afar; he can see the sadness and worry in her stance, in the way she waves her hand, just like she would do when she was little and he had to leave the clan to go hunting with the others and she feared for his wellbeing.

Those memories bring tears to his eyes – he’s afraid of losing her to Corypheus and his mad minions, afraid of seeing her suffer because Solas couldn’t stay, afraid of her discovering what is haunting that man so much, something that can’t be anything good.

He’s scared and he isn’t able to refrain from crying, even if quietly. But Nehn of course notices it – she is always so very sweet and observant, just like their daughter – and her hand holding his gives him strength.

“Don’t worry, vhenan.” she says as they resume walking, turning back every ten steps or so. She is still crying, louder than him, and the five soldiers of the Inquisition accompanying them patiently wait a bit far ahead, never complaining, never asking them to hurry.

“We will see her again.” Nehn continues and she makes it sound like a beautiful, certain promise. “I know we will. She will win and she and Solas will visit us at the clan to get married. I can already picture it in my mind.” She giggles, a wet, but cheerful and joyous sound. “I can even picture all her friends sitting around the fire! I want that dear boy Dorian to dance with us.”

“Your imagination is a blessing.” Athim chuckles, kissing her ruffled hair. He turns to watch Scarlet one last time and his heart beats painfully fast in his chest, hope and fear mixed together, a dangerous combination that won’t let him sleep for months.

They slowly leave the bridge and his fear is replaced by sudden surprise – and a bit of alarm – when wolves start howling in the far, snowy distance.

“It’s alright, my lady.” one of the guards, a young dwarven woman with an honest face, says to Nehn when she gasps and looks around. “There are many wolves living near Skyhold, but they never approach the fortress. They are basically harmless.”

“It’s strange.” Nehn chuckles, recovering from her scare. “It’s like they are saying goodbye. Do you think it’s a good omen from the Dread Wolf, vhenan?”

“Hm.” Athim grimaces, looking at the majestic Frostback Mountains all around them, as though he could catch a glimpse of the wolves on their rocky, white sides. “I hope so.”

He turns for the last time towards Skyhold and sees that Scarlet, Solas, and the others are still standing by the gate.

They aren’t waving anymore, but he can still recognize their shapes and forms, Solas’ pale face and his sweater fluttering in the cold wind. He’s still holding Scarlet’s hand and Athim clearly sees him press a kiss on her cheek. He can already imagine her red cheeks and shy smile.

Athim abruptly looks away and his hope manages to win over his fears, as the wolves howl louder.

Another long fic completed! ( ´ ▽ ` ) It started rather funny and lighthearted and it ends on a sadder, melancholic note. ;_;  You can't fool a parent's instincts, after all.

I had a lot of fun writing it and developing Nehn and Athim's personalities - maybe I'll add one or two more chapters focusing on those days spent at Skyhold or even set after Trespasser. Athim's rage would be something to fear.

Thank you so much!

[jentrevellan]

Summary: A modern AU setting of Thedas! … Lyla Lavellan is heading to Skyhold University, after dropping out of her previous uni. A distance relationship with her boyfriend Solas in Denerim is put under strain but she soon becomes fast friends with her new housemates, classmates and work colleagues, including uni drop-out Cullen Rutherford.

Read on Ao3 -> Read on FF -> Artwork by @lillotte17

Chapter 7: Lyla

“Are we friends?”

I look up from my desk. I’ve been pouring over the textbooks ready to start uni next week and I didn’t hear Sera come up. She stands in my doorway, leaning against the frame, looking down at her feet. Strange; it’s rather meek of her.

“Of course we are - well, I hope we are,” I smile.

She shuffles into my room and sits on my bed. I swivel in my chair and turn my music down. “What’s up?”

“You really wanna know?” she asks, twisting her hands in front of her.

I frown. “Only if you want to tell me,” I say gently.

She puffs her cheeks, starts a sentence a few times before blurting out: “What’s the deal with Solas?”

It’s as if a bucket of ice has been chucked over me. I blink several times before saying in a voice, more level than I feel; “W-what do you mean?”

“Sorry, but I don’t like him.”

I take a steadying breath. “Sera-”

“Does he hurt you?”

I stare at her, repeating her question in my mind. Does he hurt me? Oh, yes he does. Can I tell her that? Can I tell anyone that? No.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” I say carefully, turning back in my chair to my work. I thumb a page in a textbook and pretend to write down a note. “Solas and I are just going through a… rough patch, that's all,” I explain patiently, my voice surprisingly level.

Sera doesn't reply. A few minutes later she gets up with a huff and stalks out of my room, slamming the door behind her. I stare at the back of my bedroom door, feeling empty. It takes me a few minutes to notice the tears spilling from my eyes. Droplets fall on my notes, blurring the ink, so I wipe my eyes furiously. I push myself up from my chair and flop down on my bed, bringing a pillow of my face, as I sob silently into it. I don’t feel anything, and that’s what scares me. It’s almost as if I’m still sat at my desk, watching a girl cry but feeling no emotional attachment, like a dull television show.

I know Sera is trying but I cannot tell anyone. What would Solas do if he found out I had told a friend - or anyone for that matter - that I think he’s abusing me? To be fair, I’ve never really brought the subject up with him. Maybe… maybe he doesn’t realise that he’s hurting me.

I steady my breathing and pull my pillow away. Yes, that’s got to be it. I’m not abused. Neither of us know any better. First relationship. All the magazines and movies say that communication is key. My stomach clenches - when was the last time we actually sit down and talked? Have we… ever?

My phone buzzes on my desk. I reach forward look at the ID, noting a text from Cullen. But the caller ID takes up most of the screen. It’s a picture of Solas and I over a year ago. I’m smiling in the picture. Was I happy?

I swipe my phone to answer the call. “Heya,” I say, voice muffled from little crying fit I’d had.

“Hey, wass sup? Wanna time face me nude? Heh. I wanna see all of you.”

His words are slurred. I feel sick. “I, ah, I look a mess. And I’m studying. Maybe later?”

“Oh, come ooon.” he says, drawing out his words.

“No,” I snap. I can feel myself shaking. Emotions returning.

“Wha-the fuck Ly?”  

Ok, deep breath. “I said no, okay? You’re drunk.”

“So? You're my girlfrien’.”

“I said no.”

“You don’ get to say no to me.”

