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varricmancer · 4 years

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Lost And Found | 4

Also available on AO3

Pairing: Varric Tethras x OC

Summary: Instead of the nothingness she had craved, Crystal woke up in the world of Thedas. What had once been merely a story that she loved now seemed very real and she was right in the heart of it all. She soon finds a reason to live again and a love in the arms of someone as quietly broken as her.

A/N: Okay, a million years later and here is Varric's POV. It's a bit choppy, but I meant for it to be like that because it's, ya know, from his POV. It's not a retelling of events but simply a glance into his mind. Also, he's a man - and a horny bastard at that - so there's a bit of nsfw thoughts going on in this chapter. Lots of body appreciation. I love writing characters that are already whipped and can't figure out what that means lmao. You poor sod, you had no chance.I'll try to be faster with the next chapter, because I'm just as excited as you guys to see what's happening

A wave of relief spread through the party as the clanging of swords and crinkle of lightning were silenced. As one, they holstered their weapons and strode back to the waiting wagon and the rest of their traveling companions.

Varric spared a glance for one of the bodies lying still as he passed - an unfortunate young apostate sporting one of his arrows in his chest.

Killing never got easier, never mind what kind of bullshit he spouted. No matter that it was his life or theirs - he’d still be seeing the startled green lifeless eyes of a boy barely reaching adulthood in his dreams, along with all of the countless others that already haunted him.

He sighed wearily and climbed back onto his pony, adjusting his saddle sore ass as well as he could while he waited for the party to get back into position. The wagon of supplies and it’s guards were back into place behind him soon enough, with the Seeker and “The Herald” leading in the front.

The group of fighting Templars and Apostates were cleared from the road ahead which lead to their destination of a little hamlet called the Crossroads. By all reports, it was a tiny village barely worthy of even being called that, but due to its position (and that fact that Redcliffe was unreachable at the moment), it had become a sanctuary for refugees and the wounded.

A chantry mother had sent word to Haven asking for help with protection and supplies. Apparently, she’d even asked for the Herald to come himself. They’d all agreed it was an excellent chance to get word out about their newly formed band of do-gooders and let the people get a look at Maxwell Trevalyn, the freshly dubbed Herald of Andraste.

Varric wasn’t too sure if it was true, but he’d also seen too much shit throughout the years to rule it out completely. Regardless of whatever lofty title they were trying to burden him with, Maxwell still looked like a scared kid who just happened to be in the wrong place at the right time. However, the way he worked hard and silently accepted leadership despite being completely out of his element reminded Varric of Hawke in their early days - if he were tamer and had been raised as a pampered nobleman, that is.

The point was, Varric had taken one look at the kid and known he wasn’t going to be going home anytime soon. This Maxwell was going to make a name for himself and spawn a tale for the ages, he was sure - if he had the right kind of people watching out for him. He was getting too old for this shit and wanted to go home, but he felt like this kid was going to need someone in his corner. And this whole situation felt off in so many ways that he’d probably feel guilty if he did try to leave.

So that's how he found himself traveling around the godforsaken Hinterlands - saddle sore, sunburnt and with a newfound hatred of bears - towards the beginning of their adventure. At first glance, this was simply a goodwill quest - show up and shake some hands, pass out food, kiss a few babies - but that group of apostates and templars that had been blocking the road were troubling. Sadly, he knew who to blame for it.

When the Crossroads came into view, he finally realized how much they were needed here. The chantry mother hadn’t mentioned how dire it really was or he suspected they would have sent help earlier. The people walking around were gaunt and dirty, many of them sporting bruises or missing limbs. They all looked severely malnourished, more so than the usual peasant. The moans and screams from the wounded were near-constant, adding to the practically visible cloud of desperation over the village. Add a bit more sewage stench and some unreasonably large rats and it would be just like good old Darktown.

They were able to spot the bright plumage of the chantry members working with the wounded and quickly made their way over to them. Villagers watched them with dawning hope in their eyes. A few of them started to cry and some of the children had even begun to cheer.

This. This was why Varric kept putting his own ass on the line all the time.

While Maxwell and Cassandra spoke to the chantry mother, Varric and Solas helped pass out the goods to the villagers. Soon enough, the pain in the ass bear that had attacked them earlier was chopped to bits and passed out among everyone to be cooked for the evening meal. Blankets and soaps, grain, and potions were all tearfully accepted by the people he handed them to. He may not be a very good man, but the joy he found in helping these people assured him that at least he wasn’t a bad one.

