#i mean. solas + vhenan would work for all yes?

[roguelioness]

when i mention solavellan please know i'm also including solvelyan, soladash, soladaar and all combinations

that man is is not an exclusive elf enjoyer, I will die on this hill

[kcwriter-blog]

WIP Wednesday

Got tagged by @thebookworm0001to share my WIP. Thanks! I needed a kick in the rear to keep working on this...

“You can’t keep doing this Solas,” she mumbled. “You can’t keep stealing into my dreams.” She looked up at him, her features twisting in anguish.

He lost his composure, then. His mouth twisted downwards. His eyes sparkled with unshed tears. He raised a hand toward her, full of longing, then dropped it to his side, fisting his hand.

“Didn’t you know?” His voice was hoarse, breaking on the words. “I did not enter your dream. You have entered mine, just as you did at Skyhold so many years ago.”.

“I – what? That’s not… I don’t have the Anchor anymore and I’m no Dreamer.”

“No, but you are a mage. A mage once marked by my magic. Even with the Anchor gone, you have an affinity for the Fade. I surmise your skill has only increased in the interim since I left you.”

“So, the Anchor did change me,” she said, recalling their conversation on her balcony. After she had learned his true identity, she had been a little offended that he thought he was only attracted to her because she was marked by his magic.

“The Anchor did not change you in any way that mattered. You have always had a rare and marvelous spirit. You probably always had an affinity for the Fade. I don’t think anyone else could have survived exposure to the Anchor for as long as you did, even with my help.”

“There’s more isn’t there.

“I suspect your recent brush with death, coupled with the reason you fell unconscious have played a part. Your spirit was searching for safety. This place has always been a sanctuary. “

“You know that’s not true. If I was searching for safety, I would have dreamed I was in Skyhold. I was obviously searching for a person. Why you?”

“You may not like the answer.”

“I never like your answers, anymore.”

He turned away from her. She had to strain to hear his next words.

“Lovers have always called to each other across the Fade. Sometimes, if the attachment is strong enough, they can enter each other’s dreams.”

He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, unable to face her.

She stared at him incredulously. “But that would mean… that you still…and I…” Her voice faltered.

“Did you truly not know?” he asked.

“That you still love me? No. That I still love you? Yes.” she said. Tears began leaking from her eyes, falling unheeded down her cheeks. “I just don’t want to.”

He let out a soft cry of anguish at her words, then knelt at her feet, taking her hands in his.”

“I know, vhenan. Of all the things I have done, this is by far the worst. I knew I was being selfish to grasp at happiness, knowing it could only end in pain. I was weak and you paid the price.”

“We both paid a price. We are still paying it.” She sighed. “And for all that, I cannot regret our time together,” she said. “I should. I still can’t believe the man who cared so deeply for the refugees in the Hinterlands would then condemn them to death simply to assuage his own guilt.”

tagging @arlathvhenan @broodwolf221 @kierarhawke

[teamdilf]

In an effort to distract Iris from her grief and sorrow, Solas takes her on an impromptu date where they find a very particular sort of book to read.

“By all means, kill any wretch we encounter that you want in front of me,” Astarion says with a dismissive wave of his hand.

“You truly do not care about preserving life?” Solas says - a useless line of questioning because they already knew that the man they’ve been travelling with is a feral brat of a man. Also one unable to do up his shirt, given what she’s seen in the last day or two.

Now, normally she wouldn’t give a damn about his sense of style, but the man is handsome and she finds it obnoxious that she’s reminded of just how good looking he is when he wanders around with his chest hanging out, because she’d really rather just be irritated by him, thank you very much.

“Unless it’s my family or our friends? No?”

“So I could go out and shoot lightning at a random passerby and you would not care?” she says, more to damn the man than anything but Astarion merely grins at her, cold and feral.

“Knew you’d figure it out eventually.”

“Vhenan, the man is more bothered by people who dare insult his wife than murder,” Solas says, voice thick with contempt.

“I mean, yes? What would you do if someone insulted your pretty Iris?” Astarion says, collapsing down into the kitchen table, apparently curious enough to commit to a conversation rather than puttering around in the dining room, as if in search of something better to do. 

[broodwolf221]

was talking about solas going to 'work' by going to sleep to document memories in the fade and thinking about his partner being fondly exasperated at times like yes you go take your work naps then... this happened. nessa and solas all happy and at peace together after everything and he goes to work and she asks what he saw

She watched as Solas rolled his shoulders, leaning back from the record he’d been working on to rub at his face. “Time for more studies?” She asked lightly and his exhale spoke to his amusement as he nodded.

“I think so, yes. There are details I am still missing...”

“Of course,” she said agreeably. “But don’t be all day - you know I’d miss you.” She had approached as she said it until she stood behind him, smiling as he tilted his head back to meet her eyes.

“I wouldn’t dream of it, Nessa,” he replied facetiously and she rolled her eyes at the pun.

“Of course not. Go to sleep, my love.” He hummed his agreement and rose, moving towards the bedroom. She watched him go with a small smile, then grabbed her sword. She still liked to get some practice in every day, but she would stay close enough to hear when Revas woke.

*

It was late when they crawled into bed together; she stroked across his face and brow and he closed his eyes, smiling faintly. “Tell me what you found today?” He made a small, thoughtful noise as she continued to touch him, then nodded.

“I found a small village, long since abandoned. What became of its people was not clear, but there was a family that had moved into one of the empty homes. They explored every day, perhaps trying to find what-”

“-became of the prior inhabitants?” She interrupted and he frowned, opening his eyes. “Vhenan,” she began, amused, “you’ve told me this story before.” She felt him flush, felt the heat beneath her hand.

“... ah,” he said simply.

“So what did you see?” She pressed, more curious now than before. Especially when his blush intensified.

“Well. Something far less useful for historical preservation, and far more interesting to myself, personally.”

“Oh?”

“It is, perhaps, something that would be better to show you than to tell you,” he offered, voice suddenly low. She shivered.

“By all means.”

[lyriumlullaby-ao3]

Last Line Game 🩵✨

goooood morning world! i was tagged by @alistairsprayerwarrior to post the last line of fic i wrote, then tag others if i want to!

so i went spelunking through my (obscenely massive) google folder where i keep all my wips, and bc i would have been SO SAD giving you just one or the other, you folks get both sides of the Miri/Solas and Miri/Cullen nonmonogamy relationship deal 💖

is this more than the prompt asked for?? yes, but i live to exceed expectations 😌✨

the working title of this fic is A Sword to Pierce the Sun, and this first bit is technically only the second most recent line i wrote, going by separate wips. it comes from what will likely be chapter 16 there, during the “ar lath, ma vhenan” scene in the Solas romance that i have… extended 😏 (this bit isn’t that spicy tho, don’t worry):

Taking a shaky breath, Miri nodded and let her hands fall away from her chest, reaching instead for Solas’ fingers against her face, his strong shoulder where he held himself up over her. His eyes darted immediately to the parts of her chest she’d been concealing, something flickering in his wide eyes as they traced the arc of twisted flesh from the end of her collarbone and down, curving above her left breast to where it ended at her sternum. For an instant, his brow furrowed and his lip curled into a snarl as his eyes flashed dangerously, but then it was gone again, so quickly Miri wondered if she’d really seen it at all. Solas leaned forward and brushed a slow series of tender kisses over the scar as his hands fell to her ribs once more, tugging her up against his mouth as he hummed in approval. Miri gasped, arching her back as the little growl he released sent sparks racing down her spine, making her belly clench pleasantly.

“You are perfect, vhenan. Scars and all,” he breathed, lips dancing over her skin and eliciting a pleasured gasp from Miri as she gripped more tightly at his shoulders.

(forgive me for giving y’all an entire small passage, but. i’m ~300k deep in this sucker and still not posting bc i am one of Those Writers that has to finish before i post a longfic and i am dying to share some of it lol)

okay, and then THIS one is the same longfic, but about twenty chapters later… i must be stopped lmao 😂 Cullen and Miri are in Ferelden, they have stopped at an inn for the night, and Miri woke with a nightmare. When requesting a somewhat unusual (read: spicy) means of comfort afterwards, she and Cullen talk about their trauma and difficulty with deciding what’s real, then some super fluffy smut ensues, ending with:

“Are you sure you’re not a Desire demon?” Cullen chuckled lightly, brushing Miri’s sleep- and sex-mussed hair from her flushed face.

“Hmmm,” Miri pretended to consider, biting her lip and forcing down a giggle at the heat that flashed through Cullen’s eyes as they fell to her mouth. “You tell me—you’re the one who was bitten by a wolf a week ago. Does that seem like something a Desire demon would conjure?”

Cullen hummed thoughtfully in response. “You make a good point… but perhaps that was all a ploy to get me out of my trousers?” He smirked at her, and Miri’s laughter turned to a little groan at the way his scar pulled as he did. Mythal ash suledin, she loved that scar.

“Perhaps,” she giggled, pressing another kiss to the silvery mark of the troubled past he’d left behind him.

“Well, I suppose we’ll simply have to find some way to be certain then,” Cullen rumbled, hands tightening on her hips again as a playful glint flashed through his eyes.

“You have something in mind?” Miri grinned, carding her fingers through his tousled curls.

With a little growl, he pulled Miri tighter to his chest once more and rolled over on top of her, making Miri squeal with laughter as his lips fell to her throat, rubbing his stubble over her sensitive skin and sucking a mark into her neck. “I’m sure we’ll think of something,” he grinned.

yes. these are both longer than a line. technically one of them wasn’t last. i don’t care. i love my daughterrrr she deserves these kisses and you reading these bits where she gets them 😂💖✨

i taggggg uhhh?? @broodwolf221 @kcwriter-blog @ruthvelyan (yeah i know you were already tagged but. tag me in your response if you do it bc i wanna seeeee 💖💖) andddd anybody else who wants an excuse to post a bit of their wip! i love reading about ppl’s ocs and their stories!! i just don’t know off the top of my head who’s a writer and who’s not 😅

(no pressure to do this unless you want to!)

[shift-shaping]

Surana/Solas Party Banter

No idea what the verse for this is. Some sort of hybrid tlatw/canon inquisition idk. But it's fun! 

In case you aren’t familiar, Eirwen Surana was very much in love with Alistair during the Blight, but he sacrificed himself so she could live. Here, she has elected to join the Inquisition.

Banter under the cut!

Solas: A great hero comes to aid the Inquisition. The Hero of Ferelden, no less. Eirwen: Not really, though. Solas: ...No? Eirwen: Alistair was the real hero. He died fighting the archdemon. I only ever did what I had to do. Solas: ...I see.

Solas: Surana. You do not think yourself a hero? Eirwen: *sighs* If a man is ordered to save a child from a burning building or else be killed himself, is he really a hero? Eirwen: Had I not been a Warden, I would have been killed or made Tranquil. I did not choose to do the right thing. I was forced to.

Solas: Regarding our previous conversation. Eirwen: ...alright. Solas: Perhaps the man who went into the burning building does not think himself a hero. But the child he saved will always see him as such, regardless of his motivation. Eirwen: You truly think that? That you can still be a good person if your motivation is purely your own survival? Solas: I did not say that. 'Hero' and 'good person' are not necessarily the same.

Solas: Despite your claim to the contrary, I do not believe you acted purely out of your own self-interest. Eirwen: *dryly* You seem fascinated by my past. Solas: You are an elven mage. It is rare for either to be elevated to the status of legendary hero. (If the Inquisitor is an elf, a mage, or both: Eirwen: Well apparently it's not that rare. Solas: Even still.) Solas: You are an historical anomaly. It is... unfortunate that you are so quick to dismiss your own heroism. If neither Solas nor Eirwen are romanced Eirwen: *flatly* Are you flirting with me? Solas: *surprised* What?

After All New, Faded for Her Eirwen: I'm sorry about Wisdom, Solas. Solas: I appreciate that. Thank you. Eirwen: It must have had a wealth of knowledge. It is a shame to lose so much for so little. Solas: There is a difference between wisdom and knowledge. Eirwen: Right, yes. I remember a joke about that. Would you like to hear it? Solas: ...alright. Eirwen: *clears her throat* Knowledge is knowing that a tomato is a fruit. Wisdom is knowing it does not belong in a fruit salad. Solas: ... Eirwen: Too soon, I suppose. Sorry.

Solas: Thank you, Surana. Eirwen: I told you, Dorian and I aren't fond of that particular vintage. And I thought you'd appreciate the earthy tones. Solas: I... am unsure whether to be insulted. Regardless, that is not what I was referring to. Eirwen: Oh? Solas: Your joke. I did not mean to dismiss it. You... it was unexpected. But not bad at all. Eirwen: Oh. Well, that's about the least dirty joke I know. Want to hear one a drunken dwarf told me in the Deep Roads? Solas: No, thank you.  Eirwen: Ah, you wouldn't like it anyway.

After Here Lies the Abyss Eirwen: I didn't know you disliked the Wardens so much, Solas. Solas: It was not worth mentioning, to you. Eirwen: To me? The most famous living Warden? Veteran of the Fifth Blight? And your friend, or so I thought? Solas: No. Because, truly, what have the Wardens actually accomplished in terms of understanding the Blight? Do you honestly feel you understand it any better than you did before you became one? Eirwen: Is that a serious question? Do I understand it better after witnessing its ravages than I did when I'd merely read about them in a book? Solas: What did the Wardens teach you? What did you learn from them, about the Blight? Eirwen: More than I will ever tell you. Solas: *bitterly* Ah. Of course.

Eirwen: You have always been an apostate, have you not? Solas: By your Chantry's definition, I suppose. Eirwen: My chantry? Am I the Divine now, too? Anyway, you have never spent time in a Circle. Solas: No. Eirwen: Then one thing I will tell you about the Wardens is this: there is no other path to freedom for many mages than to join them. You were not dragged from your home in chains because of what you are. You were not barred from dreaming, or threatened with Tranquility when you performed a spell especially well. Solas: You should not have had to make that choice, Surana. Eirwen: Yet I did. It was the only one I had. And the Wardens are all the world has to counter the Blight. You can disagree from your tower in Skyhold or your hut in the woods or whatever, but we are working with what is available to us. Come up with a real solution and I will listen. But I'm uninterested in ignorant complaints from someone who was not there.

Eirwen: It's not my Chantry. Solas: Poor wording, I suppose. Eirwen: I don't even like the Chantry. Solas: I meant no offense. Eirwen: Yes, you did. Or you didn't care. Solas: I... do not know what you want me to say. Eirwen: Then don't say anything.

Solas: Where was home to you, Surana? Before the Circle? Eirwen: *sighs* An orphanage in Denerim's alienage. Solas: Really? In that case I would have expected you to sound more like Sera. (Sera, if present: What? You think all city elves sound the same? Solas: You are from the same section of the same city. Why would you not have the same accent?) Eirwen: I don't sound like Sera because I was beaten in the Circle until I spoke 'properly.' No offense to Sera, of course. (Sera, if present: More reason to be glad I'm not like you two.)

Solas: I am sorry, Surana. Living in the Circle must have been difficult, and I imagine being a Warden during the Blight was no easier. Eirwen: *sighs* It's alright. You couldn't have known. Solas: I should have tried. I have done you a disservice. I hope you will forgive me. Eirwen: Maybe. Possibly. Did you bring any of that wine with you? Solas: Unfortunately not. Eirwen: *playfully* Then, no. Eirwen: ...But please, call me Eirwen. Solas: I will, Eirwen.

Eirwen: You know, you're something of an 'historical anomaly' yourself, Solas. Solas: How so? Eirwen: You're an elven apostate at the top of a Chantry-led organization. (If Solas is romanced Eirwen: You're even romantically involved with its leader!) Eirwen: You will have a role in history as surely as I. Solas: Perhaps. Tell me though, what does your statue in Denerim look like? The ears, specifically? Eirwen: ...Ah. Fair enough. Never mind, then. I imagine we'll both have our ears docked and our staves turned to swords, in time. Solas: How lucky for us.

If neither Solas nor Eirwen are romanced Solas: Have you ever learned any elven, Eirwen? Eirwen: Unfortunately not. A few words here and there, a long time ago. It wasn't exactly taught in the Circle. Solas: Would you like to? Eirwen: I --oh. I hadn't --um. Solas: *chuckles* You do not have to learn. Eirwen: No! I would love to. From you, I assume? Solas: I cannot imagine you were going to learn it from Sera. Sera, if present: Right on that, if nothin' else.

If neither Solas nor Eirwen are romanced Solas: What elven words do you recall, from your alienage? Eirwen: Ah... okay. Hahren, that's like... elder, or leader. The tree in the middle was called the vhenadahl. Lethallan is like friend, or ally, or maybe even sister? Um, and people who married beneath the vhenadahl called each other something. Vhenan, I think. Which is probably 'love'? Solas: Do you know what vhenadahl means? Eirwen: It must be something about a tree. Solas: And where is it, in the alienage? Eirwen: *slowly* ...The middle. Solas: *amused* And what is another word for the middle of something that spouses might call each other? Eirwen: ...Heart? Solas: So what do you think 'vhenan' means, if it is built from the same root as vhenadahl? Eirwen: *excitedly* ...Heart! Solas: My heart. But well done. Sera, if present: *drawn out groan*

After What Pride Had Wrought, if neither Solas nor Eirwen are romanced Solas: Eirwen, I-- Solas: I am sorry we had to cut our lessons short. Eirwen: It's... I understand. We... no, you were right. Solas: For what it is worth, Eirwen, you... will always be important to me. You have made me re-think so much. I will treasure that, and you, always. Eirwen: Thank you. Perhaps, in another life, another time, we could have-- Solas: I know. *quietly* I know. Ir abelas, lethallan. Eirwen: Telanadas, hahren. Solas: Ma nuvenin.