I bristle. “What?! And what are you going to do about it?” I feel stronger knowing that he’s not here. I would never dare say this to his face.

A harsh laugh makes my toes curl in disgust. “You want to be punished? Oh yeah you do. I can do tha’ when I see you.”

“Oh, and when will that be? You never visit me. I always have to visit you.” It’s what’s been on my mind for months now. But I try to ignore that stray thought that I don’t even want to see him: that it’s my duty to do so.

“Whatever. Are you gonna TimeFace me or no?”

“I said NO,” I practically shout. Not caring that Sera could hear me in the room next door, or Cassandra in the room below.

“Fuck you, Ly.”

I hang up and carefully place my phone on the bedside table. I calmly lie back down on the bed and scream into my pillow.

When I wake in the morning, I’m still dressed in what I was wearing when I cried myself to sleep. I chuckle darkly at the thought. Am I fifteen again, crying myself to sleep? Creators, help me.

I sit up in bed and stretch, rubbing my eyes which feel too big and puffy to be mine. I reach for my phone and finally open the message from Cullen I’d forgotten to check after that disastrous call yesterday.

<Cullen (from work) Rutherford> [You working on Sunday?x]

I check my diary and punch reply, relieved for the distraction.

[Morning! Yeah, but finishing early as I’m starting uni on Monday!x]

He replies almost straight away. I can’t help but smile.

<Cullen (from work) Rutherford> [Oh of course! You’ll be fine: Dorian’s with you for most classes, isn't he?x]

[Not sure if that’s a reassuring notion or not! Do you want a lift to work on Sun?x]

Again, an instant reply. I can’t help but play with that little pendant around my neck. I freeze when I realise what I’m doing and snatch my hand away.

<Cullen (from work) Rutherford> [If that’s ok?? I hate to ask!x]

[Hmm, you just want me for my car! Haha!x]

There’s a slight delay before he replies.

<Cullen (from work) Rutherford> [You know that’s not true.x]

[Haha I know, just winding you up. ;) Of course I’ll give you a lift. Pick you up around 11am?x]

<Cullen (from work) Rutherford> [Amazing - thank you! I owe you a coffee or two!x]

I don’t hesitate in my reply.

[Okay.x]

But then I get no answer. Oh crap, what if he’s taken it the wrong way? Well, part of me wants him to take it the wrong way… wait, did I just admit that? I shake my head and throw my phone to the floor, running my hands through my hair. One battle at a time, I scold myself.

Instead I jump in the shower, noting that Sera’s door is closed, as are Dorian’s and Cassandra’s. I take a long shower, letting the water wash over me, enjoying the warmth. I scrub hard at my skin, hoping it erases the memories of the night before and of that phone conversation. When I’m out the shower and dressed, I pick up my phone and find that I’ve got no calls or texts. It’s a strange mixture of relief and annoyance.

After a few minutes, I dry my hair and braid it loosely before lying back down on my bed. I need to think about things, but I really don’t want to. Part of me wants to hibernate, hoping this will all blow over. I peer over and look at the stack of books on my desk, all new and fresh, ready for the new term to start in two days. I finally pick up my phone again and text Dorian.

[Hey! If I make some hot chocolate, can we study together today?x]

As I wait for a reply, I flick through various social media channels. I end up on BookFace and browse Solas’ profile. I frown at some pictures he’s tagged in. Curiously, I look further and see pictures from last night. He’s at a nightclub (since when did he go clubbing?). His arm around a woman’s shoulders. She’s pecking his cheek. His eyelids are heavy and he’s clearly intoxicated in the snaps, which are a tad blurry. I’m not sure what this bizarre feeling is in my gut. Am I jealous? Envious? Overreacting?

Yes, yes I’m just overreacting.

“Knock knock!” Dorian says from my doorway. I shove my phone under my pillow.

“Hey! Did you get my text?” I fiddle with the pendant distractedly around my neck.

He rolls his eyes. “I did. You do know that we live in the same house, right? One floor below each other?”

I chuckle. “I wasn’t sure you were in,” I say, shuffling up when he comes to sit next to me on my bed.

“Next time why don’t you knock? I’ll even put a handkerchief on the doorknob if I’ve got company,” he winks at me.

Now it’s my turn to roll my eyes. “Oh geez, Dorian.”

“Just saying! It could happen!” He reaches to my desk and grabs one of the thicker books. “Ooh, my favourite - political analysis of Ferelden literature form the 4th Age. You ready to begin?”

I grab my note pad and we sit and study together. As I get to know Dorian more and more, I’m beginning to see just how brilliant his mind is. He’s so quick and switched on - I’m lucky to be learning from him. However, his eager eye is almost too eager.

“What’s this?” he says, leaning forward to look at the pendant around my neck.

“Oh! It’s a Jayne Ayres necklace,” I smile, showing him the tiny inscription.

“Did Solas give it to you?”

I snort. “No way. Cullen got it for me actually.”

His eyebrows rise. “Oh, really?”  

“Yeah, for Satinalia… he gets everyone gifts, he said…?” Dorian’s eyebrows rise so high, I think they’re going to disappear in his hairline. “What?” I demand, giving him a gentle shove with my  shoulder.

“Oh, nothing. Let’s move on to Orlesian romance, shall we?”

We fall back into our comfortable study silence, pouring over books and writing notes. He shows me his notes and annotations from last term and by the end of the afternoon, despite being up in my room all day with no breaks, we’ve covered all the work I’d missed. I’m amazed at how well we study together. We lie on my bed - tops and tails - cushions propping us up on either end, books scattered on my bed, empty coffee cups lining my desk.

It’s almost dark when Dorian says, “There’s something vibrating.” I blink at him, trying to comprehend. He shuffles around on my bed, moving my pillows and cushions. “Is it your-”

“It’s my phone, Dorian! My phone!” I say exasperated, but laughing.

He picks it up and to my horror he answers, laughter hitching in my throat. “Hello, this is Dorian.”

There’s a voice on the other end I can't hear. I scramble forward and reach for it, but Dorian is surprisingly strong and effortlessly manages to still hold the phone whilst dodging my grabbing hands. Panic sets in - shit, what if it’s Solas?

“Oh, I’m sorry, she’s rather busy right now,” he says in a bored voice.

