#solas as a spirit of wisdom who knew better and warned her still thinks he failed her and not vice versa bc it was his Nature.

[citrusai]

some shippers when solas has had important relationships from thousands of years ago and he can't just forgive himself for failing those closest to him then and go "okie dokie!" when his wife tells him he can come back home

[nadas-dirthalen]

I really love this theory, because I think this makes sense for a young Solas and gives us MUCH reason for Elgar'nan plot to happen in Veilguard. Now, granted, I'm on my phone and don't have much to go on aside from gut feelings.

But I think it makes sense for Solas to have been Elgar'nan's "wolf." We see in a codex from the Emerald Graves that all elves in the time of even Halamshiral would have a wolf in this way: warriors paired with companions.

I feel as though this takes its cues from practices in Arlathan, but maybe in the sense that "Fen" has multiple translations — that it may be "wolf" as well as an expression or part of an idiom that translates more figuratively to "protector" or "guardian" or even "weapon."

With how Solas describes his younger self as always ready to fight, it makes sense that he was, in a sense, a weapon for Elgar'nan. Conscripted, in a sense, or even bound willingly. Maybe Solas was a bound spirit who signed up to do so, like Cole. Maybe that was why he was Solas, Pride, before Fen'harel — but I don't think he stayed a demon throughout.

This bond may have lasted until Elgar'nan betrayed Mythal, before her murder. To me, there has to have been something to spark a conflict before her murder. I don't think her murder happened from nowhere. I think Mythal defied Elgar'nan too openly.

Now to me this has serious undertones of domestic violence, the specifics of which would warrant a trigger warning, so I won't go into it. In my mind it is either this, or Elgar'nan standing by when Falon'din's bloodlust encroached upon Mythal's "domain" as Solas says in the temple of Mythal. (But the other gods bloodied Falon'din for this, says Solas, so I'm leaning toward Elgar'nan as prime culprit.)

I think this may have been the point at which Solas defected from Elgar'nan — or even that Mythal took him from Elgar'nan, but marked him with her own valasslin once he had corporeal, elven shape. Because that was how things were done. Mythal, for all her virtues, still upheld the status quo. I think she wanted a corporeal protector in a body, and that was how she knew to do it.

Also, it makes sense with Fen'harel meaning "wolf" and "demon" or "liar" or "deceiver." Not a demon wolf — not a literal demon the entire time — but a loyal follower who'd betrayed Elgar'nan, first in a long series of betrayals and deceptions.

I think Mythal's murder came after this. And I think that whatever was left of wisdom, or faith, in Solas — it cracked, breaking under that last injustice. And after that, betraying not just Elgar'nan, but ALL of them, was justified.

I feel like by this point, he realized that even picking "the good side" was futile. That the problem was not WHO had power, but THAT power exists that forces others into submission. And Mythal, being wife to Elgar'nan — fill in the blanks on that power imbalance.

But they'd all done it, hadn't they? Andruil and her sacrifices. Ghilan'nain's every monstrosity. Falon'din's desire to kill and kill forever.

I think Pride came out of a feeling that Solas knows better, that he has to be someone that knows better than to misuse power. Because if he isn't someone who knows better and he made the Veil anyway — if he isn't the objective authority on right and wrong, and his decision killed untold thousands, dooming all elvhen to mortality... That's unbearable.

The only way to cope is by being certain that he alone must be right.

So instead of being a bound demon, under the thumb of another... his purpose was twisted. Not to protect Mythal, but to protect everyone from power itself. To be the lone savior of the world because no one could possibly understand. His worldview, and the reason he is a demon, would shatter if they did.

I think this is how he can be Mythal's "old friend" and still at odds with her, choosing to take her power. I think this is why he knows how to remove valasslin — Mythal would have shown him — and scarred himself the first time, doing it to himself before anyone else.

Because wrenching himself away from Mythal was something that hurt. He'd willingly defected to her. But even that wasn't good enough, in the end, and he had to be out of her gaes in order to create the Veil without interference. After all, her power lived on, even after her death.

Maybe the scar was to commemorate her.

What if Solas was in service to Elgar'nan?

So, we have two elven gods freed - Ghilan'nain and Elgar'nan. Ghil has been set up pretty well at this point. We have all the codexes and parts from Tevinter Nights providing glimpses into her nightmarish experiments. But we have next to nothing on Elgar'nan, other than the basic understand of him being the most vengeful of the gods (which in and of itself is admittedly bad, bad news for Solas).

