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bdafic · 4 years

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A proper fic rec list

As I near the end of Roses Where Thorns Grow, a story I’ve poured my heart and soul into over 5 (!?) years, I’ve been thinking a lot about the DA/Solavellan writers whose work deeply inspired me over that time. The stories that motivated me. Kept me fed while I was going through terrible, starving, blights of writer’s block. Reminded me what good work looks like when I was spitting out 24 sentences in a row that all started with, ‘and’ or, 'he'.

I wanted to take some time to give them a proper spotlight, rather than a quick, “hey, read this!” tag. These are feats of incredibly hard work by incredibly gifted people -- many of whom don’t see a lot of exposure, either due to being missed by popular blogs early in the day, or because of naturally dwindling interest in the fandom... Solavellan’s peak was around 2015, it seems. It’s really, really, hard to get your fic noticed if you hit your stride after the release of Trespasser. Those who populate the top “by kudos” pages have been there since that time and aren’t going anywhere. No guff to them, they’re awesome (and some are on this list!), but there’s a lot of other great works that aren’t as easy to find. :)

If you enjoyed Roses, and particularly if you enjoy angst, you should absolutely read these. They are my favourite stories. They are the best ones I’ve found over five years -- many of which I’ve gone back to over and over again. This list is far from exhaustive, but it is a bit of a long post, so I’ve put it under a cut to spare your dash.

@pushtheheart‘s “Slow Arrow” Status: hiatus

If you love a slow burn, this fic should be at the top of your list. Full of gorgeous prose, fantastic characterization, yearning, and easily the best Lavellan I’ve ever “met”. Tephra is whip-smart, funny, flawed, and richly characterized - she feels like a real person. She’s earned the things that make her unique.

The chapters switch between her POV and Solas’, and because the story begins with the game, it grants a deep and detailed study of each character’s adjustment to their roles and changing views. From her slow (and sometimes difficult) induction into the Inquisition, to Solas’ accidental stumble into love. You live every moment — every fleeting glance. This is first and foremost a character study of Solas, and nothing I could say could do justice to how well it’s written. While this fic may be longer than most in the tag, the slow build is perfectly crafted: you’re rewarded with that delightful tension in a way that makes you just… lose yourself. This story gives me butterflies. I’ve read it through at least half a dozen times. It’s one of the ones I keep in a perpetually open tab, on my phone, so I can pull up my favourite bits when I’m waiting in a doctor’s office or something.

All that said, it actually wasn’t the perfect way that Solas was characterized, but an expansion on a throwaway scene early in the game, that really hooked me. An early chapter features the cabin fire — the one at the Crossroads in the Hinterlands. Practically still in the tutorial. The author took this very small, random, moment at the beginning of the game and populated it with characters and feeling and danger and desperation made it absolutely real. The first time I read that bit I sat back afterward and thought, “ok that’s it, I’m in love now”. It made it stand out. I came here for the ship but I stayed for the richness of the world.

@luzial‘s “Ruins” Status: actively updating

Time travel may be a regular feature in the Solavellan tag, but Ruins is the the only one I’ve seen that utilized it as a vehicle for Solas to spearhead his own redemption arc. The story starts 20 years after the events of the game, where Solas and Lavellan have long played their roles on opposing sides. They are wisened, they are hurting, and they are tired. A ‘Hail Mary’ ritual to banish him from the timeline goes wrong — or right — and instead sends them back. One of the first scenes where both characters briefly exist outside of time is one of my favourites. After having not spoken to the other for decades, when he wonders the intent of the spell, Lavellan asks, “Do you remember Redcliffe?”… the long, heavy, pause as memory replays from two different sides before he finally replies, “Yes. I remember Redcliffe” is one of those exchanges that has stayed with me for literal years. The weight. The angst. The pining. Chef kiss.

What sets this apart from the rest is that Lavellan isn’t so much there to stop Solas, as much as she is supporting him in his own efforts to stop the domino effect he already began. They have one year to prevent the Conclave from happening and learn everything there is to know to arm themselves better this time around.

Ruins reads as a story within a story, where Solas slowly tells his experiences, hopes and failures, mythology and truths, over the course of many chapters. The mix of established canon and original ideas flow so naturally that even after multiple readings I struggle to find the line between them. In rare form, Solas’ masks and defenses have been stripped by his own hand, and it creates a deeply vulnerable version of his character that is really compelling.

As a bonus, because Felassan is saved by the jump back, he features heavily in this story — and is masterfully rendered. Smart and funny and a perfect echo of his role in The Masked Empire.

@cedarmoons‘s “Beloved” Status: finished

After Crestwood, after the Arbor Wilds, Solas accompanies the Inquisitor to what is left of her clan after the destruction. A painfully honest, heartbreaking, depiction of grief… Beautifully done, this is for everyone who went down the complicated chain of war table missions and was blindsided by a horrific end. This fic is the eulogy Lavellan players did not get. Fair warning: if you have ever experienced a terrible loss this may be one to read with a cup of tea and a light on. I have held death in my arms, and will feel that scar for the rest of my life, and I found this a deeply cathartic experience. This fic made me feel seen; it shines a light on the ugly parts of processing that everyone always seems to gloss over. But don’t mistake: this isn’t grimdark, there’s hope in that healing.

Ariala Lavellan’s experience navigating the difficult, messy, path of her pain happens alongside her complicated breakup with Solas. His choice to accompany her means those things mix often. The pair struggle with reconciling their lingering feelings for each other, caretaking, the line between vengeance and justice, his many secrets and the whispers of the Well that threaten them. It is messy and real and beautiful. If you love bittersweet, this is soul food.

@nerdanel01‘s “There is Only Forward” Status: actively updating

I read this entire fic — 100k ago — over the course of a cross-country work conference and let me tell you, days of seminars about mindfulness and Splunk were significantly improved by having this on my phone.

The story is told retrospectively: we start after the end of Solas and Lavellan’s relationship, and go all the way back to the beginning to experience their rise and fall. Through Thanduwen’s eyes we also see the growth of people around her from veritable strangers, who struggle to find common ground, to found family. More importantly, this fic doesn’t shy away from the ugly parts of those characters — we see the shitty bits, we see them challenged, and we see them evolve over time. (Take note: this is the only valid Cullen redemption arc). Because of its length, this is one of the few works that really walks you through what the game would be like if it played out in real life. It’s easy to get absolutely, totally, lost.