I try not to scream. If Solas is on the other end, I… I don’t know what I’m going to do. I struggle harder, knowing Dorian is only jesting, teasing me as friends do, but Solas won’t understand. He won’t see it that way! He’ll think I’m cheating on him with Dorian! Creators, help me!

“So why don’t you tell me about this necklace, hmm?”

I freeze, eyes widening. Dorian smirks.

“And where’s my present?” he scoffs. “All right, I’ll pass you over - hang on.” He holds the phone out to me. “Cully Wully, for you.”

I snatch my phone out of his hands, and he barks out a laugh. I tug my hair behind my ears and clear my throat. “Um, hello Cullen.”

“Hey - please ignore Dorian… please?” his voice hums on the other end. I ignore my stomach flipping. I’m just relieved it’s not Solas, aren't I? Creators, my emotions are a mess.

“OK I’ll ignore him,” I chuckle, peering at Dorian, who’s watching me closely.

“Look, I’m sorry to call, but Blackwall’s just phoned in sick. Can you come and work this evening instead of Sunday?”

“Of course,” I say instantly.

A relieved sigh. “Amazing, thank you so much.”

“I’ll be there in twenty minutes - that okay?”

“More than okay,” he says. My face warms.

“Alright, see you in a bit.”

“Bye.”

I hang up and glare at Dorian. “What?”

He hums and twirls his moustache. “Oh, nothing, nothing.”

“Dorian-” I begin and his smile fades. My voice broke. Oh crap, are those hot tears? Shit!

“What is it?” he asks, face now full of concern.

“I… please, I don't want to sound horrid, but please don’t answer my phone. If that had been Solas then…”

“Then what?” he presses.

“Solas would’ve flipped a lid,” Sera says from my doorway. I jump up, startled. “I’m right, aren’t I?” she says, arms folded.

I chew my lip and turn away, pulling open my wardrobe, searching for my bar clothes. I hate that she’s right, and I think she knows that. But I can’t… I mustn’t speak.

“What on earth are you prattling on about?” Dorian asks as I quickly pack my bag.

“Solas is-.”

“Drop it, Sera,” I warn quietly. I rummage under my bed for my shoes and pull them on, not looking at either of them.

She strides into my room. “No, I won’t drop it! I’ve seen your arms!” Her face is so close to mine, that as I stand, I can see every little freckle on her cheeks.

Dorian stands. “Sera, what-”

“Your arms!” Sera demands.

I take a breath. “I don’t know what you’re on about,” I say calmly, pushing past her, hoisting my bag on my shoulder and running down the stairs. I don’t even say farewell to either of them.

By the time I finally arrive at the pub, my strange mix of anger, fear and - well - just that strange conflict of emotions disappears as soon as I push through the doors. The pub is packed full, mainly with Skyhold rugby fans, all slopping beers, singing awful chants and generally just getting merrily smashed. And let me tell you that being sober, in a strange state of emotions and working in a roomful of sports fans, is not really that much fun.

I slip through the crowds and behind the bar, shimmying past Cullen and Maryden who don’t even clock that I’ve arrived. I dash upstairs, throw my bag on the sofa in the staff room and quickly ready myself by pinning on my apron and brushing myself down. I hold a hair bobble between my teeth as I pull my hair into a messy bun and pause: my eyes are still red and puffy. Did I cry on my way over here? The drive to work is a bit of a blur.

And so I rummage in my handbag for foundation, eyeliner or any sort of makeup but - Fen’harel take me! I’ve got nothing. I’ll have to go down on the bar floor looking like a right state. How did I end up like this? Never mind - I’m sure that the business of the pub downstairs will, no doubt, keep me occupied, so these nasty thoughts won’t have time to filter through and throw me off-balance. I remember that Cullen said he keeps himself busy to distract him from Kirkwall. I wonder if that technique will work for me too, as I try to forget this mess I’m in?

Minutes later I’m behind the bar, working between Maryden and Cullen, pouring pints, making spirits and counting out change. As I stand and take a breath pulling a large order of beer, Cullen slides up next to me, using a different tap.

“Hey,” he says.

“Hey yourself,” I grin, tilting the pint glass with one hand, whilst pumping the tap with the other. “Blackwall bailed on your again, huh?” I say conversationally.

“Yep,” he does the same with his pint, before flicking a glance at me. “But I think I prefer working with you.”

I try to ignore that little flip my stomach does at his words. Instead I chuckle and shove him gently with my arm. He realities and does the same, a wicked smile breaking on his face.

“Flatterer,” I say, starting another pint.

He shrugs. “I try.”

We fall back into that satisfactory rhythm of working around each other, even with Maryden - who I’ve only worked with once before - humming around us. As I suspected, those nagging little thoughts have all gone, and despite everything and how tired I am, this evening I feel at my most content. I’m actually enjoying being worked off my feet, of working with a someone who is becoming a good friend. I smile to myself - I really do enjoy working with Cullen. I glance at him just a few inches away, our arms are close enough again that they occasionally brush. His white shirt sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, his apron is mucky over his dark jeans and he’s also smiling, but he’s smiling at me. Shit. I hide my confusion of emotions by pulling a stupid (and probably repulsive) expression on my face. Instead he throws his head back and laughs, little creases cornering his eyes. I have to admit - I like his laugh. Makes me want to laugh. Bugger.

As the evening continues, the bar starts to quieten down as many groups shuffle off to seek nightclubs who will remain open. I glance at the clock, noting that there’s only an hour of serving time left, when a familiar face leans over the bar.

“Hello Lyla,” Cassandra says, her words a little slurred.

Cullen touches my arm, and I move away from the till: it’s a normal gesture we use as we work around one another. And yet I try to ignore the warmth of his hand when it touched my arm.

“Hey Cass,” I beam. “What can I get you?”

She purses her lips in thought, looking at the rows of spirits behind me. “I’ll get eight bottles of… Skyton’s Best Cider,” she says. “Although I might need a hand carrying them.”

I touch Cullen’s arm and he moves past me, whilst I punch Cassandra’s order in on the till.

“I’ll carry them over,” Cullen says, glancing at Cassandra.

“It’s alright,” I say, opening the cash drawer. “I’ll clear some of the tables at the same time.”

He nods and moves down the bar to start serving another group of rugby fans. I flick off the bottle caps for each beer and place them on a serving tray before dashing round to the other side of the bar next to Cassandra, who takes a few bottles. I lift the tray onto my shoulder and follow her through the crowds, until we arrive at a corner booth full of rugby players.