[theharellan]

Solas Fan Banter

Here’s a compilation of the fan banter I’ve written over the years between Solas and other canon Dragon Age characters, posted for Dragon Age Day 2020. There are references to a canon divergent Solas/nb!Lavellan companion romance. I’ve regretfully not written any Iron Bull banter that I’m proud enough of to feature here, but if anyone has any suggestions for topics I’d be glad to hear them.

Featured characters: Solas, Cassandra, Varric, Sera, Blackwall, Vivienne, Dorian, Cole, Morrigan, Cullen, Leliana, Valta, Renn, and Arcane Advisor Merrill!

Solas & Cassandra

(after receiving the quest Agrarian Apostate)

Cassandra: And he was not even a mage. Shameful. Solas: Would have it been justified if he was? Cassandra: The Templars have sanction to punish apostates. It would not have been beyond their authority. Solas: I would not call that justified, merely legal. Cassandra: The Templars should be better. Solas: The Chantry armed them and gave them an enemy. That might fuel an army, but will only serve to poison their minds against innocent people, apostates or no.

Solas & Varric

(after killing the Templars during the quest Agrarian Apostate)

Varric: I thought at least away from Kirkwall I could get away from crazy Templars. Solas: You believe they were mad? The men I saw were no different from those who confronted us in Val Royeaux.

(after delivering the ring)

Solas: She seems to be holding up well, considering. Varric: Yeah, but I know a front when I see one. Solas: You believe she was suffering more than she let on? Varric: Oh, I know it, Chuckles. That ring might comfort her when the country gets too quiet, but it won’t dry her tears or– shit, do much else, really. Solas: Some wounds only time heal. Varric: And they always seem to leave ugly scars.

(after beginning Here Lies the Abyss)

Solas: You found Hawke after all. Varric: Oh, you know. All those heroics jogged my memory. Solas: Naturally. Varric: What, you going to lay into me, too? Solas: No, no. I understand why you hesitated. (if Hawke is a mage) Solas: To involve her in a Chantry organisation would not have been wise, at least before it had a chance to prove itself. (otherwise) Solas: Given her involvement in this war, I can only imagine there are those on both sides who would blame her for their present predicament. Varric: You mind telling all that to Cassandra? Solas: I would prefer not to.

(after Here Lies the Abyss, if Hawke is left behind)

Solas: I have read your book, you know. The Tale of the Champion. Varric: I don’t know if now’s the best time. Solas: I understand. I only wanted to say that in reading it, I felt your affection for Hawke in every word. I am... sorry, for what happened. Varric: Thanks, Chuckles. Solas: Of course.

(after Here Lies the Abyss, if Hawke survives)

Solas: You said your farewells to Hawke? Varric: Sure did. Sent letters home, debated sending letters to Weisshaupt. The Wardens will need to know the storm coming their way. Solas: You believe Hawke will pose a problem? Varric: Well, maybe not on purpose.

(in the Hissing Wastes, while exploring dwarven ruins)

Varric: I’m surprised you’re not hounding me about how all this makes me feel, Chuckles. Solas: I had thought we established your disinterest. Varric: Yeah, well. I’m thinking about it, anyway. Solas: If you insist. How does this make you feel, Varric? Varric: There’s a tiny part of me that’s really satisfied, you know? Seeing a Paragon of all people living on the Surface, then the rest of me just doesn’t give a shit. Solas: Tradition is a difficult thing to shake, to be conflicted is expected. Do you think our discovery here ought to be shared with Orzammar? Varric: I don’t know about Orzammar, but I can think of a few Surface dwarves who’d be interested in this.

Solas & Sera

Solas: I could not help but notice what you were drawing at breakfast. Sera: What? I wasn’t drawing anything.

(if Sera is romanced)

Solas: You captured our Inquisitor’s likeness well. Sera: Better than you could.

(otherwise)

Solas: There was no mistaking Dagna’s likeness. What were you carrying? Sera: A bowblade. It’s not a thing yet, but if anyone can make one, Widdle can.

Solas: Have you ever given thought to collaborating together on a piece? Sera: Collaber-what? Piece of what? Solas: A painting, or a drawing if you prefer, what medium you decide upon makes little difference to me. Sera: You really think the two of us could work together on anything? Solas: I was under the impression we had been. Sera: That’s different. The Inquisition’s not an ‘us’ thing, or it is, but not us us.

Sera: Say if I wanted to make something with you, what’d we even make? Solas: You ask the question as if there are limitations. Sera: A dragon, then! No, wait, a butt! (beat) Sera: Nothing? Not even a nose wrinkle? Solas: I am not unopposed to the idea. Sera: Ugh, how can you even make butts boring?

Sera: (handing him a drawing) Here, made you something. Solas: What is this? Are those—shoes? Sera: That’s right. One for each toe. You’re welcome.

(After Solas initiates a relationship with Ian)

Sera: So, you and Freckles, huh? Interesting. Solas: Your interest is not my concern. Sera: I always figured you’d wind with someone who’d make the bumping bits matter. Y’know, drop ‘em and rebuild the empire. Solas: It is not the physical product of our love that matters so much as how he makes me feel when I’m with him. Sera: Eugh.

(If Ian is in the party)

Ian: (laughingly) Vhenan, I would choose your words more carefully next time. Solas: Oh. (slightly embarrassed) I did not mean it like that. Sera: Ha! I’ve made him blush. Solas: This is why I didn’t wish to discuss it.

Solas & Blackwall

(While near Ferb’s old fishing pier in the Exalted Plains)

Blackwall: Wonder if the fishing’s good. If we had an hour or two… Solas: Do you consider yourself an angler, Blackwall? Blackwall: I wouldn’t go that far, but I do enjoy the sport of it. Solas: I’ve never considered it a sport. Blackwall: Probably because you’ve never gone fishing just for the fun of it. Next time we make camp, I’ll show you.

Inquisitor: So, how’d your fishing expedition go? Blackwall: You should’ve seen the size of the gar I wrangled. Solas: It was not half as impressive as he believes. Blackwall: He only says that because all’s he caught were minnows. Solas: (scoffs) Inquisitor: So... where is it? Blackwall: We threw it back, of course. Wasn’t like we were going to eat it. Solas: A convenient excuse.

(Along the Storm Coast)

Blackwall: Ever heard of the pale ship that appears on the mists? The Windy Marcher – I think that’s what they called it. Solas: I cannot say I have. Blackwall: An old story, no idea where it started. Must’ve heard it a dozen times in the Free Marches, always a different ending. Solas: As is often the case with legends, the content and moral changes with the teller. Blackwall: One man claimed he’d seen it himself, said the ship was captained by beautiful spirits who’d called him to the sea. Solas: A case of wishful thinking, I assume. Blackwall: He was a bit of a lonely bastard.

(After Revelations)

Solas: You and Cole seem more friendly, of late. Thom: He took some getting used to, but his heart’s in the right place. There’s enough darkness in the world without pushing away the good. Solas: I imagine it was chilling, knowing he could break your cover on a whim. Thom: That did keep me up some nights, yes. Sometimes I wonder why he didn’t say anything. Solas: Perhaps he saw in you what the Inquisitor sees. Thom: Well, I’m grateful. On both counts.

Solas & Vivienne

(After the events of Bring Me the Heart of Snow White)

Solas: I heard the news of Duke De Ghislain’s death. As I understand it, the two of you were close. My condolences for your loss. (if the Inquisitor gave Vivienne a regular wyvern’s heart) Vivienne: (coldly) There was a chance at saving him, but he is beyond saving, now. At least, by mortal hands. Solas: Then I am all the sorrier. (otherwise) Vivienne: He was at peace, and we had the chance to meet at least one last chance before he passed. Solas: Be thankful for that closure, it will bring you comfort in the days to come. Vivienne: It already has.

Solas: How do you feel about the moniker ‘Madame de Fer?’ Vivienne: Oh, I think it’s darling. Why do you ask? Solas: Iron is cold, unyielding without the proper tools, some may use it as an insult rather than a mark of respect. Vivienne: Of that I’ve no doubt, but let them. I embraced it wholeheartedly, and from then on no one could ever truly use it against me. Solas: True enough, such a tactic has worked for others before.

Vivienne: You will be wearing shoes to the ball, won’t you? Solas: My comfort is not worth jeopardizing the Inquisition’s image, so yes. Vivienne: Many elven servants in Orlais go barefoot, it would hardly be a scandal. Still, it would be beneficial. We must all present as a unit when the time comes, not a single hair out of place. Solas: That will hardly pose a problem for the two of us. Vivienne: (makes a sound almost like a laugh) Right you are.

Solas: There are rumours that your name be put forward as the next Divine. Vivienne: I wonder who might have started those. Solas: After all that has happened these past few months, you believe it possible they will accept a mage into their fold? (if the Inquisitor completed In Hushed Whispers / is a mage) Vivienne: Whyever not? Magic is what solved the problem, after all. Solas: Magic has solved countless problems over the centuries, and yet it is still reviled. Vivienne: I am not any ordinary mage. If any mage can achieve status of Divine, I am she. Solas: On that, we agree. (if the Inquisitor completed Champions of the Just and is a non-mage) Vivienne: With the Inquisitor’s support there is nothing I cannot accomplish, my dear.

Vivienne: The Inquisitor gave you that hood not half a day ago and it already has a hole in it. Solas: Two, in fact. Vivienne: Are you afraid we’ll forget you’re an elf if we go five minutes without seeing your ears? Solas: My estimation of your abilities is not that low, Enchanter, and I would be careful were I you. Two holes cut in a hood is not nearly as desperate as donning a pair of horns every morning.

(After Ian is made Tranquil during his personal quest)

Vivienne: I hope you know what you are doing, my dear. The Rite of Tranquility is not something easily undone. Solas: As I understand it, the Seekers did it quite regularly. Vivienne: And through a far gentler process. What they did to Ian was barbaric, but undoing it is not necessarily a kindness. One might even call it selfish. Solas: I never made any claim to selflessness. Vivienne: Go through with it, and he will relive what happened to him every morning and night for the rest of his life. Solas: (with restrained anger) Do not pretend as though you suddenly care for his well-being now, you showed little regard for him before. Vivienne: It is a warning, nothing more. Solas: Your warning is heeded, but it changes nothing. I am under no illusion this will be simple, but to give up on him now— I would be no better than the Circle that once wanted this same fate for him.

Solas & Dorian

Dorian: That book you have on your desk, Solas… Solas: There are many. Which are you referring to? Dorian: There’s one that looked to be in Ancient Tevene. Do you speak it, or are you just keeping it around to look clever? Solas: I would not go so far as to say I speak it, but I understand it well enough. Dorian: How did you go about learning it? Solas: Memories of Tevinter’s empire litter the land, there is hardly a place in Thedas where the world does not remember it, and with memories come language. Dorian: So you learned through the Fade? Solas: I did, though my pronunciation leaves something to be desired. An unfortunate consequence of learning any language alone. Dorian: I might be able to help, but only if you give me the satisfaction of hearing you muddle through it out loud beforehand. Also, I’ll be next in line when you’ve finished reading that book of yours. Solas: (snorts) Very well.

Solas & Cole

Cole: So they’re nobody, but somebody. Empty shells, filled with someone else’s memory. Solas: For the most part, it seems. Cole: If they’re heartless, why are they so angry? Solas: Perhaps it was not so much the absence of feeling, but the lack of recognition of said feelings. Cole: Belief makes them real, even if they’ll always be different.

Cole: It remembered. Delight in discovery, always pushing further into the unknown— someone like that does not simply disappear, and yet... it cannot remember his name. Solas: Names are not so as important as the spirit of the person they belong to. Cole: It remembered the person. Sadder, but stronger. If I ever return to the Fade, I would like to meet it. Solas: Nothing would delight it more. Cole: Oh, I know. I think we’d be friends.

(After the banter where Solas helps prevent a panic attack)

Cole: You breathe in— one, two, three, four— then out— one, two, three, four— feel the grass beneath your feet, magic between your fingers, remember what is and what was. How long did it take you to learn? Solas: More time than is ideal. Cole: I’m sorry. Solas: There is some comfort in knowing I’ve learned enough to help others with such struggles. Cole: I’ll count with you, if you need. Solas: Thank you, Cole.

Solas: I’m curious how your efforts are coming along since we last spoke. Cole: Josephine misses how saffron tastes, but she hasn’t asked the chef to purchase any. I wrote it on a list when no one was watching. Cullen doesn’t like my letters. He says they don’t make sense. Solas: I cannot imagine he devoted much time to understanding them. Cole: No. Listening is... difficult, when you’ve been taught not to.

Cole: Eyes fall shut, but they do not drift away. Their feet are tethered, tied to the ground. Solas: Even dwarves who lived and died on the Surface never dreamed. Cole: But they are still remembered. The song drowns out their thoughts, but it does not smother them. If I listen, I can hear. Solas: I have seen fewer glimpses of dwarven history than I would like, but there are always memories preserved by particular attentive spirits. 

(When passing through the kitchen, or lingering nearby. Solas stands over the stove and Cole sits on a nearby counter, hitting his leg against the wood.)

Solas: Would you like to try it, Cole? Cole: Would it not be a waste? I don’t need to eat. Solas: To overindulge, perhaps. A taste will do you nor the world any harm, a good meal is about more than survival. Cole: Then I’d like to try it, please.

Cole: You don’t have to eat, Solas. Solas: Strictly speaking, no. Cole: Sometimes you do anyway. Solas: When the urge takes me, or if refusing would be seen as ill-mannered.

Solas: If I could ask for your opinion, Cole. Cole: It remembers the garden. The sun bakes it red, colour working through it like a blush upon a maiden’s cheeks. Solas: Excellent. And this? Cole: It was lost in weeds for weeks, neglected and forgotten. It tastes like oversteeped tea. Solas: I see. Then we will find another.

Cole: And it remembers the ocean? Solas: It knows the mountain streams and rocky coasts as well as any well-seasoned traveller, though the paths it takes are laid with smoother stones. Cole: Rough edges wicked away by river waters. Soft enough to stand on without any shoes. Solas: Though one must still take care not to fall. (optional) Inquisitor: Speaking from personal experience, Solas? Solas: I suppose one might say that. Cole: Feet forget the ground, flying out from beneath him, but the rest of him doesn’t follow. Solas: (tinged with embarrassment) As I said. Inquisitor: (chuckles) (otherwise) Cole: But you always get up again.

Solas & Cullen

Cullen: I’m curious how you’ve avoided Templars all these years. Solas: I would prefer not to say. Cullen: I’m no longer a Templar, you know. Solas: Then why do you still wear their heraldry? Or am I mistaken? Cullen: I… Solas: Templar or no, your support for its cause endures. I would not endanger fellow apostates by revealing our methods.

Solas: Master Tethras tells me you served in Kirkwall. Cullen: Varric has no shortage of stories, that one just so happens to be true. Why do you bring it up? Solas: My travels have taken me there, on occasion. Cullen: I admit, I’m curious what your impression was. Solas: All the world is steeped in tragedy, but in Kirkwall the Fade overflows with it. Spells flow from the fingertips with such ease you may forget the Veil altogether. Cullen: That doesn’t surprise me, the amount of abominations I saw during my years there… Solas: They were but a symptom. Kirkwall’s sickness ran deeper than what any one spirit could cure.

Solas & Leliana

Solas: I have heard the Inquisition call you many titles. Sister, Nightingale, Spymaster. Leliana: I have worn many masks, some I’ve liked more than others. Why do you mention it? Solas: Which do I refer to you by? Leliana: (laughs) Whichever you prefer. You may use Leliana, if you wish. Solas: Then I shall see which suits you best.

Solas & Josephine

Josephine: It took several tries, but we managed to remove the wine stain from your sweater. I apologise again for Lady Vérène’s indiscretion. Solas: The fault is hardly yours. It is a pity she is not more open to an apostate’s perspective, but the loss is hers. Extend my sincere gratitude to whoever expunged the mark. I have only a few shirts to my name. Josephine: You know, Solas, now that the Inquisition finds itself in more favourable circumstances, we can afford to purchase you a new wardrobe. Solas: With respect, Ambassador, I value comfort over style. I’m uncertain the Summer Bazaar will be able to accommodate me. Josephine: It would be a most... unusual request, but I believe I know the tailor for the job.

Josephine: Have you found the library to your liking? Solas: I have. I cannot imagine any other circumstance where someone like me could have such unmitigated access to the written word. Most human libraries are not so liberal with their guests. Josephine: I confess, I have never been without books. Ever since I was a child they were always within reach. Solas: Then you must have recommendations. Josephine: One or two come to mind. If I can secure faithful translations, you will have them.

Solas & Morrigan

Solas: You seem well-versed in courtly manners for a woman raised in the wilderness. Morrigan: What are you implying? Solas: That you have a talent for winding nobles around your finger, or that the infamous ‘game’ is not so deadly as they like to believe. Vivienne: Or that more talented souls paved the wave for her. Solas: Another possibility. Morrigan: ‘Tis true that Orlesians overestimate the challenge of this ‘Game’ of theirs. Empress Celene had her desires, and ‘twas a simple matter to keep her satisfied. Vivienne: Which is why you’re with us. Morrigan: With you at my side, I could not help but notice. Vivienne: Believe me, dear. Court enchanter is a trifle compared to where my sights have set.