He was just handing off the last of the goods when Maxwell strides over, the weathered mother walking behind him imperiously.

“Everyone, this is Mother Giselle. She has some interesting news,” Maxwell grins, practically bouncing on his heels.

“Is it that everyone here is standing on death's doorstep? Because we noticed,” Varric drawled.

He was technically Andrastean, but that didn’t mean he let corrupt clergy off easy.

Her only tell that the words hit was a slight tick in her jaw as she nodded once.

“The situation here is deplorable, however, with the status of things we were unsure of where to ask for aid. I took a chance when I heard the hands of the Divine were involved in your “Inquisition.”

“And we are happy to help,” Cassandra stated as she rejoined the party. Her raised eyebrow towards Varric was something he’d long ago interpreted to mean behave .

“Yes, well,” Maxwell cleared his throat. “Mother Giselle says that another fell from a rift. A woman, no visible marks though.”

“An abomination perhaps?” Cassandra muses, standing straighter and placing a light hand on her sword.

“She appears to be a regular woman, free of magic or any signs of corruption. She fell from the rift and beyond a few broken bones and a few odd quirks here and there, nothing seems off about her,” Mother Giselle answers with a weary sigh. The way that she’d said ‘odd quirks’ like just mentioning them gave her a headache made Varric want to meet this woman very much.

The mother waved them away like annoying gnats soon after, with instructions to ask around for information on the area and what they could do to help. He supposed it was too much to expect her to already know that kind of (extremely important) information.

Thankfully, they found a soldier called Corporal Vale that seemed more informed and actually cared about taking care of the people there. Between him and a few others that piped in their opinions, the party discovered that what the people of the crossroads needed most right now was food and protection from the increasingly cold nights. They’d get a nice reprieve with the supplies that they’d brought from Haven, but that still wouldn’t be enough.

“I heard ye’re wanting to be put to work. I reckon I have a thing or two for ya,” a man called out as he strode towards them. They had just been discussing where to go from here, so anything was helpful.

“Of course, good sir. How may we assist you?” Maxwell plastered on his charming court smile, which seemed to have little effect on the man. Not that surprising considering the fellow looked as rugged and of the land as they come, and Maxwell reeked of privilege.

He grunts and looks over their little band as though he found them wanting, but good enough for now. His gaze only showed a sliver of appreciation when they landed on Cassadra (how original), then he seemed to meet Varric’s eyes straight on as though he assumed that he was really in charge.

“The goods that you brought us will help for a few days, but we’ll need more if we’re to recover enough to get back on our feet. Our lass Crystal says there’s a flock of rams over the hill. We’ve been unable to do any hunting what with the fighting all about so we’d appreciate if you brought in a few.”

“Of course,” Maxwell nods. “And you seem to know Crystal well?”

“Aye, I’m the mayor of this little corner. Know all my people. Whatever that daft old mother has been filling your head with needs to be ignored. Crystal is just a sweet and quiet lassie doing her best.”

“Oh, yes of course. We simply wanted to meet her.”

“After the hunting, if you please. She’s one of the ones that's been giving her rations to the little ones and I’ll not have her interrogated on an empty stomach.”

This Crystal must be quite the woman to inspire such loyalty despite her origins, Varric muses.

He can tell Maxwell has more questions, but with a few whispered words (orders) from Cassandra, they head off to hunt.

****

It was dark by the time they made it back and The Crossroads already appeared refreshed. There was a massive bonfire in the middle of the road where numerous pots and spits were working overtime to prepare the food they’d brought earlier. Kids were running around screaming and laughing as their parents watched with obvious relief. A few had even set up some rickety old instruments nearby to liven the place as they celebrated their newfound hope.

Several villagers rushed to greet their wagon and relieve them of the burden. They’d easily hunted down ten whole rams, stopping when it seemed like it would be enough to feed them for a few days and have enough left to preserve.

Varric wished there was more he could do at the moment, but he promised himself he’d write a few letters once they got back to Haven. A few favors called in and a bit of coin spread around and he’d have this little Hamlet healed in no time. And best of all, if he did it using the right channels, no one would know that Varric and his cursed bleeding heart was responsible for it.