I also think Solas and Ghilan'nain were a thing at one point and pissed off Andruil, which would only heighten the drama. And that got me thinking, from a narrative standpoint, wouldn't it just be fantastic if the two gods that are freed are the two Solas has the most personal connection to?

Popular fan theory is that Solas was in service to Mythal originally. But what if it was Elgar'nan instead? Solas says in his youth he was "Hot-blooded and cocky, always ready to fight." That sounds like someone more aligned with Elgar'nan's way of handling things.

Sure, we see Fen'Harel statues guarding Mythal statues (particularly in the Deep Roads), but if Mythal and Elgar'nan were husband and wife or at least putting on a unified front for the sake of appearances, that it would make sense for Elgar'nan to order his most trusted to guard her in certain cases.

There's also this codex:

"His crime is high treason. He took on a form reserved for the gods and their chosen, and dared to fly in the shape of the divine. The sinner belongs to Dirthamen; he claims he took wings at the urging of Ghilan'nain, and begs protection from Mythal. She does not show him favor, and will let Elgar'nan judge him."

There's some thoughts that this HE might be Solas. But Mythal didn't show him favor. He was left to Elgar'nan's judgement instead.

Now all of this flies in the face of Cole's "He did not want a body, but she asked him to come. He left a scar when he burned her off his face" which we also think is about Solas, but...

Maybe Elgar'nan's judgement was to put Solas in service to Mythal, so he had Mythal's vallaslin but he also answered to Elgar'nan? Though, I do think that would piss Mythal off. So maybe not.

But I like the thought of there being some personal ties between Solas and the two evanuris we're going to be dealing with. (And I like the thought of Solas' hotblooded and cocky ways originally aligning him with Elgar'nan and then him gradually coming to understand and respect Mythal more). Just throwing random thoughts out there! Probably not likely? But it's fun to think about!

[wootensmith]

Mortalitasi

He’d seen it the night she’d found her way back to him. The cloth-bound book lying at the bottom of the slight stack of documents Abelas had pulled from her pack. He’d ignored it then, assuming it was just an idle interest, something Dorian had given her to pass the time or because she had asked a question. He’d put it back with her things and forgotten. Seeing it again, carefully placed beside the sprawling map she was creating in the Vir dirthara made him wonder. The bone-white paint of the letters almost glowed in the light of the veilfire lamp, though there was no enchantment in the thing. Rites of the Mortalitasi. Solas reached to pick it up and she half-jumped, suddenly realizing he was there at her shoulder.

“Apologies,” he said, abandoning the book. “I didn’t mean to startle you. I meant to check the anchor. I feared it might be wearing on your ward again.” She laughed, low and loose. “You really do think I’m one of Vivienne’s plants. Hamin, emma lath. I am not so fragile.” She placed her quill carefully down and extended her ink spattered hand toward him. “I shouldn’t tell you so. If it means I see you more, you can check the anchor as often as you please.” He slid onto the bench beside her, rubbing gently at the lacy edges of the ink on her fingers. “I, too, wish that we had more time together.” “Shh,” she told him, leaning toward him. “Don’t fret. What we have is more than I had expected.”

“Yes,” he agreed with a quick smile, though he wasn’t certain whether he were not still grieved at all they had missed. Would miss. “But let me steal as much as I am able to.” He pushed the fabric of her shirt gently down her shoulder and closed his palm over the tangle of light that threaded through her skin. His imagination had made the mark more intense than it actually was, but not by much. Her eyes still slipped closed in relief as he siphoned the power from it. The anchor’s light diminished to a dull glow and he released her. Pressed her shirt back into place. She opened her eyes as he loosened his fingers from hers.

“Stay,” she asked, “just another moment.” “For as many as I am able.” He ran his thumb over one of the winding lines on the vellum map. “You have found far more of the Deep Roads than I realized,” he admitted. She frowned slightly and he regretted choosing the topic. “I didn’t travel all of them. Some I have found here, in the books and memories. Any of them could be the road to the center of the mass. How will we find the right one?” “I dreamed, during the last Blight. And after, when Wisdom began to awaken me. I couldn’t tell you which road, but I know we will not mistake it for another. It should lie just beneath us. Somewhere far, far below. In the dream, the darkspawn were like a roaring, seething ocean. Perhaps the infected heart of the titan draws them. Or perhaps it spawns them. Either way— all the roads will lead us there.” “But will they lead us there in time?” she asked, rubbing at the strand of emerald light that crossed the bridge of her nose. He wondered if it pained her. “Perhaps I should go ahead. Now. So that I don’t���” ���No. Not alone. All of your focus is on containing the mark. You have no power left to defend yourself.” “I don’t need magic to defend myself.” He wanted to argue with her. To point out the utter futility of one person against a horde of darkspawn. To show her all the memories of Gray Wardens who had tried the same and failed. But to tell her that was to show her how hopeless her entire plan was, Wardens and the Legion and a dragon notwithstanding. Besides, it wouldn’t have been what he truly meant. So he chose the truth instead. “I could not bear it, my love. Stay. For me, if you will listen to no other reason. I will not let it overtake you until we reach the Deep Roads. Trust in me.” It was a foolish thing to ask of her, after all that had happened. “I do. It isn’t you I doubt, but my own strength.” She pressed her fingers into her marked shoulder and he was very certain that it did pain her, even now, even when he’d just shrunk its pulse as much as he was able.

Like burning alive from the inside out, Abelas said. He tried a healing spell, knowing it would do little good, sliding it over all the visible, crackling of green in her skin that he could see. “Ar nuven’in…” “What?” she asked leaning into the soothing spell that slipped over her. “What do you wish?” “Many things. That I could carry it for you, above all else. Not to— never to undo what you’ve done. Or to take the good you’ve accomplished with it. Only to ease this. Only to free you from this hurt.” “It is not so sharp, just now. Let’s talk of something else. If we have only a little while before the world calls you away, we should use it for something better than this.” She waved vaguely at the space where her other hand had once been.

He abandoned the map for the strange tome he’d noted earlier. It could at least serve as a distraction to wipe the worry and exhaustion from her face, erase his misstep. He picked up the book, turning the pages idly. “You have an— eclectic collection of reading material.” He closed the book, held it up to show her. “Was Dorian trying to train you?” It shocked him to see her expression immediately darken further. “No,” she said, “Nothing like that. That one is— nothing of import.” The way she said it struck him as false. It was definitely something of import. But what it meant was nothing she wanted to tell him. Leave it, he warned himself, she’s earned her secrets. But he could not bear the trouble in her face. And she did not reach for the book. It wasn’t something she was actively trying to hide. “Ir abelas, Vhenan. I didn’t intend to—” “It was only to— comfort me. That’s all. That’s why Dorian gave it to me,” she blurted out. He looked down at the cover again. Necromancy? How is this meant to comfort her? “It was another plan. In case things went awry. Bull said we ought to have one.” She laughed but it was a sad, dry thing and he was startled to see she was close to weeping. “He’s good at contingencies. I don’t think what we came up with is what he wanted though.” She touched his knee. “They weren’t sure you’d help us. And I wasn’t certain how long it would take to wake them, if you agreed. We didn’t know how much time remained.”

“I don’t understand what the Mortalitasi have to do with the Blight,” he told her, wondering if he should let it lie instead. She sighed, drew back. “When I was— before I met you in the Crossroads, Dorian and I traveled to Tevinter. We met a spirit on the way. Locked on a ghost ship. She told me—” “I have the letter,” he admitted. She nodded. “Then you know what I did to her.” “Yes. You let it return to the Fade.” It tipped her over the edge into a sudden burst of tears. “Ir abelas,” she sobbed. “I tried to fix it, I searched for her, weeks and weeks, I tried to undo it—” He dropped the book onto the table and pulled her closer to him. “Don’t grieve,” he said, pressing a kiss to her brow. “It would not have given you what it offered. Not in the way you expected. Whatever it was before the ship, it was something different when you met it. Returning it to the Fade was a kindness—” “I didn’t do it to be kind,” she said into his shoulder. “I know. I know why you sent it back. But the decision saved you, however you came to it, and for that, I cannot help but be grateful.” He waited until she calmed. Thought about letting the whole thing go. It is a book. What difference could it make now, what it was meant to do? It clearly disturbed her peace. And he desperately wished for these last days to be untroubled. “What did that spirit have to do with the Mortalitasi, Vhenan?” he asked at last, hoping it wasn’t the wrong thing to ask.

She was silent another moment, smoothing his sleeve again and again with her fingertips. “Do you remember the trip back from Emprise du Lion— when Cole met us? I asked you then what the plan was if you fell. Who was meant to take your place. Do you recall?” “I do.” “I needed a plan for me. For what happens after I fall. I had to help the others. If there were any way to save them, I wanted to find it. The anchor is— a tool. It wasn’t meant for me to pick up, but I did. And was able to use it, to help. I— wasn’t certain I’d last until we got to the center of the darkspawn horde. I’m still… Especially if you had refused to aid us. But we intended to try to get there anyway. If I didn’t— don’t make it there, maybe something else could. Pick up the anchor and carry it for me. For them. All of them. The Mortalitasi help spirits find bodies that aren’t being used. Why not mine?” “This was your plan?” he asked, trying and failing to keep the horror from his voice. “Bind a spirit to your corpse—” “Not bind. Never that,” she tipped her face up to check his reaction. He struggled to slip back into calm, into polite interest that was nothing close to what he felt at the idea. “I know better,” she insisted, thinking the distress he could not mask was for the idea of a spirit alone and not for her. “Varric has a friend.” “Varric? Has a— spirit friend?” “Of a sort. It has shared a body with a mage for some time now, and before that, it took a corpse. We knew it would know how. It agreed to help, should the need arise. It— lost its way in Kirkwall. Drifted from what it once was. I thought— we thought, if it could finish a just cause, maybe it would remember itself better.” “You couldn’t have been certain it would follow through with your plan once it found itself in possession of such power. Even Cole struggled with his impulses for a time. This spirit could just as easily take your— take the anchor and use it for its own intentions.” “Would it have been any worse than doing nothing?”

He hesitated, slid his thumb over the winding path of the anchor in her skin, as if it were a road on her map. “I cannot fault the logic but— yes. It could jeopardize this spirit, pervert it from its purpose—” “It is already losing itself. Once it was a spirit of Justice but now— we talked a long time. Before Cole left, I asked him. We all agreed, this might bring it back to its original self. I was careful, Solas.” “It isn’t just the spirit— it’s the idea of you being gone. Of someone else trying to replace you. I know there is little difference between this plan and what we intend to do with the dragon but— the idea of something using what was once yours unsettles me. I admit, it is an irrational discomfort, yet I can’t pretend this plan would be in any way pleasant.” “In truth, I am unsettled by it as well. But my discomfort would not stop me from allowing it anyway. Not that I would have much say in what happens to this body after I’m dead. Dorian wanted to— they wanted my blessing. That is why he gave me the book. So that I would know what was going to happen. So I could make peace with it.” “And— have you?” The words felt too thick, jagged and catching in his throat. The muscle in her jaw pulsed under his thumb. “I was selfish, Vhenan,” she told him, her voice a toneless husk, a half-rasp of pain. “We should have done it a month ago. They were ready, Dorian and Anders. Bull too, and the Wardens were already gathering for a push into the Deep Roads. I was there. And the anchor was already pressing so hard against the ward. But I wanted— I asked for one chance to find you. To ask for your help. So that this wouldn’t be just… a last stand. So it could maybe be more. Mean more. A chance. And— to see you one more time. Varric was convinced you wouldn’t bend. He wanted to come with me. I’m not certain if he wanted to be sure I returned— or make sure that I didn’t. He was not happy about this.” “But Dorian and Iron Bull were?” cried Solas. “So early? You had time yet. They were willing to slay you?” “It would not have been slaying, Solas. My fate was sealed a long time ago. Only— opening the dam a few days early. That’s all.” He shook his head, too grieved to do more. Dorian had been right. He might have accepted her death, but to give up the time between—

“Shh,” she told him, loosening the tense grip he’d kept on her shoulder. “The plan has changed. For now. You don’t need to think of it. If you can find him, perhaps Cole will do it in Justice’s stead. If it is more comfortable for you.” “It is not.” He grasped the book. With a thought it was ash that spun away in a soft breeze that floated through the Vir dirthara. “The book was not an instruction manual, emma lath,” she reminded him. “And burning it does not solve the problem of the anchor. I am failing. I must find someone to finish this. If it is not Justice or Cole, who would you have it be?” “Only you. There can be no other. Not because of my affection— not solely because of that. The anchor will not leave your body behind, Vhenan. If— when you fall, nothing can contain it. Your will, alone, is what holds it in check. When you are gone the anchor will consume everything. For leagues. That is the goal, is it not? The Mortalitasi cannot help us. Justice cannot help us. