#fem solas x fem lavellan

[teturelira]

Wives 🥰

[rainythoughtsforme]

Watch Solas get flashbacks to his balcony kiss with Lavellan if this is a scene from Emmrich's romance

[nananarc]

i woke up from my feverish slumber to sketch these because i cannot take it no more let me escape into dragon age or give me death

In order from up-down left-right:

Dreadwolf's Embrace

Inquisitor 'An Lavellan

Champion of Kirkwall with a garland of daisies

________ Timelapse will open on 18th Sep 2024 for Patreon members (patreon.com/nananarc). Commission Info on my website (nananarc.art/)

[uniquewerewolfphantom]

Dragon Age | Once Upon A Dream “Dream” fanmade Trailer

This is for all you solavellan fans out there!

-based on “Maleficent” 2014 dream trailer

[tirashani]

Okay okay okayy

My Rook is likely a male rogue elf 👀👀👀

[rainythoughtsforme]

He definitely struck me as someone who got around quite a bit in his youth. However, he doesn't seem to be someone who falls in love easily, and if/when he does, he tries to ignore it until he is unable to. Lavellan absolutely was not his first love, but she is absolutely someone of great importance to him; and the post-break-up confrontation where Lavellan demands, "You really don't let anyone see behind that polite mask you wear- do you?" And for Solas to quietly reply, "You saw more than most," seems to seal in the fact that Solas does not let himself be loved easily

Curious as to fellow Tumblr Solasmancer thoughts on this. The majority of posts on this thread were that they believed Solas got around a lot but never had anything serious.

The first part I agree with. I mean, there's the legend with Andruil wanting him to serve in her bed. He has a reputation. I'm sure it's absolutely wild. There's no doubt in my mind that man has been in an orgy, multiple times, I'm just saying.

But the thought he never actually loved before? I don't like it. Like he's definitely fallen head over heals in love dispite his better judgment before, just as he did with Lavellen. I imagine that might just be his thing. He falls fast and hard before he's even realized it, the poor guy.

He's experienced unrequited love - I'm certain. I've wondered if he ever fell for an elven slave who died, and that's part of what inspired his rebellion against the evanuris. I'm almost certain he had a thing with Ghilan'nain (some people have theorized that's why Andruil wanted him to serve her - as a revenge thing - because Ghilan'nain is supposed to hers).

But I'm really curious as to fellow Tumblr people's thoughts. We've all delved deep into the meta, and I am here for it. Please chime in.

[plisuu]

a quick primer

crackship - a ship or pairing that is absolutely absurd and implausible between characters that often have little-to-no canon interaction.

crackship: Cullen/Nug King, Horse Master Dennett/Corypheus, Inquisitor/Solas's Desk

not a crackship: Cullen/Dorian, Cassandra/Solas, Briala/Lavellan, etc (these are often rare-pairs!)

slash fic - slash fic, or "m slash" is fic featuring characters of the same gender in a romantic or sexually intimate relationship. Traditionally used to refer to m/m (f/f is called "fem slash", but "slash fic" is generally assumed m/m)

"/" and "x" pairings - a "/" pairing is romantic or sexual (not to be confused with "slash" fic). "x" in a ship name used to denote the same thing.

"&" pairing - used to refer to other types of general (gen fic) relationships such as platonic or familial relationships.

[mumms-the-word]

In the Company of Wolves

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

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

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

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

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

Iren. His vhenan.

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

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

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

She looked like one of the ancient elvhen.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She had predicted that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I wonder what they will think of me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Only to you, perhaps.”

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

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

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

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

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

If they had a few moments more…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

They had made her.

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

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

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

To your hunt, ma vhenan.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

If she only knew…

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

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

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

Would he even have listened?

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

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

“Solas?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You think they are involved?”

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

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

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

“As you say.”

“And…Solas?”

“Yes, vhenan?”

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

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

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

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

Real.

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

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

Perhaps, for tonight, he could try.

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

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

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

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

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

[reeseykins]

Reeseykins Writings

So, spoiler alert. I am all over the place.

Ratings and tags are available in each post or on Archive. Most of this is smut -- really descriptive, raunchy smut. Usually gay smut, but also sometimes I write straight relationships or threesome smut (M/M/F). I also sprinkle in fluff and character analysis, and an occasional completely non-porn story.

Attack on Titan

Eruri (Erwin Smith x Levi Ackerman)

The Only Heaven I'll Be Sent To (aka My Multi-Chapter Eruri fic that took me a year to write and utterly consumed me): Following the events of A Choice with No Regrets, Erwin and Levi settle into a surprisingly amicable relationship. Erwin soon starts to realize that his feelings for Levi are more complicated than purely professional.

Shorter Works:

New Routines || Commander Handsome || 90's College AU: Part 1, Part 2 || A Highly Decorated Soldier || Avoidance || First Kiss || The Race || Children || Talking Body || Victory || Dragon Age AU: In Death, Sacrifice || Drabbles: O Captain! My Captain!

Dragon Age

Fenris x Fem!Hawke

After the Fall: Fenris goes searching for Fem!Hawke after the events of Dragon Age II. (Not explicit.)

Fenris x Fem!Hawke x Sebastian

A Night at the Hawke Estate: Fenris and Fem!Hawke are in an established relationship, and convince Sebastian to stay the night.

Solas x Lavellan

Escaping the Past: Following her break-up with Solas, Lavellan shares some drinks with friends and reveals why she couldn’t refuse Solas’ offer to remove her vallaslin. (Not explicit but trigger warnings in post)

Baldur's Gate

Female Dark Urge/Tav x Astarion x Halsin

Backend of Forever: Ellesime (Durge) resists her longing for both Astarion and Halsin when she unearths the truth of her murderous parentage. After the events of the game they come together at last.

We Spend Our Nights So Bon Vivant: Just some smut. Astarion x Tav and implied Halsin.

[gil-galadhwen]

Baldur's Gate 3 | Misc

Our Paths Will Never Cross Again - F!Tav X Shadowheart X Karlach X Lae'zel

BBC Merlin | Merlin x Arthur

The Labyrinth of Gedref

The Last Dragon Lord

The Crystal Cave

The Poisoned Chalice

Be Merry Sweet Lord, On This Yules Day

Devouring Glory

BBC Merlin | Morgana x Gwen

The Shadow of Your Heart

Dragon Age | Misc

Lazarus - Dorian x M!Inquisitor

The Seer - Dorian x M!Inquisitor

The Gesture - Blackwall x M!Inquisitor

The Key to a Kiss - Zevran x F!Greywarden

The Rings of Power | Elrond

In Another World - Solas x F!Lavellan

Carrier of Messages (Lore Master Pt 1)

Edraith (Lore Master Pt 2)

I Will Never Get Enough Of You (GN Reader, NSFW)

Tell Me What You Want (GN Reader, CDS)

A Glimmer of Hope (LOTR-verse OC)

The Rings of Power | Galadriel x Halbrand / Sauron

Without Humour

Can I Be Him?

Your Secret is Safe with Me

I Told You That No Matter What You Did, I'd Be By Your Side

She Found Me Just in Time

What Strange Claws Are These, Scratching At My Skin

Do You Want My Blood? Am I Just Too Damn Hard To Love?

Forever Entwined

If I Can't Take You Down, I'll Never Forgive Myself

Haunt Me (Wuthering Heights AU)

The Rings of Power | Gil-galad

Touch Yourself (GN Reader, NSFW)

The Witcher | Wiedźmin

The Lady of the Marred Moon [Eskel X Fem OC]

Everything can also be read here....

[teturelira]

Fantasy royal lesbian solavellan anyone?

[calypso707]

Dragon Age Inquisiton OS - The wolf's farewell.

I am a huge fan of the Dragon Age series, I spent hours and hours playing these games and I really love the universe so I wrote a little Solas x Fem Lavellan Inquisitor, something sad/fluff.

If you have any suggestions for me to write, I will be happy to do it !

Vocabulary :

Ma vhenan: my heart

Lethallan: casual reference used for someone with whom one is familiar

Ar lath ma, vhenan: i love you, my heart

Enjoy !

"I'm Varric Thetras, a rebellious adventurer, talented storyteller and troublemaker in my spare time. I keep telling myself that for some people, life is just a succession of bad luck. Take Inquisitor Lavellan, she was living peacefully in her low cloister, close to her kin, but now she's got herself mixed up in all this shit. And what a mess it was! A twinkling hand, a hole in the sky and now the fate of the world depends on her..." he sighed. “I can't tell you how lucky I was to fight alongside her, it was... She's an exceptional mage and a dear friend. You know, I've been through a lot and I know exactly what kind of tragic end awaits heroes. But her, damn it!," he laughed. “She always managed to get out of the biggest messes, always just barely though! So, I hoped that maybe this story would end well... The assassination of Empress Celene had been thwarted and she had been reconciled with her ambassador Briala, raising the profile of elves in society. The Vennatori had been stopped and Corypheus defeated. Lavellan deserved a moment's peace and tranquillity, some people's spirits were celebrating this victory, but not hers... Heartbreak never does you any good, does it?"