“Lyla, this is Iron Bull, the captain of the rugby team,” she says, sitting down next to the huge Qunari.

I place the tray on the table and hand out the beers. “Nice to meet you, Iron Bull,” I say, slightly intimidated. He’s got an eyepatch and a very chiselled jaw. Creators - I do not want to get on the wrong side of him.

But I blink when he roars with laughter at my obvious expression. Cassandra rolls her eyes. “Don’t let his appearance fool you: he’s a big teddy bear, really.”

“Haha, although not on the playing field, am I right boys?” he shouts to the group around him. They raise their bottles and cheer.

I look at Cassandra. “I should get back to work,” I say and with a wave head back to the bar, clutching the empty tray to my chest. I pause at empty tables and pile it up with empty glasses and bottles before winding back to the bar. I put the full tray down with a sigh, and freeze when a hand touches my back.

“Hey darlin’,” a man drawls from behind.

I spin on the spot, hands grasping the edge of the table, only to find myself cornered by a large Ferelden man. His breath stinks of beer and his eyes are sagging with intoxication. I try to hide my repulsion as he leans a hand on the table so he’s eye level with me.

“Wha’ time do ya clock-off?” he says, not abashed at all as his eyes look me up and down.

My gut twists with distaste. “Sorry, I’m taken,” I reply with a forced smile, moving to push past him, but his reactions are fast, considering he’s so drunk, and a hand clasps my elbow tightly. With a wave of nausea, I notice that it’s a similar grip to the one Solas has grasped me with before.

I take a staying breath. “Please let me go,” I say.

He grins, clutching my elbow tighter. “Not until you give me your number.”

“HEY!” a voice behind the bar calls, and I think it’s Cullen. And when I think of Cullen and how I like his company and how I really loathe Solas’ at the moment and I think about how unfair this whole mess is; well, I think something inside me snaps.

I bring my knee up and shove it firmly into this guy’s crotch. He lets out a little “Oof!” before doubling over, grasping his crown jewels. I clench my jaw and glare, knowing that this probably wasn’t the best idea in the world, but right now, I simply don’t care.

Cullen and Cassandra are both at my side, Iron Bull also here. Bull grabs the groaning guy by the collar of his shirt and pulls him to his feet. “What are you playing at, huh?” he yells, making the whole pub fall silent and watch.

“She-she kneed me!” he gasps, pointing a shaking finger at me.

Cullen stands in front of me, stopping me as I move forward to do, well Creators knows what. Instead his back blocks my view, but I hear his words.

“And you harassed a member of my staff and a friend. Get out. Now,” he says, voice low, dangerous.  

I peer over Cullen’s shoulder and see the fool try and stand and straighten, only for Bull to pick up him so his feet are off the floor, noses pressed together.

“He said GET OUT, did not not hear him?!” Bull roars, saliva spitting over his red face.

The Ferelden man squirms then nods vigorously. Cullen is shaking and I gulp, preparing for our friendship to be halted because, here in this pub, he is technically my boss. But when he turns to look at me - once Bull has escorted the man out - it’s a look that makes me pause. It’s a look of such…genuine care and concern that I see and it’s unnerving me. His eyes soften and he runs a hand through his hair and, if I’m really honest, this shakes me more than this whole incident. And that’s because no-one has ever looked at me like that before - like we’re the only two people in the world. Creators - I’m in trouble.

“Are you okay?” he asks, hand on my upper arm. It’s a gentle touch, one of concern and kindness. My face burns and I look at everything else in the pub except for him.

“Yeah,” I say as casually as possible. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

The pub closes soon after and we fall into the close-down routines. Despite Cullen’s insistence I take a break, I carry on working, desperate to distract myself from these maddening thoughts. I can’t think clearly - and in the last twenty-four hours I’ve not been thinking properly at all. Once the final customers are ushered out and the doors are locked, Cullen leans over the bar, uncaps two bottles of beers and hands one to me.

“What’s this?” I ask.

“An alcoholic beverage called a beer,” he grins.

I roll my eyes. “You’re starting to pick up my sense of humour. It’s not a good sign.” Regardless, I take the bottle, careful to make sure our fingers don’t brush.

“Sure you’re okay?” he asks as Maryden pulls on her jacket.

“Yeah, I’m fine - just mortified,” I admit. “I thought you were going to fire me on the spot.”

He takes a swig of his beer before answering. “I was angry,” he says carefully. “But not at you. Just don’t tell Leliana, okay?” He leans back. “You too, Maryden. Let’s keep this between us.”

“I hear ya,” she calls, picking up her handbag. “Am I ok to leave?”

Cullen nods. “Go ahead - Lyla and I will do the final lock up. Thanks for your help.”

Maryden hesitates by me. “Don’t worry about it, sweets: you know, I punched a guy in the nose on my first week,” she winks before slipping out the pub.

I’m only too aware that we are now alone in the pub. I take another sip of my beer and rack my brains for something to talk about. But now it’s just us two here, I’m very much coming to realise that this man here is stirring something inside that I cannot allow. I’ve had many friends in the past who I’ve had subtle crushes on, but I’ve always been in a relationship with Solas. They’ve been little fancies, harmless flirting. But this is different and I’m terrified. I won’t cross the line, and yet I really want him to. I’m just curious.

As if on cue, my phone in my back pocket vibrates and Solas’s image flashes up. My thumb hovers over the answer button but I glance at Cullen who’s watching me closely.

“I… I should probably get this…” I trail off.

He looks away. “Sure. Of course. I’ll just, ah, finish closing up,” he pushes himself off the bar, leaving his beer and heads up to the office.

The phone buzzes in my hands, and I’m so close to answering, but I don’t. I decline the call and slide my phone back into my pockets, following Cullen upstairs. He sits in the office turning off the lights and locking windows whilst I slip into the staff room and grab my bag. I linger in the office doorway when I see Cullen’s head in his hands, taking a deep breath.

“Cullen?” I ask quietly.

He looks up, eyes weary, a loose curl of hair falling across his forehead. “Sorry - just got a migraine. I’ll finish locking up - you can go if you want.”

“I can give you a lift home…?”

He looks at me, and my stomach flips. I chew my bottom lip and try to ignore the sensation.

Cullen sighs and rubs his chin. “I… I shouldn’t. But thank you. I’ll walk today.”

“Alright then… I… goodnight,” I say. “And thanks again.”

A faint smile on his lips, so brief I think I may have imagined it. “Goodnight, Lyla.”

I back out of the office and head downstairs. The two bottles of beer, still predominately full sit together alone on the bar top. I squeeze my eyes tight shut, blinking back tears. I wipe my eyes, angry at myself, unsure as to why I’m feeling like this. Part of me wants to take both bottles up and sit with him in the office and talk. I know that perhaps a week or so ago I probably would’ve done that. But now… now I remember the whole night and I think of the pendant around my neck.

With much reluctance, I slip out of the pub, leaving the two bottles on the bar. I can’t help to think that in another life, I would be walking up those stairs and letting myself dive headfirst into this mess. But not now. I can’t. As if on cue, my phone buzzes. This time I answer it.

[gardenthegates]

Water Under the Bridge

Water Under the Bridge

Chapter One: A Rocky Start

Description: In the years to come, people would often ask Caiwen Lavellan how she could have fallen for the Dread Wolf himself. And her answer was always the same; She didn't, she fell for an apostate named Solas. 

A look into the moments that snuck up on both of them, and captured both their hearts.

Link to AO3: Here Up to Ch. 9 available there

Caiwen Lavellan was not someone who was easily disoriented. Years of training to be her clan’s leading huntress (17 out of her 27 total to be exact) meant that she was quick, observant, level headed (for the most part) and poised. So the sensation of waking up in a human prison of some sort, chained, already being shouted at in Common (words of accusation? For what?) shouldn’t have shaken her. But then she felt it. Her hand. Her bow-steadying hand. It ached. No – seared! She couldn’t remember a time a pain shot through her whole body from a focal point like this.

It was green. And glowing. Magic – she suddenly understood. At the same time it was impossible, she was no mage. Folding the fade around her will was never a talent she possessed, unlike her kin back home. Fear slowly clouded her vision, and clawed at her stomach so that she barely made out the words the Seeker spat down at her.

At first she assumed they caught her spying. Innocent as her mission may have been she knew instinctively that because of her tapered ears she was suspicious to these southerners. In the Free Marches elves were disliked and mistrusted on the whole as well, but at least her clan (one less prone to nomadic practices than others she knew of) had a tenuous relationship with the nearby human cities and tradesmen.

Here she was an intruder, a stranger. They had no way of knowing she was only here to keep her clan as safe as possible. She knew their ignorance of her intention was not their fault. And yet. She words of the Seeker finally took form through the haze in her brain. The conclave was destroyed, people were dead but she was not. Why her brain could not conjure any image of the last few hours (minutes? Days? How long had she been down here?) she could not fathom.

“You think I’m responsible?” She asked incredulously. Hundreds of people dead. She’d never so much as killed one. Boars and bears and rams sure but never a person.

“Explain this.” The woman spat in her thick Nevarran accent, holding up her hand as a particularly powerful spasm of pain shot through it and – was that sparks? She dared not wince; she could not show weakness. Not here, not in front of these strangers’ eyes so full of accusation and conviction.

“I-I can’t.” She stammered out, hating the shake she could not hide in her voice.

“What do you mean you can’t?”

“I don’t even know what that is.” The confusion and panic she felt in her gut was creeping into her voice despite her attempts at steadying herself. It was all she could do to not cry out at the pain from that mystery on her hand. She figured if her choices were a shaky voice or tears, she might as well go with the better option. “Or how it even got there.” Instead of Caiwen’ denial placating her, the woman before her growled and lunged forward

“You’re lying!” Before Caiwen could even react, a second women, one cloaked in shadow despite her brilliant red hair, pushed the desperate Seeker off of her.

“We need her Cassandra.” The woman shot back tersely, concern seeping into her voice despite her strong stance. Well, at least Caiwen wasn’t the only one who couldn’t hide all of herself right then.

“Whatever you think I did, I’m innocent.” She managed to make her voice sound a lot more confident and strong than she was currently feeling. But then the red haired woman asked her what she remembered and she lost any sense of confidence she had mustered before.

“I-I remember…” Spiders. Millions of them. She hated the insects normally but these – all spiky and beady eyes and pincers and huge – “…running. And these creatures were chasing me. And then…” A soft glow, an outstretched hand finally hope in this wretched wasteland “…a woman?” Even as she said the word she couldn’t be sure if it was right. “A woman?” Caiwen’s own amber eyes met the woman’s, she saw hope suddenly flare up in them but she could not decipher why. “She…reached out to me but then…” Nothing. Blank. It was gone, whatever fleeting memory or dream she was grasping at dissipated in her mind.

“Go to the forward camp, Leliana, I will take her to the rift.” The other woman, Cassandra, at least sounded calmer now. That did not stop the surge of unease that washed over the elf at the thought of going anywhere alone with this woman. But then she was reaching down, unchaining her but still not removing the ropes around her wrists. She felt certain enough to ask now, even if she did not know if she would like the answer.

“What…did happen?” Cassandra shifted uncomfortably, suddenly unsure herself. “It…would be easier to show you.”

The sun blinded her for a moment. No it was the wrong color for the sun. As her eyes adjusted to the sight she felt a stone in her stomach. This wasn’t right. There was…a hole? In the sky. It was swirling and massive and terrifying and green. The same sick green of her hand, which was tingling in…recognition?

“We call it the Breach. It’s a massive rift into the world of demons that grows larger with each passing hour.” She felt the stone in her stomach shift again. Demons. Definitely not good. “It’s not the only rift. Just the largest. All were caused by the explosion at the Conclave.”

Explosion. Ok. At least now she knew what everyone was talking about, even if she still didn’t know how she fit into this just yet. She was faintly aware of herself questioning how any kind of explosion could do…well that, and Cassandra assuring her. This didn’t feel real. It had to be some sort of night terror. But no her hand sparked again and pain shot through her body at an unexpected velocity, sending her to her knees.

“Each time the breach expands you mark spreads. And it is killing you. But it may be the key to stopping all this.” The matter of fact tone of the Seeker both calmed and infuriated her, and reminded her so much of her Keeper. There is danger, its not a question but a fact, and you must deal with it da’len.

“How?” Was all she could grit through her teeth, hand clenched around the searing mark as the pain ebbed and flowed through her palm.

“It may be the key to closing the Breach. Whether that is possible is something we will discover shortly. It is our only chance however. And yours.” The edge was back in her voice, sharp like the sword at Cassandra’s waist. These insane accusations (didn’t humans ever hear of proof) ate at the knot of fear in her throat and she could hear the anger boiling in her own voice.

“Doesn’t sound like I have much of a choice.” The woman’s lip sneered in distaste as she yanked her to her feet.

As she was pushed through their camp she felt more than heard the anger emanating off of the people around her. Eyes alight in rage and hurt focused on her, as Cassandra confirmed her suspicion of everyone’s blind hatred. She had been disliked by people before, but this pure seething hatred, more like a giant wild animal than a throng of people, was something she had never experienced directed at her, let alone for something she didn’t even do (for now, despite her gaps in memory, she was sure none of this could have been her doing). Cassandra talked of their Divine (dead?) and her good works, bringing the Templars and mages together like this was something Caiwen had expressed distasted in. Didn’t she, didn’t anyone, know that this stupid war effected her people too? Why did they even think an elven clan would take interest if it did not. They didn’t want this meaningless violence to continue any more than their human counterparts did.

“There will be a trial. I can promise no more. Come.”

And with that the ropes on her wrists were gone and the Seeker was leading her up the mountain pass. It took some convincing to let her keep the bow she grabbed but a few quick shots to a rage demon behind the Seeker quickly made up the woman’s mind. Up and up they ran, cold ate at her but it distracted her from the pain, from everything that she needed to tune out and so she welcomed it. She was on the hunt now, bow comfortably grasped in her left hand , the pressure felt welcome against the sharp sparks of hurt there. Her ears twitched and she hurled an arrow at a demon creeping up behind them. For once she didn’t even know who the prey was. She had a bad feeling it was her this time.

And then Cassandra was leading them to a fight. A dwarf and a man were fighting off demons around a smaller version of the Breach above. No not a human man, an elf, a mage. He was clanless, his face as bald as his head but his strong features moved like the hunters she ran with, his weapon a staff instead of a bow. Muscles twisted and stretched, magic shooting from both him and his staff in a way she wished she could imitate with an arrow. She fired off a few more shots, felling the weakened opponents at they ran up to the two strangers.

“Quickly! Before more come through.” And before she could marvel at the depth of his voice or the raw panic and adrenaline threaded through it, his hand was on her wrist and she felt sparks. Her confusion heightened as she realized the sparks were coming from her. Her hand sparked and throbbed and stiffened as a green light connected the rift and her mark, until she could no longer stand it and she pulled her hand back into her. It felt like pulling a rope, one that was once attached to something heavy and unmoving, but suddenly detached with such force that it temporarily knocked the wind out of her. And suddenly, the pain was gone. Not entirely but lessened to such a wonderful degree that she felt tears of relief prick at her eyes.

She turned suddenly to the strange elf next to her, his hand a sudden absence her body regretted.

“What did you do?” She heard the wonder in her own voice, felt her eyes go wide but for once she didn’t feel like schooling her emotions.

“I did nothing.” His face broke out into a triumphant grin, like he was proud of himself, proud of her, and his eyes lit up in a way that made her whole body ache for a minute. Finally, someone who didn’t wish her dead. Yet, at least. “The credit is yours.”

“I did that?” She looked down at her hand again, doubt rippling through her body. That was definitely magic and she was definitely no mage. “Whatever magic opened the Breach in the sky also placed that mark upon her hand.” The wonder and curiosity he exuded made her feel like a puzzle he had solved. The thought thrilled and infuriated her at the same time. She didn’t want this, ask for this, even know how to use this and here this strange man is, giddy as the thought of such power thrown upon her. “I theorized that the mark could close the rifts left in the Breach’s wake, and it seems I was correct.” Oh. So not proud of her, but proud of himself. His joy turned to smugness and she felt the relief warring with pure annoyance.

“Meaning it could close the Breach itself.” She had forgotten about Cassandra, and the dwarf for that matter.

“Possibly.” And suddenly those giant blue eyes were on her again, the smugness still sitting on his face but now it was overshadowed by a smile that stopped her dead. “It seems you hold the key to our salvation.” It was like the wind was knocked out of her all over again. The weight of his smile, of the sudden responsibility he landed on top of her. Everything was too much. This was not what this mission was supposed to be.

“Good to know.” And just like that she was grounded in the present again. “Here I thought we were gonna be ass deep in demons forever.” The dwarf cocked his crossbow and sidled up to her like a drunkard in a tavern. Yet somehow it was charming rather than sleazy. She fought the urge to grin. “Varric Tethris. Rogue, storyteller and occasionally unwelcome tagalong.” He punctuated his introduction with a wink aimed at Cassandra, which made the woman’s lip curl in a sneer. Ok, she definitely liked this dwarf.

“Are you with the Chantry, or…?” The elf chuckled and she felt another flare of annoyance, despite how brilliant his smile was or the rumble of his voice.

“Was that a serious question?” Well it wasn’t her fault she barely knew anything about these crazed Andrastians or their ways. She didn’t even know anything about what happened in her own recent past.

“Technically, I’m a prisoner, just like you.”

“I brought you here to tell your story to the Divine. Clearly that is no longer necessary.”

“Yet, here I am. Lucky for you considering current events.”

“It’s nice to meet you Varric.” She interjected, taking on her best ambassador voice. She was here to do her people proud after all. And she felt a kinship to this trapped dwarf already.

“You might reconsider than stance. “ the elf interjected dryly, one dark eyebrow cocking up, even though mischief glittered in his eyes.

“Oh I’m sure we’ll become great friends in the valley, Chuckles.” Well that certainly was an odd name for anyone, let alone the elf in front of her. And that was when Cassandra piped in again, arguing with the dwarf, Varric, about whether or not he’d be coming.

“My name is Solas, if there are to be introductions.” Her breath faltered again under his direct gaze. “I’m glad to see you still live.”

“He means ‘I kept that mark from killing you while you slept’.” Her natural suspicion of strangers fell over her shoulders as she examined him. For something no one understood, he understood a lot.

“You seem to know a lot about this.” He grinned smugly again, even though she was not trying to stroke his ego he seemed to take it that way.

“Solas is an apostate.” Cassandra quipped, as if that would explain it all.