Cassandra and Maxwell got pulled into a conversation with the Mother and the mayor (who had finally introduced himself as Giles) that Varric ignored as unimportant while he observed everyone else instead.

They already seemed in awe of Maxwell, sneaking glances his way with eyes shining with admiration. A few whispered words here and there would make today’s rescue seem more romantic than passing out a few slabs of dead sheep. It was always amazing watching the beginning of a legend be born.

His eyes flitted from one person to the next, all of them looking fairly similar as lower class humans tend to do. The sun-burnt skin, hunched backs, callused hands. The men smiling with three teeth left and the women looking haggard and drained after at least fifteen pregnancies.

It wasn’t until a couple of men moved to the side that he noticed the lone figure in the back.

At first glance, she was just as average as the rest. Peasant clothing without a shred of adornment anywhere. Injured somehow, as she had her left arm in a linen sling. Normal brown hair and eyes, pale skin, thin lips. But something was telling him to take a second look, so he did. And then he began to observe the little things. The way that her skin was free of marks except for a few freckles, no sun-burnt patches, and semi-clean like she at least made an attempt to wash up here in the wilderness.

Her hair was basically average brown and pulled into a no-nonsense braid, but it was so long it reached her waist and when it caught the light of the fire it shone with a fiery copper highlight, as though to hint at hidden depths. Her eyes glinted like amber, big and trained on his party with just as much wonder as the rest of them. He thought they rather reminded him of Halla eyes. He didn’t believe a woman would find that complimentary though, so he’d try to think of something else.

Her lips were thin but appeared soft and kissable (where the fuck did that thought come from?). She smiled a little when she looked at Cassandra, and he noticed she had some of the whitest teeth he’d ever seen, bright and straight. A full set, too. Even he was missing one after a brawl a few years ago.

And that body! Andraste’s ass, he hadn’t seen a body like that on a human female outside of brothels. He’d bet that before she’d been forced to essentially starve she’d been voluptuous , but even now she was a good handful. Peasants never had this much meat on their bones, so that was his first hint that she was not like the rest. She was short, boasting only an inch or two above him, but he thought that maybe added to the appeal.

Those tits looked like they were trying their best to burst out of that ill-fitting dress, and the backside wasn’t faring much better. And the way that her waist curved in before flaring out into hips made for a man to grab onto.

Shit.

He glanced down at his pants, grateful that between the darkness of night and the constriction of the leather, his growing problem shouldn’t be too obvious. He shook his head and went back to studying her.

Her most damning feature, however, was her hands. You could tell a lot about a person by their hands. His were callused and scarred, with ink permanently staining his nails. The average human peasant’s hands were even worse, usually the color of leather from their life working outdoors and short jagged nails were practical.

Hers were so tiny he could easily fit them both in one of his hands and have room to spare. He could tell how soft they were even from here. Pink and not a spot in sight, with nails that were long and rounded, with flecks of pink on them like they’d once been painted (something he’d only seen done in Orlais).

A lady. And despite her small stature, definitely a human. Why was she here?

He crept through the crowd, trying to draw as little attention to himself as possible until he made his way to her side.

“It’s always us short ones that get stuck in the back, huh?”

He patted himself on the back mentally for such a smooth intro. She turned to him and he was struck by the emotion in her eyes. She was excited to see him ? She could be a fan, he supposed, but not many actually knew his face.

Up close, she was even more intriguing. He stood close enough for her breath to touch his cheek, and was amazed to smell clove and peppermint. Third hint that she wasn’t from around here, as human peasants always smelled like mead and rotting teeth.

He let his gaze travel over her, mostly to gauge her reaction and slightly because he couldn’t keep his eyes away from the massive mounds of flesh trying to burst from her borrowed dress. She blushed sweetly, making him feel like a lecher for a moment, but she didn’t seem to mind him looking.

Interesting.

Just as he was about to lay it on thick, Maxwell found them and drew her into a conversation. It turned out that his hunch was right and she wasn’t from around here. In fact, she was the one they’d been told about. The other “Fade Walker.” She didn’t seem to be touched by the experience like Maxwell had been, but the fall from the rift had been what injured her.

