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eunsuri · 28 days ago

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The Lighthouse

Pairing: Solas x Lavellan

Summary: Lavellan explores The Lighthouse and reunites with her heart.

Word Count: 6,608

Warnings: ANGST. Lots of emotions. Lots of love. VEILGUARD SPOILERS.

A/N: Hi everyone! Happy 2 weeks until Veilguard! This has taken me way longer to write than I'd hoped, but I MADE IT! This was inspired by a beautiful piece of art by @pani-artz, I couldn't resist! I've kept Lavellan's description vague for those who would like to keep their own Lavellan in mind while reading! Also posted on AO3!

“We’re here.”

A cold breeze swept through the crossroads, cooling Lavellan’s skin as she stepped up the stairs, Harding, and Leliana flanking her from behind. The three stood before the Eluvian, the shimmering surface glowing faintly. The ancient mirror reflected the crumbled pieces of the ruins floating within the crossroads, flickering with ancient magic and ready to draw them into another world.

Anticipation stirred in Lavellan’s stomach, her senses heightened and glaring at her warped reflection. The faint glow of the mirror’s surface cast a strange light across the stone floor through the overgrown foliage around its frame, and the chill in the air seemed to seep into her bones.

Harding and Leliana exchanged glances behind her, but she hardly noticed, her heart thudding rapidly in her chest like a wild creature trying to escape its cage. Harding had seen this Lighthouse before, She knew what lay behind the Eluvian, all the memories hidden in Solas’ base of operations.

Lavellan knew Solas wouldn’t be waiting for her on the other side. Instead, what awaited was everything he had left behind—his memories, his isolation, the echoes of a life spent in the shadows. The thought of stepping into his world, of facing the remnants of his past and the pieces he had chosen to keep hidden, sent a wave of dread through her. She wasn’t sure she was ready for what she might see—for how deeply his loneliness would be etched into every corner of this place

He had stopped appearing in her dreams, no matter how hard she searched the endless distance where he once stood, always watching over her from afar. Even when she reached out, he’d slip away like a shadow, yet his presence had brought her comfort. Night after night, she would speak to him—tell him how much she missed him, how she longed to change his heart. The wolf never answered, but the sorrow in his eyes cut deeper each time, and her desperation to find him only grew over the years.

Now, her dreams were empty, filled with nothing but the ache of waiting for a love that never came. Sleepless nights blurred together as she wondered if he had forgotten her, or if something terrible had happened to him. When Harding had brought news that Solas was alive but trapped in the Fade, it brought a measure of relief, yet doubt still gnawed at her. Would she find any sign that he remembered her in this place, or had she been lost to him as well?

Harding broke the silence, her voice gentle but laced with tension. “It’s… a lot to take in, but I thought you might want to see it.” She paused, then added, “Whenever you’re ready.”

Lavellan’s breath caught in her throat, a fresh wave of anxiety washing over her. Ready? She didn’t think she ever could be. How could anyone prepare to see the deepest, most private parts of someone they loved, but had lost so long ago?

She nodded, not trusting herself to speak. She needed to do this, no matter how much it hurt. She needed to understand him in a way she hadn’t before, to see his world, his pain, and his purpose. Where he had been all this time, if he remembered her. Even if he wasn’t there to explain it himself.

Lavellan took a shaky, deep breath and stepped toward the mirror, the surface rippling as she neared. With a final glance back at Harding and Leliana, she stepped through and the two followed.

Emerging on the other side, her breath caught in her chest. The three stepped into a realm bathed in a warm, golden glow, as if suspended in the sky. Floating islands hovered in the distance, each dotted with autumn-hued trees as if kissed by sunlight, gently swaying in an unseen breeze. Ancient elven ruins, crumbled yet graceful, drifted among them, suspended in the air like forgotten dreams.

Before them stood a weathered statue of Fen'Harel, the Dread Wolf, positioned in the heart of the courtyard. It was a figure of a protector—his posture calm, watching over the space with an almost serene presence. Cracks ran through the stone, softened by patches of moss that had claimed him over time, as though nature itself had embraced him. The statue seemed ancient, yet resilient, a symbol of an age long past, guarding the Lighthouse like a silent sentinel.

Beyond the statue, the Lighthouse rose, stretching impossibly high into the sky, its top crowned by a bright magical light encased in a spinning golden roof. The beacon pulsed with an ethereal glow, guiding not only the lost but also wandering spirits seeking refuge. The golden accents that decorated the Lighthouse shimmered in the sunlight, long streams of green fabric dancing in the wind.

Lavellan marvelled at the beauty and serenity of the place as she continued towards the entrance of the Lighthouse, carefully stepping down the broken staircase. The large door opened as the three approached, allowing them to enter the towering building.

Her breath caught in her throat as she glanced at the faded murals stretching along the pathway, their muted colours leading into the centre of the Lighthouse. Each one told a story—Solas’ time in Arlathan, his stories of rebellion, and the ancient history of the elves, including the tale of the Evanuris' downfall.The images on the walls, the stories painted into the stone, all reflected the weight of millennia.

Murals she had seen variations of before caught her eye, depicting Fen’Harel freeing slaves and removing their Vallaslin, as he had once done for her. Another told the story of the Evanuris’ rise to power and their tyrannical ways, with Fen’Harel’s outstretched arms attempting to show them they were not truly gods.

The Dalish legends she had grown up with had taught her to fear the Dread Wolf, to tread lightly lest the trickster god hear her footsteps. But now, knowing him as she did—not as the villain in their stories, but as the man who had fought to free his people, the man she loved—her heart was torn. The fear remained, lingering like an old scar, but it was now tangled with love, understanding, and sorrow for what he had become.

Lavellan wandered through the Lighthouse, her steps slow as she absorbed the surroundings. Relics of a world long lost lay scattered around, each one steeped in both history and longing. The air felt thick with memories—some sorrowful, others sacred—echoes of a time far beyond reach.

She found herself in a large room that appeared to be underwater, giant framed glass windows as a barrier between the water, with many schools of fish swimming through the depths. A lone green leather sofa was situated in the middle of the room, stuffed bookshelves lined the walls, and an array of candles scattered across the floor creating a cosy warmth that drew her in.

It was then that a soft flicker of candlelight against brilliant colours drew her gaze to a mural, its glow pulling at her like a distant memory. A set of candles was arranged on either side of the mural, almost as though it were a shrine. As she made her way towards the artwork, her heart sank deep into her stomach, a heavy weight settling in her chest.

The painting depicted a woman—one hand raised high, a radiant burst of green light pouring from her palm, the other clutching a sword close to her chest. Below the hilt, the familiar mark of the Inquisition gleamed. It was her.

The weight of this realisation struck her in an instant, chest tightening with disbelief, an ache settling deep as sorrow wrapped itself around her heart. Her likeness, immortalised in these ancient halls, was a reminder of what she once stood for, of the time they shared and the distance between them now.

Her fingers traced along the lines of the mural, imagining the strokes Solas had made, his hand dragging the brush across the stone with care. Every detail, every line, told her this was more than a mere addition to his collection of stories. This was crafted with love. He had painted her not just to remember her, but to hold onto her presence, as though each stroke was a vow to never let her fade from his memory.

Tears pooled along her eyelashes. She didn’t know whether to feel honoured, heartbroken, or both. Every detail of the mural seemed to call out to her, each brushstroke a whisper of what had been, what was lost. Slowly, Lavellan’s gaze fell to a small wooden box resting beneath the mural, its presence unassuming, as though it had always been waiting for her.

Hands trembling, she reached for the box, dragging her fingertips along the warmed wood, and gently lifted the lid. Inside, nestled among the old wood, lay Solas' jawbone necklace. The one he had always worn. Lavellan paused, inspecting the familiar necklace before reaching to lift it from the box. The sensation of the cold bone and thick rope looped around it was almost foreign, yet the weight of its meaning was still heavy.

As the jawbone rested in her palm, memories surged through her mind—fragments of what they once had. She recalled how she’d often tug him closer by the necklace, his lips moving against hers, fervent and desperate, as though her touch were the very air he breathed. She remembered idly tracing the rigid texture of the necklace as she lay against his chest, listening to the gentle rise and fall of his breath as he shared quiet stories of the Fade. Each moment felt as tangible as the cool bone now in her grasp.