Nerdanel’s writing style stands out over others as grandiose and rich; reading feels like watching a deeply intimate stage performance, where you forget you’re in an audience and instead feel like you’re sitting in a chair just behind the curtain. If you were a theatre kid (or theatre adjacent) the prose will feel amazing and hook you immediately. There are lines scattered throughout this that were so beautiful and vivid I’ve had to write them down to mull over when I need inspiration. This feels like a world.

@circadian_rythm’s “Pride’s Folly” series Status: unfinished

This was the first Solavellan piece I read that really reached me. It is a story told in vignettes over twenty years. Opening after the events of the game and Trespasser, on a meeting between Solas and Lavellan years later in the Crossroads where they say a last, intimate, goodbye. In the 20 years that follow, Solas succeeds in tearing down the Veil and the world goes to war. Lavellan, and many of her friends and loved ones, give up their lives fighting him while struggling to keep hid the daughter Solas doesn’t know he has. Spero grows up knowing him as a villain, vowing vengeance, but their first meeting on the battlefield does not go as she planned.

This story features a hardened, grieving, Solas who has had nothing left in the world to lead him away from this path for a very long time… until suddenly he does, and it hates him for that. Spero is a rich, gorgeous, character and I wish there was a hundred fics written of her. Those glimpses into her early life, raised by a deeply loving and protective “family”, make her strength and her anger feel real — even if you’re rooting for Solas you can’t help but be furious at him along with her. The descriptions of the world are highly detailed and paint a vivid picture of something beautiful in Solas’ eyes, and sickly indulgent in Spero’s. Flipping between their POVs to experience that contrast is wonderfully compelling. The author’s vision of a partially-post-Veil world is also intensely fascinating and wonderfully unique.

@lavellanpls‘ “Homecoming” Status: slow to update/unfinished

The only author I have ever found who can write Solas funny and pull it off. Homecoming’s premise almost feels like crackfic — with clan Lavellan arriving at Skyhold and all hell breaking loose — but the delivery is so goddamn flawless you forget it started with something silly. Lillith is the only warrior Lavellan I’ve encountered, and her spunk and intelligence and fucking hilarious delivery made me fall in love with her so goddamn hard I made a D&D character inspired by her. I feel like if I ever did a warrior!Lavellan playthrough, I’d have to play as Lillith because nobody else can hold a candle to her.

The gaiety in this story never feels saccharine or goofy, more like the unbound chaos that would result from having all your relatives show up unannounced at Thanksgiving dinner and insisting on staying a week. A truly glorious clusterfuck. Along the way, that’s tempered by looks into Lillith’s troubled upbringing, difficult relationships she left behind, and a shady past that rivals Solas’. By a certain point they’re both working to solve the mystery of each other, and she’s the one pulling most of the strings. This fic has some of the best snappy, witty, dialogue I’ve had the pleasure to read — you’d swear it was a work of Tethras. Lavellanpls also has a number of Lillith shorts that cover a broad spectrum of hurt/comfort to smut, and are all 100% worth reading.

@ellstersmash‘s “Nothing On My Tongue” Status: finished

A series of vignettes, painting the progression of a complicated relationship. Though the chapters are short they are gorgeously written; each a snapshot of a singular emotional experience. Curiosity, grief, anger, infatuation, betrayal. From Solas and the Inquisitor’s (Athi) first, fleeting, moments of connection, to those butterfly-inducing flirtations, and finally the anger and heart-break of their parting, and what comes after. Each one stands as a story of its own. This work is a masterclass of how to write short, impactful, scenes that can communicate so much in so little words, with prose that flows like poetry. I’ve read it through a dozen times and feel swept away each time.

@commonevilmastermind‘s “What of the Hedge Mage?” Status: slow to update

This is another fic told in vignettes, rather than over a linear plot, but does so very differently than the one spotlighted above. These chapters are longer; detailed and intriguing, and switch between the ever-changing POVs of this Inquisitor (Aviva) and Solas over the course of the game’s events. These glimpses go into painful (beautiful) detail of celebration and trauma and trust and connection and paint a really intimate portrait of Aviva’s life and love. Additionally, this story expands on Dalish tradition by drawing parallels to Judaism (sometimes subtly, sometimes directly) and I absolutely adore it. It’s such a lovely take on a culture that has, at times, been portrayed with really problematic elements in canon. Picking out the broken pieces and blending the canon with it feels like fic kintsugi.

This story also has one of the most intimate and gorgeous “first time” scenes I’ve ever read in a fic. Deeply vulnerable without losing the excitement; I love it when writers hit on Solas being touch-starved and hungry. Especially when they do so in a way that distances from the violent tropes that are really common in this pairing. It feels genuine and delicate and gorgeous. You feel every touch.

@spirrum‘s “Before the End, A New Beginning” Status: abandoned/finished

Spirrum has a way of writing that feels absolutely, effortlessly, beautiful. She transforms the most simple prompts into works of art. Everything she touches turns to gold. I truly believe she is one of, if not the best, writer in this tag. And it is a tragic loss that her account, and Tumblr, now seem abandoned. However, she was kind enough to leave her work behind to be enjoyed. Her writing has heavily influenced my own and though I could never hope to hold a candle to her talent she continues to inspire in absentia.

Of all of her work, this fic is my favourite. I’ve mentioned before that, funny enough, I actually do not enjoy pregnancy or kid fics. This is the exception. A single night Solas later regrets comes back around when he means to break up with Lavellan and instead finds himself inexorably tied to her. This story follows only the first, timid, months after they find out as Lavellan struggles to balance complicated feelings, truths, and being called away to duties gone awry. As a bonus, there’s a truly wonderful DA2 cameo. Once you finish this story, you can jump into Spirrum’s, “A Different Path” series for more glimpses into this version of events… but really, you should go to her Tumblr and read everything she’s ever posted under the writing tag. You’ll be fundamentally changed as a person.

(NOTE: I mark this “abandoned/finished” because while the chapter count says “?” it was left in a very natural place so it doesn’t feel like other similarly unfinished works).

#fic rec #solavellan #solavellan fanfic #solas x lavellan

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kita-lavellan · 5 years

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2019 Writer’s Round-Up

I was tagged by both @pikapeppa and @elveny so I figured I’d better put some effort in and try to figure this out. It’s not going to be easy since I have my writings scattered everywhere, including handwritten snippets, but I’ll give it my best shot!