Her voice when she talked to Maxwell was quiet and shy like she wasn’t sure they wanted to hear what she had to say. Her body language was like she was primed for flight the moment one of them made a wrong step, even as she practically begged for their help. In fact, she reminded him of the injured dove that Fenris had rescued once. Dog had injured the bird’s wing and Fenris had taken it in and patched it up. It had been a timid little thing, jumping over every sound. But it was sweet and would trill and coo whenever Fenris spoke to it.

Varric frowned as he listened to them talk and stood at her side as Solas healed her fractured wrist, feeling a strange sort of protectiveness well up inside him. The feeling itself wasn’t unfamiliar - he was protective of his friends, of his dumbass brother, of Bia - her . But he barely knew this woman.

Maybe it was just that she seemed so...vulnerable. So soft. Every emotion played out on her face like she just wore her heart out for everyone to see. Anyone with decent skill in observation could tell this was the sort of woman that you protect from the world. That you keep safe behind walls filled with love and laughter, flowers in her hair and children at her feet.

It had been a long time since Varric had ever seen such a woman. Had he ever?

Even with the reveal of her “knowledge,” he could tell that she’d only held the rest back out of fear. Either that or she was literally the best spy in all of Thedas.

When they’d finally left that evening, he’d thrown her the sending crystal on a whim. He’d been holding onto that to give to Maxwell, and they were not cheap or easy to come by. However, he’d noticed her anxious gaze following him as they walked away and had again felt that urge to protect. Anything could happen and they’d be gone for an entire week. He sincerely doubted she knew how to even hold a knife, let alone protect herself with one.

The nightly storytelling was to reassure himself as well as her. He was sure letting Crystal hear them talk would ease any worries she might have about traveling with strangers. And when she silently answered and let him talk, he knew it was still in her possession and everything seemed fine. If something happened, he hoped that she’d be able to figure out how to use it and alert him. He’d have the apostate elf figure some way to get back quickly since he had the look of someone who knew more than he let on.

****

A week flew by and their party was growing increasingly hopeful about Crystal’s “usefulness” to the inquisition. Varric had to grit his teeth and clench his fist to keep from hitting Solas every time he used that word in conjunction with her. “Useful.” Like she was an item instead of one those that they were meant to protect.

Her notes that she’d shared had been really good, however. They’d managed to close down the rebel camps and clear the roads, took down a creepy green demon thing, and gotten a decent amount of horses to tide them over until they completed Master Dennett’s tasks.

Maxwell had declared the night before that they would take Crystal with them when they left for Haven. Varric knew that once they got there he’d have to watch out for the Nightingale, but at least he felt better about leaving her in a place surrounded by people he semi-trusted while he fought the good fight. Why he felt like that was his responsibility to worry about, he still hadn’t quite figured out.

It had become a little clearer, however, when they’d finally reached the Crossroads again and there’d she’d been like a ray of sunshine waiting for him. Maybe this protectiveness over her was 85% his cock’s fault, he thought, his pants tightening as she neared.

She looked a lot healthier since their last visit, obviously having made good use of the rations they’d left. Her eyes were bright and full of genuine happiness, smiling up at him. She’d let her hair free today, and it fell in luscious waves to her waist. Her clothes were once again borrowed and ill-fitting, but obviously the nicest she had. If it was possible, it seemed even tighter than the last dress, her modesty being miraculously saved by a worn strip of leather around the bodice.

It was strange how he felt like he could breathe properly now that she was in his sight. Had he been that stressed before? What was it about this damned woman? There hadn’t been anyone that had stirred him this much since...her .

And she was so easy to talk to. She spoke mostly only after someone else had spoken first, but she took his flirting in stride and offered witty responses. But every reaction to his touch and heated gaze seemed genuine and refreshingly honest. No practiced teasing he was used to.

And much later that evening was when he realized he was in trouble.

With a capital fucking T.

Because he’d been teasing her with the shirtlessness and letting his hair down, he’d admit it. If he was going to share a room with her for the night he wanted to play a little. Her reaction to him was flattering. So no one could blame her if she’d been trying to tease him back.

And that had been his first instinct when he’d turned to face her standing in front of the fire. That she’d finally shown her true colors and was asking for it. Begging for it. He’d been one step away from throwing her onto the bed and making her scream.

Until he’d looked at her face and seen the genuine innocent embarrassment of a lady. It had taken everything in him to calm down and let her run past him towards the bed. The damage had already been done to his mind, though, as everything the chemise had revealed to him was imprinted there like a tattoo. The dusky rose nipples firmed by cold, every inch of unblemished skin begging for his mouth, the strange nakedness of her mound.

He was sure if he played his cards right he could have her. Say a few things that women like to hear, promise a bauble or two, and she would let him fuck her. He wasn’t a saint and he’d done it before.

But there was something about the way she looked at him with such...admiration. Maybe even a little wonder and, yes, even a little attraction. He’s seen it all before, of course. He’s Varric Tethras - famous author, the right hand of the Champion, and heavy player in the underworld. Having people offer themselves for a night was a regular occurrence, and he was silver-tongued enough to get anyone else he might want.

With her, he just couldn’t do that. Couldn’t watch the trust and admiration fade from her eyes. She probably wasn’t as “innocent” as she seemed, but she certainly wasn’t one of his usual types of paramours. She was the type you kept, the kind that could wrap themselves around your heart so tight you couldn’t exist without them. He’d been there before and didn’t think he could survive that again.

****

Varric couldn’t seem to stop his gaze from straying to the newest member of their crew as he spun a (only slightly embellished) tale to entertain them for the evening. He was used to his audiences gasping in shock or staring raptly with excitement. Instead, she was watching him with a smirk that tilted her pretty lips, like she knew he was full of crap and was letting him spew it all anyway. But even more captivating was the look in her eyes - warm and fond, dangerously so. Like all he had to do was say the right words for her to tumble into his arms.

It was a look that he was growing increasingly familiar with over the past few days as they traveled back to Haven. And the idea of talking her into his bed was also becoming a regular thing. No matter how many times he told himself no, how often he argued with his own damn self explaining all the perfectly sensible reasons he shouldn’t, it still floated around in there.

Three days of taking up the rear of the party so she and her giant nug would be protected in the middle were beginning to take its toll. Because back there he had a perfect view of her.

He could see when she was amazed and cooing over some new sight. When she giggled because her stupid nug stopped in the middle of a trail to eat a flower. When she and Maxwell would chat about art, something she seemed educated on. When she tried so hard to fight off her exhaustion, yawning and stretching her arms until he thought her shirt would finally pop open.

And that damned shirt. It was his , and she had no right to look so appealing in it. She hadn’t had enough clothing with her so he’d tossed some spares to her and he’s regretted it ever since. The pants stretched over her legs like a second skin, cupping her ass and luscious thighs. The shirt was made with a purposely low v on the front since that’s how he liked them. On her, it was damn near scandalous. Her cleavage was out there for everyone to see. She looked incredible . And he was suffering .

“I said what do you think, Varric ?”

The louder than necessary yell near his ear jolted him from his thoughts. He turned towards Cassandra, the annoyance on her face comfortingly familiar.

“Pardon, Seeker. I got lost in the story. Did you need something?”

“You finished the story at least ten minutes ago. We were now discussing arming Crystal,” Cassandra scoffed, her disgust with Varric’s apparent lack of awareness evident.

“Arming? What for?” He tried for nonchalance, the thought of sending her into battle raising his hackles.

“Protection, dwarf. I only have so many eyes and if we get ambushed there’s no guarantee we’ll be able to protect her completely. She says she’s never handled a weapon before. What should we start her with? A dagger, perhaps?” Cassandra stares at Crystal in thought.

The woman in question scrunches her nose. “I suppose so. It’s small enough that I could handle it, I guess. But actually stabbing someone?” she shivers.

“A dagger is handy to have on hand, of course. I’d prefer you to be farther away from any combat, though. Take up the rear with me,” he suggests. He'd rather her be somewhere he could keep an eye on her, and right at his side seemed like the best idea.

“Like a bow and arrow? I know for a fact I can’t pick up that monster of a crossbow.”

Varric chuckles, suddenly warming up to the topic. He didn’t want her fighting, true, but it would be good for her to be prepared.

“I have a regular bow I’ve been holding onto. I was going to see if someone back in Haven wanted it since it’s decent. Hold on.”

He grunts and stands up, walking over to his pony to rifle around the packs. He pulls out a medium-sized bundle in leather, unwrapping it as he walks back to her. He pulls out a bow and hands it to her to look at.

“Its a Dalish hunting bow. I think it was made for a kid. Compact enough for you, though. Woods sturdy. I restrung it myself. And I think the carvings are just birds, nothing religious,” Varric explains, hovering by her shoulder as she looks it over.