She could no longer hold it with the same warmth she once had, but the connection to him, to their shared past, lingered still. The weight of the jawbone in her hand felt like a lifeline to the man she had been hunting for all these years. Desperate to keep that feeling close, she gently lifted the necklace over her head, letting the familiar curve of bone rest against her chest. It settled there, and for a brief moment, she felt as though she had him with her again.

Lavellan clutched the bone in her hand while blinking away the lingering tears which threatened to fall at any moment. As she moved forward, every step felt heavier, unable to shake the palpable sense of solitude that hung in the air. This place, with all its beauty, was not just a refuge for spirits. It was a place of mourning—a sanctuary for Solas’ lost hopes, where his memories whispered through every crack in the stone, and his loneliness lingered like a shadow.

Further in, a large dining table sat in the centre of the room. The long wooden surface stretched out before her, grand and ancient, yet only a single place setting lay at its head—a lone plate, a single cup, and neatly arranged cutlery beside them. An ache squeezed in her chest at the sight. This table, large enough for a gathering, bore only the quiet signs of one man’s solitary meals. Solas had sat here alone, day after day, surrounded by memories and ghosts of his old ambitions.

She couldn’t bear the thought of him there, sitting quietly, the vast emptiness echoing through the room as he contemplated the burden of his mission. He had been so steadfast, so determined, yet the loneliness had seeped into every corner of his existence. How many nights had he sat here in silence, the weight of his choices pressing down on him, thinking that this was the only choice he had.

The simple setting was a stark reminder of everything he had left behind for his mission—companionship, love, the simple joys of shared moments. The pain choked at Lavellan's throat and the tears she had fought streamed down her skin as she took in the sight. She rested a hand on the back of the chair, picturing him there, staring into the distance across the table, as he grappled with the weight of millennia. He had shut everyone out, even those who would have fought beside him, and in doing so, had consigned himself to this eternal isolation.

Lavellan stood still by the table, the weight of her thoughts pushing down on her shoulders like a storm cloud on the verge of breaking. Her sadness gave way to a simmering anger that twisted deep in her chest. How could he have left her—left them—like this? If only Solas had confided in her—trusted her with his truths. If only he had let her share the burden that had twisted his path into something unrecognisable. Things could have been different; they could have faced this together. She could have stood by his side, helped him bear the weight of his cause, find a better way, and maybe, just maybe, spared them both the pain of this isolation.

The thoughts of what could have been pierced through her, sharp and unyielding. How different would their lives have been if he hadn’t pushed her away, if he hadn’t shrouded himself in secrecy and left her to chase shadows for years? Heavy and unrelenting regret settled into her bones. They could have shared this—this fight, this journey. She had loved him enough to stay, to fight for him, but he had locked her out, too consumed by his purpose, too afraid to burden her with the truth.

Her fingers curled into her palms, hands clenched at her sides, frustration clawing its way up her body as she thought of the pain he had caused—his actions had left Varric wounded, with the false gods free to wreak their havoc upon the world. He had condemned himself to isolation, convinced he was sparing her the pain when, in truth, he had only deepened the wound.

Maybe he had been too proud, too wrapped in his conviction that he had to bear this weight alone. He hadn’t let her love him the way she could have. If only. If only things had been different. If only he had trusted her.

Lavellan’s thoughts were then interrupted by the sound of footsteps echoing through the corridor. She wiped at her eyes hastily, straightening her posture as Leliana appeared at the doorway.

“They’ve returned,” Leliana spoke softly. “Rook and the others are back.”

Lavellan turned, her heart still heavy from the weight of her reflections. Without a word, she nodded, following Leliana out of the room and towards the group that had gathered in the main hall.

There was more to it now—she’d learned that Rook had formed a connection with Solas. A tether, almost, caused by the disrupted ritual. She had to know if there was a way, some hidden thread she could pull to reach him herself, to bridge the distance between them once more.

A spark of determination tingled through her skin. If Rook had found a way to connect, perhaps she could too.

Later that same evening, with the sharp sting of her discoveries still fresh in her chest, Lavellan found herself standing in the Fade.

Rook had spoken of how they had become connected to Solas through the ritual gone wrong, their fates intertwined, and Lavellan had seized upon that fragile link. It was all she needed—a thread, however thin, to follow him.

With Varric’s warning in her ears and Solas’ necklace warm against her skin, she stepped forward, stumbling through the dark and desolate landscape of the Fade. The twisted remnants of broken elven statues loomed around her, their cracked surfaces glinting dully in the ethereal light, like forgotten memories trapped in stone. The air was thick with the acrid scent of burnt magic, a bitter tang that clung to her tongue, tainted by a ritual gone horribly wrong.

As she moved, the ground crumbled beneath her feet, each step sending a shiver through her body as she navigated the uneven terrain. She could feel Solas’ presence—distant, yet unmistakable—like a flickering flame in the depths of her mind, pulling her forward despite the air of despair that settled around her like a shroud. Echoes of lost voices whispered through the stillness, their lamentations brushing against her ears, urging her to keep searching in this forsaken place.

She had worked so hard to find him over the past ten years, constantly reaching for him in her dreams only for him to slip away like a fading memory. Her relief at hearing he was alive warred with the anger gnawing at her heart. He had stopped appearing in her dreams, and for so long she had feared the worst—afraid he had been consumed by his mission, or worse, by his pride. Yet here he was, trapped in the Fade, perhaps lost in his own way.

The thought of him being trapped, cut off from everything, pulled at her heart. Just as she had found him again, he was suffering. But that grief mixed with a simmering anger. He had hurt Varric, who had only been trying to stop him from making a terrible mistake.

Her steps quickened, the greyed path through the Fade twisting and bending as though it were alive. She remembered Varric’s words—how he had tried to stop Solas, how Solas, in his struggle tugging at the lyrium dagger, had let it go too far. The thought stung, reopening the old wounds that had never fully healed. He had hurt someone they both cared about. Had it been an accident, or had his obsession with his plan blinded him to everything else?

It was then she saw him. Solas stood at the edge of the platform, his presence powerful and untouchable like a distant star. His eyes caught hers with a knowing look, as though he had been expecting her all along.

His strong stance wavered ever so slightly, a near imperceptible shift. Somehow, he was even more beautiful than she remembered. He was draped in dark leather armour that hugged his frame, his broad shoulders embellished with gold which decorated his chest as well. His face remained sharp and regal, though it now carried a colder edge. The weight of his millennia-old burden clung to him, as heavy as the Fade around them.

The sight of him sent a rush of warmth through her, but it was quickly swallowed by the bitter pang of nostalgia and regret, memories crashing over her like an ice cold wave. Lavellan’s voice faltered, the carefully rehearsed words slipping from her grasp, lost under the crushing gravity of his presence. For countless nights, she had imagined this moment—each conversation, every plea, practised over and over. But now, as he stood before her, all those thoughts scattered like dust, leaving her speechless.

“Solas.”

Her voice trembled with the only thing she could utter, a raw mix of anger and longing breaking free. Lavellan felt the years between them collapse. The sorrow, the love, the pain, and the anger—it all surged forward, overwhelming her in an instant.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. Solas’ expression remained guarded, though the tension in his jaw and the weariness in his eyes betrayed him. His lips parted, as though he might speak, but the words died unspoken on his tongue. The silence between them stretched, thick with unspoken history.

Lavellan’s heart raced as she struggled to steady her breath, emotions crashing over her: love, anger, and grief all vying for control. She wanted to scream at him for the pain he'd caused—to her friends, to her. She wanted to demand answers, to weep for his loneliness, for how lost he had become. But she also longed to run into his arms, to hold him so tightly he could never leave again, to feel the warmth of his lips, to taste the love they once shared.

Across the distance, Solas silently soaked in the sight before him. Amidst the boundless darkness of his prison, his heart stood before him once more. A dull ache crawled from his chest into his throat as he noticed how time had touched her. Soft lines had etched themselves across her skin—subtle, almost imperceptible to anyone but him. She looked exhausted, as though the years had been heavy, yet her beauty had not faded. Her eyes still held the same fire, the same brightness that had captivated him.

His gaze fell to her arm, the gleam of metal catching his eye—her prosthetic. The sight of it twisted his heart into a deep, bitter knot of guilt. She had lost her arm because of choices he had made. Though removing it would save her from an untimely end, her connection to the Anchor would have consumed her had the arm remained. However, that knowledge offered little comfort.

It was because of him. she had been marked in the first place, that she had been forced to bear that burden, to lose part of herself for a cause that had never truly been hers to fight. He carefully swallowed the pain in his throat in an attempt to mask the surge of sorrow that threatened to break through.

For a heartbeat, the distance between them seemed insurmountable and never ending. Yet the connection they had forged so long ago, deep and unshakable, remained—like a tether drawing them together even now.

Solas shifted subtly, searching the depths of his mind for words that could bridge the chasm of time and pain between them. No words could repair the damage that had been done, not a single syllable could undo the devastation he had caused.

“Vhenan…” he whispered at last, his voice rough, heavy with all the things left unsaid. It was the only word he could manage, the only truth left to him, spoken as though it held within it all his love and regret. The word hung in the air like a fragile promise.

The harsh and unforgiving hand of grief gripped Lavellan’s heart at the sound of his endearment. It had been so long since she had heard the word leave his lips, and yet it was the same—soft, full of meaning. She placed one foot in front of the other, taking a tentative step forward, her fingers brushing against the jawbone necklace, grounding her in the reality of the moment. The memory of their love flooded her, the fluttering which overwhelmed her belly when he would call her his heart, mingling with the anger that still smouldered in her chest.

“What have you done, Solas?” Her voice cracked through her cutting words, the accusation spilling through her lips before she could bite her tongue. “You stopped coming to me. You were…tearing the Veil apart, and then Varric—” She swallowed hard, her eyes burning with unshed tears. “You didn’t stop. You hurt him, and now… the false gods are free and ready to destroy this world.”

Her words were sharp, biting, but beneath the anger was the raw, unspoken truth: she loved him. She always had. And seeing her proud, cunning love like this—trapped in the cage of his own creation—cut deeper than any wound she had ever known.

Solas’ eyes fluttered closed for a moment, his head bowing beneath the shameful weight of her words. When his eyes found her again, there was a subtle flicker in his gaze—something raw and aching, a depth of emotion she couldn’t quite define. Regret, perhaps, or something far more tangled and broken.

“It was not supposed to happen this way,” he murmured, voice thin and weary, as if even the admission pained him, the words almost too heavy to continue. “I had a plan. The ritual, I was moving them to another prison. But Varric interfered, he disrupted a dangerous ritual. I did not intend for him to get hurt.”

The flame in Lavellan’s eyes blazed with fury, her voice trembling as the words tumbled out without a second thought. "Varric was our friend, Solas. You’ve gone too far. He wasn’t aware of your intentions. He tried to stop you, tried to make you see reason, and you—" She faltered, the pain caught in her throat reducing her voice to a weak whisper.

Though Varric still lived, his fate was uncertain, the magic from the lyrium-infused dagger weaving through his veins unpredictably. Her dear friend had only wanted to help—and yet, he had paid the painful price for it.

The hardened resolve in Solas’ eyes wavered, his brow furrowing with the slightest shake of his head. “I’m sorry,” he uttered, the words quiet, but laden with everything left unspoken.

“That’s all you have to offer? After everything that’s happened? After all this time?” Lavellan’s words sliced through the air, her voice was low yet biting. Her fingers curled in, hands tense at her sides as her frustration simmered just beneath the surface.

She was torn between the depth of her love and the hot flame of her anger. She had missed him so achingly—every day without him was a quiet torment—but now, seeing him like this, the one she’d loved so fiercely, all she could feel was the cold sting of his absence, the ache of betrayal. He had left her, and worse, he had hurt Varric in his reckless pursuit.

And now, after everything he had done, he stood there with regret etched into his sharp features, yet offering nothing more than a simple apology. She could see the remorse in his eyes, he meant it, but it wasn’t enough—not after everything. She longed to reach out to him, to close the distance between them, but the wound was too fresh, too raw. How could she bridge the gap when all he had to offer were those meagre words?

“Nothing can change what I have already done,” Solas sighed, the sound long and weary, as though carrying the burden of centuries.

“I know,” she replied, her voice trembling with the heaviness of her admission. “You can’t undo what’s been done… but you can still do better. You can still choose differently.”

Solas studied her, his expression unreadable for a moment, though the gravity of her words seemed to hang between them. "Better choices do not erase what has already been set in motion," he spoke quietly, his tone almost resigned, as though he carried the inevitability of his fate like a burden.

“So what, you'll just let the world fall apart because it's already in motion? You think destroying this world will somehow lead to salvation?” Lavellan began, her voice cold and cutting. Her eyes locked onto his, unflinching as she took a hard step forward. “The elven people you’re trying to save? There’ll be nothing left for them if you don’t help us stop this madness now.”

Her words hit him like a sudden gust, rattling the walls he had built around himself. For a moment, his defences collapsed under the truth of her words. But then, almost instinctively, he pulled them back up, his expression hardening as his gaze held hers.

”'Did you come only to scold me, Vhenan? Or is there more you wish to say?”

Lavellan’s breath quickened at his response, the fire in her eyes dimming for just a moment as his question hung in the air. The silence between the two stretched, filled with all the things that had never been said, all the pain, all the longing in their time apart. She opened her mouth to respond, then closed it, struggling to speak past the heaviness of her own heart.

"There is plenty I wish to say. But in truth, I came because—" She managed to murmur, the words catching in her throat. Her feet moved before her mind could stop them, stepping slowly towards Solas. "Because I was worried about you. Because I wanted to see you." Her voice was raw, as if speaking the truth aloud burned at her tongue. "Because…even after everything I—"

Solas’ head tilted ever so slightly, his expression softening as his furrowed brows relaxed, and for a fleeting second, something in him seemed to break. The unspoken bond between them, ever-present and undeniable, pulled at him once more. He reached out, almost as if drawn by the force of her words, but stopped himself just short.

He wanted nothing more than to hold her close to him and never let her go again. To let every thought spill from his lips and confess his love for her as if it were the first time. The warmth of her presence was only growing closer as she stepped further in his direction, her beautifully intoxicating scent stirring memories of their past together. He craved her fiercely—the softness of her lips, the feel of her smooth skin beneath his fingertips, her lovely voice whispering words of love that echoed in his heart.

But the shrinking space between them felt like a chasm born not only of time, but of all the hurt and chaos he had left in his wake. He didn’t deserve her. Not after his failure. Not after what he had done. He couldn't bear to drag her into the darkness of his journey, a path that he believed would only lead to death. She deserved so much more than the ruins of his mistakes.

He imagined the weight of his choices suffocating her, dimming the light that had always drawn him in. Yet as she drew nearer, he could feel the pull of her more acutely, as though the Fade itself conspired to draw them together. The ache of her absence, the torment of his own regret—none of it could dampen the magnetic force that still lingered between them.

"You should hate me," he spoke quietly, his voice barely more than a breath. "After everything I’ve done. All of the pain I have caused."

Lavellan had closed the never-ending distance between them, the air around them thick with an intensity that took her breath away. Her already racing heart quickened, emboldened by a sudden rush, a defiance against the pain that had lingered for far too long. With a trembling hand, she reached for him, her fingertips brushing against his cheek. The connection was electric, sending shivers through her, reigniting a fire that warmed her very core.

In that moment, all his carefully constructed walls began to crumble, melting away beneath her touch. She could see the tension in his shoulders ease, the weight of his regrets momentarily lifting. Their breaths mingled in the space between them, a fragile intimacy that felt both exhilarating and terrifying.

It had been years since they last stood face-to-face, their encounters reduced to her lone whispers in her dreams. Each night, she yearned for the warmth of his presence, the comfort of his touch, imagining the feel of his skin against hers, the sound of his voice calling her name. The ache of separation had clawed at her heart, and she knew he had felt it too—a longing that transcended the boundaries of their worlds.

"I tried," she confessed, her voice heavy with emotion, barely above a whisper. "I tried to hate you, but I can’t, Vhenan. I could never."

Solas’ resolve crumbled even further, the flicker of vulnerability in his eyes undeniable. “I never wanted you to see what I’ve become. I do not deserve your forgiveness,” he pushed further in a weak attempt to suppress the overpowering love that threatened to consume him.

“I know you cannot change what you have done,” She began through her breath, gently placing her prosthetic hand against his armoured chest and meeting his eyes directly, as though reaching into the depths of his heart. “But I see you, Solas. I see the burden you carry, I’ve seen what you hide in your Lighthouse. It hasn’t changed the way I feel about you.”

Her touch unravelled him completely, cutting through the barriers he had so meticulously built to keep her at a distance and protect her. For all the power that pulsed within him, he was utterly powerless before her. His breath was hitched in his throat, his senses overwhelmed and intoxicated by her nearness. All words escaped him, and instead, he clutched her prosthetic hand to his chest, his knuckles brushing the delicate skin of her cheek, drinking in the moment as if it were the last.