Solas: I found your son atop the rotunda’s scaffolding today. Morrigan: He has long been fond of climbing, and Skyhold’s trees are too new to bear his weight. Solas: It was no harm. My only regret is I did not have an answer to every question he asked. He is a curious boy. Morrigan: (laughs) That he is.

(During What Pride Had Wrought, upon finding the mosaic of June)

Morrigan: Ah, clever June. The most elusive of the elven gods, insofar as legends are concerned. Solas: Their silence is deafening. Morrigan: I take it you have insight? Solas: Merely that he does not deserve what little credit he is given. Time has forgotten the name of whosoever built the first aravel.

Solas: Rumour spread that Kieran went missing. I trust your presence here means you have found him? Morrigan: I… yes. Solas: He is unharmed? Morrigan: Yes. Solas: Then I am glad. And… you? Morrigan: I have much to think upon, but my son is safe. Everything else can come after.

Solas & Renn

Solas: Tell me, Lieutenant, why did you remain with the Legion? Renn: Having trouble seeing why it’s your business. Why d’you ask? Solas: Escaping would be a simple matter of finding the right battle to slip away from. Freedom would only be a few day’s journey from where we stand. Renn: I couldn’t abandon my men... or my city. Solas: You show great loyalty to Orzammar, considering you will never see it again. Renn: Yeah, well. You never forget your home. Solas: No. I suppose you don’t.

Solas & Valta

Solas: “But the truth is the truth— no matter how political it may be.” Valta: Do you disagree? Solas: Just the opposite. The truth does not change with our ability to stomach it. I am glad a historian such as yourself agrees. Valta: A shame the rest of the Shaperate doesn’t agree with us. Solas: True, but if they had you would not be here, on the brink of uncovering secrets buried centuries ago. In their attempt to keep you out of the way, they unknowingly set you upon the path to even greater knowledge. Valta: Orzammar will know the truth. If I don’t make it, then the Inquisitor— Solas: You are not yet dead, Shaper Valta. Do not count yourself apart from the living so soon.

Solas & Merrill

Merrill: You snort when you laugh. Solas: I’m well-aware. If you are about to ask me to stop, I’m afraid I’ve tried before. Merrill: Oh, it’s not a bad thing. It might be the most charming thing about you. Solas: Damned by faint praise. Merrill: It is a very charming laugh.

Solas: Why did you leave your clan? I read Varric’s Tale of the Champion, but I suspect most of it was a lie. (if present) Varric: Hey! I’m right here. Solas: You did well to lie. To name her as a Dalish mage would be to paint a target upon her back. (otherwise) Merill: I left… I— it wasn’t exactly my choice. There was a mirror, tainted by the Blight. I thought we should fix it, even if it meant turning to blood magic. My Keeper disagreed. Solas: You cleansed the Blight from an eluvian? That is remarkable. Merrill: I used to wonder if it was worth it. I sacrificed so much to get it working, years of my life, my— I’m just glad we’re getting use out of it, now.

Merrill: You’re wrong about my people, Solas. The Dalish aren’t as lost as you think. Solas: They cast you to the streets of Kirkwall, exiled you for the crime of pursuing the duty they tasked you with. Merrill: Some of them said such awful things, they looked at me like I was already a demon, but… that doesn’t mean there isn’t good, too. Sometimes I wonder, had my Keeper not been so against me, if things might have been different. Merrill: I don’t know what they said to you, but I know what their scorn feels like. It hurts, but… there’s so much to admire. Solas: You still feel for them. Merrill: They’re my people, they always will be. No matter how much they might hate me, I’ll always love them. Solas: Put like that, I suppose I understand the sentiment. Merrill: It’s a lonely feeling, isn’t it? Solas: It never ebbs, no. Merrill: Then just— remember them, when you think unkind thoughts about the Dalish. The people you miss, the people you don’t, and what you’d sacrifice for them both.

(in the Exalted Plains, outside the boundaries of Hawen’s camp)

Merrill: (giggles) Datishan was asking about you before we left. Solas: Datishan… Hawen’s little hunter? Merrill: Who else? She wanted to know when you’d be back. Solas: What did you tell her? Merrill: I told her you needed time, that good stories don’t grow on trees. You will go back, won’t you? Solas: It seems I shall have to, or else suffer the wrath of her arrows. Merrill: You joke, but she almost poked out my eye last night. Solas: (chuckles)

[wizardofozymandias]

14 Days of DA Lovers, Day 5: Blushing

Written for the @14daysdalovers prompt event. 

Prompt: Blushing

Pairing: Solas/Female Lavellan

Characters: Solas, Sera, Blackwall, Cassandra Pentaghast, and Ellana Lavellan.

Summary: Solas is subjected to some very inappropriate teasing by Blackwall and Sera, who have a bet riding on who can make him blush first. 

Solas always tried his best to be patient with the other members of the Inquisition, considering their widely varied backgrounds and beliefs. This decision had served him well, earning him the trust and friendship of most of his companions, although there were still a few with whom he would likely never get along very well.

Sera was one of these, and Solas was uneasy from the start when the Inquisitor announced that the party accompanying her to the Exalted Plains would consist of himself, Sera, and Blackwall. At least the stoic Warden was one of the allies Solas considered a personal friend. He only hoped that the other man’s grave manner would put a damper on Sera’s caprices.

But he quickly discovered that was not the case. They were making their way to one of the many demon-infested forts when Sera nudged Blackwall. Someone less accustomed to monitoring others’ body language than Solas might have missed the gesture. For him, though, it was a clear sign of trouble.  

Sera turned to Solas. “So, you and the Lady Inquisitor,” she said. “Interesting.”

Not about to give Sera the pleasure of getting under his skin, he frostily replied, “Your interest is not my concern.” 

Sera laughed.  “That's all right, because I meant boring. The elf always takes the elf so that banging bits will mean something.” 

He heard Ellana let out a slight wheeze—whether from amusement or shock, he couldn’t be sure.

“It is not a topic for discussion,” he insisted. 

“Oh, come on,” Sera taunted him. “Drop 'em and rebuild the empire. Phwoar!”

Ellana’s laughter rang out louder this time. She gestured to Sera. “Oh, stop,” she begged her friend. “You won’t get anywhere with him.”

“We’ll see,” Sera said.

“You’re ridiculous,” Ellana teased.

Hands on her hips, Sera insisted, “Not me. It’s him! And you.”

“Only one of us is looking sad and foolish, Sera,” Solas said.

“Oh, go twang your ears!” she snapped. 

Sera sulked for the next half hour, and she didn’t speak to him for the rest of the day. Solas was thankful that her odd fixation on himself and Ellana seemed to have passed, but he wondered at her uncharacteristic pouting. And there was also the look she had exchanged with Blackwall.

Something was afoot. 

The next stage of their scheme struck the next day. While Solas had anticipated more nonsense, he hadn’t expected its source. 

Blackwall looked thoughtfully at him. “Solas, I have a question,” he said, then admitted, “It's probably going to earn me a fireball to the face.”

“But you're going to grit your teeth and work through it?” Solas asked.

Unfazed, Blackwall continued, “You make friends with spirits in the Fade. So... um, are there any that are more than just friends?” He paused, then coughed. “If you know what I mean.”

“Oh, for... really?!” Solas burst out. This had all the marks of Sera about it. 

Still feigning innocence, Blackwall said, “Look, it's a natural thing to be curious about!”

“For a twelve-year-old!” Solas was indignant, but he admired Blackwall’s entirely deadpan expression. 

“It's a simple yes or no question!” Blackwall insisted.

“Nothing about the Fade or spirits is simple, especially not that.”

That earned a chuckle. “Aha! So you do have experience in these matters!”

“I did not say that.”

Affecting a conspiratorial tone, Blackwall assured him, “Don't panic. It'll be our little secret.”

Solas snorted. “Ass.”

Blackwall roared with laughter. “Now who's twelve?”

Whatever results the conspirators were aiming for, their efforts seemed to have left them unsatisfied. While they had succeeded at annoying Solas, that didn’t seem to have been their primary goal. It left him on-guard against the next series of awkward questions.

The next day, Cassandra arrived from Skyhold to join the Inquisitor’s party. One of the targets from her list of enemies had camped nearby, so she came to eliminate them. She arrived just before dusk, barely in time to eat dinner with the rest of the group. 

As they ate, Cassandra glanced at Solas. “You look more somber than the last time I saw you, Solas,” she observed.

“Dirthavaren is not much of a place for merriment, Seeker. My people suffered too many wrongs in this place.”

She looked as if she regretted her words. “I am sorry. I only thought of the last time I saw you at Skyhold. You looked happier than I’ve ever seen you. Ellana had just passed by with a handful of flowers, and I believe you had one tucked behind your ear.”

“I—” Solas felt his face burn red. 

“Shit!” Sera swore unexpectedly.

Blackwall coughed, and muttered, “well that’s that, I suppose.”

Ellana turned a suspicious eye on them. “What have you two been up to?”

“I just lost a bet,” Blackwall admitted.

Sera grimaced. “We wanted to see if we could get old Fade-Face to blush. I figured teasin’ him about you would do the trick easy enough, but I guess you just have to mention flowers.” 

“You two should be ashamed of yourselves,” Cassandra chided them.

Solas groaned with embarrassment. 

“I’m sorry, vhenan,” Ellana said, laying her hand on his. “But you really do turn the loveliest shade of crimson.”

“I almost suspect you of colluding with their little conspiracy,” he said, not meeting her eyes.

“This was all them,” she protested. “Although the results were. . .informative.” 

He glanced at her face and found her smiling at him. His own face grew hot again, seeing the merriment shining in her green eyes. Well, if the others were going to talk anyway. . .he leaned over and lightly kissed Ellana’s cheek. Sera’s swearing made them both laugh. 

[dreadfutures]

WIP Wednesday at BTV: @kita-lavellan | @silvanils | @noire-pandora | @ellie-effie | @musetta3 | @jarakrisafis | @nivenor-krosis | @kittynomsdeplume | @inquisitoracorn | @ohhgren | @medlilove | @morganlefaye79 | @hollyand-writes

And @crackinglamb who also tagged me!

I’ve had a really awful week but I’ve been slowly chipping away at this very important conversation between Ixchel and Solas. And I’d actually appreciate thoughts on this. I’ll just listen to whatever anyone has to say. This is long though so I’m going to put it under the cut.

Question: Specifically, I'm trying to navigate this complicated cause/effect and question of autonomy and individuality in their relationship, which happens to hold the weight of the apocalypse over both their heads in different ways. It is important that they both can operate as they wish, without fearing they will misstep and drive the other away

Ixchel definitely is one of the reasons Solas ultimately confronts some of his stubbornness/willful blindness, as his friend and someone he respects--it’s the way she lives her life and the way she hopes and fights and the world she believes in that ultimately makes him see more paths available than his din’an’shiral. It's not that she loves him or he loves her.

And he's aware that because of so many complications and questions about her resurrection, that she constantly feels like it might indeed be her love--and lovability--that’s holding back the apocalypse. And their relationship will never be equal and truly healthy until she stops carrying that burden. Somehow she needs to learn to trust that he has made his decision and will continue to make decisions based off of himself, and not her.

But also at the same time, he loves her, and she loves him, and they do help each other with like, reinforcing each other's hope, and reminding each other what they're fighting for, that the fight is worth it, and when the other one is tired, being able to prop them up and help them keep going as equals. There are the shadows of her own anxieties and depression that aren't entirely based in reality, but there are also these fears that are so deeply founded in reality. idk.

The Excerpt:

Ixchel and Solas finished bathing and washed their clothes—smiling like the foolish da'lenala neither of them had ever had the luxury to be. She was full of wine and laughter, and she knew that there would only be more waiting back in the Hold.

But as they dried off in the warm evening sun and she thought about the celebration of Hakkon's rebirth, her mind strayed to the name the Spirits of the Basin had given her, and what she had done to earn it. The shock and gratitude she had felt upon hearing herself called 'God-Song' had faded some, and now the chill of anxiety returned to the pit of her stomach. She shivered despite the golden light that surrounded them, and she felt Solas's attention shift from the sky down to her again. He did not speak, but she felt the question in his eyes on her bare back. "Vhenan," she began in a low voice, "should I… The Spirits called to Mythal through me. Was it her power that they summoned with that song? Or my own? Or theirs?" His grip around her waist tightened. "Do not be afraid," he said, but of course that solidified the cold tendrils of anxiety into hard, heavy dread in her gut. "The Spirits here are older than many," Solas said haltingly, "but they are still young. They remember only echoes of…'elf songs,' they call them. The echoes by themselves have power, even if the subjects of the songs cannot hear. That is the power of a prayer, spoken where the Veil is thin." He took a deep breath, and after a moment of consideration he sat up beside her. He rested one arm across his knees and began to trace idle patterns across her cursed forearm with the other. "I do not think she heard you." She stared across at his tense jaw, though his eyes remained on the horizon. "We summoned Flemeth at Mythal's altar in the Arbor Wilds, with a song," she whispered. He tilted his head slightly. "Did you not have the Well of Sorrows in your company?" "Ah." She gave a shuddering laugh as something, not quite relief, swept through her. "That's true." Solas responded with a shallow nod, but then, for a moment, his chest seemed filled with words. She waited, but he did not speak them before sighing again. "What is it?" she asked, and bit her lip. Solas slipped his arm around her waist to shift her closer, and then he sought out the Anchor. He spread her palm open, and with deliberate slowness, he dipped the pads of his fingers into the shining tear of magic her skin. It was as though he might slip through her hand and into the Fade that way. A vicious shudder wracked her frame; the penetration itself felt strange and dull, like a cramp, and yet the magic in her hand came to life with a hot flare. She could see the spirals of his orb across her skin, as she often could if she examined her palm closely, but now she could see the green tendrils of green rift magic as they wound their way up her wrist and her forearm. To her horror, it was clear that the Anchor had embedded itself almost halfway up to her elbow. She could feel Solas draw upon it with his concentration, and yet the reaching veins of the Anchor did not retreat. The damage had been done. Her fingers had curled around his instinctively, until the bones in his hand seemed to creak in protest. "I will not let them have you," he said. The finality with which he spoke made her feel as though he were not quite answering her question. Some other conversation had played out in his mind, and he had come to this answer. She did not know exactly whether he spoke of Flemeth and Mythal, or even perhaps the all-consuming power of the Anchor. She stared down at their joined hands, eyes burning, which was likely a sign that she was too exhausted to handle these conversations. When she heard and saw the resolve in him, she should have been able to stifle the part of her that remembered how he spoke to her of the din'an'shiral he must walk alone. She should not have immediately been afraid that the calculation he had done in his head was about his loyalties. It should have been a settled matter, and yet, still, it was not. Ixchel took a deep breath and tried to swallow that part of her. "I am more concerned about what she might do with you, Solas," she said truthfully. "How did I end up with Old God's spent soul within me? How did he come to possess it, when Mythal had taken it? Was he moving to the beat of her drum—knowingly, or not?" She saw the slightest twitch of his ear and knew that she had touched on a raw topic there, too. But this was a better topic, and one that was just as important for her to know the answer to. "If I have enticed you from the path that she wanted you on… Should I not be afraid, to stand against Mythal?" He turned his head abruptly, and she met his piercing gray eyes dead-on. After a moment's consideration, he reached around her to stroke her cheek gently with the backs of his knuckles. And she knew immediately that he had heard, beneath this line of questioning, the doubt that still ate at her. There was no challenge in his gaze, but the look with which he pinned her was not soft, either. "My loyalty is to our People above all else," he said, to make her heart seize in her chest. He continued in a measured voice that was heavy with blood and wine. "In Wycome. In Halamshiral. In Serault, and Minrathous, in Skyhold, and across the Veil… If Mythal indeed remains, she would not keep me from such a duty. For all the fearsome tales of the Witch of the Wilds, I cannot believe the All-Mother, if she truly remains, would undercut that work." She gripped his hand ever tighter. "And you… You are not afraid of Mythal," he said, a bitter note coloring his words. "You are afraid of walking your path alone. You are afraid that you cannot hold the Dread Wolf at bay with the strength of your love. And you cannot. You have not." His breath was hot across her face as he drew closer—not to kiss her, of course not, but rather as though he might impress upon her the full weight of his words with the strength in his silver eyes. "You are the Champion of the People. You have sworn, and I have believed." He squeezed her hand back, to emphasize his point. "For as long as you hold true to your purpose, you are my Champion, 'ma'lath, 'ma'av'in. But as you insisted, you chose yourself first. You gave yourself a name, decided its meaning." He brushed her hair behind her ear and then settled his hand firmly at the back of her neck, fingers tangled in her hair to hold her, ground her. He gave her the smallest shake. "Let me do the same." Ixchel swallowed. "Hope is a choice," she murmured. "Yes," he replied, "it is. So is trust." He kissed her gently then, and she tried to lose herself to it. The hand at the back of her neck slipped back to her ribs, to pull her close against his chest. She could feel his heart beat steadily beneath their skin, a steady, certain rhythm. She sighed into his mouth, and he hummed in response. "Ir abelas," she whispered as she broke away. They rested their foreheads together, eyes closed. "Do not be," he said, more gently than before. He raised their joined hands between them and traced the scar that ran down her chest, over her heart. "For all your stalwart strength, Ixchel, for all that you have reforged yourself from ruin, you cannot be blamed for fearing the one who shattered you. Especially when you have given him the very tools with which to shatter you again." Ixchel lost her breath as his words impacted her physically, and she opened her eyes to see that he had, too. For a moment, they were no longer silver—but rather they burned with the blue light of a god's power. That terrible gaze was focused on something deep within her chest…something that responded, and reflected his power back at him in painful resonance. "If there is one burden you can put down," he said, voice falling to a lilting whisper, "it is that you still carry the responsibility of the death of a world in your heart. Please… You must know it was not your failure." The magic in his eyes faded, and his lashes flicked up as he caught her staring at him. There were creases of grief at the corners of his eyes. "My mistakes will always be my own." The grief in his face might have seemed incongruent with the hard and heavy weight of his words, but she could feel how they hurt him as much as they hurt her. "I have told you that you have changed everything, but it was not your love for me, nor even my love for you, that has changed my course. It is the harm I have done to the world, the harm I know I might yet do, that stays my hand. Ane mala vasreëm." Perhaps it was the tears he saw well up in her eyes, or maybe it was simply his anxious mind trying to cut off any possible way he could hurt her more than he had already, but his own face was suddenly torn with pain and apology. "In saying this, I might seem to take away from your perceived victory—" "No," she said suddenly. "Solas, I do not need to believe it a war between us." She freed her hands from his so she could brush briefly at her eyes. "Thank you. I have only ever cared for your path as a friend... I love you, but--" she could not stem the flow of her tears, and she laughed at herself.  She wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her face in his shoulder. He obliged and held her tightly; warm, smooth skin pressed against her rough constellation of scars, and she was enveloped in his smell, his warmth, his magic. She knew that she was safe in his embrace. And she knew that he was right. Perhaps she could have thwarted the Dread Wolf's plans, had she not killed herself. But he had chosen his path, chosen to excise his heart and give it to her, and she had been right to think that to carry it—to redeem it, to return it—was a futile task. Solas had never betrayed her. He had never promised anything. Cole was right: Solas was only ever his own. It was Solas who had watched her walk her path. Solas had chosen to follow, open-eyed. And ultimately, it would be Solas who chose to stay. Life is a story written by two hands, after all.