“You’ll teach me?” she asks softly, the beginnings of a smile tilting her lips.

“Anything you want, little dove.”

The words flew out of his mouth before he could stop them, his eyes meeting her’s as they wore matching shocked expressions.

She stared at him and he felt not for the first time that she could see every inch of his tarred soul...and somehow still felt like smiling at him?

Her grin was tiny and shy, but it was there, making him puff out his chest like a fool for pleasing her.

“You’re the best,” she said softly then turned back to coo more at her new bow.

He wasn’t. He knew he wasn’t the best. He wasn’t even good.

But she made him want to try.

****

Some questions you probably have now:

1. Why do you keep writing Giles like he's from Scotland? - I dunno either, bruh. He writes himself and he decided he liked the word lassie. But notice that he can sometimes string a whole sentance together perfectly normal. It's like that on purpose. He's hiding something, I'm sure of it. Who stands in the middle of the road all day long and just watches people. Suspicious.

2. Why is Varric always talking about tits and ass - he's a dude. 97% of their thought process comes from their dick. Real science numbers. Totally didn't make that up.

3. It doesn't make sense. How can he like her this much already? - You're seeing into Varric's confused brain right now. He doesn't know what's going on either. Sometimes it be like that.

4. I thought you weren't going to make Crystal some bad ass warrior chick? - I'm not. But it's also unrealistic to not be able to arm yourself somewhat in such a wild land. Varric's watching out, don't worry.

5. Why does he keep calling Bianca "Her"? - I think there's a lot of stuff that's going on in Varric's giant noggin. For him, the bow is a safe way to say the name. Keep her in his thoughts without really thinking of her. But thinking of her name when it applies to her the person makes him think of...well, her. Does that make sense? It's a mental health protection thing, because minds are curious and we all have strange quirks up there. Separating the two in his mind helps keep him sane.

ANYWAY, I hope you all enjoyed! PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE comment! Even just a couple words. I need to know how I'm doing so I can improve future chapters. I can't wait to delve more into these two.

#dragon age #dai #da2 #dragon age inquisition #varric #varric tethras #varric x oc #varric x reader #dragon age fanfiction #dragon age fanfic #varricmancer #lost and found #fanfiction #fanfic

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katalyna-rose · 7 years

Text

Forbidden

Rating: Mature

Solavellan

Tags: Angst, Post-Break Up, Deep Roads, The Descent DLC

Summary: A Dalish elf who has spent her entire life outside in the sun doesn't do well underground for extended periods of time, especially while also forced to spend this time with the man who broke her heart. Yet even though he left her and hurt her so deeply, her love and attraction for him have not waned. And neither, it seems, have his feelings for her. After what happened between them, any intimacy is forbidden. It cannot change what happened, only hurt them both all over again. But that doesn't seem to stop them.

Read on AO3!

After nearly a month in the Deep Roads without sunlight or any food that didn’t consist mostly of bioluminescent mushrooms, Lyna was beginning to feel physically ill. She’d spent her entire life outdoors and all this time underground was torture. They had spent most of the trip in a constant state of uncertainty, no way to know how much further they were going or what they would find or how long it would be until they could head back up. The only comfort Lyna had was that they were finally going to return.

The Titan had been… magnificent. It was truly a marvel, beyond anything she could have ever imagined. The happiest she’d felt on this whole trip was when she was trying to figure out where the light came from in the Wellspring. It was gloriously close to sunlight, though it wasn’t quite as nourishing, and she had basked in it for as long as she could excuse herself to do so. She’d been uncertain about leaving Valta behind, but in the end she’d known better than to try to force the Shaper to do anything she didn’t want to.

They still had another week in the Deep Roads, and tempers were short. Even Cole seemed affected by it, unusually quiet and sullen. Varric’s jokes had become progressively angrier and more aggressive as the days wore on, until he was making crude and sarcastic remarks rather than jokes. Cassandra spent most of her time with her head in her hands as though she had a migraine, but no amount of healing magic seemed to help her. Lyna was feeling nauseous and her muscles ached in a strange way. And Solas… She had known that bringing him on such a long trip in close quarters would be awkward, but she hadn’t expected how tense things had become.