The space between the two vanished, the long-forgotten warmth of each other’s touch easing the ache of a lifetime apart. Starved of the love they had once shared, the air around them grew heavy with anticipation. The energy between them hummed, drawing them closer with each breath, until their eyes flitted shut, surrendering to the inevitable pull of their connection.

“Vhenan…” Solas found his voice once more, before the thread which held him together finally snapped and his lips found hers.

The kiss, at first tentative, quickly deepened as the years of distance, longing, and unspoken words melted between them. It wasn’t gentle; it was desperate, filled with the ache of years apart, with the pain of betrayal and the hope of forgiveness. Lavellan’s hands instinctively reached for him, fingers curling against the cool, textured surface of his armour as if he might slip away again, as if this moment might vanish like a fleeting dream. His hand cradled the back of her head, pulling her closer still, like a drowning man grasping for air.

Solas trembled against her, the control he had so precisely maintained for years finally unravelling in her embrace. Every heartbeat, every breath shared in their kiss spoke of the time they had lost and the memories they had clung to in the dark.

He clutched at her waist, tugging her impossibly close, as though she might disappear if he allowed any distance open between them. The taste of her lips—familiar and sweet—sent a rush of emotion surging through his mouth and into his heart, blooming with love. It was a taste he had dreamed of, mixed with grief, regret, and the bittersweet recognition of all the time they could never reclaim.

For Lavellan, kissing him felt like breaking the surface after endless years submerged in sorrow. She had imagined this reunion, longed for it in her loneliest moments, but nothing could have prepared her for the rawness of it now, the intensity of feeling his warmth, his breath, after so long. Her lips moved fervently against his, as if she could anchor them both in the present, as if this kiss could hold them together while the world threatened to crumble around them.

Time seemed to slow, each second stretching into eternity as their spirits reached for one another, desperate to bridge the chasm of all that had been lost. The air around them shimmered with the intensity of their emotions, the soft crackle of magic lingering like static electricity. Tears mingled between their lips, and Lavellan found herself unsure if they were born from her own heartache or Solas’ sorrow.

When at last they reluctantly parted, it was only enough to breathe, their foreheads pressed together and breaths mingling in the narrow space between them. The warmth of Solas’ skin contrasted with the coolness of the Fade around them. His fingers brushed her cheek, wiping away a tear, his eyes searching hers with a mix of reverence and sorrow, as if committing her face to memory all over again.

“I have missed you,” Solas admitted through a trembling breath, his voice fraying at the edges, each syllable thick with longing and vulnerability. “Every moment, I have missed you.”

Lavellan’s heart stilled at his confession, the pain she’d carried for so long softening, giving way to a quiet joy she had scarcely dared to feel. It was real—his yearning, his regret. He had missed her, and in hearing those words, a wave of warmth rushed through her, filling the hollow space his absence had left behind, like sunlight breaking through a dark, heavy cloud.

“As have I,” she whispered, her voice a breath, an ache. “I love you, Solas.”

The distance between them vanished once more as she closed the space with her lips. An electric tangle of desperation and love crackled in the air, as if they could pour every stolen moment of the past ten years into this one kiss. She breathed the words against his lips— Ar lath ma. I love you, I love you, over and over, with each fleeting pause for air. One hand gripped his broad shoulder as though holding onto the thread of the life they might still have together, while the other skimmed gingerly across his sharp jaw, the cool metal of her fingertips shooting a shiver down his spine.

As their lips moved together, she tasted the faint remnants of the Fade on him—like the bittersweet tang of twilight and the warmth of embers long extinguished. The air was thick with unspoken promises, Solas’ scent enveloping her, an earthy blend of ancient forests, fragrant herbs, and a whisper of magic that felt both familiar and achingly distant. Her heart raced, a wild drum echoing in her ears, as she felt the world around them fade into insignificance. In that moment, nothing else mattered—just the two of them, entwined in a dance of love and longing, the taste of their shared past lingering sweetly on their tongues.

Solas drew a tight breath, his lips forming the words in return, “Ar lath ma, I love you,” each confession fragile and tender, as if speaking it aloud made the moment more real. His hands cupped her face with reverence, fingers tracing the contours of her skin as if rediscovering her all over again, as though he needed to believe this wasn’t some fading dream. She was truly here with him, loving him still, despite all that had come between them. And with each kiss, each murmured promise of love, he felt the final crumbling of the walls he had built to protect himself from this—this undeniable truth that she saw him, truly, as he was: Fen'Harel, the Dread Wolf. And still, she chose him—Solas.

Warm, fresh tears streamed down his cheeks—tears of relief, not of sorrow, and for the first time in an age, he felt lighter, the burden of millennia softening in her embrace.

Lavellan’s fingers traced the familiar lines of his face, feeling the tension in his jaw slowly release. She caught her breath, pressing her forehead gently to his once more, letting the moment wrap around them like a fragile cocoon, holding them together.

They no longer needed words. There was no need for promises, no talk of what came next.

For now, they were simply here—together.

Solas’ hands held her tightly against him, as if memorising every curve of her, grounding himself in her presence, in the warmth of her body pressed to his. He drank in every bit of her, enraptured by the way her eyes sparkled with the tears she had shed. There was no one more beautiful, in body and spirit.

The world beyond them faded into the abyss—no ancient gods, no torn Veil, no crumbling ruins. Just the rhythmic sound of their breaths mingling between them, the quiet beat of their hearts within their chests, steady and sure. For so long, he had dreamed of this, and yet the reality of it was more than he could have ever imagined.

Lavellan clutched him closer, as if to say all the things she couldn’t form with her lips, as if to tell him that here, in this moment, she chose him—not Fen’Harel, not the Dread Wolf. Just Solas.

And as they stayed there, lost in each other, neither knew how long the moment would last—only that, for now, it was enough.

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rachelamberish · 21 days ago

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"Invasion": The Inquisition Mosaic You Didn't Look At Close Enough (Neither Did I)

There I was, minding my own business, in the "clean-up" phase of my pre-Veilguard Inquisition playthrough, finally getting to the point of picking up the final missing pieces of my mosaics and dreading it. I finished "Invasion" and talked to Gatsi for the codex entry .... and something gave me pause.

Gatsi surmises that "Invasion" -- along with the rest of the mosaics, I believe -- is a Tevinter carving. And he concludes that "Invasion" must be depicting the magisters' assault of the Golden City. There were seven magisters, after all, and seven figures in the carving -- although the piece has been defaced and two have been notably and intentionally scratched out -- and the setting is clearly meant to depict a heavenly city, where mortals are not meant to tread. But then, he says this:

This had me ALARMED. I've always subscribed to the theory of the Golden City being Arlathan. I don't even really know if that's a niche theory anymore or if most people are on the same page with that, but reading this made me absolutely certain of it. A depiction of the Golden City that an expert architect is saying has elements of elven architecture. So, I ran to the mosaic to look at it.

And then I tilted my head sideways at the figures that Gatsi was claiming to be "magisters". And I said: "No, that's Ghilan'nain".

Here's the mosaic, which I've sharpened to make it easier to see and with the addition of my own markups:

Mythal wouldn't be depicted here, because she's dead at this point. Fen'Harel wouldn't be depicted -- for obvious reasons. If my identification of who's pictured here is correct (and it may not be, associating the elven pantheon with their sigils is a bit of a shaky science right now), that would make Sylaise and June the two that have been scratched out. I'm assuming they would have originally been in the lower left hand corner.

As to why they'd be scratched out, BEATS ME. Maybe there was greater dissent amidst the pantheon than we know about.

But uh....yeah. I didn't fucking know this existed. Because those mosaics were annoying to grab and I really never looked too closely at them. And I looked, and I haven't seen anybody talking about it. But I'm taking this as soft confirmation on the Golden City = Arlathan = the place where the elven gods were imprisoned theory. And it's been ... right there. In the game. For eleven years.

#da #dragon age #dragon age meta #datv

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nadas-dirthalen · 24 days ago

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I Saw Solas's Origin in an Achievement Icon and It Opened My Eyes on 15 Years of Lore

— PART TWO: if you haven't read previous parts, do it now! —

[ 1 ] [ 3 ] [ 4 ] [ 5 ] [ 6 ] [ 7 ] [ 8 ] [ 9 ] [ 10 ]

Welcome, friends and travelers! I wanted to get some thoughts recorded before Veilguard's release so I could see if I am right about an absolute BOATLOAD of theories I have.

In short: I saw the achievement list when it was released. I have seen the backstory hints for Solas included in said list. AND MY MIND WAS BLOWN.

You have been warned: THIS COLLECTION OF THEORIES INCLUDES SPOILERS FOR EVERY DRAGON AGE GAME AND ALL PROMOTIONAL MATERIAL UP TO AND INCLUDING OCTOBER 18, 2024.

Come sit down with me. Make a nice cup of tea (and hide it from Solas). We've got a lot of unpacking to do.

(this photo isn't the spoiler, I just like it.)

Today's Docket: (Almost) Every Hint the Elvhen Language Gave Us Along the Way

Today we will be reviewing:

The Lullaby from the Deep Roads in Trespasser

Elven phrase: Ar dirthan'as ir elgara, ma sula e'var vhenan.

Lullaby: "Suledin (Endure)"

A breakdown of the word Suledin

Lullaby: "Where Willows Wail"

Song: "I Am the One"

Decoding the word (Indecipherable) from the Temple of Solasan

The Lullaby from the Deep Roads in Trespasser

I wish I'd posted here this summer, but finding this lullaby during a Trespasser replay and actually going out of my way to translate it was the first inkling I had that Solas might be Titan-wrought.

We know that Mythal mined Titans. But this lullaby is the first concrete indication that I had that she made Solas from lyrium, too.

For our purposes, I am not pasting the incorrect translation given by the codex. Just the elvish.

Ir sa tel'nal, Mythal las ma theneras. Ir san'a emma. Him solas evanuris. Da'durgen'lin, Banal malas elgara. Bellanaris, bellanaris.

It took me a long time to translate, and there are some parts I'm not even sure that I have correct. But they came together for me once I saw Solas's achievement icon, and I will explain some of the new pieces later on in this post.

Since the dwarven word for lyrium is Isana, I am making the guess that Ir san'a translates the same way.

I am one, not [nal] [anymore] Mythal gives me dreams Lyrium within Becomes Solas evanuris Little stone boy Never grants me elgara (the Domain, the Titan—more on that soon) Forever, forever

Da'durgen'lin has been ringing in my mind for months. Plural months. Seeing the achievement icon, that was the first word that came to me. Mythal's da'durgen'lin — her little stone boy.

He was once a part of more than one, and now is alone. Just one. Mythal gave him dreams—dreams that called him. He became Solas, evanuris. Little stone boy.

And now, he will never be of elgara, a spirit of the Titan, ever ever again.

Forever, forever.

"Ar dirthan'as ir elgara, ma sula e'var vhenan" — What does e'var mean, and what in the world does it have to do with Sera?

Second big "Solas might be Titan-related???" thought this summer: hearing Vows & Vengeance episode 1 and hearing a phrase that had eaten my brain since I first heard it used. Ar dirthan'as ir elgara, ma sula e'var vhenan. Something Solas says, a little flippantly, to Sera—and something he sighs at, when she does not understand it.

But in V&V, when he says it to the Eye of Kethisca, its lyrium song... quiets.

So what does it mean? Well, some of the words had poked at me for a while. But with the achievement icon, I believe I understand them, when I think about their Titan implications.

Ar dirthan'as ir elgara, ma sula e'var vhenan.

Ar: The elvish page on the DA wiki says this is the word for "I" or "me." We're sticking with that.

dirthan'as: This one gave me pause. We know dirth as "knowledge" or "wisdom," but also as "tell" or "speak." To understand it, I looked at the suffixes, the TWO suffixes. The "--an" suffix we recognize mostly from place names (vir abelasan, Solasan). But the "--as" suffix? I recognize i from "vhenas:" "home". So for this one, I am taking "place-home" to mean "domain." Domain of wisdom.

ir: Wiki says "I am," and I'm sticking with that.

elgara: We know "elgar" is elvish for spirit. But why the extra A? It puzzled me, until I realized Solas's Titan connection. I think the extra A comes from lyrium spirit. (And from the previous song, I think elgara is referring to that connection back to the lyrium, Solas's place in the Titan's choir.)

ma sula: In Elvish, the placement of the "ma" determines the subject/object of the sentence. When you see "ma" before a verb, it means, "you do the verb." Since "sula" is likely "sing," this means, "you sing" — or, "sing to me."

e'var: THIS one blew my brain wide open. "Var," we know from the Wiki, is "our." But why the E? Well, think about "Our" in the context of a Titan. Who is our? This refers to the Many.

vhenan: Heart. We know that one.

Taken together?

Ar dirthanas ir elgara, ma sula e'var vhenan. I am a lyrium spirit of the [Titan/Domain] of Wisdom, sing to me in the song of All Our heart.

Think about Sera. Think about small painted boxes, and go watch one of the many theory videos equating Sera with Andruil. Think about why Solas might have been trying to speak to her with those words, in the same way he spoke to the Eye of Kethisca.

Then hope for a Sera cameo in Veilguard. Cross your fingers and light your candles with me.

"Suledin (Endure)"

This is another one of those ones where I won't be posting the (incorrect) translation. My translation here is spotty, with a lot of my guesses or unknowns going into [these brackets]. But even with many guesses, I think this says enough to let us know one thing: this is about Solas, and possibly even written by him.

Melava inan enansal ir su aravel tu elvaral u na emma abelas in elgar sa vir mana in tu setheneran din emma na lath sulevin lath araval ena arla ven tu vir mahvir melana ‘nehn enasal ir sa lethalin

Time was once a blessing I am a song-journey [with no way forward] Eternal are sorrows within In spirit, no longer "we" The land of waking dreams no longer exists Love is purpose Love is the journey of [joy/victory/blessing] A way out of the trap between [my speech and the Many] Time of singing again Triumph over loss, lyrium elvhen man

Ask me, one day, how all these mentions of Love might relate to Lucanis. To Spite. To the climax of Veilguard itself.

I hope I'm right.

A quick breakdown of the word Suledin...

It is very possible that it is, in fact, three words made into one. Sul • e • din.

Sul: possibly shortform for Sing

e: possibly referring to the Many, as in e'var

din: end, or the dead.

Suledin: Sing our dead. As in, go on living, remembering the lost. Go on being, breathing, and carrying the memory of the forgotten. Not strictly endure, but outlive.

Var lath vir suledin, then, might mean: our love will outlive this.

Crying yet?

(Banter source: Varric/Solas after the first memory in the Jaws of Hakkon DLC.)

Lullaby: "Where Willows Wail"

Tel’enara bellana bana’vhenadahl, Sethen’a ir san’shiral, mala tel’halani Ir sa’vir te’suledin var bana’vallaslin, Vora’nadas san banal’him emma abel revas. Ir tela’ena glandival, vir amin tel’hanin. Ir tela las ir Fen halam, vir am’tela’elvahen.

My translation:

Nothing is eternal, the tree of the People is forever [ruined/blighted] I walk the path here in the land of waking dreams, I give you no help I am [one of The All], [but I cannot endure because of] our [bad/ruined/blighted] vallaslin [Vora] inevitable [here] becomes nothing within the sorrow of freedom I am not [good/holy] [belief], the path the one of no glory. I did not give myself the name Wolf, we [are not called the elvahen.]

I'll let you cry with me. Solas is alone. He can't help you. He is stuck.

The tree of the People... might be the branches of the We. The lyrium, connecting him to the Titan. The blood of the We that makes up all that Solas is.

It is forever ruined. He is cut off. He is one of the All, but he has no ability to find strength in that pain, because of the vallaslin—the one he burned off his face, leaving a scar.

Y'know. The vallaslin in the shape of lyrium branches. The ones in the shape of his body. The ones that so many of us were wearing for 10 long years.

The sorrow of freedom.

Let that ring in your mind, as I have.

"I Am the One" — and now, we're beginning understand the Forgotten Ones, aren't we?

No translation needed. Let me bold what I want to focus on.

I feel sun Through the ashes in the sky. Where's the one Who'll guide us into the night? What's begun Is the war that will Force this divide. What's to come Is fire and the end of time. I am the one Who can recount What we've lost. I am the one Who will live on. I have run Through the fields Of pain and sighs. I have fought To see the other side. I am the one Who can recount What we've lost. I am the one Who will live on.

Solas is the one who can remember what was lost. Cool, elvhen empire, right?

But he says I have fought to see the other side. This song crops up in Origins. Why would it say that, when Solas hadn't actually physically been back to the Fade by then?