Word Count

I can only really get an approximate number for this since, as I mentioned, my writing is scattered all over. Having said that, I’ve gone through my Googledocs going back to January, checked 4TheWords, double-checked what I’ve posted on AO3, and skimmed my last 3 months of Tumblr Posts, and totally ignored my handwritten stuff (I’m not word-counting that for you :p).

After dividing the word counts from my collaborative Original Fiction pieces by 2, and adding it all together with the help of a spreadsheet...

2019 Total Wordcount: 127,565

Number of Smut Scenes

Three.

A low number for me, but I’ve been writing a lot of original fiction that hasn’t centred around the topic.

New Things I’ve Tried This Year

Science Fiction!

I’m usually a strictly Fantasy writer in my original works, but @skekiss challenged me to try my hand at some Sci-Fi, and not only was it surprisingly fun, but it also didn’t turn out terribly, so I might do some more of that next year.

Favourite Thing I’ve Written This Year

My Favourite piece of Original Fiction was that Science Fiction piece my friend challenged me to do. It still doesn’t have a title, but here’s a snippet...

In the year 2421, the colonization of Mars finally became more than a simple societal need to expand, it also became a financially viable option for the over-crowded people of Earth.

The ship, destined to terraform Mars into a planet that humans could not only live on, but thrive upon, was named ‘The Scout’, and set out for the red planet in the year 2436, from a launchpad that had been constructed in international waters.

The Project was funded by nations from across Earth, and ‘The Scout’ was outfitted with the most advanced technology from all of the participating countries.

It was designed to be capable of terraforming Mars into a state that would allow for the development of permanent settlements in a sustainable manner, and construction was completed in under ten years.

The subsequent five years between it’s completed construction and the eventual launch date was spent finding and training a crew of over 3,000 officers, medical staff, scientists, and civilians from all walks of life so that they would be fully prepared for the challenges ahead.

It was a joyous and celebrated day when ‘The Scout’ launched from Earth, it’s state of the art quantum drive meant that travel to Mars would take the ship only sixty days.

Somewhere along their journey between the two planets, ‘The Scout’ encountered the sudden creation of a wormhole close enough to them to disrupt the ship’s controls and, unable to steer away from the pull of the forming singularity, the ship was pulled inside.

By chance, the addition of quantum energy from the ship’s drive core to the forming wormhole stabilised its throat long enough for ‘The Scout’ to emerge from the other side before it collapsed upon itself, stranding ‘The Scout’ and all three thousand souls in an unknown galaxy...

“Kelsey!”

The shout of her name drew her golden-brown eyes from the presentation, complete with an interactive holographic projection, to her employer.

He looked angry, she noticed, which wasn’t surprising really since he’d sent her to get fresh stock from the workshop an hour ago.

“Branner-”

“What do you think you’re doing, girl!?” he snapped as he used his broad shoulders and tall frame to force his way between crowds of early morning shoppers and over to where she was standing.

“Umm…” Kelsey turned her eyes back to the presentation for a moment, the display had continued to explain about ‘The Scout’s’ settlement on an uninhabited planet with permission from the other races of the odd galaxy they’d found themselves in.

The young children were chasing holographic stars and barely paying any attention to their own history, their supervising teacher looked ready to tear her own hair out, and Kelsey turned back to Branner guiltily.

“Nothing?”

He glared at her for a long moment, his own gaze flicking to the presentation and his eyes narrowing.

“Get those ship parts back to the stall, I’ll be along in a minute,” he growled, and Kelsey nodded, moving quickly past him and dodging the smack he aimed at the back of her head with practised ease.

As for fanfiction... I think my Favourite piece of 2019 is probably “Fascinating”. A little Solavellan one-shot I did about my favourite flirt with the bald elf.

Fascinating can be found here

Favourite Fic I’ve Read This Year

Asking the tough questions now... hmm. I do even less reading than I do writing when my depression flares up, but I’m gonna scour my AO3 for my top 3 of the year...

In no particular order;

1) Begin Again by Anthropasaurus A recent find of mine. There are only two chapters, but AO3 says I’ve visited this fic 7 times, so that should tell you how invested I am already. It looks like it’s going to be interesting and clever, so I’m excited to see where this one goes. Rating: M Pairing: Solas/Lavellan Tropes or Tags: Time-travel, Self Harm/Suicide mention, Angst, Slowburn, Fixit-Fic. Summary: “There’s a small moment, as you’re harvesting a person when you feel their soul almost literally in your hands. All you would need to do is cast your spell right at that moment. We know where my body and Solas were at that time. It’s the only chance we have Dorian.” The years following the Exalted Council had not been kind to Raven or Dorian. Years of thwarting Solas at every turn took everything they and what few allies still survived had. They all knew the end was drawing near and if they didn’t act fast, southern Thedas would fall. But not even Solas could have foreseen what would happen when the Veil fell. Her memories of Redcliffe paled in comparison to the atrocities that now spread across the land. The Evanuris were free and roamed the lands like a plague. Whatever plans Solas had had failed. It had been weeks since she had seen him on the edges of her dreams. She feared the worst.

2) Spark of Hope Series by Elveny I don’t read series often, I like all the story in one place, but Elveny’s Lyssa/Solas story just sucks you in, and you’re clicking “Next Chapter/Next Story” without even realising it until you’ve read the whole thing in one night and are DESPERATELY left wanting for more. *coughs awkwardly* It’s not finished, but there are 147,000 words (approximately) over 5 stories, and a new one coming sometime in 2020, so it’s absolutely worth reading. Rating: E Pairing: Solas/Lavellan Tropes or Tags: Anxiety/Panic Attacks, Emotional Hurt, Break Up, Prequel Story Included. Summary: Everything has gone wrong. Corypheus has opened the orb and the magic did not return to Solas. A giant Breach is throbbing in the air, threatening the whole of Thedas before he is powerful enough to do what he set out to do. Instead of following his plans, he finds himself in Haven, caring for an unconscious elven woman whose palm sizzles with green magic... his magic. He needs to keep her alive if he wants any chance to get it back. But then... she wakes.

3) Elastic Heart by cedarmoons I’ve read this half a dozen times, and the end of the first chapter STILL makes my heart stop >.< This is the fic that convinced me there were actually good Solavellan Writers hiding out there. I’ve found many since then, but this was my launchpad moment. Rating: E Pairing: Solas/Lavellan Tropes or Tags: None Summary: For the DA Kinkmeme. After making love to Lavellan, Solas accidentally tells her his identity.

Writing Goals for 2020

At least, an easy question! Write More. I’ve had a rough year for writing with many depression flare-ups. I’m hoping that 2020 I can get back to a more regular schedule, starting with a whole day of it on Jan 1st, I’ve cleared my schedule to get some writing time in and have my fingers crossed that it will be a good starting point for the rest of the year.

Thank you’s and Tagging...

Firstly, thank you PikkaPeppa and Elveny for tagging me! I’ve written more this year than I thought I had, and that’s been a lovely surprise, and a bit of a mood boost too. Thank you @skekiss for getting me into Tumblr. I’m not sure if I should thank you for this since it’s EATING my life, but regardless, I’ve met some fun people here in the last three months. Also, Thank You to @the-solavellan-archive for giving me a place to hang out, and share my Solavellan works, and for welcoming me with open arms ^_^

Now to tag people who may want to take part in this...

@rivainisomniari, @lyrium-lavellan, @solas-disapproves, @cornfedcryptid, @skekiss, @faerieavalon, @ranawaytothedas

If you feel like doing this and I’ve not tagged you, feel free, and @ me so I can be nosey! :D

#Not Dragon Age #Sort of Dragon Age #Writing #Writing Meme #About Me #Real Life #2019 Writer's Round-up #2019 Writer's Round Up #2019 Writer's Roundup #About Ari #About Arista #About Arista Holmes

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cedarmoons · 5 years

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Just so you know I still think about Beloved on the regular and every time I do it absolutely consumes my soul. It’s my absolute, diehard favorite Solavellan fic. The angst, the yearning, the hopefulessness, it’s all perfection—you should be very proud of yourself. Evoking suffering without deterring readers is really hard, yet you’ve achieved it. I deeply admire you as a writer, please never stop as long as it continues to bring you joy. Do you have a Beloved or solavellan playlist?

Thank you!! That delights me, hehehe. I don’t have a Spotify playlist or anything, but this post (https://cedarmoons.tumblr.com/post/167020463402/what-songs-did-you-listen-to-for-writing-beloved soz im on mobile) has a list of my main go-to songs for writing it!

#replies

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thedreadblog · 5 years

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People You Want to Know Better

Ooooh thanks @theperksofbeingsera :D This was fun to do for this blog!

Tag 9 People You Want to Know Better!

@water-whisp @underthedreadwolfsgaze @journeys-of-an-egghead @rosenrotxiii @riazures @werewolfkahjiit @cl0udb3rryarts (somehow the system can’t find your regular blog, so I hope this works too?) @bellanaris-adahl and @dirthenera

(Only do this if you want to, no judgement from me if you’re like ‘meh, no thanks’!)

Favorite Color: Purple, of the amethyst variety....pretty rocks <3

Top 3 Ships: why do I always forget these when ppl ask alsdkfj Obviously SolasxInquisitor (Dragon Age), ChloexLucifer (Lucifer), and with the new Borderlands announced and all, I’ve found myself digging into FionaxRhys material again :)

Lipstick or Chapstick: Oddly enough, both! Chapstick to make sure my lips don’t die and dry out, and lipstick applied a little later so make ‘em pop. By which I mean, draw attention to the fact that I do have lips, even if they’re not that full. I mostly go for neutral pinks, but bright red makes me look like a flapper from the ‘30s and I dig that a lot.

Last Song: Imagine Dragons - Second Chances. Didn’t expect their work to be...very inspirational re: solavellan, but dang it if some songs aren’t exactly what you need to survive the angst once in a while!

Last Movie: Netflix finally added Wonder Woman, and I really wanted to see the horseback archery (which is something I’m training to do) and the stunts the amazons got to do. I stayed for the actual darkness of war (the movie didn’t once glorify it which is g r e a t), and weirdly enough almost cried when a Flemish woman got to pour her heart out at Diana, who spoke back in Flemish and fairly well too asldfkj (I’m Dutch, Flemish being the Belgian ... dialect? I think? of the Dutch language. We sound like cavemen compared to our soft-accented Belgian neighbours) (well I do) (where I live we use the very back of the throat to make sounds) (gggggg) (further down south the language softens up a little)

Currently Reading: An odd blend of The Lies Of Locke Lamora by Scott Lynch, which is fabulous and I’m just barely halfway through, and I started Feeder by Patrick Weekes a little while ago, which is also really nice though the actual story is just about starting.

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galadrieljones · 6 years

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I was tagged by @cordkitty-ish and @thevikingwoman to post some of the first “drabbles” I ever wrote. Tbh, the first things I ever wrote are probably from 25 years ago, hidden deep in notebooks lost to another time. So I will stick to my fandom writing, which didn’t really begin until 2016, with Solavellan.

The Dead Season, my Solavellan longfic, actually began as just a collection of vignettes. That’s all it was ever going to be, with the expressed purpose of exploring what happened off screen during the romance. Obviously, it...evolved. Lol. But here is first “drabble” or vignette I ever wrote for Sene and Solas, which I titled The Arrow of a Dead Season and wrote in June 2016. If you’ve read TDS, you might recognize the general setting and scenario here, but not much else. The saga changed course completely, but I repurposed and adapted Solas visiting a young Sene in the Fade multiple times throughout the story.

The Arrow of a Dead Season

Tonight, he enters one of her memories from childhood. The small girl, maybe ten years old, red and freckled, like a peach, her vallaslin just a green streak across her cheeks. She is with friends. She has a bow. She shoots an arrow into the tree to his right, nearly kissing his shoulder. He ducks in time then removes the arrow from the bark and waits as the little red-haired Dalish girl comes over, as a seed, on her lonesome.

“Savhalla, ha’hren,” she says. “Ir abellas.” The kids behind her scatter in all directions, playing hide and seek.

“Savhalla, da’len,” he says. He crouches down to hand her the arrow, meets her at eye level. The green there, of summer grass and sky. Familiar, and yet, not. “Or should I call you da’assan?”

“Everyone does,” she says, shrugging. “Have I met you?”

“No. I’m just walking.”

“You don’t have a vallaslin.”

“I’m not Dalish, da’assan,” he says.

“What are you then?”

He laughs. “I must be lost,” he says.

“Do you need help getting home?”

“I believe I’ll find the way.”

Then she holds out her hand, brave and bright and true. “I’m Sene,” she says. “We are Clan Lavellan.”

He shakes her hand. “I’m Solas,” he says.

“Vhallan na, Solas.”

“Me serannas, da’assan.”