His skin was turning gray, looking less healthy every day, and he hadn’t so much as looked at her in days unless whatever skirmish they were fighting gave him no choice. At first, it had seemed that they would manage to remain civil to each other, even cordial, but as time wore on and they both began to feel worse the fragile civility they had maintained had crumbled. If they interacted at all, it was with terse words and biting insults. It was tearing Lyna apart, though Solas seemed infuriatingly unmoved. He had always been good at hiding his feelings from her, after all.

***

“This place is awful,” Solas grumbled, attempting to knock mud and what looked suspiciously like animal droppings off his boot.

“Oh, look, something we can agree on,” Lyna quipped from her position by the fire, stirring their pot of dinner. It was an unappealing gray color, but it would keep them nourished.

“If we may also agree not to argue this evening, I would appreciate it,” Solas said, his tone biting. He was scowling at his boots, refusing to look at her as usual.

“But it’s the closest thing to entertainment I can get down here!” Lyna cried mockingly.

“And it is driving me insane,” Cassandra groaned, rubbing her temples.

“Because you weren’t already, Seeker?” Varric quipped. Cassandra made a disgusted noise. Cole fidgeted at the edge of the firelight and Lyna sighed. As much as she wanted to really lay into Solas, she knew she was making this that much more difficult for the others. She looked at Solas, contemplating her options. They should probably talk, try to figure out how to return to their previous façade of civility.

Once they had all choked down as much of the stew as they could manage, all of them desperate for some real food, Lyna screwed up her courage and approached Solas. “I’d like to talk to you in private for a moment,” she said softly. He sighed and didn’t look at her, then nodded and stood. She led him into a nearby side passage that she knew ended in a small cavern with no other ways in or out, not looking back to see if he followed. She stopped in the middle of the cavern and stayed facing away from him.

“We still have another week down here, Solas,” she said finally. “I’d rather we survived each other until we reach the surface, at least.”

“As would I,” he said softly, scant feet away though a vast distance lay between them. “Yet we cannot seem to stop sniping at each other.” Lyna sighed.

“It is not an easy thing to have you here like this,” she told him sadly.

“Then why did you ask me to come?” She barked a laugh.

“You are an exceptionally powerful mage and a truly gifted healer, as you well know,” she said. “I thought that both of those traits would be useful on this trip, and I was quite right.”

“I was surprised when you did not ask Dorian to accompany you, instead,” he said softly rather than rising to the bait that her caustic tone provided.

“Dorian is a dear friend, but he is no healer,” she reminded him, her tone slightly softer. “After the fight with the Guardian, can you honestly tell me that I made the wrong choice in bringing you?” She could picture in her mind, as clearly as if she saw it though her back was still turned to him, the way his lips would twist in a grimace as he remembered frantically healing Cole’s many crushed bones.

“No,” he said finally. “I cannot say that.”

“Vivienne is a better healer than Dorian, but she is still arranging Bastien’s affairs, and I didn’t want to take her from that for as long as I knew this trip would take,” she continued, wrapping her arms around herself. It was almost more difficult to be civil with him than to fight. It hurt more, made her nausea worse to the point that she worried about keeping her dinner down. “As uncomfortable as this is for us both, it was still the best option. Besides, can you honestly tell me that it wasn’t worth it to see the Titan? To learn all of this first hand rather than reading it in reports later? I thought you would have enjoyed collecting all this history and the memories here. Though the Fade is harder to access this far underground, there have been some truly interesting things to see, haven’t there?”

“Yes, there have been. You are right,” he said. Disgusted, she finally turned to him only to find his gaze locked on a nearby stalagmite.

“You could at least do me the honor of looking at my face,” she said, her temper snapping again. She marched a few steps closer, desperate for some form of acknowledgement. She saw his jaw clench before he finally raised his gaze to hers for the first time in almost two weeks.

“I expected you to stop asking me to accompany you after… what happened between us,” he admitted. She scowled.

“Why? I am not too proud to acknowledge your strengths and all the many ways in which you benefit the Inquisition,” she said.

“I would not have been surprised if you had retaliated, asked me to leave…” he told her, and her mouth dropped open.