“Technically all mages are apostates now Cassandra.” He focused his gaze back on Caiwen, as if to answer her unspoken question. “My travels allow me to experience much of the fade. Far beyond any circle mage.” He grew solemn then, the joy from before vanishing as quickly as it appeared as his seemed to remember everything around them. “I came to offer my help with the Breach. If it does not close we are all doomed, regardless of origin.” No pressure, then. Instead she swallowed the lump in her throat and asked him what he would do when it was all over. When not if. “One would hope those in power would remember who helped. And who did not.” Not such a different mindset than what brought her to the conclave in the first place. “Cassandra. You should know the magic at work here is unlike any I have ever seen. Your prisoner is no mage, but I have a hard time imaging even if she was, that any mage could have such power.” “Understood.” And with that they were heading towards the next forward camp, seemingly forgetting her behind.

Varric turned to her and grinned. Tapping his crossbow affectionately he said, “Well…Bianca’s excited.”

“You named it?”

[cottoneyedvenny]

So, I felt extra angsty because of random stuff going on and I was listening to this song while typing up this short fanfic. This was the mission “Protect Clan Lavellan.” I didn’t use Josephine but I heard it was heartbreaking and I wanted to type up on how Clare would act and this is her response. Enjoy!

Once Clare Lavellan had heard that her Clan were attacked by bandits, she asked Josephine to send someone who might be able to help; but that was a bad decision. She should have asked for Cullen’s help. Though, she didn’t blame Josephine. She blamed the bandits for her Clan’s death. The blonde Dalish elf was sitting near the garden outside of Skyhold. Mother Giselle tried to offer her peace, but Clare found none. She hated those bandits. She wished that she knew where they were so she could shoot an arrow towards them. Iron Bull offered her a drink from the Tavern, but Clare didn’t want to burden him and a drink wouldn’t take away the pain. Cole asked her if she wanted him to take the memory of her Clan’s death, but she didn’t want to.

Clare was interrupted from her thoughts because she heard her name. She looked over and noticed that it was Solas. She frowned and looked back towards the flowers.

“Hello, Solas…” She muttered.

“Hello.” He said back. “Do you mind if I sit next to you?” He questioned.

“Go ahead…” She said.

Solas did so and he just stayed silent. He had questioned Cassandra on what had happened that made Clare so depressed since they were close. Cassandra suggested that he waited until she tells him. He took her by her word and Solas decided to listen to her. Solas watched Clare as she poked at the rose and he frowned. Normally he would see her so happy and cheery, now she’s depressed. He wished she would tell him what was wrong because the other Companions wouldn’t tell him.

Though, he would rather ask her or wait for her to tell him what made her so sad. Solas glanced at a flower, picked it up and looked over at Clare.

“Da’len, please look this way.” Solas suggested.

Clare got curious and she looked towards him and she noticed what Solas was holding. He was holding a white Camelia which was one of Clare’s flowers. She blushed slightly when he put it on her ear after she looked his way. After a minute of two so Clare could register what had happened, she smiled then Solas smiled once she did.

“There’s that smile.” He said.

She blushed and looked away from him. For a little while, Solas made her forget about the death of her Clan. Clare was thankful to get to know Solas, he made her feel oddly safe. She frowned slightly and looked at her.

“Did anyone tell you?” She asked.

Solas tilted his head. “Tell me what?” He asked.

“… My Clan…” She muttered and looked away. “They… Were attacked by bandits and… Well… I made the wrong decision and they died because of it…” She answered.

Solas’ eyes grew slightly wide. He was shocked to hear this news. Clare was depressed because her Clan was killed by bandits? He had to admit, he thought that her Clan would be able to take on a group of bandits. He remembered that she would talk highly about how her Clan had fought through bandits before. He frowned and looked away.

“I’m sorry to hear about that…” Solas said.

Clare shook her head. “Don’t be… It was my own stupid mistake… I couldn’t believe that they could just… I-I should have been there! This is all my fault! I made a foolish decision and they… They all died… The stupid bandits…” She was very close to crying and Solas could tell.

Solas was trying to figure out how to make her feel better, he stood up and held out a hand towards Clare. She blinked and looked from his hand, then at him.

“Come with me, da’len…” He said.

Clare nodded her head and gently took Solas’ hand as if she was worried that if she touched him the slightest then he would slip away or shatter. She walked beside Solas towards his rotunda; she was curious on why he was taking her there. She didn’t question him and thought about her Clan again. Clare had so many memories of them. She wondered if anyone made it alive from the bandit attack. She sighed and decided to push her sadness aside. Clare glanced over at Varric but didn’t say anything. He knew what happened.

She continued to follow Solas and he sat on his couch and offered her a seat. Clare graciously sat next to him and glanced down at her feet. Solas put an arm around Clare’s shoulder and pulled her close to him. Clare stiffened up but then she calmed down. She gently wrapped her arms around his waist and she bit her bottom lip. She was trying so hard not to cry again, she cried for the past four days over the death of her Clan. They were the only family she had. Now, she had the Inquisition. She loved everyone like they were her family.

But Solas was different, he watched over her while the anchor was giving her pain. He even watched over her while she was sick. To Clare, Solas was different from every other elf that she had met. Especially from her Clan. Clare finally gave up and let her tears fall. Solas wasn’t surprised by this, he wrapped his other arm around her and he pulled her up onto his lap. This was what got Clare to start crying, she had so many memories of her Clan and her Keeper would comfort her like this. The Keeper was like a parent to the Lavellan Clan. She would always miss her Clan. Solas rubbed his hand behind her back to try and sooth her.

“Do not worry, da’len… We are here for you now. The Inquisition, I mean. I am also here for you…” He whispered to her. “I know the world seems to be against you, but trust me… It isn’t.” He told her.

Clare sniffed and nodded her head against his chest. “T-thank you, Solas…”

“You are welcome…”

From then on, she felt protected thanks to Solas. Clare loved that about him, he was always there for her and she would always be there for him. Dorian was looking down from his space and smiled. He was glad that Clare and Solas were close to each other. One thing was for sure, Dorian and the other Companions know that they would have to protect Inquisitor Lavellan.

[heartslogos]

newfragile yellows [78]

“Alright, Bull, what do I ned to know before I go into this?” Evelyn says and Bull can think of any number of things to tell her.

He could, for instance, tell her not to pay attention - or to, at least - not pay too much attention to the sounds of many flying things outside of the windows. Or to ignore whatever she sees through windows and doorways.