She had been listening to the stories of her companions for hours. Iron Bull was talking for the umpteenth time how he had defeated a frost dragon in the Free Marches, Sera was telling the pranks she had played on Josephine during the day, while Dorian was describing partys he had attended in Tevinter, involving sex, alcohol and conspiracy. Things she had heard before and which would have amused her, but not tonight. And everyone had noticed. She saw Lelianna making her way back to the main room of the Fort, where the thrones were held and where the current festivities were taking place. The Inquisitor rose from her chair, looking at her companions still seated at the table: "If you'll excuse me, it's been a long day. I shall return to my chambers.”

Everyone greeted her and congratulated her again on having defeated Corypheus, which was ridiculous, she thought, because it was a joint effort. She walked towards her master spy, who had a grave look on her face. Her heart began to beat rapidly in her chest, she was dreading the words her companion was about to say. "I'm sorry, but we've heard nothing from Solas, my ravens and agents have found nothing. It's as if he suddenly disappeared..."

Lavellan remained silent for a few seconds, forcing herself not to falter, constantly repressing her emotions, something she had been doing since she became head of the Inquisition. She cleared her throat as if to regain composure and straightened her back: "Very well, thank you, Lelianna”

"I can continue the search, perhaps he'll come back eventually?" added the Nightingale, even she didn't believe in what she was saying. But she didn't want to hurt the Inquisitor, who had proved to be a good friend over time.

"It's no use, he won't be back" Lavellan took a deep breath. "Corypheus is defeated but we still have work to do, so enjoy this victory too, Lelianna, you've earned it.”

She didn't wait for a reply and headed for her chambers. She climbed the stone steps slowly, alone at last and feeling as if the sky was falling. Solas had left and taken her heart with him. An emptiness had formed in her chest, an immense pain. She sat down on the bed, which was far too big for her, and let her gaze wander over the mountains that encircled Skyhold. She thought back to all the times she had spent by his side, his knowledge of worlds, what he had taught her about the Fade, his intelligence, his presence, all of which she missed. Her heart had been torn from her and broken. She looked down at the mark on her hand, which glowed for a few seconds. She lay back, continuing to stare at it, before finally closing her eyes, seeking for peace.

༄

When she was young, she had already wandered into the Fade, walking its winding paths in search of vestiges of the past. Today, she wandered there voluntarily in search of tranquillity and, above all, in the hope of drowning the grief that consumed her. It was a dangerous practice, of course, as it was well known that spirits and demons lurked there. She was standing not far from the forest where her clan had settled; there were no beings wandering around, but she was delighted to see the aravels, richly decorated with engravings and silk fabrics. She couldn't get enough of them, and came to miss her home, the clan, its members and its traditions.

As she continued to venture into the northern forest of the Free Marches, she saw a black wolf staring at her out of the corner of her eye. She wasn't worried, it was probably a lost spirit. The Inquisitor took a cautious step towards it, but it quietly moved away before she could reach it, turning to see if she was following, which she finally did. She continued to venture deeper into the woods, this wolf did not seem dangerous to her, on the contrary. But as they approached a lake, he suddenly disappeared. Two gigantic wolf statues stood nearby, like him, leading the way to the blue expanse of the lake. The view was magnificent, the lake surrounded by fir trees and behind them, the peaks of the mountains were visible, as if blending into the sky.

"Gone..." she mumbled.

"Ma vhenan" said a voice behind her.

A voice she recognised all too well, she froze in place, her heart missing a beat. With so many emotions in turmoil, she thought she was going to fall. She turned slowly, her gaze catching Solas's azure one. She took a step backwards, bumping into the statue behind her, putting her hand against it as if to hold on. He had disappeared and now he was standing in front of her, and she couldn't help noticing the armour he had put on, it wasn't like him. He had tricked her.

"The wolf.. You led me here... It’s like that dream in Haven, didn't you?" she asked finally, feverishly.

"I wanted to see you once more before..." he stopped talking, took a few steps towards her.

"I don't understand, you seem... Different..." the Inquisitor continued, examining him with her eyes. It was true, he gave off something different, something powerful and terrifying. She looked at the statues of wolves behind her; reminding her of stories from her childhood and reminding her of a particular god. Dalish legends tell of Fen'Harel, the implacable wolf, also known as the Lord of Deceit, who was vile and deceitful and showed no concern for his people. The elves turned to him for help and advice, but it always came at a price. Fen'Harel kept his promises, yes, but the way he kept them was often contested. She shook her head, as if to clear her mind of these foolish ideas. Had she fallen in love with a god?

"I am Fen'Harel," he announced. "But he came long after Solas, I inspire hope to my friends and fear to my enemies. Just like the Inquisitor"

"Was I fooled? All this time, I thought...’´She stared at him, in silence, completely lost and in disbelief.

"No, I didn't fool you, I would never have shared your bed under false pretenses" he was finally coming closer, he wanted to touch her, take her in his arms, love her but he wouldn't allow himself. He wanted to experience everything her heart desperately promised him. "I have very little time, Lethallan"

"You abandoned me, you left me. I loved you and you ran away," she said, her voice trembling. Her eyes filled with tears, she knew their love was doomed to failure but she refused to give up. He brushed her cheek with his thumb to wipe away a tear that was running down, sadness was taking hold of him, he was tortured. "Forgive me, vhenan, I never wished to cause you pain”

"We can stay together, whatever your plans are, I'll help you," begged Lavellan.

"No, this is something I must do alone. I want to save the elves, even if it means dooming this world. There is only death at the end of this journey and I can't inflict that on you" said Solas.

Lavellan looked at him for a long moment before lowering her head, tears streaming down her cheeks. The thought him alone, carrying out such a plan and destined for such a tragic end was suffocating her. She couldn't bring herself to leave him; he was the storm and she was the shipwreck that wanted to sail through the stormy waters until she sank. She loved him with a love that was immeasurable and destined to be forgotten. He closed the distance between them and ran a hand over her cheek to catch her attention, tucking a lock of hair behind her pointed ear. They exchanged a look heavy with love and pain. "My love, I'll never forget you"

And he kissed her. They kissed languorously and she clung to him desperately, not wanting him to disappear. She was terrified that she would never see him again and she prayed that he would continue to visit her in her dreams. If she hoped for a happy ending, he should have that too. They gently broke the kiss and he placed a chaste kiss next to her ear, whispering: "Ar lath ma, vhenan".

And she woke with a start, sitting up abruptly and out of breath. She looked around, she was in her room at Skyhold and Solas was gone. Her cheeks were still pink from her tears and her lips seemed moist from the farewell kiss he had offered her. As the Dalish say: "May the Dreadwolf take you away" and that's what he had done, he had taken her being and her heart with him.

[magerightsyeah]

Nobody Knows How to Say Goodbye

Rating: G

Fandom: Dragon Age Inquisition

Pairing: Solas x Fem!Lavellan

Warnings: Emotional angst, hurt no comfort

Summary: A short one-shot about Lavellan and Solas’s final goodbye. Inspired by Nobody Knows by the Lumineers

The Fade was darker than Ellana was used to. It was always dark of course, but usually she could exert some sort of control over it. Tonight was different though. The air was hot and stuffy and she didn’t recognize the landscape at all. It reminded her a bit of the Crossroads, but the stump where her arm used to be ached when she thought of it. Along with her heart, but she ignored that.

Ellana narrowed her eyes and ignited a flame in her palm. If this was some sort of trick or trap from a demon, she wanted to be ready. She heard footsteps approach from behind and quickly spun to face him.

“Ma vhenan.” He smiled softly, not a hint of fear in his grey eyes. She might’ve been insulted if she wasn’t on the verge of tears.

“Fen’harel.” She responded, willing her voice to keep steady and level. “Where am I? What do you want? Garas quenathra?”

He looked hurt at the use of his real name. It angered her. “I… I wanted to talk.” He started. “After our last meeting, when-“

“When you took my arm and used the mark to tear down the Veil. I don’t need reminding, Dread Wolf.”

“I wanted to apologize, and say goodbye, vhenan.”

“Don’t call me that.” Ellana ordered icily.

“Vhenan-“

“You lost the right to call me that when you betrayed us, when you betrayed me.” She let out a shaky breath. “Ma harel lasa! I thought we were friends, I thought you-“ Ellana took a deep breath, and steadied herself. “It doesn’t matter what I thought. I don’t accept your apology, nor any explanation you might offer. Don’t contact me again, Solas. If I ever see you again I will kill you.”