Because that's the wrong other side. The original other side was any life outside of his Titan.

The divide isn't between us and the Fade. It's between the Fade/Evanuris and the Titans of the real/waking world.

And with all Titans being forgotten, with them forgetting how to wake up... isn't it peculiar that Solas is the sole one who can remember?

What does it mean, then, that Solas is the one who will live on?

And was any of this why the elven version of this song was what they used for Solas ans Elio's chanting in Vows & Vengeance episode 1? Because something about that song prompted them to use it, even though the elvish is not BioWare canon because it was written by someone else.

For whatever reason, they wanted us to know Solas was singing these lyrics. That this was his message, when dealing with a lyrium orb.

Trust me, I'm still going. If "Titans = Forgotten Ones" isn't clicking yet, it will by the time I'm through with these posts.

The (Indecipherable) from the Temple of Solasan Codex tells us everything we need to know. But what does it mean?

This one's long, but I'll break down this codex bit by bit.

Faintly carved into the stone is a figurebound in chains. Two other figures haveturned their gaze from the central image.The script below the image is ancient,though Solas is able to provide a partialtranslation: Pride in our accomplishments and in our hearts. That same pride became (a word meaning corrupted or altered) within him, he sought to claim (indecipherable), cast from favor and so he was bound. Hidden from mortal eyes, death lies within.

Here goes.

Faintly carved into the stone is a figure bound in chains. Two other figures have turned their gaze from the central image.

I believe this means: two worlds that don't accept Solas as their own. Or, the "We" that turned away from him.

The script below the image is ancient,though Solas is able to provide a partialtranslation: Pride in our accomplishments and in our hearts

The use of our here is insane. Because I don't think it's our in the regular way, I think it's Our in the capitalized way. If I were to translate back to Elvish, I'd write it like: Solas in e'var enasalin la e'var vhenan.

I think it meant to say: the Titans harbored pride. Pride in themselves and the We; but Pride that turned their focus away from the We.

Ambition.

That same pride became (a word meaning corrupted or altered) within him,

That same pride was preyed upon and altered. By whom? Well, who filled him with dreams?

(This needs a LOT OF CONTEXT from the Blackened Hearts memory in DA:tv, Memory #3, before I can definitively say more!)

he sought to claim (indecipherable), cast from favor and so he was bound.

Ah, (indecipherable). He sought to claim a new life. He sought to claim love. He sought to claim independence. And the Stone struck him out of it. Separated him. Cut him off from the whole like a rotting limb. And so... he was bound, because he was untethered. Mythal bound him to her, and (probably) made his vallaslin in the shape of the body he'd just had. (Lemme cry about that a whole other time oh my god)

Hidden from mortal eyes, death lies within.

BECAUSE THE WORLD FORGOT THE TITANS.

The Titans are hidden from mortal eyes. The TItans are starting to exhibit their blighted selves with the emergence of red lyrium.

The Titans, perhaps, are doomed — unless Solas fixes them by tearing down the Veil? Unless the lyrium that grows in the Fade is also needed by the Titans in the waking world?

ANYWAY: if you're still here reading, thank you. Truly. I'm hoping Part 3 will come soon, but I truly don't know yet! Busy week, chronic pain, etc.

Next up: The Titans' Magic and Lyrium.

#dragon age #dragon age the veilguard #veilguard spoilers #dragon age: the veilguard #da:tv #dragon age spoilers #dragon age meta #dragon age theory #da4 spoilers #da:tv spoilers #datv spoilers #solas

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vir-bellanaris · 10 hours ago

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Veilguard Finale Drabble (Solavellan)

Because I think it's good (for my mental health) but a missed opportunity to not have a romanced Lavellan react to the bad ending for Solas.

Lavellan paced back and forth back and forth, her feet wearing down the ruined stone within the dark corridor. Her nails were already bitten down to the quick, so she chewed her lips bloody instead. She only paused to listen, the sounds of fighting in the chamber beyond had ebbed, straining she could hear angry voices muffled by the thick obsidian walls.

She paused, her mind a war of indecision, her heart pounding in her throat. She couldn't leave him. Solas needed her. She could feel it dragging through her gut like long claws of dread.

Her feet moved almost of their own accord forward, gathering pace when she saw blue light shining beyond the grand doors left ajar.

They were atop the dais, the torn Veil shimmering and gossamer behind them.

She saw him.

His visage broken and bloodied. His hands bound by the energies emanating from the Veil, twisting tighter even as he struggled.

Rook held the real lyrium dagger.

"No!" Lavellan's cry was choked in her tight throat, panic and horror paralyzing her for two crucial heartbeats.

Then she began to run.

Her legs burned as she clambered up the seemingly endless stairs, toward the one thing that mattered. Despite all the bitterness, loneliness, and heartbreak, he had always mattered.

Rook sliced the dagger across Solas' palm. "Now the Veil is once again tied to the life force of an ancient elven god."

The words were muffled, the meaning barely registering.

"No!!" Lavellan's voice broke free, her eyes wide and starting, full of hot tears as she pushed Rook aside.

Solas' angry expression alighted on her, taking her in. His features twisted, anger transforming into shock, then terror, before settling on broken grief.

Lavellan sobbed, her fingers scrabbling uselessly against the magical binds around his wrists. "No, no, no!" She grabbed desperately at him as the Veil drew him backwards, away from her.

"Vhenan." Solas' voice was so achingly familiar, trying to soothe her even now, though his low cadence was fringed with a darker emotion.

Lavellan followed after him, grasping his arms and pulling against the inexorable draw of the Veil.

"Let me go, vhenan."

"No! I won't!" The brightest burst of emotion she had felt in ten years rocked through her body, the remnants of the anchor responding, flickering sparks of green energy lighting up the veins of her shoulder and neck. "I will not allow this!" She focused her will upon the torn Veil, commanding it to close, to release her heart.

"You must." Solas was bound still, unable to move so much as an inch closer, though he tried with every fiber of his being to close the distance to her.

Lavellan's efforts slowed the pull to a stop, both of them knew it had bought them only moments. She cupped his face, tracing a shaking touch over his haggard features.

Tears fell freely from his eyes, hot upon her fingers.

Solas shook his head. "I am sorry."

"Tell me how to save you." She whispered, drawing herself up onto her toes so she could nuzzle gently against his face.

"I have been bested. You will not share this fate." Solas drew upon the remainder of his magical energies, fighting the bonds of the Veil for a moment more.

He did not heed the pain that tore at his spirit, bending forward just enough to brush his bloodied lips against her mouth.

Then he sagged, his body ripped from her grasp, landing with heavy impact against the swirling primordial lights of the Veil.

His gaze did not leave her, even as he was slowly drawn in.

She ran for him, screaming his name, reaching for him. For all her efforts even she, once so adept at manipulating the Veil, could do nothing.

In that last moment, she saw a faint and sad smile touch his lips as he locked eyes with her.

His mouth opened, the last part of him to be swallowed up. His words echoed in the now empty air like wisps on the wind.

"Ar lath ma, vhenan."

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creative-frequency · 15 days ago

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Lucanis Dellamorte x Reader: Late Nights & Delayed Confessions, pt.1

Summary: Lucanis and Illario are finally returning home from the Wigmaker Job in Vyrantium. You're waiting for them to see that Lucanis is alright and join them on the way back after a good night's rest. Unfortunately, the room in the tavern has only one bed. Word count: 821 Notes: (Unresolved) romantic tension, pining, you're an Antivan Crow, no spoilers for Veilguard → My writing masterlist

You had never particularly enjoyed the waiting game. Never had been any good at it either.

Seeing the ship finally arrive at the harbor, you felt antsy. Shaking the numbness off your limbs didn’t really help, but you moved closer in jarring steps, attempting to catch the two very familiar, hooded figures stepping down the drawbridge.

You planted your hands at your hips and waited for them to notice you in the middle of the stream of people.

“Only ‘the Great Lucanis Dellamorte’ would delay a summons from the First Talon herself,” you said loudly enough to catch the men’s attention. No one else around you paid any mind to it. And even if they would’ve happened to catch some of the words, a smart person would’ve doubled their efforts to leave the scene as fast as possible while pretending they heard nothing. Antivan Crows and their silly reputation.

The men paused right in front of you. Delight quickly spilled across Illario Dellamorte’s face and he pushed past his cousin to embrace you.

“Hah! Indeed.” You exchanged cheek kisses. “Fiore, it is lovely to see you.”