He looks down at her freckled hand. Small. A child’s. He feels angst from a life before. He closes his eyes. The temperature changes, and on his face, there is a new heat.

When he opens his eyes again, she is there, as he knows her, grown up. Her face naked and open to him, her eyes green, not as the sky, but as the hole there, the accident that drew him to her the day his loneliness found a resting place but would not die.

Something was wrong. Things had changed. How did he get here?

“Ara vhenan,” she says and smiles. The teeth he used to kiss in places no one saw. Her voice, the song of his whole dead life, asleep in a tomb of darkness and unbeing. He smells her. Her scent is so familiar. To be a man. The feeling is so easy, as it once was. A thousand years could pass. She, this, it would be forever like breathing, and that was the trouble. “Vhenan,” she breathes into his ear, “will you take me?”

He doesn’t know how he got here. Her question takes him by surprise, and yet he knows he’s heard it before.

“Yes,” he says.

“Even after all this time?”

“What time, vhenan?” he says. “I feel no time, no pain.”

“I do,” she says. He can hear it, the crack in her heart.

“No,” he says. “Vhenan?”

“I have felt it for both of us. You have not felt—have you felt?”

He places his hand on her chest, in the hollow there. She is wearing nothing but a slip made of cotton. “I do now,” he says.

“Fix me,” she says, placing her hand on his face. Her left hand. It is whole. When are they now? He’s lost track. But the warmth is a drug. They are animals.

“I have walked all night to find you,” he says. “I thought I’d lost your scent.”

“I found you,” she says.

“Where?” he says.

“I want you to take me,” she says. “Please?”

He seems to forget now. Confusion comes and goes. He kisses her. She tastes of trees and sun. Salt of the ocean. Where are they? Skyhold. He can feel it. The weight and regularity, the strength, the old magic, the everything. The bricks speak to him in their ancient tongues. He has her now, arms pinned above her head with her back to the wall across from the fire. In one movement, he pulls her into his chest, and then, there is the bed. The smells, again. They flood him. He loses control, his hand up her thigh, to the hip, brings her legs open, and then.

Every time they did this, always it was real. Sometimes, she talked like maybe he had taken them to the Fade, that he would trick her like that. Never, he said. He told her this again and again. He remembers now. He hasn’t thought of it in so long.

I’ll tag @buttsonthebeach @ellstersmash @ladylike-foxes @wrenbee @bearlytolerablethethird @princessvicky01 @roguelioness @ma-sulevin @ladydracarysao3 @kaoruyogi and anyone else who’d like to show some of your first drabbles, either ever, or for the dragon age fandom <3

#first drabbles meme #solavellan #sene and solas #sene lavellan #solas

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firjii · 7 years

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In which I tried to write my first kissy moment. xD

Regular text version is under the cut. I really thought I could wrap this up in 3 chapters, but this chapter is already 4,000+ words if I remember correctly. Not many surprises here because I already posted excerpts from it, but onward and upward, right? :)

Chapter: 3/?

Fandom: Dragon Age: Inquisition

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationships: Female Lavellan/Solas, Ameridan/Telana (early relationship stage) [and I do mean early...it’s basically my headcanon story about how they met]

Characters: Solas, Female Lavellan, Ameridan, Telana

Additional Tags [please note: I condensed the tags because this chapter is different from others and isn’t nearly as dark as chapter 2, so some of my earlier tag warnings don’t apply to this portion]: angst, drama, grit, minor battle fatigue, gray ace solavellan, exasperated lavellan, concerned solas, minor language, vague references to violence, depression, suggested suicide, blood magic (suggested), blood mage, reluctant blood mage, canonically ambiguous elements, borderline non-canonical ideas, canonically disputable ideas about the Dalish (probably)

Summary: After a long and necessary sleep imposed on her by Solas' magic, Ellana wakes only to find herself wading in still more strife, a resolution no more obvious after rest than before it. Once again, Solas offers to help her find peace - or at least a measure of understanding - in the Fade. She finally accepts, only to find that Solas has a much different plan in mind than anything Ellana has seen thus far in dreams.

A tiny clink woke her, though her eyes didn’t immediately snap open. Instead, she frowned as waking slowly spread through her limbs. Dishes? No. It was something more muffled and solid: a mortar and pestle. Her frown deepened as a few vague questions found weak spots in her haze, but the expression disintegrated by the time she opened her eyes.

She was stretched on the couch, though it took her a long moment for the fact to register despite staring at her limbs. She tried to swing her legs over the side and lift herself up into a sitting position, but her arms were too slack and dull for such an ambitious act. She pushed herself up on her elbows and tried to rotate her neck, but a crick stopped her. She hissed through gritted teeth.

Solas scurried into her line of sight but said nothing. “Better,” he murmured approvingly with a nod after he spent a moment considering her.

She snorted and reached for her neck. “This is better?”

“You slept.”

She swore as she rubbed the stiffness out of her muscles but hesitated when she noticed the afternoon daylight. “I slept all day?”

His mouth shifted carefully. “A day.”

She blinked as she rushed to sit upright. “But how could –” A hunger spasm in her stomach confirmed his answer before she could finish her thought. “No one sleeps that long.”

He smiled faintly.

She stood. “But I didn’t –” Her knees buckled, further evidence that she had been immobile for a prolonged period. Solas moved for her, but she waved him away with a jab of her slender arm and a tiny, frustrated grunt. She sat down huffily and braced her head until the vertigo ebbed. “It felt different.” She rubbed her forehead and temples.

“Your mind ceded to your body.”

She paused. As if her head weighed an unfathomably great amount, she craned it up to him. She stared. “You did something.”

“I did what anyone would do in the same situation.”

“Which was?”

“Only enough to let you forget your worries for a time.”

“By making me sleep for a day and a night?”

Solas resumed his methodical rummaging with several bowls on a table.

She frowned. “What are you doing?” Her neck was still too weak to twist around to look at him. She heard him stir several things into glass. He returned with a tumbler filled with a thick, whitish liquid and offered it to her. She sighed and reached for her forehead again. “I don’t need a potion.”

“This is a different sort of restorative.”

She took it from him and sniffed. Her face abruptly pinched into unnatural angles.

“Those who pass so many hours without food need a special kind of sustenance.”

She tasted it and shuddered, but she forced herself to swallow the entire portion. By the time she returned the tumbler to him, her face consisted purely of wrinkles opposing each other in a series of alien angles. “Goat’s milk,” she muttered. “And something else.”

“Herbs from the garden and a raw egg.”