[noire-pandora]

Welcome! For DADWC, "When was the last time you ate anything?“

Hey! Thank you for the welcome and for this fun prompt. I love writing about a mother hen Solas xD. This prompt ended up a bit too long, sorry for that. For @dadrunkwriting

The cawing of Leliana's ravens mingled with the low murmur of people reading in the library, creating a soothing flow that Solas came to appreciate as the days passed. Normally this rhythm did not bother him, but today it prevented his mind from focusing on the document before him, no matter how hard he tried.

With a sigh, he rubbed his face and dropped the quill he had held motionless for five minutes in a failed attempt to write a complex and riveting account of the nature and uses of Veilfire, but his mind refused to dwell on the subject.

Instead, he stubbornly returned to the memory of the night he had spent in the Inquisitor's bed, wrapped in heavy and warm furs, her arms and legs drapped around his body. For more than an hour, his eyes memorised every line of Lavellan's face as the moon highlighted the pale freckles on her cheeks.

As she slumbered deeply, no concentrated frown playing about her brow, a deep peace softened her features and brought the long-desired calm to his mind.

To his surprise, as the morning dawned and they resumed their well-rehearsed roles, the pleasant numbness of his mind ensued, thwarting his efforts to concentrate. The image of his half-naked Vhenan clinging to his body somehow prevented any intelligent thought. Even when people spoke to him.

Solas smiled at the scroll in front of him, half amused and half irritated at his adolescentine like behaviour. He shared the bed with a beautiful woman (with nothing else happening in the double bed) and the intimacy of the moment made him feel as useless as if he were touching the thighs of a woman for the first time.

She is no ordinary woman, a thought wiggled in his already worked up head. The women I have touched in the past are pale shadows in comparison. None were as exquisite and provocative as she.

Yes. Lavellan was no ordinary woman. Under his fingers, her hot skin burned away every single barrier he'd built to keep emotions and passions at bay. Raw desire shook his body beneath her touch, a desire he'd thought long forgotten.

He shook his head to dispel the temptation as a tingling sensation rose in his belly. It was the wrong time and the wrong place to indulge his fantasies.

The sound of the chair scraping on the floor caused the ravens above him to startle as he decided to stretch his legs and look for a distraction to his wandering thoughts. As he exited the rotunda, his stomach announced with a loud growl that it was time for lunch.

Solas nodded and waved as various people strolling the halls of Skyhold paid him varying degrees of respect. The shadow of a smile played around his lips at the familiarity of the scene: he had returned the same greeting many decades ago, even if the ones offering them were the immortal elves of Elvhenan.

It took him a few minutes to descend the stairs and reach the castle's kitchen. The many aromas that emanated from the room tickled his nose and intensified the growling of his stomach.

"Messere Solas!" One of the cooks, a tall Fereldan with bright hazel eyes, smiled at him as he entered the room. "I knew you would come."

The kitchen swarmed with people in a hurry to prepare meals for those who had time to eat at Skyhold. The sound of clanging pots and pans, clinking silverware, and clattering dishes warmed his heart; this was where he truly belonged, among the people who understood the joy of a simple life. A life he had lost many years ago.

"Hunger has finally defeated our dear Inquisitor, hasn't it?" The cook laughed and placed two steaming bowls of meaty stew on a wooden tray, two fresh loaves of bread beside them. "I knew she’d send you."

Solas frowned. Every few days, when Elluin’s workload allowed it, they would share the delicious meal the cook prepared for them in the privacy of her room. A habit the cooks of Skyhold had learned and grinned at. A small romantic gesture he allowed himself.

But that was not the case today.

"No. I have not seen the Inquisitor yet today. I assumed her duties would keep her busy."

"Oh," the cook frowned. "I haven’t seen her since lunch yesterday."

"I see," Solas sighed.

Elluin preferred to eat in the kitchen, for the majority of the time, and though it took a few months for the surprise of the Inquisitor eating with them to wear off, the people of Skyhold accepted this strange behaviour.

"Is the Herald skipping meals again?" A young cook and one of Elluin's apprentices interjected into the conversation. She clicked her tongue as Solas nodded. "And she tells me never to skip a meal."

"The child is right, Messere Solas. Skipping meals is bad. Especially for someone like her." His eyes stared into Solas' soul, almost blaming him for Elluin's decision to skip meals.

"Indeed. I will personally search for the Inquisitor and bring her here. Please keep the food warm."

The cook nodded with a grin, and Solas felt the tips of his ears grow warmer. No matter how hard they tried, the truth about the depth of their relationship spread like wildfire, and the people of Skyhold gave him the same knowing smile when he worried about her safety.

It took him only a few minutes to find Elluin. A small group of noisy nobles arguing in the middle of Skyhold's courtyard and an exasperated Inquisitor clenched and unclenched her fist behind her back in what he assumed to be an attempt to keep her calm.

In the shade of a tree, he watched as the smile on Elluin's face grew wider, dangerously showing her teeth. The heated conversation continued for another five minutes until Lavellan's patience ran out and he dismissed the spoiled men with a promise to meet another day and analyse the situation.

Solas’ heart beat to his throat as she ran a hand over her face, the wrinkles of exhaustion marking her unusually pale face.

"Inquisitor, could I have a moment?"

For a second, the same forced smile she wore in front of the nobles tugged at her lips, only to be replaced by a brilliant grin, its warmth reflected in the green of her eyes. "Solas! Of course you can. As many moments as you need. Did something bad happen?"

"Depends on what you mean by bad. The cook found your absence from his kitchen worrisome."

Elluin's smile vanished instantly, to be replaced by a pout. "What a traitor."

"The cook is not a traitor. He cares about you and is concerned for your health. So am I.

She rolled her eyes, but Solas learned her strategies for shrugging off the importance of a subject. "You two worry too much."

"When was the last time you ate something, Vhenan?"

Elluin puffed out her cheeks like a child caught in the act, and Solas suppressed a smile that formed on his lips at the cuteness of her gesture. He had to stay strong.

"Elluin..." he warned, and her eyes grew wide at the mention of her name.

"Fine, fine. I can’t the last time I ate," she confessed, raising a finger in the air as Solas opened his mouth to speak. "Before you reprimate me, I didn't do it on purpose. I just had so many things to do that I just forgot. But I am fine."

The dark circles that stained the skin beneath her bloodshot eyes spoke against it, but Solas knew she could not care less about those signs of exhaustion. No, if he wanted to convince his Vhenan to change her erratic eating habits, he had to adopt a different strategy.

"Vhenan," he began, "your body is constantly fighting the ravaging effects of the Mark. Such a tremendous effort requires proper nutrition. If you continue to ignore this truth, your body will capitulate to the alien force that inhabits it.

"Solas," she tried to interrupt him, but he continued without giving her the opportunity to contradict him.

"If your body fails, I will be forced to use my healing powers to give it the strength it needs to continue," he saw the spark of realisation that pushed the growing annoyance from her face. "And when I do, all my healing powers will be used up to keep you alive, thus...."

"Thus you will use up your healing powers and your other patients and any incoming injured soldiers would be left without their experienced healer," she nodded, nibbling on her lower lip. "I understand."

Victory.

"Indeed. The only way to prevent that is to fuel your body to withstand the attacks of the Mal. With food."

Elluin wrinkled her nose as she stared at him, and he could almost see the little wheels turning in the back of her head. It was a flimsy strategy, but Solas knew she cared more about the safety of the people who worked under her than anything else. More than her own health.

He offered her his arm with a gentle smile of encouragement. "Come. The cook is waiting for us with a warm rabbit stew. Let us not keep him waiting too long."

Elluin snorted, but accepted his offer and the two sauntered on as their stomachs growled in protest.

[emerald-amidst-gold]

Well, well, well hello there! I sniffed prompts with promises of fluff, so I ran here because dragon man and wolf man holding hands 🥺

10. Happily doing everything with just one hand, if it means they don’t have to let go

Hope you are having a good day 🌟

Oh, yes, yes! Dragon man and wolf man are obsessed with holding hands! That and resting their foreheads against each other, but hands. HANDS.

This had me thinking, but I got an idea, so let's jump into the FLUFF! (and hopefully it doesn't spiral into sweet angst again. *sweats*)

***

It was no secret, to anyone, that he and Fane were almost always holding hands. Sometimes, it wasn't even that, brushing of the sides of the palms when they passed, both unaware of even doing it, but their souls were, reaching out instinctively. A lot of their interactions were tied as surely as their hands could be, unconcerned by whispering or scandal.

However, today...today his dear dragon appeared to be more...'clingy', so to speak as the two of them were situated in the rotunda, Fane on sofa, reading a book on draconology, and Solas, finishing up some final, small details of the fresco directly next to where his heart was resting.

Well, he was attempting to paint as he was relegated to only one hand, his other locked in a partially leather bound one, the palm covered with the rough material due to volatile magic.

"Ma'isenatha.", Solas said around a quiet sigh, once again feeling resistance when he attempted to move further to the side. "You do realize it is incredibly hard to paint with one hand?" The words fond, but laced with exasperation as he turned his gaze downwards to the mighty dragon of his heart, who was both resolutely reading and keeping their hands locked like a chest.

"Then quit painting for the day. You've been at it since we got up.", Fane said, as nonchalant and flat as usual, eyes skimming text written completely in Elvhen. Where he had procured that particular tome, Solas was unsure.

"That is because these details need to be finished or I will have to start anew. Entirely.", Solas explained, hoping it would sway a stubborn mind enough that the hand attached would relinquish its control on his own.

"You're not tied to this spot, you know.", Fane stated matter of fact, glittering two toned eyes glancing up at him, a stoic face cracking with a smirk. "I've had my hand interlocked with yours all day, and you've been getting by just fine."

Solas blinked. "I have?", he asked, raising an eyebrow as he tore his gaze from all encompassing orbs to look at his work, and sure enough, it would seem he had gotten much farther than he had originally thought, the only remaining portion the bottom half. "...Ah. It would appear you are correct, but how--"

"And I'll just add that you were the one to take my hand.", Fane cut him off, giving the aforementioned appendage a tender squeeze as he diverted his attention back to his book. "And the happy, quiet hums you were voicing told me you weren't too put off by it, so yeah.", he added with a shrug.

"I..do not hum.", Solas denied, willing his voice not to jump as he knew Fane would immediately pick up on his deflection, but as always, his dragon was keen, even without looking.

"Mm-hm.", Fane hummed, unconvinced as he turned a page of his book. "Just like you don't sing." His voice dropping lower than normal, gold sparkling in emerald eyes with a no doubt pleasant thought, one that Solas was confused as to the origins of.

"I do not hum nor do I 'sing'.", Solas denied yet again, but now because he was more confused than embarrassed this time. Fane let out a chuckle, a dangerous timbre laced in its rumble, and one that had Solas feeling anything but threatened.

"Halamshiral says otherwise.", Fane almost sang himself, another smirk slowly forming on beautifully sculpted lips.

"What are--", Solas began to question, but immediately blanched when the realization hit him. "Vhenan!", he exclaimed, the fluttering of the ravens in the rookery making him cringe, but that fizzled out as he could feel his ears staring to burn with the memory. Oh, his dragon was cruel, cruel.

"Relax. I'm fucking with you.", Fane said, blase as can be, but a thumb started to stroke the back of his hand, knowing that he had pressed a bit harder than usual. "Anyways, you want me to let go so you can finish?" The question considerate, well meaning, no jokes within its rolling baritone.

Solas paused, pondering the question, even as minor irritation at being flustered was still evident, as was the blush he could feel lightly warming his face.

Did he want to break their connection?

He glanced down at their joined hands, heart melting steadily as he absently compared the differences and the similarities before he let out a soft sigh, smiling a bit.

"Not particularly.", he said before turning back to the wall, eyes glued to the sharp lines, warm colors, and long thought out symbolize of the fresco. He could feel his face heating up again, a set of familiar eyes peering up at him with an all knowing glint. "It...makes me happy.", he admitted, face steadily working into a blaze. What was it about his dragon that made the coolness melt so easily?

A quiet snort had Solas rolling his eyes, but despite the exasperation he smiled. Only he would fall in love with a truly infuriating dragon.

"I'm going to get Varric to mark this day on the calendar.", Fane quipped, voice teasing and harboring no ill will as he squeezed his hand lovingly. Solas reciprocated as he leaned down to pick up his tools once again, smiling fondly all the while.

"I am sure he will be pleased, and I will be displeased when the topic inevitably comes up.", Solas quipped back, shifting a bit to the side and finding that he, indeed, had plenty of maneuverability. He supposed it wasn't such an arduous endeavor to paint with only one hand.

"You'll survive.", Fane said with a chuckle before his voice dropped low once more, sheepish where otherwise it was filled with bravado. "...And..um..I'm happy that you're happy. Just so you know.."

Solas blinked, halting his task once again to glance down. He saw a delicate blush painting ivory cheeks, emerald eyes nearly gold from its hue and the emotions flooding through draconic ravines as it glared at the pages of the book in a lap he had found himself using as surely as the couch his heart was reclined in. A wider, more tender smile formed on Solas' face at that before he refocused his attention on the mural, even as he wished to gaze at the world that knew, that understood every feeling of disassociation that coursed through a body he had never wanted.

"I am glad, my dragon.", Solas whispered, the hand in his squeezing harder than normal to say, 'Me, too'. "I am glad.."

He would gladly forfeit one of his hands if it meant the one holding his like it was the most precious, perfect thing it had ever found would stay warm, strong, and alive in a world so grey and dead.

****

Solas POV because I love writing him, and these two give me life. I drink in all the fluff! ALL OF IT! X3 Hope you liked it! It was a challenging one, but I like a good challenge! >:D

[gh0stlyink]

𝔗𝔦𝔱𝔩𝔢 - ᴴᵘˢʰ, ᴺᵒʷ

𝔉𝔞𝔫𝔡𝔬𝔪 - ᴰʳᵃᵍᵒⁿ ᴬᵍᵉ: ᴵⁿqᵘⁱˢⁱᵗⁱᵒⁿ | 𝔖𝔥𝔦𝔭 - ˢᵒˡᵃˢ ˣ ᵃᶠᵃᵇ!ⁿᵒⁿᵇⁱⁿᵃʳʸ ᴸᵃᵛᵉˡˡᵃⁿ ᵒᶜ

𝔚𝔬𝔯𝔡 ℭ𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔱 - ¹,⁹⁷⁹

𝔚𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰 - ¹⁸⁺, ᵐⁱˡᵈ ʷᵒᵘⁿᵈ ᵐᵉⁿᵗⁱᵒⁿ

𝔖𝔲𝔪𝔪𝔞𝔯𝔶 - ᴱᵐᵉʳʸ ᶜᵒᵐᵉˢ ᵇᵃᶜᵏ ᶠʳᵒᵐ ᵃ ʳᵃᵗʰᵉʳ ˡᵒⁿᵍ ᵐⁱˢˢⁱᵒⁿ ᵃⁿᵈ ⁱˢ ᵗᵃᵏᵉⁿ ᶜᵃʳᵉ ᵒᶠ ᵇʸ ᵃ ᵐᵃᵍⁱᶜ ᵉᵍᵍ

✧○ꊞ○ꊞ○ꊞ○ꊞ○ꊞ○ꊞ○ꊞ○ꊞ○ꊞ○✧

"It isn't like you couldn't also take a break."

The words of Solas were swimming around in Emery's mind as they trudged through the gates to Skyhold. Even welcomes thrown at them from left and right weren't enough to slate his echoing voice.

I suppose I could have…

They had convinced Solas to stay at Skyhold for this last mission. Emery felt like he had been running himself thin weeks prior, so they wanted him to just take a break, but he decided to use the same argument on them.

Somehow, they had gotten him to stay, saying something to the effect of: "Well, I'm the Inquisitor. I can't just not do my job." Begrudgingly, Solas had relented, but he told them that he hoped they would be back in at most a week. Emery said they would try, and they did indeed.

However, it took them two weeks to complete instead of one. Emery had a feeling Solas was not going to be happy.

Regardless, they were excited to be able to see him again. To be able to listen to his stories of his travels in the Fade. To be able to trail their fingers across his shoulders.

To feel his lips brushing against their neck...

Emery quickly brushed those thoughts away. There were too many people around, and they didn't want to raise any suspicion. They still had some work to do before they turned in for the night, anyway.

That didn't mean Emery couldn't speak around before they headed to Josephine. They spoke to Varric for a while, and he told them about a possible scene in the book he was planning. They spoke to Dorian, who was possibly too curious about Solas, because he asked about whether or not Emery had seen him yet. They said no.

The conversation led them to search for Solas. It didn't matter if Dorian had figured out about their secret relationship. They had already thought about confiding in him, anyhow. He was becoming a dear friend.

When Emery entered the bottom of the library they looked around, only to see that no one was there. They searched around other places in the hold that he would frequent, but he was nowhere to be found.

Finally, they went to Josephine. She generally knew where everyone was.

"Hey, have you seen Solas around? I have a few questions for him?" They asked, trying to be as casual as possible.

"I haven't seen him since this morning," she replied without looking up. "Said something about gathering herbs."

"I see," they were just about to turn around and search even more for him, but Josephine cut stopped them short in their tracks.

"We have a lot of things we need to go over with you, Inquisitor."

And with that, Emery was practically dragged into the War Room. Their advisers knew how hard it would be to get them up in the morning if they had been let go so easily. Of course, Cassandra was the one who had gotten them all to agree to get Emery into the War Room as fast as possible. Only after going over several documents, sending out many orders, and going over resources, they were finally let free.

"It isn't like you couldn't also take a break."

His words were burning, now. They couldn't search for him now; it was impossible. Hopefully, he was waiting for them.

Emery could barely pick up a loaf of bread from the dining room before they escaped through the door to their quarters. The stairs were worse. Every lift of their knee made them want to fall backwards to simply crumple at the base, but the soft promise of their bed kept them going.

Final door. So close... So close... They pushed through, now, and practically fell-

No. They did fall, but they were caught. Caught? Caught by what?

Then the familiar scent filled their nose. The scent of elfroot and that sweet musk they could never describe. Strong arms tightened around them, holding them up from falling further.

They didn't have to look up to know it was Solas who had caught her.

"You seem you have gotten clumsier since our last meeting," his voice soothed, a hand slowly turning circle patterns across their back. The other one had secured the loaf of bread before it had fallen to the floor.

"I'm not clumsy," Emery said stubbornly, as they looked up through their ebony hair.

Solas chuckled and led them to sit in a nearby chair carefully. He placed the loaf of bread on the chair side table cloth, then he crouched down in front of them, taking the side of their face in the palm of his hand. "You look absolutely exhausted," he said more seriously, brushing locks of their hair behind a pointed ear.

"I'm fine. Perfectly fine," they tried to smile widely at him and sit up straight, but a spasm in their back caused them to shrink in pain. "Perhaps...not."

Solas sighed, but smiled warmly. "Lucky for you, I supposed this would be the case." He got up and walked over to a table he had apparently set up with a bowl of water and neatly folded cloths.

"Yes, lucky for me," Emery murmured wistfully. They sounded like they would be able to fall asleep at any moment.

Solas wasn't about to let that happen yet. He was wringing out a cloth from the bowl of water, then brought it over to Emery. "Your day is almost done, Vhenan. Let's freshen you up a bit."

Emery would have moaned from the contact of the warm cloth upon their cheek if they weren't so tired. They couldn't help put lean into the feeling, their eyes closing easily.

Solas put his fingers below their chin and straightened their face. "Do you enjoy making my job harder?" He brought the cloth down their neck, earning an actual escape of breath from Emery's throat. He couldn't help but smile.

"Of course not," came their slow reply, eyes opening lazily to gaze at him.

He brought the cloth up the other side of their neck and along their jaw.

They shivered.

Solas gave them a loving smile, his eyes nearly closing from bliss. "I'm only teasing you," he was brushing lightly over their eyelids now. "You should only worry about resting now. I've got you."

Emery lifted their hand to grab his free one. They ran circles over his knuckles with their thumb. "Sorry I wasn't back in a week."

Solas laughed softly as he stood to put the cloth away. He then made his way behind the chair Emery was sitting in and started undoing the intricate braids that were holding up their hair. "Em, I'm just glad you're here and safe."

Emery sighed happily when his fingers ran through their loose hair, the tips of them working back and forth over their scalp. "Still, I thought we would-"

"Hush now, Vhenan."

His breath was at their ear now, hands moving down their neck and working into the tense muscles. Their shoulders relaxed, head tilting slightly forward.

The only words that were said now were soft spoken elvish. Emery couldn't understand them all, but they were soothing and sent gooseflesh across their skin. They were sure it was loving by the way he was speaking.

Solas was undoing the ties of their clothes now, starting with the pads on their shoulders. He was being so careful. It was as if they were a fragile sheet of glass. He eased the leather down their arms slowly, letting them fall unceremoniously on the floor.

He moved around the chair, fingers trailing along the back of their neck, and began with the ties to their shirt. Soon it had been slipped over Emery's head, added to the pile forming on the floor. He would get to that later, but he was too busy taking in the form in front of him. How they so easily melted into his touch.

He knelt down again in front of them to go for their belt. He wanted them to be able to sit for as long as they could, but it was getting near the time they would need to stand.

Once the belt was undone, he led his palms down their thighs, squeezing them gently as he did so. Emery was beginning to believe he was trying to work them up, but he was only making his way to work on the laces of their boots.

He untied them quickly, sliding them off, then got up and held out his hand. "Come now, I'll take you to the bed."

He didn't have to ask them twice, and they took his hand so he could help them up. He couldn't help himself from pulling them in his arms briefly to brush his lips down their neck.

This earned him a sharp moan, and they almost collapsed forward into his embrace, but he took their hand instead to lead them to the bed. Before he let them sit down, he worked their pants down to their ankles.

Emery sat back and helped him out by lifting their legs so he could pull them completely off. Their foot wrappings we're next, and quick to go. They were only wearing their underclothes now, which was a sheer top and undershorts.

That's when he caught sight of the wound on the back of their calf. "Blackwall told me about the pack of wolves."

Emery leaned forward to cup the side of his face. "That was nearly a week ago. It's basically healed now."

Solas shook his head. "Basically won't do," and with that he got up to get a fresh wet cloth, then came back to wipe at the bite.

Emery winced. Maybe the flesh was angrier than they thought.

"See? If I hadn't caught it fast enough you might have had to amputate your leg," he mused.

"It may be sore, but I know I took care of it enough so that it won't come down to that," Emery laughed, but they couldn't help but to scrunch up their face in pain. It didn't hurt so much to walk with, but touching it out right made it flare up.

"No, truly," Solas lifted their leg a bit higher. "I believe it was at the brink of falling off completely before I came to your rescue.

Emery let out a soft laugh. "You know what, for the sake of my energy levels, I will agree with you," they said, then placed the back of their wrist on their forehead. "Oh, Solas. Whatever would I have done. Without your magical touch I never would have-"

Solas was kissing up from their knee and up their thigh now, which had caught them off guard.

"O-oh-" they could barely get it out before Solas had pressed his lips to theirs; fierce, but soft. It sent a warming sensation through their chest, especially since he was between their legs. The hand that wasn't securely holding onto the back of Emery's neck was holding the back of their knee high up on his waist.

The moment was over quickly, but it had left Emery out of breath and wanting. He had abruptly walked away from them and towards the table with the loaf of bread.

"Wh-where did that come from!?" Emery finally let out, looking at the one before them with bewildered amusement.

"I simply could not help myself, Vhenan," he admitted, and brought the bread over to hand to Emery.

They took it gratefully and ripped a chunk off to stuff in their mouth. “You really are a tease.” they said through chewing.

“There’s more where that came from, I assure you,” he promised, nuzzling their ear affectionately. “Now eat while I bathe the rest of you and get you patched up, my love.”

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[Authors Notes]

this is a repost of a drabble i posted on my main, and honestly, it was so filled with errors, that i am going to delete it.

also, i want all of my stuff in one place

wattpad | ao3 | fanfiction | main blog | witch blog | consider supporting me<3

[pikapeppa]

Solavellan smut: Control

In which Nare Lavellan teases Solas into finding his big bad dread wolf. 👀😏♥ Mild kink warning: spanking, hair-pulling, and some dark!Solas coming out to play.

(I posted this earlier this week, but there were... ISSUES. Thanks Tumblr.)

~5778 words; read here on AO3 instead.

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Nare was feeling cocky.

She was having a particularly good day at Skyhold. Earlier this afternoon, she’d finally mastered a tricky Knight-Enchanter move while training with Commander Helaine, and she’d actually managed to knock the commander off her feet. Then, during her war table meeting, Cullen had informed her — with a rare smile! — that the Inquisition soldiers she’d sent to Wycome were keeping both her clan and the city elves safe from hostile forces, and that her Keeper and an elf from the alienage had been elected as part of a newly-instated city council to run Wycome in the wake of the corrupt Duke’s death. 

Two elves helping to run a human city-state, Nare thought happily. She sometimes had her doubts about her role as the Inquisitor, but on days like today, she couldn’t help but just feel good about what she was capable of doing in this rare position of power.

And so it was an unusually cocky-feeling Nare who sauntered into the rotunda late that evening to visit with Solas for the first time that day. 

He was sitting at his desk and rubbing his chin as he studied an open tome, and Nare admired his handsome frown. She wandered around his desk so she was facing him and leaned her hip against the edge of the desk. “Hello,” she said.

He looked up. His eyes darted over her casual posture, and his preoccupied expression turned into a wry little smile. “Hello, vhenan,” he said. “You’ve been busy today.” 

“I sure have,” she said with a grin. Solas’s smile was small but knowing, and she could tell that he was detecting the cheeky mood she was in.

He leaned back in his chair and folded his hands in his lap. “I trust you had a successful day of Inquisition business?”

“I sure did,” she said.

The corners of his lips twitched, but his tone was pleasant and neutral when he replied. “I would be interested in hearing what you did today.”

Nare smiled, but didn’t reply. Frankly, she hadn’t come here because she wanted to talk about what she’d done today. She was feeling cocky and in control, and when she was standing so close to Solas with his polite manners and the mischievous quirk at the corners of his lips, talking about the Inquisition was the last thing she wanted to do.

She slowly seated herself on the edge of his desk, making sure to arch her spine as she sat. “Why don’t you tell me what you’ve been up to instead?” she said innocently.

His eyes dropped to her bottom before rising back to her face, and a little thrill raced down her spine: his lovely slate-grey eyes were bright with interest. “All right,” he said mildly. “I regret to admit that I’m still in the process of translating this tome in Old Tevene. There is a particular phrase that I seem to be stuck on.” 

“Why don’t you ask Dorian for help?” Nare asked.

Solas lifted one eyebrow. “Do you truly think that Dorian will be able to help with the translation of an archaic form of his native language?”

“Well, you’re able to help with translating Elvhen texts from thousands of years ago,” she reasoned.

He lifted his chin appraisingly. “I don’t believe that Dorian acquired his knowledge of Tevene from prolonged journeys in the Fade.”

“Hmm,” Nare said. 

There was a brief pause while she and Solas sized each other up. Then Nare cocked her head. “Can I look at your tome?”

“Of course,” he said.

“Can I sit?” she asked, and she gestured at his lap.

Solas gave her a reproving look, but it was difficult to take him seriously when was clearly trying not to smile. “You’re already sitting, Nare,” he said dryly.

“I’m on the wrong side of the desk,” she pointed out. “I need a closer look.”

He glanced around the room. “Perhaps we can find you a chair.”

“Please?”

He looked at her once more, and Nare made sure to smile in the most beguiling manner possible. Finally he sighed and pushed his chair back. “Come, then.”

She bounced to her feet and hurried around to his side of the desk, then settled herself comfortably on his right thigh. “Can you show me the phrase you’re having trouble with?”

“Yes,” he said, and he pointed to the page. “This here. As I told you before, Old Tevene is written in… in, um…” He trailed off and cleared his throat, and Nare forced herself not to laugh. It would be mean to laugh at his lack of focus, given that it was her fault: she was slowly rubbing his cock through his trousers. 

“Written in what?” she asked. 

His eyes flicked up to the upper levels of the rotunda before returning to her face. “What are you doing?” he said in a very low voice.

She blinked innocently and smoothed her palm over the hardening ridge in his trousers. “What do you mean?” 

He narrowed his eyes, and Nare brought her hand to a standstill. “Do you want me to stop?” she asked softly. 

There was a loaded pause as he studied her face. Then he spoke in a very quiet voice. “No.”

She gave him a tiny secretive smile, then shifted her position on his lap so her one knee was bent and hiding her hand from view of the upper levels. “What were you saying about this Old Tevene writing?” she said at a normal volume.

“I…” Solas took a deep breath through his nose, and when he spoke again, he sounded perfectly composed. “This tome was written at an age when there were no consistent spellings yet. A single word could be written in a variety of ways.”

His hand was sliding around her back to settle on her waist. Nare smiled to herself, then nodded sagely and continued to run her palm over the bulge in his trousers. “Interesting.”

“And challenging,” he said. “Obnoxiously so, at times.” He shifted slightly on his chair, pushing his groin toward Nare’s hand in the process, and she rubbed her hand more firmly over his cock. 

His eyelids fluttered briefly, but his voice was as calm as ever. “The orthography is also quite deep, which makes the inconsistent spellings even more challenging to decipher.”

“Deep?” she said.

He gave her a chiding smirk. “It means that the relationship between the letter and the sound it represents is not one-to-one.”

“I see,” she murmured. She didn’t really know what he meant, and at any other time she would have asked for clarification, but at this moment with Solas’s cock under her hand and his fingers gradually tightening on her hip, she really didn’t care.

She curved her fingers in a semi-grip over the hidden bulge of his shaft and stroked him more quickly than before. “You must be working really hard to translate this text, then.” 

She watched the movement of his throat as he swallowed. “I am, yes,” he said calmly. “As you can see, there are… multiple reasons why the translation of such an old Tevene text is time-consuming. The inconsistency, the conventions that did exist being less than straightforward…” He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “It makes the translation process quite… frustrating.”

“I can imagine,” she said.

“Can you?” he said sharply.

She forced herself to keep a straight face. “I can,” she said.

He lifted his chin slightly. “You can imagine how frustrating it would be to be moving toward the… completion of a goal, only to have the mechanics of it placing barriers in your way?”

“I can imagine that really clearly,” she said, and she rubbed him more firmly still.

He let out a breathy little laugh. Nare tilted her head toward his ear and lowered her voice. “I can also imagine how satisfied you’ll be when you finally finish… translating.”

“Mm,” Solas murmured.

She smiled and continued petting his cock in a subtle but steady rhythm. A few seconds later, Solas made a very subtle grunt and flexed his hips slightly, and Nare inhaled sharply through her nose; his fingers were biting into her hip with a nearly-bruising force that lit a sudden bloom of lust in her belly. 

She darted a look at him. His eyelids were fluttering slightly, but his face was otherwise perfectly composed, and she couldn’t help but admire how well he’d managed to keep his climax under control. The only obvious sign of how he was really feeling was the firm grip of his fingers digging into her hip. 

A few heartbeats later, Solas let out a slow and quiet sigh, then turned his head to look at her. “Veraisa,” he breathed. 

‘Vixen’, he’d called her. Well, he didn’t know the half of it. Nare was still feeling cocky, and she wasn’t nearly finished with him yet. 

She smiled at him, then ran her finger along the strong line of his jaw before rising to her feet. “Thank you for showing me your text,” she said innocently. Then she walked away. 

She was strolling through the Great Hall and halfway to the doors to her quarters when she felt his hand at the small of her back. “Inquisitor,” he said.

There was a subtle edge of tension to his voice, and a shiver of anticipation raced down her spine. She smiled at him. “Solas,” she said. “Can I help you with something?”

“Yes, in fact,” he said. “I would like to speak to you in private.”

“Of course,” she said politely, and she allowed him to lead her to her quarters. As soon as they were inside the door to her private quarters, he grabbed her and pushed her back against the door.  

He lowered his face to hers, and her lips parted in anticipation. But instead of kissing her, he dropped his lips to her neck and nipped the side of her throat. 

She gasped and tilted her head to the side, and Solas left a line of tiny tender bites along the edge her throat until his lips were at her ear. “You are testing my patience,” he whispered. 

She smiled, then pushed him away. “Good,” she said. Usually Solas was the one to tease and coax her into a desperate frenzy. But Nare was in the teasing mood today, and if the feverish look on his face was any indication, she was doing a very good job of riling him up. 

She dropped to her knees and pushed the hem of his tunic up, and he hastily grabbed the fabric to hold it out of her way. “What are you doing?” he asked. 

“Seeing what a mess you made at your desk.” She started tugging on the laces of his trousers.

He huffed. “You can hardly blame that on me.”

She shot him a little grin. “That’s true. In that case, I’m cleaning up my own mess.” She peeled his trousers down over his hips, and a rush of saliva filled her mouth; the evidence of his climax was liberally smeared on the inside of his trousers and on his cock and his inner thighs. 