He could also tell her not to trust the direction of the light she sees as an accurate judge of time or direction.

Bull could also tell her that the boy who will sometimes appear and give you peculiar looks, or murmur things under his breath doesn’t mean any real harm. It’s taken Bull three weeks to figure that out, and the boy still makes him uneasy. Especially when he does that thing where he seems half transparent.

He could also tell Evelyn not to mind it so much when her feet or her ears or her eyes betray her - he could tell her not to think too hard on it when things stop making sense. Like wax melting upwards or water dripping from places no water should be. Stones that seem warm and breathing, doors that resist being opened, sounds of radios or telephones from rooms that are clearly empty and exposed, shadows in mirrors or the feeling of eyes from walls - all of it is best left unquestioned.

Bull could tell her about the innumerable contradictory things she will see as soon as she walks past Skyhold’s gates. He could tell her about Lavellan and her contradictory way of speaking - the way that everything she says holds something deeper, like pearls in an oyster but meant for a much darker and velvet purpose. He could tell her about how Cole will know things about you that no one should have any right to know, things you might not have even known. He could tell her about what kind of an ornery prick the homeowner is.

He could also tell her about how sick the man is, and how obviously dedicated Lavellan is to his care - even when she pretends she isn’t so attached. He could tell her about how the dying man is in love with this woman, and this woman is in love with this dying man and his aging castle and his wild land.

Bull could tell Evelyn that he, himself, is perhaps a touch infatuated with the woman and her Mobius strip vocabulary. Not in love, no, not yet. There is a possibility of it - Bull knows his weaknesses. He likes to know them even better up close. But there hasn’t been time enough for that. Soon, perhaps.

Evelyn waits, expectant, fingers tapping against the side of her leg - eyes flicking to the castle walls with nerves and stress and tired courage.

“You can’t make everyone like you,” Bull decides, clapping her on the shoulder. A brief look of puzzled surprise flashes across her face as she stumbles forward. He nudges her towards Skyhold - Cole is a faint half-green wisp of a person that disappears over the ivy tumble that cascades down one ruined and  crumbled wall. “So don’t take it so hard.”

“What? What did you tell him? How can he not like me already, I haven’t even met him!”

“I wasn’t talking about Solas,” Bull says as the castle seems to groan around them, just as they pass under the arch. “But don’t worry, he doesn’t like anyone so that one don’t even bother with.”

-

“I have a problem,“ Bull announces, sitting down at the long and ornate wood dining table that Lavellan has decided will be used for breakfast today. It only took him two circuits around Skyhold - full of glaring mirrors, echoing howls, and grabby, catching brambles - before a door reluctantly opened for him. Skyhold likes to keep Lavellan for itself in the mornings.

“That’s terrible,” Lavellan says, placing a sunny-side up egg on her toast with an extremely exaggerated fashion.

“I saw Solas in the mirror,” Bull tells her, picking up a paper dated from thirty years ago off the table and moving it to the side.

“Don’t worry about becoming like him in your old age,” Lavellan says, “I promise you that your chances of having that many types of cancer is ridiculously low. Solas was incredibly unlucky in that all his misfortune caught up to him at once.”

“No,” Bull says as Lavellan carefully puts two pieces of bacon on top of her toast, “Thanks for that comforting thought, but no. I mean, I literally saw him in the mirror, glaring at me.”

“Unfortunate,” Lavellan says, “If you tell him to move he will. Is that why your shave is patchy?”

Bull brings a hand up to his jaw, “It is?”

“Other side, towards your ear,” She says, putting another piece of toast on top of the eggs and bacon, gently pressing the slices together.

Bull finds the spot she means and shrugs. It’s not like he has anyone else to impress with his good looks.

“Again, no, but thanks,” Bull continues as Lavellan takes a bite of her sandwich and looks incredibly disappointed while she chews, transferring her sullen look to him, expectant. “The problem is that he’s dead and I’m seeing him glaring at me in the mirror.”

“So?” Lavellan says after she swallows, taking a swig of - well. It’s liquid, definitely. Whatever else it is, Bull is drawing a blank.

“I’m fairly certain you don’t see dead people in mirrors.”

“He’s a dramatic tool,” Lavellan shrugs, taking another bite and letting out a high sounding squeal of pleasure when the yolk bursts and starts to drip. She hurriedly tilts the bread so it soaks into the sandwich instead of dripping.

“Again, true,” Bull says, “But being dead means you don’t come back.”

“And I could have sworn that you saying you were leaving would mean you would go and take all your inane and bothersome garbage with you,” Solas’ voice says from the direction of a glass dish cabinet, “And yet there you sit.”

Bull looks up and sees a faint blur shaped like Solas in the glass.

Bull is old enough to know to pick his battles. He’s lived at Skyhold - on and off, granted - long enough to know that this castle has many of those. He’s also lived long enough, in general, to know when he’s on the right - and sometimes - winning side of one.

Bull turns to Lavellan who’s busy licking yolk off her long fingers. He shrugs and reaches to get his own slice of toast, ignoring the dead man who apparently lives on in reflections.

This explains - partially, or probably - why Lavellan didn’t seem too broken up over the old man’s passing.

“Regardless -

Solas isn’t too fond of the Iron Bull.

Lavellan is slightly more than fond of the Iron Bull. Skyhold, currently, is more fond of Lavellan than Solas. And, in hindsight, back then - when Solas was alive - Skyhold still liked Lavellan better.

Bull figures he’s good.

“Anyone else awake?” Bull asks.

Lavellan hums, sucking yolk off her pinky. The finger comes out of her mouth with a loud pop as she flicks her own inner cheek.

“Well, this is the seventh time I’ve heard Dorian cursing as he walks around looking for us. I think Skyhold lets him hear us talk.”

Bull laughs, “Nice.”

[miraabellee]

🥰

back from the dead just to say solas is definitely a “my wife” guy. he will not shut up about lavellan.

“ah yes, my wife loves these. i’ll make sure to bring some to her.”

“maybe i should introduce you to my wife. you have a lot in common with her.”

“sorry i cannot stay, my wife is waiting for me.”

solas is a certified yapper. he yaps about the fade all the time. you think he’d ever NOT yap about lavellan? no. he will bring her up every time someone says something that reminds him of her. this lovestruck fool. this silly worm.