Her face eased, but she threw a glare at him for an instant.

“Does your ankle still hurt?”

“Not much.” Still flushed from the strong flavors of her drink, she chuckled weakly. “That’s why you did it.”

“Have you always neglected yourself so much?”

Her faced paled. She stood. “I don’t need a lecture. I know what I need to do to finish what we started.” She paced her quarters, tender-footed but determined. “It’s taking too long.”

“An easy thing to say when dread shadows your every move.”

She snorted and paced faster. “And that’s easy to say when you aren’t clever enough to be frightened about something.” Her ankles toyed with folding over in the course of several steps. She swayed but continued walking.

In a silent, gliding move, Solas was at her side. “Sit down.” He braced one of her arms and made her stand still.

“It’s alright.”

“Your body clearly disagrees.”

She shot him an icy glare, but the look she found in his face dispelled it.

She shakily shuffled across the room with him. He settled her back onto the couch, though she locked her knees in place and refused to actually lay down again. She folded her arms in a hurry, initially with jutting, angular elbows – like a petulant child – but the gesture soon changed into that of a weary night guard desperate for a moment of respite. She folded into herself for a moment, her feet planted on the floor like a mighty act of defiance. She sighed twice, a ragged edge behind both breaths. She leaned back on the couch.

Absentmindedly, so did he. She stared at the far side of the room. She leaned into him in the same instant that he reached to brace her. She wept. With the delicacy of a quillmaker, he leaned his head against the crown of hers as he held her barely-containable spasms, his arms completely encircling her now. The tension in her muscles released as her hands dropped limply to her lap. Dark, inarticulate noises rose from her and resonated against his chest like air through a flute. He closed his eyes. A single tear escaped down his cheek and nestled unnoticed in her hair.

* * *

An hour or more passed. Speechless but far from mute, she railed and wracked, as eager to flee herself as she was to seek aid. More than once, she flattened her palms against her temples, perhaps to counter the effects of such fierce outlet.

Solas held her as if a tangible storm threatened to break all around the two of them. As her grief intensified, her throat increasingly failed, yet the force of what lurked inside her drove her ever onward. When she finally paused from keening, it was only to clutch at her own throat. Solas finally released her to hurry for water. She coughed in the brief interval that followed. He pushed the tumbler into her hand. She downed the contents greedily. He filled it thrice more before her panic subsided and she could swallow or breathe with a semblance of normality.

Her mouth opened and closed like a suffocating fish several times. “I–”

“No,” he cut over her. “Not yet. Rest your voice.”

She did, though her eyes hummed with activity in place of her throat. After a few moments, Solas put two fingers on either side of her neck. She tried to remain still as he placed healing magic to quiet her furious lymph glands. She watched him closely this time as he worked.

“You need help, da’len.”

“I know,” she murmured, the shapes of the words barely recognizable.

“The Inquisition needs a focused leader. You cannot be one if the past is chasing you.”

“Like a wolf?”

He winced, though his inspection of her throat partially disguised it. He peered intently at her skin and frowned upon noticing a swollen vein that hadn’t yet receded into its proper place.

“I’ve seen you on missions.”

He swallowed calmly as he continued his work. “Have you?”

“Your magic. Vivienne thinks it’s because you learned outside the Circles. Dorian thinks it’s because you’re more ruthless than you look.”

“Neither is entirely incorrect.”

She waited a moment, her swallowing still strained. “I think you are a wolf.”

“Like the fearsome one of Dalish legends?”

She focused hard on him, unblinking.

He looked away for an instant. “That was unnecessary. I spoke without thinking.”

“It’s not true anyway.”

“The legend or the idea?”

“A legend is a legend. An idea’s an idea.”

“Did you ever say that among your clan? I doubt that they would have tolerated such an opinion.”

Her keenness withdrew as he stepped away to refill her tumbler. She sighed. “Silence is an opinion, too,” she half-croaked.

Still facing away from her, he lowered his head. “Yes.” He returned to her with the water. “I know it is.” He sat down in the same place again and watched her.

She drank somberly, reasonably, methodically. She stared down when she had drained it, fingering the etched glass mercilessly, memorizing the pattern as if her breath depended on it. “It’s not that simple.”

“The foolish might say that you either enjoy darkness or are frightened of change. The truth is actually kinder. Few have the tools necessary to improve this kind of situation themselves, so they struggle instead. Outsiders notice the struggle. How can they not? But they seldom act to improve it.”

She fussed with her forehead again, more aggressively than before. “Because they don’t care.”

“Because they have no concept of where to begin.”

Deep inside her mouth, she gnawed her cheek, her jaw clicking slightly in determination. “But you do.” Her tone was subdued enough that her question settled low on the air as a statement.

“You already know the Fade. We both survived a physical manifestation there. Nearly every night, we both–”

“I know. But –” She frowned and squinted, her free hand wavering near her head but eventually losing its trail of thought. “It’s different.”

“Hardly. To those in control, there is little to truly fear. To the strong, threats are simple enough to recognize and avoid. And I –” His voice failed unexpectedly, normal and clear one moment and crippled in the next.

She finally looked up at him.

He swallowed – with effort. “I –”

In spite of her grief-reddened face and bloodshot eyes, a smile crept over her face as slowly as a sunset. She slowly clunked the tumbler on an end table.

“I –” he tried again.

She had barely reached for his necklace when he wrapped his palms around either jawline and pulled her toward him. Her lips were still unusually red and chapped from weeping. Her mouth muscles were slack from overuse, too committed to the freshly-quelled sneers and spasms of fear and rage to move normally for the gesture. Her cheeks were still damp from inexplicable renegade tears.

But the moment was equal between them. A flicker of refuge ricocheted between them three and then four times, too intent on steadiness to trifle with any bold displays. Two more tears snuck down her face as they parted. Then two more journeyed down his. His mouth mutely opened and closed twice while his eyes fought to find his original thought. “I would never lead you into danger if there was a safer road.”

She lowered her head, just as she had done before. But this time, there was no hint of groveling. She closed her eyes. “I know.”

“Do you trust me?”

She nodded.

He brought a thumb up under the tip of her chin and nudged her head upward. He fixed a smile on his face, though it took her a moment to open her eyes and see it.

“Yes.” Her voice was barely above a mutter, but it was unfettered, unwavering, unbroken. Yet her brow also strained to fend off a frown.

He saw it and deliberated. “You suffer in other ways.”