She licked her lips, then leaned forward and ran her tongue slowly along his inner thigh, and he sighed. “Nare…” 

She licked his skin a second time and savoured the floury-salty flavour of his release on her tongue, then shot him a cheeky smile. “Yes?”

He gave her a reproving look, but it was cancelled out by the blazing desire in his eyes. “You have a nefarious plan in mind, da’len. I can tell.”

Her groin pulsed instinctively at his use of the word ‘da’len’, but she blinked coyly at him. “I don’t know what you mean,” she said. Then she went back to licking his thighs, long slow strokes of her tongue that drew ever closer to the weight of his cock between his legs. By the time his thighs were clean, his cock was standing at half-mast and his hand was in her hair.

He sighed and flexed his hips toward her, and his fingers gently grazed her scalp. “Nare…” 

She hummed happily, satisfied by the lustful sound of his voice, then angled her head so she could lick his balls. When his cock was once more a proud rod rising from the apex of his thighs, she eagerly took his length into her mouth. 

He gasped and tightened his fingers in her hair, and Nare blissfully closed her eyes as he slid past her palate toward her throat. He tasted like his own pleasure, and Nare suckled him in deep slow strokes, slicking her tongue along his length as he drew in and out so she could clean the evidence of his previous climax from his cock before the next one came.

He groaned and pulled gently on her hair, and a wave of lust rippled from her scalp down to the juncture of her thighs. She suckled him more eagerly until he was thrusting into her mouth, and in the space of a few breathless minutes, he was breathing hard as his cock pulsed against her palate.

“Nare,” he breathed. 

She moaned around his cock and angled her head to take him as deeply into her throat as she could. Then she suddenly pushed him away and rose to her feet. 

His eyes were wide with surprise, his pupils blown wide with lust, and Nare smiled sweetly at him. “I’m going upstairs,” she said, and she ran up the stairs without waiting for a reply.

She burst into her room and waited breathlessly for Solas to catch up to her. A few seconds later, he slowly made his way up the final flight of stairs, and Nare couldn't help but grin; he must have run up the stairs after her, but his decorous pace as he stepped into her bedroom made it clear that he was trying to keep his cool.

Not a chance, she thought confidently. He could try all he liked, but Nare was feeling confident tonight, and she was determined to make him lose control. Judging from the flush of his cheeks and the wild look in his eyes, he was getting close to losing it. 

He was standing perfectly still as he stared at her, though, and she lifted her chin. Not close enough, though, she thought in amusement. She clearly needed to try harder.

“You should take off your clothes,” she said. “They’re all messy.” She pulled her shirt off and dropped it on the floor.

Solas huffed, but didn’t move. “An interesting suggestion. May I ask why you’re removing yours?”

“I’m feeling hot,” she said, and she pushed her leggings down. She kicked her leggings away, then sashayed over to the bed as she removed her breastband. When she was down to just her underpants, she crawled slowly onto the bed — making sure to show off her bottom for Solas’s roaming eyes — then settled herself on her knees with her back to him and slowly pulled her long auburn hair over her shoulder. 

A moment later, Solas’s fingers drifted lightly along the side of her neck, sending a spill of delicious goosebumps down her spine. Then he suddenly wound his fist in her hair and pulled her head back.

She gasped with shock and pleasure, but her gasp was cut short by his lips slanting over hers in a hard kiss. His other hand curved around her throat as his tongue stroked the inside of her mouth, for a moment, Nare melted into the incomparable bliss of his hands and his lips. 

But only for a moment. She was on a mission, after all, and she wasn’t prepared to give in despite the greedy pulse of pleasure that his kiss was fostering deep in her core.

She pushed firmly on his shoulder, and he broke their kiss and released her. “Is something the matter?” he asked.

His voice was edgy and breathless and perfect, and Nare nearly gave in and asked him to fuck her like they both so clearly wanted. Instead, she shifted away from him on the bed. “There is something wrong, yes,” she said. “You’re still wearing your clothes.”

He raised his eyebrows, then shook his head before reaching down to unbuckle his belt. “I’m uncertain what you are playing at, but I will play along,” he said. He gave her a chiding look. “For now.”

She grinned at the implicit threat in his words, then coyly ran her fingers through her hair. “I don’t know what you mean. I’m not playing at anything. But you should lie down when you’re done stripping.” 

He huffed and continued to strip, and Nare shamelessly admired his body as he divested himself of his clothes: the fine definition of his pecs and the delicate lines of his abs as they led down to the cut lines at the angles of his hips, and rising proud and hard between his legs, the thick temptation of his delicious hard cock.

“Do you see something that interests you?” he said.

She tore her eyes away from his cock to meet his gaze. His arms were folded and his expression was knowing and wry, and she couldn’t decide whether to be amused or frustrated at herself for being so obvious about her lust for him. If she couldn’t maintain her cocky façade, Solas wouldn’t lose control like she wanted him to.

She took a deep breath to master herself, then nodded. “I do, actually. I still see some come on your cock.”

He tilted his head. “Do you, now?” he said mildly. 

“I do,” she said brightly. “I need a closer look.” She gestured for him to approach the bed, then slowly lowered herself onto her elbows so she was eye level with his cock. 

She brushed her lips over the tip of his cock. When his breath hitched, she smiled up at him. “You’re still messy, all right. Don’t worry, I’ll clean you up. Come lie down.” 

He did as she’d asked, and Nare swiftly straddled his face and bent over his body. Without preamble, she took his cock into her mouth. 

He grunted and jerked his hips, driving his cock further into her throat, and Nare gripped his thighs and slid her lips up and down the length of his shaft. When Solas grabbed her hips and started pulling her back toward his face, she tensed her thighs and released his cock. 

“Oh no you don’t,” she said. 

“I beg your pardon?” he said incredulously.

“I said no,” she said firmly. “I’m still wearing my smalls for a reason.”

“And what reason is that?” he demanded. “To drive me into ripping them off?”

Creators, he sounded irritated, and for some reason, his irritation lifted a fresh dizzying pulse of desire through her body. He’s getting close, she thought excitedly. If he was getting riled enough to be snappish, that meant he was nearing the end of his patience.  

She arched her spine to provoke him further. “Look, don’t touch,” she said. 

“I can’t look. Your underpants are in the way,” he retorted. 

She forced herself not to laugh at his peevishness. “Then pull them to the side,” she said. 

He paused. Then his fingers brushed over the crotch of her smalls. 

She gasped and arched her spine, and Solas continued to lightly pet the dampened crotch of her underpants. “Like so?” he said, and he hooked the tips of his fingers into the crotch of her smalls. As he pulled the fabric aside, he deliberately stroked his fingers over her slippery folds, and Nare couldn’t help herself; she twisted her hips and moaned. 

Solas hummed softly. “Are you certain you only want me to look and not touch, da’len?”

His voice was silky and smooth and so perfectly arousing, and once again, Nare was on the verge of giving in. But he still sounded too damned controlled, and Nare wanted to strip that control away from him. 

“I’m sure,” she said as firmly as she could. “Just look. Don’t touch.” Without waiting for an answer, she took his cock into her mouth once more. 

He groaned with pleasure, the sound sent a hot ripple of longing through her body and straight down to her pussy as it was bared for his lustful gaze. His fingers tensed on the back of her thighs as he panted with pleasure, and Nare could imagine only too clearly what he was seeing: her slick and swollen folds glistening with lustful nectar, just within his reach but forbidden from his touch by Nare herself. His eager breaths wafted over her wetness, further encouraging the buzz of anticipation between her legs, and when Solas was fitfully lifting his hips toward her mouth, she suckled him more eagerly still. 

Then she released him and crawled off of the bed. 

Solas groaned and twisted restlessly on the mattress, and Nare stared at him in wonder. His beautiful face was twisted in a frustrated snarl and his fingers were clenching in her sheets, and when he reached down to grab his cock, the sound that left his throat was…gods, it was absolutely feral. He sounded hungry and primal and unhinged, and with a mind-numbing surge of excitement, she realized that she’d done it. 

She’d teased him so much that he was finally losing control. 

He arched his hips toward his own hand and made another gorgeous animalistic sound, and Nare took a step toward him. “Solas,” she said shakily. 

His eyes snapped open, and Nare stopped breathing. His pupils were huge and dark, and she couldn’t quite decide if they were completely filled with lust or empty of anything at all. 

He surged to his feet and stalked toward her, and she instinctively backed away from him. A tiny predatory smirk lifted the corner of his lips, but he didn’t slow in his approach. He reached out and took her throat in a firm grip, and Nare gasped with excitement and grabbed his wrist, but he didn’t slow down; he continued to walk her back towards the writing desk until she was trapped between the desk and the imposing stance of his body. 

Without releasing her throat, he hooked his fingers into her smallclothes and impatiently dragged them down, and Nare panted erratically as the lust-soaked fabric peeled away from her pussy. Then Solas lifted her chin with his hand at her throat and kissed her hard, plunging his tongue ruthlessly into her mouth, and she was helpless to do anything but accept the smooth twisting of his tongue as it danced with hers. 

He kissed her thoroughly, nipping her lips and licking her tongue and luring her tongue into his mouth in turn, and by the time he pulled away, she could feel her arousal dripping slowly down her thigh. Then he lowered his lips to her ear. “Vhenan,” he growled.

She gasped. The usual smooth cadence of his flawless voice was roughened with lust. “Yes,” she whimpered. 

He nipped her earlobe before speaking again. “I am going to take you now. But I need you to remember something.”

“What’s that?” she said breathlessly. 

He lessened his grip on her throat slightly and tenderly stroked her cheek with his thumb. “I need you to remember that I love you, because I am going to fuck you like I don’t.” 

A throb of lust poured down her throat and straight down to the apex of her thighs. Solas only ever said ‘fuck’ when he was about to render her absolutely boneless. “Yes,” she mewled. “Yes, yes please–”

He turned her head to the side and bit her neck just hard enough to hurt. “Yes, what?” he demanded. 

“Yes, hah’ren!” she blurted. 

“Good,” he said. “Turn around.” He released her throat, and without giving her time to move, he roughly turned her around so she was facing the desk. 

“Bend over,” he said, and he pushed her forward with a hand between her shoulder blades. 

Her palms hit the desk and she gasped, but Solas was still pushing on her back, and the pressure of his palm didn’t lessen until her chest was flat on the surface of the desk. She clenched her fingers on the polished wood and arched her spine. “Please,” she begged. “Please, hah’ren...”

He laughed, and a fresh thrill of heat rippled down her spine; there was a very faint snarl to his voice that rendered the usual smoothness of his laugh to something much darker. 

She heard the subtle creak of her desk chair as he sat down. Then the heat of his palm smoothed over her buttock. “Now you think to beg?” he said. “Now that you’ve put me through my paces?” 

She nodded. “Yes,” she panted. “Please, hah’ren, I want–”

He suddenly spanked her, and she cried out with pleasure at the sting of his palm. Then he spoke again in a sharp tone. “You already did what you wanted, da’len. You made a mess of me, and you foiled me twice. Now it is my turn to do as I want.”

She whimpered and twisted her hips. His hand was smoothing gently over the smarting skin of her bottom, his thumb drifting close to her throbbing center without dipping into the wetness there, and with every rapid beat of her heart, she was growing more desperate. 

She mewled wordlessly and clawed at the desk. Then Solas tapped the back of her thigh. “Lift your knee onto the desk.”

She instantly did as he said, spreading herself wider and arching her spine to accommodate the angle. Then Solas dragged his tongue along the length of her sex. 

She cried out and instinctively lifted her head, and Solas spanked her. “Stay flat, da’len,” he ordered.

She sobbed with pleasure and nodded as she laid her cheek on the desk once more, and then Solas was licking her, lapping at her sensitive flesh in a ravenous way that was very different from the usual teasing rhythm that he started with when he went down on her. His tongue was usually gentle, a careful swirl around her clit as he coaxed her gradually toward her climax, but there was no gentleness in his mouth today; he lapped at her hungrily as though he was a starving animal and she was the only thirst-quenching thing for miles, and the ruthless rhythm of his tongue was lifting a sort of pleasure that was just as ruthless and rough, her rapture rising in fits in starts as he gripped her ass and ran his tongue in long firm strokes from her clit down along the length of her cleft. 

She gasped fitfully and arched her spine, unable to move her hips but desperate to meet the rhythm of his mouth as her climax rose far more quickly than she thought it would. It was sharpening and building, growing like a thudding drumbeat of pleasure between her legs, and she was going to – his mouth, his tongue, gods, she was going to –

Solas sat back, and her climax abruptly stuttered and faded away. She sobbed in frustration and lifted her head, and Solas spanked her. 

“Please!” she wailed. Then she yelped when he spanked her again. 

“Keep your head down, da’len,” he commanded. 

She sobbed again and laid her head on the desk, and a tear trickled down her face toward the desk. “Please, please!” she whined, and she arched her spine and twisted her hips. Her bottom was smarting with just the right amount of pain from where he’d struck her, and her foiled orgasm was still tingling in her neglected clit and even deeper inside of her body where she needed him the most, and he was just sitting there in her chair with his palm slowly caressing her stinging skin and not doing anything to bring her any relief. 

“Please,” she begged. “Fuck me!”

“Why should I?” he said lazily.

She whined and dug her nails into the desk. “Because I – I need you!”

He laughed again – that low, knowing, dark little laugh from before. “I needed you when you were pleasuring me with your mouth. But that wasn’t enough for you to finish what you had started.”

She sobbed and twisted her hips. “I’m… please, I’m empty without you!” In truth, this was exactly how she felt: like there was a lacune deep inside her body that was bearing down on nothing at all, and that only Solas’s cock could soothe and make complete.

There was a brief and loaded pause, then a creak as he rose from his chair. Then his fingers slid over her scalp toward her nape, and she mewled and twisted her spine as he started gathering her hair in his hand. 

“Please, Solas,” she begged. “I need you to fuck me hard and fill me up, I can’t – I can’t think, I feel so… I need you!”

He didn’t reply, and his palm slowly caressed her upraised ass. Then, when her hair was gathered in his other fist, she felt the head of his cock pressing against her entrance.

She gasped, then gasped more sharply when he pulled her hair. “Oh fuck,” she whined. His hand in her hair, his cock pushing inside of her tense and waiting body, it was – oh gods, it was everything. With every inch that he eased inside of her, the quake of longing deep inside of her was throbbing more hotly and bearing down to meet him, and — oh fuck, oh fuck fuck fuck– 

Solas sheathed himself completely inside of her, and Nare came so hard that her vision went black. She tried to cry out, but the importance of air was forgotten entirely as her whole body was held hostage by the nearly-unbearable pulsing of the pleasure he’d given her. Her climax was throbbing through her limbs all the way to her fingers and the tips of her toes, crashing through her in frenzied waves of incomparable bliss, and by the time she was able to see and breathe and speak again, the only sound she could make was a weak little whimper of pleasure. 

Solas released her hair, then pulled on her shoulder. “Rise to your hands, da’len,” he said. 

His tone was smoother than before but still commanding, and she was helpless to do anything but obey. She pushed herself upright on trembling arms until she was braced on her palms, and when Solas’s hand slid around her throat once more, she closed her eyes in bliss. 

He leaned forward so his chest was flush to her back, then thrust into her hard, and she gasped with rapture at the sharpness of his thrust. Then his other hand was cupping her breast and his hips were pumping against her bottom, and it was all she could do to hold herself up under the carnal onslaught of his hands on her body and his cock driving inside of her.

He fucked her with a single-minded rhythm, and Nare gasped for breath and listened with a dreamlike sort of bliss as his breathing grew sharper and more erratic with every thrust. In the space of minutes, he dropped his lips to her shoulder and moaned, and then he was making the most beautiful needy sounds of pleasure that bled through his lips into the skin of her shoulder.

“Nare,” he breathed, and her heart flipped at the broken pleasured sound of his voice. 

She reached up and clasped his wrist. “Fill me up, Solas,” she breathed. “I want it. I want you.”

He groaned and thrust into her hard, and a few heartbeats later, he cried out and bit her shoulder. She cried out as well and dug her nails into his wrist as he pulsed inside of her, and when his shuddering body fell still, he lifted his lips from her shoulder and pulled himself free. 

His seed instantly trickled down the inside of her thigh, but Nare didn’t even have a chance to try and clean it up; Solas was turning her around far more gently than before, and as soon as she was facing him, he tilted her chin up and kissed her.

This time, his kiss was infinitely gentle and soft, a caress of the lips with none of the demanding thrust of his tongue, and Nare sank blissfully into the sweetness of his kiss. When he leaned back to look her in the eye, his slate-grey eyes were tender and soft. 

He stroked her cheek with his thumb. “Did I scare you?”

She blinked in surprise. “How could you think you scared me?”

He sighed. “What I said to you before I bent you over the desk. I hope I did not sound cruel.”

She grinned. “Trust me, Solas, you were the opposite of cruel.” He’d told her he was going to fuck her like he didn’t love her, but everything about their sex spoke to her of his love. Even when she’d teased him to the edge of his patience, even when his calm and controlled façade was completely cast aside, he’d still given her everything she craved the most: pain and pleasure, his teasing words and his teasing tongue between her legs, and the peak – gods, the peak he brought her to: before Solas, she’d never known these kinds of mind-numbing orgasms even existed. 

His brow was still creased in the faintest frown, and she fondly petted his chest. “You didn’t scare me,” she assured him. “Nothing you do could scare me.”

He raised his eyebrows slightly. “You sound very confident of that.”

She tilted her head. That was an odd comment to make. “Of course I’m confident,” she said. “I’m always safe with you.” 

His eyebrows tilted slightly, and he cradled her neck in his palm. “Ar lath ma,” he murmured.

Her heart fluttered with pleasure. “I love you, too,” she said. Then she gave him a cheeky smile. “Especially when you’re bossing me around and bending me over the desk.” 

He chuckled and wrapped his arms around her waist. “I will be certain to bend you over desks more often, then. Particularly when you tease me so mercilessly.”

She giggled. “I’ll have to tease you more often then, too.”

He smirked and pinched her bottom, and she yelped before breaking into laughter. It wasn’t often that Nare felt confident enough to provoke Solas like she’d done today, but if this was the result, she’d have to muster her courage more often to tease him.

If Nare wanted Solas to lose control more often, she’d have to work on being more cocky. 

[fairfaxleasee]

DADW Killer Gnomes (Part II)

@rangeredacted gave me the amazing/terrible suggestion to write something about killer garden gnomes for @dadrunkwriting. I wrote Part I last week (you can check it out here but couldn't finish because I had my second COVID shot.

But here's the end, in all it's bloody, camp horror glory:

Cullen pushed Solas out of his way and strode out of his office. He looked around for any sign of the blighted gnome the Inquisitor had brought back to Skyhold (he didn't care what Solas said, Ayala Trevelyan had brought the thing into the castle, she was responsible for everything that happened because she did - besides, if she hadn't put it in the garden, he wouldn't have taken it out of the garden and awoken it).

"Commander, as distasteful as we both find the idea, might I suggest things would proceed more smoothly if we were to work together to attempt to contain the gnomes you've released?"

"For the last time, Solas! This was not my fault!"

"Debatable, Commander. And while I am perfectly willing to engage you in such a debate, I do not believe that this is the time for such a discussion. If you would listen, I believe even you would not miss that we have bigger concerns than laying blame." Solas paused and inclined his head slightly. Now that the man wasn't lecturing him, Cullen could hear the screaming coming from several directions around Skyhold.

Cullen pursed his lips and glared.

"It is pleasing to see that you are occasionally capable of being rational. Perhaps you will realize that the entire situation was your fault after all."

As tempting as it was to push the man off the parapet they were on and into the carnage below, Cullen decided against it. Solas might be still be useful, and he could always push him later.

"Alright, Solas. You want to work together? Fine. What do you suggest we do first?"

"Well, that depends, Commander. Just how many scouts that seem to have on concept or concern whatsoever for their surroundings wander around here?"

"Too many." Cullen crossed his arms.

"Then I believe we should assume that the screaming is not coming from them and that they have already been... repurposed by the present adversary. We should therefore also assume that there are too many of the gnomes wandering around to attempt to capture them. As such, I believe the first thing we should do is find Ayala."

"So help me Solas, if you just want to check and make sure your girlfriend is okay -" Cullen didn't have an end to the threat, but judging by Solas' face he wouldn't have heard it anyway.

After a few seconds of silence, the man opened his mouth and drawled. "Not that I have any expectations at all that you will listen to me about this, but I am in no way concerned about Ayala's safety. I have every confidence she is perfectly fine, which is the reason I believe we should seek her out. Neither my magic nor your shields are any sort of match for her barriers."

The fact that Solas had a point about why finding Ayala was their best move only made the entire situation worse somehow. He exhaled through his nose and spoke through gritted teeth, "...fine. Where'd you leave her?"

Solas looked up and shook his head in a gesture Cullen hated. "I did not 'leave' her anywhere, Commander. Last I saw, she was on her way to the kitchens."

"Alright, we'll go to the kitchens then," Cullen took a step away from the apostate, but the man obviously had other plans because he tugged Cullen back towards him by his jerkin.

"I believe we should go around the long way. Unless, of course, you wish to meet a similar fate to your scouts."

Cullen looked down at the carnage in the coutryard below. "I... fine. You have a point."

Taking the long way around to the kitchens took a bit more work than Cullen would have liked (particularly when Solas lept effortlessly across the gap in the roof to get from the parapet to the main castle and had to keep Cullen from falling off - he'd never live that one down). Of course, Cullen liked what they found in the kitchen even less than he'd liked getting to the kitchen.

Ayala was kneeling on the floor next to the table and was handing out kernels of popcorn to individual gnomes while engaging them in what she seemed to think was perfectly normal conversation despite the fact that they were covered in blood and viscera.

"No, I already told you you can't have another one before everyone gets one."

"Bar-ra-rrr!"

"I'm not sure we have any more I can make."

"Ra-rargh-arr."

"Uhhh... I think they keep it in the larder? If you bring up more from there, I can make more and then you can have some."

"Rargh-arg-rarr."

"Well then you're not getting any more until everyone else gets one. Now scoot." She picked up the protesting gnome and put it aside from the line that had formed in front of her, then tapped it slightly to encourage it to move.

"Grrr-rar-rr..." The gnome saw Cullen and apparently decided to work out is frustration on being denied popcorn on him as it clawed its fingers and began running directly towards him. Cullen lashed out with a quick kick that launched the thing toward the nearest wall where it shattered and released a large cloud of dust.

"Is that dust something we have to be worried about?" Cullen glared as he directed the question at Solas.

"Not unless you are allergic. However, it does mean that was not the original gnome. The original gnome will not be destroyed so easily."

"Lovely." Cullen started striding towards Ayala, who had resumed handing out popcorn.

The gnomes waiting in the line took offence to Cullen's movements, but unlike the one he had just kicked, their protests weren't aggressive. One of them rapped his boot with its fist and gesticulated angrily between Cullen, the popcorn, and the back of the line. Cullen glared down at the thing. He was in no mood to be lectured on manners by a blood-covered, killer garden gnome.

He reached the table and grabbed the bowl of popcorn away from Ayala. She looked up at him in alarm. "Hey! That's mine!"

He was denied the opportunity to respond to her protest by the entire line of gnomes turning on him. He tried throwing the popcorn on the ground, but the gnomes were far more interested in trying to tear him apart than whatever they wanted the popcorn for. "Solas? A little help?"

"Perhaps you should think of this as a lesson in taking things that aren't yours, Commander. Besides, if you can't handle a few statues, perhaps the Inquisition should be seeking someone else for your position regardless."

Cullen threw whatever gnomes he could get his hands on at Solas (and annoyingly kept missing, the man was just as slippery in his movements as his words). Between that, his kicks, and the fact that he was in armor, he managed to get rid of the blighted things without being injured that badly in the process.

He shook out his jerkin just to make sure none of the creatures were hiding in it. Once he was convinced that the kitchen was currently free of them, he turned back towards Ayala. She and Solas were whispering to each other, but more concerning than that was one of the damn gnomes that was perched on her shoulder. The thing spotted Cullen and stuck its fingers in its mouth and protruded a stone tongue in his direction. Cullen snarled and stalked over to the pair (three?) of them. As soon as he was close enough, he reached out for the gnome, only to be thrown back against a far wall by one of Ayala's barriers.

"...Inquisitor, we've talked about you looking before you lash out with a barrier!"

"You surprised me!"

I surprised her. She was feeding an entire line of blood-covered garden gnomes popcorn and I surprised her!

Cullen thought he saw a grin flash across Solas' face before he turned back to Ayala.

"Vhenan, do you recall finding the ring your friend here was describing?"

"Yeah, Cullen took it." She pointed towards him. "But I can find it. He puts all the stuff in his office."

Cullen growled as he stood and dusted himself off. He decided to ignore the unfounded accusation and instead try and figure out just what was being discussed while he was busy trying not to die. "What ring?"

Ayala and the gnome walked out the door leading to the castle proper, leaving Cullen alone with Solas. All things considered, Cullen would rather have been left along with the gnome.

"There is a ring that will allow an individual some modicum of control over the gnomes. They appear willing to work for Ayala, so long as she can supply them with popcorn."

"Why," Cullen wasn't sure he wanted to know the answer, "Do they want popcorn?"

"In all honestly, Commander, I have no idea. I admit, I was under the impression that the creatures did not eat, however it does not appear that giving them access to popcorn causes any harm. I suggest you try not to dwell on it."

Cullen barely resisted the urge to scream.

A few days later and the mess caused by the blighted garden gnomes still wasn't cleaned up (and while Cullen would never admit it, the peace brought on by the distinct lack of oblivious scouts was a relief). Cullen had shut the doors of his office to the scene (and the smell) and was trying to re-create some of his files (there were tiny foot and hand prints all over his originals). He looked up when the door swung open and Ayala walked in.

"...Inquisitor. Welcome back. Did you remember the rule this time?"

The one good thing that had come out of the mess was Cassandra insisted that she accompany Ayala again to make sure the mage didn't sneak (or, as was her story, "accidentally forget") anything into Skyhold again.

"Yes, they're bringing everything I found."

"...they?" Cullen wasn't sure why, but he did not like the sound of that.

"Yeah. They. I'm going back to my room now." She turned and strode out of the office.

In her wake, a line of oversized piles of junk, suspended in the air by little stone legs, began to strut into Cullen's office. The first gnome deposited its pile on Cullen's desk and grinned at him before trotting off after Ayala.

"...Cullen?" someone whispered.

"Vhenan, it does not count as informing the Commander if you speak too softly for him to hear you."

Cullen started at the condescending drawl. The next thing he realized, his forehead collided with his desk as his chair slid out from under him. He shook his head a few times to clear the last vestiges of the worst nightmare he could recall having (and check to make sure the piles of useless trinkets he had just watched the gnomes deposit in his office were figments of his imagination).

"Look what I found!" Ayala triumphantly placed something grey on Cullen's desk and grinned at him. "I want to go put him in the garden, he says he'll like it there."

Cullen could feel the throbbing in his forehead, but whether it was from hitting it against the desk or the sight of the thing Ayala wanted to put in the garden, he didn't know. The thing that was currently on his desk looked far too much like Cullen's least-favorite apostate (right down to the superior frown and downcast eyes) with a comically large head. He glared across his office at the man whose image the thing appeared to be carved in.

Once their eyes met, Solas' narrowed and he mouthed, "Get rid of it, Commander!"

Cullen pursed his lips and shook his head. He slammed his hands down on the desk. "OUT!"

Ayala leaned away with a slight frown on her face. "So... I can put him in the garden?"

"NO!" Cullen snatched the thing off his desk.

Ayala jumped back. Her frown was more pronounced and Cullen thought he might have just made her cry. Again.

"Come, vhenan, it appears the Commander is in yet another of his moods."

Solas swung his arm towards the door to Cullen's office to invite Ayala out. She nodded and shuffled off, still looking upset. Solas waited until she had passed him before turning to Cullen with a glare and a hiss of, "Get rid of that, Commander!"

Cullen decided against calling after the man to remind him of which of them was in charge. Instead he grabbed the gnome and rushed to the tallest part of Skyhold he could find.

"You were never here." He shook his finger at the thing, pulled his arm back, and sent it flying as far as he could throw it.

He never heard it hit the ground. Hopefully, the ground was just too far away for him to be able to.

[athenril-of-kirkwall]

More Solavellan smut, because you all love it, babe!

Solavellan, “Healthy Disagreements” (AO3) [Explicit]

Solas was in his study, set on the lowest floor of the library rotunda that was adjacent to the main hall in Skyhold, poring over some sketches he’d made of the frescoes he’d observed at that lost temple of Dirthamen which he, Rivka, and the others had explored not a week past following his research into the glyphs they’d found amongst scattered ruins in the Exalted Plains whilst they were clearing out the Freemen there.

He in particular was fascinated by the fact that many of the murals had in fact been not of Dirthamen but of Falon’Din, that guardian and friend of the dead. He let himself have a smirk, marvelling that the old secret-keeper would choose to hide himself behind another’s guise, even unto the very end…and beyond. He looked over their form and design carefully, looking for any variations from what he knew Falon’Din normally looked like to see if the God of Secrets’ handiwork was visible.

Casting a gaze at the oil lamp on his table, he idly wondered how long he’d been at work. Certainly it was long past the time where more sensible men retired to their quarters. But then again, he hardly felt like dreaming tonight, and Rivka had assured him, in fact multiple times, that neither he nor she would be needed for much important the next day.

So focused was he upon his task that he barely noticed her coming in, only glancing up to acknowledge Rivka’s presence as he heard the door closing behind her.

Looking back down at his sketches, he said, “Evening, vhenan. Or is it morning? I hadn’t thought you’d be up at this unearthly hour, to be quite honest. I…”

Slamming her palms on the table, Rivka violently interrupted him, saying, “It’s an hour past midnight, Solas, and I well know that because I’ve been sitting around for a full hour in my room waiting for you to come up.”

Barely even reacting to the jolt which had shaken his desk and merely noting that the oil lamp hadn’t been upset, Solas said, giving a cursory look to Rivka, “Ah, yes! Pardon me, vhenan, but I was so caught on a detail I found in my last sketch that—”

“Dread Wolf take your sketches and your murals!”, Rivka shouted, yanking them off the desk and scattering them on the floor, where they gently fluttered to land around her slippered feet. “And the least you could do is look at me when you talk to me, as well!”

Having no choice but to do so, Solas turned his gaze upwards at Rivka, noting that her usually coiffed hair was now hanging in strands around her face, and that she didn’t seem to be wearing much beyond a silken robe with a Chantry insignia on it and her slippers.

Finally, he asked, “Forgive me, Rivka. Is there something I have done to warrant…”

“I don’t think I will, and I think you have, or more accurately haven’t, Solas,” she scolded. “When I ask you to come up to my quarters for a…private meeting…I expect you to at least tell me if you’re not going to beforehand instead of wasting my time.”

Looking more closely at her, Solas noted that despite the chill of the night and her rather scant attire, she was flushed partly with anger and partly with…something else.

Comprehending some of the subtext, he said, “I am truly sorry, Rivka. I must still have failed to grasp your meaning when you did say that, and I swear that I was far too engrossed with my work to note the passing of the hour.”

Walking around the table to draw herself up to him, Rivka said, “I’m not going to accept your apology, and I’m certainly not going to say sorry for knocking all your precious drawings to the floor either, seeing as you clearly care about them far more than you do me. So, are you going to do something about that?”

“Whatever do you mean?”, he asked innocently.

Rolling her eyes, she said, “Creators help me if you truly don’t get it, and may they help you if you’re just playing dumb. This is what I mean.”

Demonstrating her intent, she reached out for the back of Solas’ neck and head and pinned her lips to his, forcefully kissing him repeatedly and breaking away only to catch a breath.

“There,” she said. “That’s what I was expecting a full hour ago, in the comfort of my own room, and not in the chilly recesses of—”

She never finished her sentence as he now took the initiative, forcing her to seat upon the now-empty desk as he took his turn to land his own kisses upon her. Before she could lay back upon it or adjust her position, he grasped his beloved by her arms, his own eyes flashing lustfully.

“I think I am about to ‘do something about it’, as you’ve so nicely put it,” he hissed. “But before that, a word?”

“A word?”, Rivka asked, essentially thinking aloud before realising what he meant. “‘Ocularum’, then.”

His question was silently asked by the raise of an eyebrow.

“It’s the least sexy thing I know,” she explained. “Now, I suppose you’re going to take your anger out on me for scattering your beloved sketches?”

Answering her in husky breaths, he said, “And more. It’s remarkable—and distressing for your people as a whole—that you lived your entire life in a clan with essentially a dozen mothers and fathers and none of them taught you any manners.”

“Manners?”

“What sort of person petulantly storms into another’s study and throws their work to the ground when they think they’re not being given enough attention?”, he asked. “Imagine the insolence were you to do that anywhere else, to anyone else!”

Locking her gaze into his, she breathily said, “Ooh, say ‘insolence’ again, Solas. I like the sound of the word on your lips.”

“Amongst so many things about them. Time to work this insolence out of your system then, vhenan,” he growled, next commanding, “Turn around.”

Looking at Solas with a blank expression, Rivka saw his turn from impatience to offence.

“Did you not hear me, Rivka?”, he said. “Turn around and put your hands on the table. If I have to ask again I can’t promise you I’ll do so patiently.”

Nodding meekly, she turned to face the table and gently placed her palms on the tabletop. With a sudden jerk, one hand on the small of her back and another at her nape, Solas forced her down on the table, her nipples squashing against her breasts as her cheek firmly landed on it too. The bottom of her robe hiked up a little as she bent forward, and she felt a chill draught around her thighs, shivering as she did so.

Solas then glided along the insides of her legs with his knuckles, curving away from her quim to round her buttocks as he gathered the loose end of her robe, bunching its folds and gathering them around her waist, exposing her to the elements and noting with some amusement that firstly, she had indeed not been wearing anything under that robe, and next that she was already slick with anticipation.

Rivka gasped as he spread her arousal along the length of her folds with his fingertips, moaning as the momentary contact faded just as soon as he’d made it.

“Shush,” he said. “This is meant to be a reprimand, not an outlet for your lasciviousness. Lie still whilst I administer some corrections.”

“Corrections?” was all she was able to manage as she thought about what he meant before she felt the sudden sting of his palm on her buttock, releasing a loud groan of pleasure as its coursed through her body.

“Enough!”, he cried, smacking the other one in an attempt to silence her but only making her moan even louder, alternating between the two savagely.

Gasping shallowly, Rivka felt her slick running down her thigh, glancing upwards and hoping nobody was watching or hearing this depraved scene.

“You really are something else,” he said, “Wantonly crying out so that everybody in this rotunda can hear your arousal. I wonder if…”

She’d barely even started pondering his trailed-off sentence before the next slap struck her full on her lips, causing her to quiver in pleasure, with the next one and the following one after that making her buck against the empty air where Solas’ palm had been, and she felt herself on the brink of coming when he reached out and grabbed her entire mound with his hand, closing her lips against each other.

What pleasure there was turned to pain as he gripped it tighter, the force of his fingertips overriding any urge or ability for her to come there and then, and she felt tears from both agony and joy run down her face as he leant over her back, whispering into her ear.

“Don’t presume to come now, not without permission. Do so and I’ll leave your hands bound to this table and bring you to the edge of orgasm again and again, unable to relieve yourself until I decide you’re worthy of doing so,” he promised, asking, “Do you understand me, vhenan?”

She nodded as best she could, her cheek scraping a little as she did so against the table.

“Good,” he said, seemingly satisfied with that. After some silence, she heard some noises behind her, like cloth falling from a place, then the sound of Solas’ footsteps again.

“I do wonder now,” she heard him ponder, “If you’ve ever given this over to anyone.”

At this, she felt what had to be the tip of his phallus briefly touch…briefly touch her rear end? No! Not there! She shook violently against the notion, feeling fresh tears run down her face as she did so.

“Shush,” he said gently. “Calm yourself. I was merely asking. And…here?”

Warmth pulsed through her body as he made contact with her pussy, and she nodded enthusiastically, biting her lip to restrain herself from moaning lustfully at the touch’s promise.

Her self-control was brought to the edge of her limits as she felt his tip slide in whilst his thumbs sought out the little dimples on the back of her waistline and his fingers grasped the skin around her hips, rolling the flesh of her curves between them. Just as she sensed all those touches on her skin, his shaft fully slid into her, Rivka groaning as he did so, with his grip on her hips tightening as he pumped in and out of her body.

Although not quite as long and as…girthy…as she’d imagined or fantasised, it was hitting all the right spots, the head in particular coming to rest against a tight bundle of nerves that caused her to gasp as he slowly, agonisingly, massaged it with his cock. She tried to work her pussy around him to stimulate that spot, but that was only met with anger, as he withdrew his penis entirely, leaving her aching for him to thrust it in again.

“Are simple instructions beyond you, Rivka?”, he hissed, reaching for her wrists one at a time and pinning them to the small of her back with one hand as he slid back into her, stating, “I’ll be taking my pleasure first before you’re allowed to do anything. Understood?”

She nodded again, trying to relax and stand still despite the myriad of sensations coursing through her as he resumed fucking her over his worktable, the obscene sounds of slapping skin echoing through the tower. His pace, steady at first, became more and more fervent, only slowing down long enough for him to lean over to her ear again, shifting his body weight on her wrists as his grip tightened to a vice.

“I think I’m about to reach…that point,” he growled, asking, “Are you ready as well?”

She nodded, and started quivering and trembling impatiently under and around him as the wait for the promise in his words dragged on, until he reached under her chin with his free hand, tilting her head up at him so he could make sure she saw his stern glare. Rivka slowed her breath, exhaling fully as she attempted to calm down. As Solas released her chin, she also felt his grip around her wrists vanish.

“Hands on the table again, vhenan,” Solas ordered, further commanding, “Let’s not have any distractions, shall we?”

Grasping her hips again, he ploughed into her savagely, grunting and groaning in ancient elvhen as he brought himself to his climax, flushing her insides with his release. Rivka heard his voice, as though from a vast distance, saying, “Now, vhenan. Be with me here and now.”

The floodgates tore open there and then, as she screamed to the high heavens, her palms digging into the table as she ignored the last of his commands, slamming her rear into his hips to drive herself over the top, feeling her own fluids flood her pussy, mixing with his as they dripped out of her and along her thighs, trickling downwards to stain her slippers and, ultimately, the floor of Solas’ study.

Rivka flopped bonelessly onto the surface of his desk, breathing hard and quivering with the aftershocks of her orgasm, even as she felt him withdraw at last, the final strands connecting the two breaking in the middle and falling upon the ground.

Long moments passed before, in the blink of an eye, she found herself transported back into her own bed, all offending fluids cleaned up, and naked under her sheets. Rivka gasped, sitting up and turning around to find Solas next to her under the bedcovers, also similarly undressed.

Smiling, he asked her, “Was that everything you expected it to be?”

Her cheeks flushed, Rivka nodded wordlessly as she slowly regained her composure, finally managing to answer, “Yes. I…didn’t know if it’d all work out but…you were so commanding, and it felt so right.”

“I’m glad you appreciated it,” he said, asking, “Although I do wonder if all of your fantasies are this…vivid?”

“What do you mean?”, she asked, it apparently being her turn.

“Simply that there are few whom I have known or met would so willingly…let themselves be used, as such,” he said.

Rivka asked in equal parts hesitance and defensiveness, “You’re not judging me, are you?”

“Not in the least,” Solas answered quickly. “I just was curious as to whether your own romances in the physical world ever took such turns as our times together here have.”

She shook her head, explaining, “No, the last time I was…with someone…was shortly before the Conclave. We’d both been dispatched by our clan to attend the Conclave, and we both knew it’d be the last time we’d see each other for a while, if at all. He was a nice lad, and we spent the night beforehand gently and tenderly.”

“I see,” he said, then coming to a realisation. “If you were both at the Conclave then…”

Rivka nodded her head slowly and sadly, confirming his deductions. “Ismael didn’t make it. Neither did his brother Esaias.”

“I’m so sorry to hear that,” Solas said. “Forgive me for dredging that pain up again.”

She now shook her head curtly. “It’s alright. It hurts less nowadays. But you’re right, I think. I’m only this…adventurous…in the Fade. I don’t know if it’s the Fade itself inducing this, or…”

“…your thoughts about me?”, he asked.

“You know me too well,” Rivka said with a laugh. “Still, thanks for bringing me somewhere warmer and cozier after all of that. Have we time to just…lie here a while?”

Solas smiled, saying, “We have all the time we want or need, vhenan. Come over here.”

Taking him up on his invitation, Rivka slid down the bed and rolled over until she was close enough to put her arms around him, and him hers, burying her face in her shoulder and relaxing into his body as the minutes before the sunrise, and the inevitable return to their responsibilities in the daytime, slowed to eternity.

-

@dadrunkwriting

[roseategales]

VORACITY — ONE-SHOT.

fic rating: explicit. | categories: fluff, hurt/comfort, smut. | pairing: solavellan. | content warnings: biting and scratching as kinks, discussions of dubious consent. | word count: 2.3K. | alternate link: ao3.

author’s note: the smut in this fic mostly functions in the background and in dialogue, but, although it’s described in detail, is not the focal point. the fic was written to focus mainly on the discussion of motivation, consent, aftercare, and the dynamic between solas and my lavellan, who are in an established and loving relationship by the point that this fic happens in. thank you to @thebookworm0001 and @jarakrisafis for beta’ing. <3

_____________________________

“I can heal these.”

Cooled with a spell at the ready, Solas’ fingertips hover over her hip, where an imprint of his earlier grip on her is darkening to bruises. It’s not the only wine-red patch. There’s a counterpart on her other side; and an irregular trail of marks in the shape of his mouth, starting from her throat, wandering down to her breasts, and ending below her ribs. In the morning, their contrast on her skin will be deeper, and will appear harsher than they are in daylight’s emphasis. She’ll have to be grateful Josephine ordered so many high-collared tunics for her in spite of her protests. Secretly. Or her Chief Ambassador may fuss even more. But Eludysia doesn’t think those things warrant her worries. Nor should they warrant Solas’. Easily concealed displays of a night enjoyed with her dearly missed lover? Hardly worth the trouble, when their lives are full of worries as things are.

“So can I,” she reminds him. She curls closer to his side. “Leave it. I don’t mind them,” she says. If anything, they serve as a reminder that there are some things of Eludysia she can keep guarded. For her love. For herself. Apart from Herald and Inquisitor.

Solas hesitates for a moment, the line of his mouth severe, eyes searching hers in the shadows cast by the dim firelight. “Ma nuvenin,” he says eventually, when she voices nothing more. The spell is returned to the streams of the Fade, and he arranges the quilt to cover her body and his.

She should know him better by now, however. The way she’s learning to know the lean grace of his form, the sharp angles of his features, the specific timbre of his voice. His acquiescence to her is conflict with himself. She has her dismaying confirmation as he lays back down to face her and brush her hair behind her ear, without a kiss to her forehead or her lips. Without holding her. He tries a smile, but it’s as withdrawn as he is. Like he doesn’t dare to allow himself her closeness, his mind lost to rumination.

There’s something behind his offers to clean her up and heal her love bites.

“You’re upset,” she says, as both a statement and a question.

“Do I appear to be?” Solas asks. It’s tempting to interpret his lilt and raised brow as amused surprise, and not concern. A simple yes or no would’ve made it easier to pursue the subject. She wouldn’t feel like she’s walking on a thin line, caught between potentially overstepping his boundaries again or never knowing the reason for his reservation with her.

Her desire to know wins.

“You do appear to be,” she tells him. “You’re distancing yourself and dodging my question.”

“I do not wish to concern you, vhenan. Moreover, you must be tired after your journey from Ferelden, and I have stolen enough of your time and energy. You should sleep.” He winds his arm around her, palm flat on her spine. His thumb strokes her skin. If the gesture is meant to soothe her, it has the opposite effect.

“I’ll toss and turn the whole night if you won’t tell me what’s wrong.”

Eludysia is aware of the manipulative undertone to her words. Though she is being truthful and her intentions are genuine, she could have let this go. Didn’t he say he would work on trusting her? She could have admitted that she is tired, and asked if he would discuss things with her in the morning. She could have asked if he’d help her sleep with a spell. Left him to mull things over on his own in the Fade. Perhaps he’d feel better if she did. But then, she doesn’t feel it’s a good idea to leave the conversation here. It is just as likely that he’d continue to avoid the subject and she would be no closer to the explanation for his mood’s sudden shift. She was so happy to be able to see him and be held by him again. She counted down the days, ached to have him all over her at night. Her hand and mere recollections of him between her legs brought poor relief. She thought he ached similarly and was equally thrilled for her return. Now...

Solas removes his arm from her. He rubs his face, as though he was the one who’d spent a week in talks with the Ferelden crown and nobility on a mutual effort to expunge the Venatori. For a moment, she braces herself for him to evade her or leave again. She wouldn’t blame him. But he doesn’t. When he drops his hand, his expression is as composed as a still pool.

“All right,” he says quietly. “I fear I should not have taken you in the manner I did. I was reckless. Unthinking. I could’ve caused you worse harm.” He places two fingers under the mark at her throat, examining her. As if he waits for her to flinch away from him. She remains at his side, her breathing steady. “My actions were regrettable. I apologise.”

“You apologise,” she repeats, incredulous. Reckless. Unthinking. Harm. She turns each word, each meaning over. Tries to frame tonight’s sex in the light of them. She can see how reckless could be applicable. But unthinking? Harm? And if his actions were regrettable, what would he call hers? Who initiated what past the first kiss is a bit difficult to distinguish. Neither of them could get their clothes off quick enough, neither seemed like they could bear another second without the other’s touch. But this much is clear: She was exhilarated by the voracity of Solas’ desire. She encouraged every move he made. Fenhedhis, his back must’ve stung from her nails sinking into his flesh. He had murmured, “abelas,” when she gasped at how hard he bit her throat, and she bid him to do it harder.

He’d paused, looked up at her. His pupils were dilated, eyes dark as the Void. Did they dance in the firelight or did she imagine it? “Are you certain?” He asked.

She couldn’t help but arch into him. “Yes! Please!”

Eludysia’s worry heightens into alarm.

“Solas…” She says slowly, fearing where she next treads. “Was the sex tonight pleasurable for you?”

His brows crease. “That is besides the point.”

“No, it isn’t.” She winces. Her pitch is higher, shakier than she intended it to be.

He falls silent. A shadow passes over his face. “It… was. Yes.”

She has little cause to assume he’s lying. In all the time she has known him, Solas has proven to highly value truth and deplore falsehoods. He has and will avoid and obfuscate if he sees fit. Mostly out of caution. But he would never lie. Still, she wants to be certain. “Every second of it?”

“I would not have gone as far as I did if it were otherwise,” he says.

“Then why are you apologising? If it was pleasurable for both of us, I don’t see a problem.”

“What is pleasurable and what is beneficial is not mutually exclusive, vhenan.” Though he is gentle as he explains, he points the differentiation out as if it’s obvious. “We have not been apart for quite some time, and your trip to Ferelden was the first since we started having sex. It was like starving in the winter after eating of a summer harvest. We were driven by need and desire. That combination can be overpowering for anyone, making them desperate to be satisfied. I wanted nothing more than to have you, to make you cry out and come apart trembling in my hands as I slaked my lust.” He cards his fingers through her hair. Somehow, his touch underlines his description of what transpired, intimate yet distant. She’d wonder at how paradoxical he can be if she wasn’t familiar with his idiosyncrasies.

He continues, “I knew I had you riled. I asked for your consent not purely for your sake, but to permit myself indulgence. Even if you were not hurt or did not feel mistreated in the moment… I would never want a chance of that happening.” His eyes flit past her, like he sees something she can’t. A scene where she’s pushing him away, covered in bruises, feeling used, her trust broken? It vanishes as soon as it appears, and his gaze settles back onto her face. “Certainly not in bed.”

She considers what he has said. Her cheeks burn and her eyes sting. She catches his hand mid-stroke in her hair, and brings it to her lips, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to his knuckles. Then she props up her pillow and sits, arranging and clutching the quilt tightly around her body. Solas watches her, questioning. As she cannot conceal the marks at her throat and the tops of her breasts from his view, she hopes her hair and the shadows fall in the appropriate places.

“Vhenan?” He probes.

Eludysia Adhlea Lavellan, you are a fool. Desiring is easy. Asking for explanations is easy. Receiving and examining them, and giving your own in turn—that’s the hard part.

“You’re the first person to care so much for me,” she says. A lump forms in her throat. She swallows, and glances at the sparks rising off the flames. Takes a breath to compose herself. “Growing up Dalish, sex was taught to me as a matter of practicality. We were given lessons on our bodies, taught how to protect ourselves, instructed through common knowledge and preserved texts and folktales, with the expectation of marriage and raising children one day. I’ve told you about my youth, so you know I was… Rather curious and rebellious.”

“As you’re still inclined to be.”

Solas’ wry note earns a nervous laugh from her. “You have a point. Well, I didn’t live in a village. I didn’t have a house with four walls and various rooms, let alone a castle, or stay anywhere long enough to figure out where there were good hiding spots. If I found someone to my liking, we had to be quick and discreet. That often meant we were rough. I’ve been bitten, swatted, I’ve had my hair pulled, and I’ve done the same to others—and there wasn’t time to embrace or curl up together or talk in bed like this.” Not even with Dhea. The thought is tinged with some regret. Not for what could have been. For what was. They were never right as a couple, but a few of the memories they made together might have been happier, had less insecurity and shame. Before Solas, she had no idea that sex could be so tender, so achingly sweet. She didn’t know someone could draw six, seven orgasms a night from her with the softest of touches. Nor what it would be like to be taken care of and then fall asleep in his arms afterwards. Being with him, in Skyhold and on their travels, has been a privilege she never envisioned for herself.

“I’m not telling you any of this to upset you further,” she hastens to add as his eyes widen. “But for you to understand: I like rough sex. I wouldn’t have sought it out or encouraged you if I didn’t. My only worry…” She swallows again. “Is that I’m mistreating you.”

He sits upright in an instant, closing the gap between them. “No, no. Nothing of the sort, vhenan.”

“You’ve done nothing but give into me, disregarding your own discomfort the entire night.”

“Would I not speak plainly if you had wronged me? My discomfort was caused by my guilt towards you. The actions I took were to assuage it.” He shakes his head at her. “You underestimate the extent of my selfishness.”

“Well, it’s not like I haven’t been selfish either.” Isn’t that how they ended up here? Mutual selfishness? She reaches for him with her free hand. He takes it, and she smiles faintly at their fingers interlacing together. “Heal the bruises if you like. I won’t complain.”

He hums, gently pushing her hair off her shoulders and lowering the quilt to her thighs. His fingers brush the edge of the mark at her throat. She tilts her chin up and straightens her posture for him. But he pauses. “First, answer this for me: Is there a reason you refused initially? You were fine with me fetching the cloth and wiping you.”

She shrugs. “Outside of this room, I’m the Herald and Inquisitor. People don’t see me. Not truly. They see whatever gives them faith, hope, or fear. You don’t. When I’m with you, I remember I’m more.” Gods, she sounds like Cole. Her nose scrunches. “I suppose the love bites and bruises just make that notion more tangible, odd as it sounds aloud.”

“On the contrary, it sounds like you’re clinging to your personhood however you can.”

Of course Solas would be the one to understand.

Eludysia cups his cheek and leans against his forehead. Her smile widens as his hand slides around the nape of her neck. “Maybe I don’t need them. Maybe it’s enough that you’re by my side.”

He chuckles, brushing his lips to hers. “I will be glad to remind you of the woman you are as often as you wish,” he murmurs.

Heat pangs in her belly at his words’ suggestiveness. “Good. Because if you’re up for another round…”

He pulls away, expression darkening. She opens her mouth to speak but all that comes out is a squeal as she is suddenly on her back, the mattress bouncing underneath, his body atop hers.

“It’ll be easier to heal everything with a single spell later,” he explains before she can ask. He pins her wrists above her head. She feels his cock hardening at her thigh. “Is this all right?”

She laughs, leaning up to drag her teeth over his lower lip. “Perfect,” she says.

The grin he gives is wolfish.