She turned away from him, not trusting her body to not betray her and collapse into his arms like they used to. She couldn’t see his face, but the sadness was evident enough in his voice.

“Ma nuvenin, Inquisitor. I only hope one day you will come to see that I have done this for our people. Ir abelas, dareth shiral.”

When she turned back he was gone and she was returned to the Fade equivalent of Skyhold, alone with only her thoughts. She sunk to her knees, no longer able to contain her grief, and wept.

[arts-butthound]

Mortal Care

From outside of the hold, he noticed her room alight in an amber glow. Disturbed in the early hours of the morning, the stars still glistening upon the snow, the flickering candle in the window summoned Solas to her gravitation once again. Hebe’s copper tangle of hair hid the weary restlessness of her eyes. Tawny colored hands rubbed the goose flesh from her arms.

A cracked window allowed in the icy chill from off the surrounding hills. Solas stood there, in the doorway, watching her visage burn alongside the candle.  “Vhenan. What troubles you?”

Her voice, awaking from her dreams, “Solas. For a moment, I had hoped you were Cassandra or Cullen. Some new disaster to fix.” A humorless chuckle came as she pushed her hair out of her face, sweat glistening on her forehead. Hebe gazed passed him, up the rafters and towards the mural that Solas had painted for his Inquisitor when they’d come to Skyhold.

“I see.” He answered with a nod and turned to leave. “Goodnight, Inquisitor.”

“But I’m glad it’s you, Solas!” The sound of the blankets of her bed folding, bare feet landing on her floor as she sat up.  Her breath sounded too hurried, pleading even, as he turned towards her again. “You’re probably better with nightmares, I’d hope. Either you or Cole.”

So begged, Solas returned to her side, sitting beside her on the bed and placing his hand on hers. “Hebe?” he crooned. She took his hand and held it to her face, caressing gossamer hair and her sweating cheek. An innocent touch to ground herself to this world. How long it had been since someone had truly needed, wanted, Solas. He was more used to being feared by mortals as Fen’Harel. A man could so easily forget his nature to be needed, only to be reminded of it in the warmth of someone in want of him. Her need for him was intoxicating; the thought of losing that need was unbearable.

“I know it was just a nightmare,” she answered, “But I can still feel it.” She clutched at her left hand, the anchor glowing angrily, taunting her. “I saw your friend again, that spirit of wisdom?” Hebe’s fingers trembled as they traced the anchor. “Or I was her?”  Hebe’s face lined with worry when Solas took her anchored hand in his own, rubbing her palm with his thumb, obscuring the ever green light from her view. “I was black and charred. I was melting. All while the anchor consumed everything of me. It was awful.” She tried to laugh away the terror, pushing her hair out of her face once again. “My arm is numb right now. Kind of freaky.”

Solas ached, the grief for his friend still waxing and waning inside him. Knowing he’d never have another conversation with her, Solas looked at Hebe with pity. Her memory of the spirit of wisdom was a bitter thing even months after the event. A vibrant creature as the spirit of wisdom reduced to a nightmares interpretation. “I can assure you,” Solas said, kissing her forehead, “It was a dream. Nothing more.” He smiled against her skin and she leaned into his touch, wrapping her arms around his neck.

“Will you stay with me tonight?” Hebe leaned into him, a finger tracing his arm tentatively.  She pulled herself closer, hiding from the unwelcome chill, staring down into his chest, holding her glowing palm close.

No. Please don’t. “I can’t do that, Vhenan. It would be��too distracting.” Things had already gone too far off course. He’d already betrayed both himself and her. No farther.

“ Prude.” Hebe teased. “But it’s cold and I don’t want to be alone.” Her fingers laced themselves around his neck, gently guiding him into her bed, under her covers, against her body. The only thing that separated them was his clothes and her night gown, thin as skin and twice as personal. “Please stay with me?” She breathed against his chest, balled up and protected there against the weight of the world that reviled her very being.

She was mortal. A thousand generations away from what the elvhen people were supposed to be and spawned from a people who had forgotten the very simplest aspects of their history. But here she was, audacious and tenacious and bold. Solas’ ancient heart yearned to sing against the palm of her hand, to declare itself…as something else. He stroked her hair as he stared off into the nothing-noises and shapes around him that were as fleeting as dust.  When he was younger, could he have even imagined feeling this way for an earthly woman? He pulled back, looking down at her face.

“Vhenan?” she asked.