A muscle ticked at Lucanis’ jaw. There would be no cheek kisses or embraces for an old friend from him. Not that you had expected there to be.

“Did she send you to fetch us?” he questioned, poorly masking the irritation.

You finally took a cursory glance over Lucanis and your heart stilled for a moment. He seemed to be in one piece – despite the wild rumours you had heard of ‘the Demon of Vyrantium.’” Your next breath was a little easier.

“Not particularly, I just happened to be in the area.”

Lucanis rolled his eyes at your cheeky grin and obvious half-truth.

But he was alright. All of his limbs were still attached to that ridiculously lean, muscled torso. Not a hair out of place atop that stupid, handsome face. These thoughts ran rampant around in your head, mixed with bittersweet relief.

Illario followed the exchange and squinted.

“It’s going to be dark soon. We need to find a place for the night, cousin,” Lucanis said with a very good attempt at disregarding your presence.

“That tavern by the street corner is as good – or well, as bad, I guess – as any around here,” you said and nodded towards the said building, “If something as ordinary would suit you two gentlemen?”

“Of course. Let’s go.” Illario nodded. He offered his arm to you and you took it with a gracious smile in thanks. Lucanis stormed off ahead.

“Tell me, what news? Did anything interesting happen while we were away?” Illario asked. His was an easy smile and personality, unlike his cousin’s.

Though, you had seen how Lucanis could be charming, funny and witty in his own way. He just never deigned to show you this side of him.

Tapping your chin in thought, you couldn’t help noticing how Lucanis’ head turned just slightly to hear your reply.

“I was invited to visit the personal vineyard of the Valisti’s,” you finally said and couldn’t hide the smile. The invitation had been the result of months of tedious and hard work; exchanging pleasantries, dressing in the right attires, and serving the right amount of wine and gossip to the right people. The First Talon had disgruntledly admitted that you had outdone yourself.

At least not all the Dellamortes despised you since Illario showed the appropriate amount of excitement at the scandalous revelation: “You little..!”

He tucked you into his side for a quick embrace. You laughed and continued onward about idle gossip in the royal court and changes in the dynamics between the Merchant Princes. All the while Lucanis’ head was tilted to your direction.

“Oh, and I’m so sad you missed the masquerade ball last week! Lord Laurent had truly outdone himself…” you cooed. Illario was inclined to agree with a conspiratory chuckle. He loved parties and dressing up even more. You truly missed going to balls and parties with just fun in mind, not a contract to be fulfilled. And what a shame that Lord Laurent had been an excellent dancer.

“I hear the man was a real killer on the dance floor,” Illario commented.

Lucanis’ almost indistinguishable groan was swallowed by the hustle and bustle of people around the docks. He had a habit of sneaking out of any official or formal events as soon as Caterina was satisfied enough with the amount of face her grandson had shown around. It had been ages since the last time you had had the chance to pester Lucanis into a waltz.

The bubble of anticipation was settling into the all too familiar pining in your chest as you watched Lucanis’ back.

Arm curled around Illario’s, you continued towards the tavern to acquire lodgings for the night. For this one night, you could enjoy the company of old friends and not worry about the next contract.

→ Part 2

#lucanis dellamorte #lucanis dellamorte x reader #lucanis x reader #dragon age veilguard fanfiction #dragon age veilguard #da veilguard #da veilguard fanfiction #fanfiction #my writings

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paperwick · 2 months ago

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I'm here to request Inquisitor Assana information! 🥺 Hobbies, dreams, fears, and anything you can spare thank youuu

Waaah, thank you! I had to pause on this a sec, it's been so long since I've thought about my darling Assana, and it took a moment to remember what she was all about. ToT <3 She really liked playing cards or drinking with her friends, the closet being Dorian, Vivienne, Bull, and Blackwall. She loved chatting with Solas, about anything really. Another favorite pastime was openly flirting with Blackwall; always platonic, it was the sport of it she loved. She was looking forward to retiring from the Inquisition as things ramped up, and then at some point became afraid that day would never come. Sometimes Cole would say something, and she'd realize how deeply sad she is, with the state of the world and with herself. But then someone around her would remind her why life is worth fighting for, why people are worth fighting for, and that would steel her for another day, another week, another month.

Her low charisma would bite her in the ass a lot, she was far too earnest for her own good, but her friends had a way of loosening her up.

Her last and greatest fear was that she wouldn't be able to stop Solas in the end, lost and furious at him for the war crimes and the lies and his pedantic, little platitudes at the end of Trespasser. (Canonically, she'd take him out by any means necessary in the end, he was never the man she thought he was.) I won't end up playing Veilguard at launch, or probably until the eventual full game/dlc bundle goes on sale for several reasons, but I look forward to watching my girl DESTROY Solas, he he he he.

(A wretchedly old set of sketches that I still kinda love of my girl:)

#assana lavellan #dragon age #dai #asks #answers #bunabi

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vir-tanadahl · 9 days ago

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The Wolf's Atonement

Summary: What happens after the events of Veilguard! Occurs after The Burden of the Dread Wolf

Find on Ao3!

If Solas were honest with himself, he would admit he still doesn’t fully understand why Lavellan chose to walk this path of atonement beside him. He hadn’t dared to ask it of her, nor even suggest it; the place he’s heading is dark and terrible, a burden he never wished to share. Yet, voluntarily, she offered to walk it with him, and he found himself unable—perhaps unwilling—to deny her.

And if he allowed himself a deeper honesty, he would acknowledge a quiet, profound gratitude. Her presence steadies him, a warmth against the chill of what lies ahead. He is grateful, more than he ever thought he would be, that she is here.

It’s as if Lavellan can sense the turmoil in his thoughts. “We’ve been on this journey together since the day we met in Haven,” she says softly as they step forward into the Fade, leaving behind the chaos he caused.

Her voice is gentle, yet resolute. “You forbade me to join you at the Exalted Council…” She pauses, her gaze steady and unwavering, before continuing, “…did you truly believe I wouldn’t follow you even now? That I wouldn’t try to show you another path?”

Her words settle around him like a balm, a reminder that, despite everything, she still believes there’s something worth saving—both in him and the world he had sought to mend.

“You left clues for us on purpose…” She laughs softly, the sound warm with fondness laced with sadness. “You wanted us to find you.” Her fingers intertwine with his, grounding him in a moment that still feels dreamlike, as if she is a memory from a life, he thought he would never have because he did not deserve her.

He struggles to absorb everything that has happened: Mythal’s release, her willingness to share in the burden of their ancient mistakes, and the moment he bound his very life force to the Veil. And here—his Vhenan, by his side. She, of all people, had the freedom to stay in her world, to no longer be burden by him.

And yet, she chose to join him. She chose this path of atonement, stepping willingly into the Fade at his side. With her hand entwined in his, for the first time in ages, he feels almost… whole. Her presence easing the weight of solitude he’s carried so long.

But the guilt and shame still cling to him, a heaviness pressing against this fleeting sense of peace. Her touch offers comfort, yet he wonders if he deserves it, if he can ever be redeemed in the face of everything he’s done.

He bows his head, shame settling over him like a heavy shroud. “I didn’t…” he falters, the words catching in his throat, “I didn’t want you to see what I would become…” His voice is low, laced with a deep, aching regret.

Lavellan chuckles softly, though a sadness colors her gaze. “That’s not entirely the truth, is it, vhenan?” She searches his face, but he only shakes his head, unable to meet her eyes.

“I—” His voice breaks, and he swallows hard, unable to find the words.

She sighs, studying him, her expression gentle but knowing. “You didn’t want me to change your mind…” Her voice softens, her words a quiet revelation. “You thought you couldn’t change it yourself, but you still hoped—maybe even needed—someone else to help you.”

His head remains lowered, his eyes fixed on the ground, shadows of pride and regret crossing his face. She watches him, a gentle pause settling between them before she tilts her head, a faint, bittersweet smile touching her lips. “Perhaps you took your name too literally, Solas,” she murmurs.

Solas lets out a quiet, almost self-deprecating chuckle. “Perhaps,” he murmurs. Slowly, he lifts his eyes to meet hers, searching for understanding in her gaze.

Lavellan holds his gaze, her expression softening as a flicker of contemplation crosses her face. After a moment, she looks away, lost in thought. “Or maybe I’m the prideful one,” she says, her voice laced with quiet sorrow. A sad, half-smile curves her lips as she meets his gaze once more, and he catches a glint of something he doesn’t quite understand—uncertainty mingled with affection.