She swallowed spasmodically. “It’s nothing.” She dug her knuckles into her temples in earnest and sighed. “We all bear something. We bear it or we die.” Her eyes crinkled shut. Several small sobs broke over her anew. Her forehead glistened with fresh, clammy sweat as it gyrated between bodily pain and more grief.

He pulled at her wrists.

She opened her eyes. “It’s always been. It always will be. The world’s troubles will always be greater than mine.”

He stared – not at her eyes, but her vallaslin. “They burden you.”

“No one speaks of it.”

“I am.”

“It’s nothing. I let them. There’s a difference. I’m weak. I –” Her face contorted as another wave of pain interrupted her. “I choose to be weak.”

He watched her. “How long have they pained you?”

“Why do you think they’re hurting me?”

“Anguish is always sharpest when the mind and the body disagree at the same time.”

“It’s just a headache.”

“You are still young, but your face bears the lines of one who has hurt every day.”

“And if I have?”

He lowered his gaze to the floor and pondered. “Something was wrong the day you were given them.”

“Or I was.”

His head flew up. His eyes were unblinking. She wavered but returned the gaze, unable to turn away. He still held her hands.

“Can’t you tell? They’re new. Or newer than some, anyway.”

“But–”

“I couldn’t do it at the proper age,” she sneered. She sighed and mildly curled away from him, though she still lent him her hands. “That’s what I tried to tell you. The more I use my magic – any magic – the more I notice the rest of the world. I always felt pain more than others. Everyone said I cried more as an infant than the others. But it got worse after the magic came. A few raindrops might hurt if I’m tired enough. No one was surprised when the Keeper didn’t offer me a marking day. I didn’t ask for one. No one questioned it. They knew better.”

“An unusual situation,” he lilted meditatively.

“The only one in the last fifty years or better, so I heard. Even the blind get them. Even the lame get them. Even the dull-witted get them if they’re strong enough and know what they mean.” She snorted. “I can’t believe you didn’t see it. I always wear shoes. I could never have enough pairs of gloves. I’d whimper for days from a damned splinter, but I’d killed by the time some girls had had their first bleedings.”

“There are certain potions and tonics–”

“There’s not enough elfroot in the world to help this. Liquor helps even less.”

He swallowed. “Then perhaps a spell–”

“Nothing ever lasts for long. I’ve tried. Others have tried.” Her head sank. “It’s just how things are.”

“Those are cheap words–”

“Not when it’s the truth,” she bit through the air.

He still held her hands. She still allowed it. Not once had her fingers clenched, twitched, or dug into his palms. He waited and watched while she tried to calm her breathing. “Does it always linger?”

“The worse the pain, the slower it is to leave. That never changes.” She leaned back against the couch, as if her spine was too weak to support her stature. “I’m grateful that my parents let me choose. Plenty don’t. By the time they’re of age, most children already show an aptitude. It’s a natural fit to mark them as such. And why not? What’s the harm in reminding them of their strengths? What’s the harm in giving them a tether?”

His upper arms shuddered, but his forearms successfully remained still.

“I chose Dirthamen to honor the freedom my clan showed me. They didn’t know what was best for me any better than I did.” She shrugged and scoffed. “I don’t worship our gods any more than I worship Andraste. They’re only stories. All of it’s just a story. Most of it’s never offered a good answer for someone like me. Why should I believe in any of them? Why should I ignore one more than another? Why should I expect them to protect me when I can’t even be a good example of any of them?”

He finally released her hands, though she drew them away stiltedly. She rubbed her eyes. Each time she scowled when a nerve angrily protested in her forehead, he scowled in tandem. “How long has it been?”

“I took the marks just before I left for the Conclave.”

He frowned. His head dipped, but the movement was slow and controlled. “You suffered as long as that?”

“That’s not so long. Everyone suffers – elves most of all. Was it ever really otherwise?” She snorted and rubbed her neck as ripples of aches caused contortions in various parts of her face. “Arlathan. Why should I believe that, either? There’s more comfort in one Dalish lullaby than an entire tome about something we’ll never have again. And even if we could, how could we know if it would be anything like the stories?”

The lone finger that had formerly twitched on his hand hours earlier now clenched instead. “Then let me show you something else.”

“I can’t sleep now. I already lost a day. More.”

“What makes you think that you need to sleep to go into the Fade?”

She hesitated.

“What makes you think that you were still awake?”

Her head whirred back and forth.

The vaguest impish shimmer passed through his eyes. “Are there normally trees outside your windows?”

She checked the windows again to see the lazy waving of branches’ silhouettes and mottled shadows. “What–”

“Come,” he smiled.

She stood, her face suddenly devoid of spasms and instead replaced by amazement.

They descended the stairs, but when Solas opened the door, it was nighttime. Skyhold was gone. A small glen surrounded them, midnight dew glittering in the moonlight. She scanned the area several times. She stepped gingerly in the deep grass and sparse, weedy flowers.

Solas stared on as she acclimated.

“What’s this?”

“Did you expect something else?”

It took her a long moment to face him or speak. “I thought–”

“There is no reason whatsoever to resurrect your own memories. You clearly remember them well enough.”

“So what’s this?”

“Come and see.”

They wandered a distance both short and far – the Fade had such an effect on time and measurement. She glanced about, often no differently than a vigilant scout. Though the area was deserted apart from an owl and a number of insects, the dark textures of night made her twitch. Sparse breezes made strangely deafening echoes as they disturbed the dense, shivering leaves of ash trees, the black knots of their trunks scarcely less formidable than a demon’s eyes in the steady but dim moonlight. More than once, she reached behind her back, the finely-honed reflexive move for her stave too ingrained to override, even here.

Solas observed her but was unfazed. His stride remained quiet, even confident. There was no reason for it to be otherwise. But he swallowed. “There are times when that which we see is not the truth. There are times when a shadow means safety, not a threat.”

She sighed and flicked her eyes about as they walked. “I don’t know where we are. What do you expect?”

His smile – that smile – resurfaced. “There are also times when a shadow is only a shadow.”

They reached a clearing much wider than the first. There were only two figures there. A heavily-cloaked man crouched low over a crude pot resting on a small campfire while a Dalish girl writhed on a small pile of skins a yard away. Her vallaslin were fresh. Her upper arms were bonier than a young halla’s fetlocks. She sweated. Her bronze skin – perhaps ordinarily a gleaming sight – had a hardened, tired look. She bore the many freckles of one who had wandered long and often in the wilds. Her hands and forearms showed glancing bruises and scrapes, as if she was clumsy – or a disrupted sleeper.

“Do you see them, vhenan?”

“Is that –” She swallowed hard as her throat failed. She stared. “I don’t understand.”

“Yes. You do.”

She stared awhile longer. “I didn’t know she had Dirthamen’s marks.”

“Few did. Few ever will.”

“Then that’s –”

Ameridan scooped the hot liquid from the pot into a small wooden cup. He inched along the ground by his kneecaps as he focused intently on not spilling the steaming contents. Telana suddenly howled. Her arms stiffened at her sides and her hands each squeezed a fistful of the makeshift blankets as her torso arced upward. Ameridan hastily rested the cup on a stone and rushed to hold her hands. The instant he did, her spine returned to the lambskins. She moaned as her head lolled. The motion gradually became gentler, even careful. Ameridan’s hands glowed as he uttered words in too quiet of a tone to easily note their meaning.

Telana stilled. Her breathing was strained, her pulse still visibly taxed. She suddenly coughed forcefully. She rolled onto a side, as if expelling water from her lungs. She gasped several times and reached for her throat, as if choking on an errant piece of food. He clapped her back.

The moment she stopped coughing, she writhed around. In a smooth whirl, she grabbed his wrist and held it fast, her fingers scarcely long enough to accomplish the task.

He laughed from deep in his abdomen.

She growled – not a grunt but a low, fierce hum.

He went on laughing, but the noise was sufficiently musical that Telana’s snarled mouth soon smoothed. Two shadows grew between her eyebrows.

“Welcome back,” he finally chirped.

“Who are you?”

He smirked. “Someone who knows what desperation looks like well enough to ignore remarks like that.”

Telana hesitated and eventually wavered, yet her hand remained clamped around his wrist. “Do you look at everyone like this?”

He considered the question. His face furrowed unrelentingly. “Not when I’m allowed the use of all my limbs.”

She glowered.

He gestured to her hand with the barest bob of his chin. “Do you always draw blood as a greeting?”

She finally glanced down. Her fingernails had made five small but unmistakable punctures into his wrist. “Only when someone doesn’t understand what they’re looking at.”

“‘Who.’”

She cocked her head a fraction.

He shrugged with his face. “You’re not an animal or a chair, are you?”

The wind rustled her thick, sweat-caked locks – haphazardly astray in all directions – and his horsehair-like cluster of dark strands tied simply but methodically high on the back of his head. They stared each other down with the intensity of hunters stalking prey.

Telana let him go. She swallowed thickly and sighed. “Why did you help me?”

“Shouldn’t I have?”

“No.”

He reached for the little wooden cup and offered it to her. “You were prone by the side of the road. I might’ve been the only one to pass that way in a week or better.”

“Good.”

He leveled a keen, plain, unblinking gaze on her. She returned it. Once again, only the wind broke their concentration.

Telana looked down at the cup and sniffed it. Satisfied, she sipped it intermittently. Ameridan returned to the pot and stirred it several more moments. He took two bowls from a rucksack and scooped out the contents in earnest: soup. When Telana had finished with the broth – which took some time considering how often she paused to watch her rescuer – he pushed a bowl in her direction.

“What do you want?” she grunted, her throat still unused to both nourishment and speech.

“I want you to eat.”

She frowned at the bowl but relented. They both slurped and supped, content enough with the task of a meal and their apparent truce to stay mute for the duration. Telana finished hers too quickly for Ameridan’s liking, so he replenished it – twice.

“How long have you been traveling?” he finally nudged.

“A few weeks.”

“Alone?”

She closed her eyes and winced mildly. She placed the half-full bowl in her lap and wiped her mouth with a swipe of her forearm, but she hissed lightly when her mouth grazed a cut on the top of her wrist.

Without waiting for permission, Ameridan hurried to take her hand. He murmured more spell words. Telana’s annoyance was at odds with surprise at his competency and efficiency. She watched him work and did him the basic courtesy of sitting still until he had finished the healing. “You’re a mage,” she muttered.

“Why not?”

She shook her head, slightly dazed again. “I’m sorry. It’s been awhile since I’ve seen someone use magic without fear of being watched.”

“So you said.” He took a small wineskin from the rucksack, wrestled the cork open, and took a long but careful pull from it. “Why did you leave your clan?”

Telana snorted. “You know why. You saw.”

“I’ve never met a Dreamer.”

“Well, now you have.”

He held out the wineskin.

She gingerly sipped from it several times.

His eyes narrowed as his mouth fended off a grimace. “Is it always that bad?”

Her mouth busy with swallowing, she frowned and wagged her head. “Worse.”

“How long does it last?”

She took one more pull of wine – longer, and much less delicately now. She exhaled greedily as she handed the skin back to him. “As long as it lasts.” She ran her hands – still stiff and unsteady – through her dulled hair. She drew her knees up and hugged them tightly as she stared into the dying cooking fire. “You didn’t say what you wanted yet.”

“Why should I want anything? I have fine company on a fine night, with fine wards to guard against danger. What else is there to hope for?”

“Fallen for my charms, did you?”

“Not a bit of it. You’re talented.”

“How would you know?”

“You can see things before anyone else does. You can learn things before they exist in this world. You talk in –” He cut himself off. “Did you know that?”

She vaguely rubbed her throat. “I must do. I’m usually too raw to speak when it’s over.”

“You need help.”

She drew her hand away barely in time to avoid scratching herself with her suddenly-rigid fingers. “I don’t need a damned thing from you,” she sneered hurriedly.

“Can you feed yourself when it happens? Can you move? Can you keep from falling off a hillside if a fit comes on you suddenly?”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I know it well enough. After all,” he smirked, “I’m a mage.” He mimicked her earlier tone flawlessly. “And I could use someone like you on my side.”

“For what?”

“Nothing you haven’t already seen or done.”

“That’s not an answer.” Her voice verged on biting.

He nodded conciliatorily. “Alright.” He finished the wine and smacked his lips clean as he replaced the cork on the wineskin. “I’ll give you a different one.”

The pause that followed sat ill with Telana, her wary readiness outweighing her bodily exhaustion. But she kept her silence. She watched him, the frustrated light in her face a different shade now. She watched him simply to watch him.

Ameridan folded his hands quietly in his lap. He smiled, not in jest this time. “How would you like to save the world?”

#firjii writes #firjii on ao3 #solavellan angst fanfic #ace solavellan #dragon age inquisition fanfiction

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