Solas smiled. He kissed her tenderly, cupping her chin in his hand and wrapping himself around her more tightly. If only for just this moment in time, he would allow himself to take in this feeling. He had not forgotten their kiss in the fade, or on the outside balcony. If he were to love a mortal, then he would give all he could, for as long as he could. In this moment, he didn’t want to think of the ages ahead of him. Solas would only think of the age with Hebe.

-------------------------------------------------

Not my best work, but it’s my first Dragon Age piece!....and of course I got sucked into Solavellan hell, haha!

[x688plsloveme]

Parallels

An elven mage closes the breach with the assistance of the other elven mage and the demons finally stop pouring out. Varric would be more ecstatic if he wasn't so exhausted. He catches his breath and looks up at he new "Hero™" of this journey just in time to see her turn around and-

He chuckles to himself. All that's different from her is the dark red vallasline that accents her left eye and the shape of her ears.

Otherwise, she's a spitting image of one Marian Hawke. Same beautiful raven hair, if a bit longer, and captivating bright blue eyes that draw you in immediately. The confidence that oozes off of her every move that comes with years of experience and discipline as a mage that battles with her mind just as much as other people. There are differences too but - Seeing her still gives him a pang of homesickness that he quickly covers up with his standard charm before anyone is the wiser.

Solas goes on to tell her that she's the key to their salvation. Varric didn't need to see what that mark could do to notice that, she's got all the makings of a great hero already - from her demeanor to her fighting prowess - looks like he found himself in another big story for the ages. But for now, he's just glad to get rid of the demons.

"Good to know. Here I thought we'd be ass-deep in demons forever." He turns his gaze directly on her and is suave as can be when he introduces himself.

"Varric Tethras. Rouge, storyteller, and occasional unwelcome tagalong." He throws a wink at Cassandra ad he says that, she gets riled up so easily it'd be a crime not to ruffle her feathers a little.

He almost laughs out loud again when the first thing the hero says to him is, "That's...a nice crossbow you have there." Hawke said the same thing when they first met, her face was entirely lit up in youthful wonder and mirth. They were both young and optimistic then but years would pass and she never stopped looking at him like he was the coolest thing in the room. Hell, she could be fighting a dragon and would stop if he started telling a story. Nothing could beat having her full attention on him as he exaggerated every detail of everything he said up until it was so ridiculous it would make her laugh and laugh until she was leaning against him fully or had fallen off the chair altogether while all he could do was stare and wonder how he could be so lucky-

Maker he missed her.

It's reflex more than anything when he replies fast with, "Ah, isn't she? Bianca and I have been through a lot together."

Cue the question about the name-

"You named your crossbow Bianca?"

There it is.

"Of course. And she'll be great company in the valley." The two smile pleasantly at each other and Varric can already tell he'll get attached too quickly like he always does-especially when she backs him up when Cassandra objects to him going with them. He got so caught up in his own head that he doesn't even realize he didn't catch her name until she tells it to Solas.

She smiles sweetly at the apostate. "My name's Verania. It's a pleasure to meet all of you," he catches Cass looking skeptical. She catches it to and laughs-that at least is different from Hawke and he's glad for it. It wouldn't be good for his heart.

"Yes even you Cassandra. I would be suspicious of me too if I were in your shoes." The woman mentioned rolls her eyes and walks a bit away but they can tell she's pleased with that answer.

The trio get back to talking while they catch their breath and heal up for a bit and they all get along well for the most part, but what isn't picked up by the rest of the party is the immediate interest Verania has in their friendly neighborhood apostate elf. She tries to keep the conversation with him going as long as she can and of course he sneakily slides in the fact that Solas kept her alive while she was knocked out. Can you blame Varric for helping? He loved playing matchmaker.

After a few more moments the trio walk over to the warrior, who was a powerhouse and didn't need to rest so insisted on keeping watch for the five minutes they were talking, and they begin their short yet eventful walk to the forward camp.

_______________

As Varric watches Verania stand in the middle of a dozen demon corpses surrounded by magic and glowing green light as she holds her hand up high without hesitation or fear, blue eyes standing out in the sea of colour, he realizes that Hawke will have to wait for his return. Something about her is so inspiring he can feel fate tugging on him to follow her wherever she'd need him to go. This is going to be bigger than him, bigger than Kirkwall, bigger than even his closest loved ones. The woman that stands before him defying logic and radiating hope for the first time since all this began is going to make or break the world. And he knows he wouldn't dare miss it for all the gold in Orlais.

At least it'll make a good story.

[ladymarinamart]