He frowns slightly, confusion flashing in his eyes.

“That I love someone who has made such grave mistakes…” she trails off, the words hanging between them, fragile yet unyielding, her own vulnerability laid bare.

Solas shakes his head, a pained look in his eyes. “Vhenan—” he begins, voice low and unsteady. He wants to reach out, to hold her hand again, to find solace in her touch. But he hesitates, raw and vulnerable, fear threading through him after everything that has happened.

But she doesn’t wait. Gently, she reaches forward, her fingers wrapping around his hands, warm and steady, grounding him as he struggles with the weight of his shame.

“What happened, Solas?” she asks, her voice soft yet firm. “With Varric?”

His gaze drops, shoulders curling inward as he withdraws into himself, searching for words he knows will never fully explain. Silence hangs between them for a moment before he speaks, voice laced with regret. “He… he tried to stop the ritual,” he finally says, a faint defensive edge in his tone that sounds almost pitiful in the stillness. “There’s no excuse,” he finishes quietly, the truth of it settling heavily on his shoulders.

“No, there isn’t,” she replies, her voice neither harsh nor forgiving, rather was in search of understanding. She squeezes his hands gently, pulling him closer, her eyes searching his face. “But tell me… what happened?”

She waits, patient and steady, giving him space to confront the memories and the weight of what he’s done.

Solas sighs, his eyes slipping shut as he gathers the words, bracing himself against the memory. “He attempted to reason with me in the midst of the ritual,” he begins, voice barely above a whisper. “When I didn’t respond, he raised his crossbow…” He hesitates, pain flickering across his face. But he forces himself to go on. “I disabled it, and then Rook and her companions toppled one of the ritual statues.”

He pauses, the weight of what comes next settling heavily over him.

“I…I sought to see the ritual through to completion,” he continues, his voice thick with sorrow. “But Varric… he intervened again.” The image of Varric rushing forward flashes in his mind—the desperate determination, the betrayal etched on his friend’s face. “He attempted to hold me back.”

Solas falls silent, his shoulders slumping further as he remembers the struggle.

Lavellan’s voice is soft, pulling him gently back to the present. “And then?”

A tremor runs through him. “A struggle ensued, but I broke free from his grasp,” he says, his voice barely audible. He doesn’t say more, the words too heavy, the finality of that encounter too painful. He feels her hand squeeze his, steady and waiting, giving him a moment to bear the weight of what he has confessed.

He sighs once more, unable to meet her gaze as he confesses, “I stabbed him with the ritual dagger,” he confesses, the words sharp and bitter on his tongue.

A flicker of defensiveness rises instinctively within him, his mind grasping for reasons, for any justification. But he pushes it away, determined to face the truth without excuse. He knows that this path—this journey of atonement—demands he confront the full weight of his actions and the pain he has caused, unshielded by pride or denial.

He takes a deep, unsteady breath, wrestling with the storm of conflicting emotions that churn within him. Summoning his resolve, he lifts his gaze to meet Lavellan’s. The pain etched into her features is like a blow to his chest, stealing the breath from his lungs. Her eyes, darkened by grief and sadness, mirror his own anguish, and her frown holds the weight of all the words left unspoken.

Every instinct urges him to look away, to turn from the hurt he’s inflicted. But he forces himself to stay, anchored in her gaze, refusing the temptation to escape from the pain he has caused. This is part of his penance, he reminds himself—the need to truly witness the consequences of his actions, reflected back in the eyes of the one who still chooses to stand beside him.

“Oh, Solas…” Lavellan sighs, her voice filled with sorrow as she shakes her head, a mix of disappointment and understanding in her eyes.

“I can no longer offer any justification for what I did.” Solas says quickly, his voice raw, as if the words themselves are tearing free from him. “All I can offer now is that I… am sorry.” His gaze doesn’t waver, holding hers, though the weight of his regret presses heavily on him.

“And I know,” he continues softly, his voice barely above a whisper, “that an apology cannot undo the pain or correct the mistakes I have made.” He remains silent then, allowing the inadequacy of his words to settle between them, acknowledging, for the first time, the depth of his own failings in the light of her unwavering gaze.

Lavellan nods slowly, her gaze steady. “You’re right,” she says softly. “An apology isn’t enough.” Yet her hands remain wrapped around his, warm and unwavering.

He tilts his head, a subtle slump in his shoulders, and though his gaze doesn’t waver, a feeling of quiet defeat spreads through him, settling heavily in his chest.

“But,” she continues, a glimmer of hope in her voice, “you’re on a path toward atonement. And that… may, in time…” She pauses, choosing her words carefully, her eyes searching his face. “Be enough.”

Her words linger in the air, offering him a fragile thread to hold onto, a possibility that perhaps, one day, he might begin to mend the damage he’s caused.

A faint, almost fragile glimmer of hope stirs within him, like a lone sailor glimpsing the faint glow of a lighthouse, its beam filtering softly through the heavy mist of a darkened night. “Perhaps…” he whispers, the word filled with tentative wonder, as though he’s still grappling with the possibility of a future he does not know if he deserves. “You may be right.”

Lavellan smiles softly, finally taking in their surroundings with a touch of curiosity. “So, this is the prison you created for Elgar’nan and Ghilan’nain?” she asks, her gaze drifting over the gray, fractured landscape of the Fade around them.

Solas releases a hollow, self-deprecating chuckle. “It is,” he admits, glancing around at the desolate expanse. “A prison of regrets…” His voice trails off as he takes in the bleak creation he crafted—strong enough, he thought, to hold the very Gods themselves. “Strong enough to keep the Gods locked away,” he mutters, then looks down at her with a weary sigh. “I did warn you… this place would be terrible.” Guilt floods his expression, his voice catching as he tries to suppress the tears welling in his eyes.

Lavellan hums thoughtfully, her eyes lingering on him before breaking into a wry smile. “Well, it’s clearly not that strong,” she replies with a playful glint. “Rook managed to escape, and last I checked…” She pauses, her smile growing as she meets his gaze. “She wasn’t a god.”

She steps closer, wrapping her hand around his arm, grounding him with her presence. “And you, Solas—you’re not a god either. Which means this prison cannot hold you,” she says, her voice warm and unwavering, a quiet confidence in her words as though she believes in his strength more than he does himself.

Solas gasps softly, as if the very breath has been stolen from him. The fragile glimmer of hope from before brightens, growing steadier as he gazes down into her eyes, almost losing himself in their depth. In her gaze, he sees love and compassion, unwavering and profound. It’s as if, without him even noticing, she’s been quietly chipping away at the walls of his own inner prison, easing the weight he has carried alone for so long.

With her presence, he feels something shift—a slow, dawning realization that perhaps, just perhaps, he might begin to unburden himself, to find a path not only to atonement but to acceptance. While still small, there is a newfound hope within him—a quiet, steady belief that perhaps he can truly achieve his goal of atonement.

A flood of emotions surges through Solas, emotions he has tried so desperately to bury over the last ten years since he last saw her. The dam he’d so carefully constructed—a trickle when he first glimpsed her at the Archon’s Palace—finally shatters, releasing a torrent of feeling that crashes over him. Each emotion is as intense, as overwhelming, as it was the day he left her at the Exalted Council, undiminished by time.

At last, Solas reaches for her, pulling her close, his touch both tender and urgent. He cups her face, bringing her gently toward him, and presses his lips to hers. The kiss begins slowly, a tentative connection, but it deepens quickly, becoming something raw and desperate, as though he’s been drowning for years and has only now come up for air. Each moment feels like a gasp of life, a long-awaited release, as he finally allows himself to feel what he’s kept locked away.

His hands find their way to her waist, drawing her closer, and their tongues meet in a sweet, tender dance. Isera's fingers find their way to the leather of his armor, holding on tight, as if she's holding on to his heart, only drawing him closer.

Solas pulls back for a brief moment, his gaze fixed on her. Lavellan smiles up at him, warmth and understanding in her eyes, as she watches the hardened mask of the Dread Wolf begin to dissolve. In its place, the Solas she once knew—the one from their days in the Inquisition—begins to emerge, free, if only for a moment, from the weight of his burdens.

She can see traces of the gentle spirit he once was breaking through, no longer hidden beneath layers of regret and duty. Before she can fully take in the moment, Solas’s lips find hers again, with a hunger born of years of longing, as though he’s a man starved, and she is the sustenance he’s been denied.

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