“You could at least pretend to acknowledge that I attempt to be a good person!” she shouted, what remained of her temper utterly lost. “You think I would cast you out for spurning me? Lock you in a Circle, perhaps? You think I am so without honor or compassion that I would do that to anyone? My own mother is a mage, Solas, and I would sooner die than see her imprisoned for her magic! I would sooner die than see you imprisoned for it! I would see Leliana become Divine in part because I know that she would abolish the Circles entirely, allow the mages to be treated like people by society, even welcome elves and dwarves and Qunari into the Chantry! She would treat the peoples of Thedas like people and I would see that ideal come to fruition. Yet you stand there and accuse me of being no better than the Templars?”

“Do not put words into my mouth!” he cried, stepping forward aggressively. Some part of Lyna’s mind became aware of the fact that they were now within arm’s reach of each other, but it was quickly drowned out by her anger. “I said nothing of mages or of locking anyone away! I merely stated that I expected you to keep more of a distance.”

“If that is what you would prefer, you only have to say so,” Lyna ground out between her teeth. “I am not arrogant enough to believe that I could hold you if you wished to leave. That much has been made perfectly clear to me.”

“Has it?” Solas asked, fury lighting his features. They were only inches away from each other, both breathing heavily. “You are Inquisitor and I am but a humble hedge mage. Do you not have a hold?”

“I have never exerted power over you, Solas!” she reminded him. “I never wanted this position or title! I never wanted this power! I have done my best to use it wisely, but I have never used it against an individual and never for personal gain. You know that!”

They were silent for a few heartbeats, glaring at each other from only inches away as tension built between them, heat and static making the fine hairs on Lyna’s arms stand up. And then he was kissing her, his mouth hot and desperate on hers, teeth biting her lips until they stung. His arms wrapped around her waist, yanking her against his body and holding her tight. Her arms, which she had initially raised to shove him away, ended up wound around his neck, her nails digging into his scalp and holding him to her, her tongue just as aggressive as his. It was a mistake, she knew it was, yet she couldn’t pull away. As Solas began to rock his hips against hers, grinding them together to make heat and arousal shoot into her core, she held him tighter and decided that she didn’t care. She needed this, needed him, and even though it would only last for a moment before he withdrew from her again she would take whatever she could get and embrace the pain that would inevitably follow. His hand tangled in her hair and held her head at a new angle to allow him to devour her, her lips stinging and sore, his tongue thrusting into her mouth as if he was fucking her, heat gathering between her legs as he rocked against her and the stiff heat of his cock pressed insistently into her belly, and she wanted nothing more than to make this last forever.

She whimpered slightly when he bit her lip again and it broke the spell between them. He flung himself away from her, both of them panting heavily and shaking. He turned away, but didn’t flee as she expected him to. She wrapped her arms around her stomach as though the pressure would keep her dinner where it belonged, but the nausea pressed insistently at her throat. Solas scrubbed his face, sighing deeply.

“I apologize,” he said, his voice hoarse and barely louder than a whisper. “That was… ill-considered. I should not have encouraged it.”

“You kissed me,” she reminded him. He was silent for a moment.

“Yes,” he acknowledged, surprising her. “I apologize.”

“It changes nothing, right?” she asked, feeling near tears, the exhaustion and strain of the past month, since he’d left her naked and alone, combining with this final taste of his passion to make her feel bereft, empty.

“It cannot change anything,” he murmured, desperation and something like agony in his tone. Then he left, leaving her behind yet again.

Only once she knew he could not hear her did she release the tight control she’d maintained over herself. Her dinner came back up violently, and she continued to heave even after there was nothing left for her body to expel. Cole found her while she was like this, bent over her own sick and sobbing. He pressed a damp cloth against her hot face and rubbed her back soothingly until she leaned into him. He wrapped his arms around her and held her tight.

“It changes everything,” he murmured.

“Then why?” she sobbed, clutching at him.

“Because you deserve better.”

“But I want him.”

“I know,” he told her softly. “But it can’t change his mind. He won’t let it. It is forbidden.”

“But I love him,” she whispered, barely giving the words voice, as afraid of them as she was incapable of denying them.

“Haunting, hurting, heaving in the dark. Taste of her lips and texture of her tongue, silken strands still caught on my fingers, too beautiful for words. Eyes that beg me to stay, want to lose myself in her and forget. Strong hands to cup my face, kiss away her tears and stay forever. He knows.”

But it was forbidden.

#katalyna writes #solavellan #solas x lavellan #dragon age #dragon age inquisition #the descent dlc

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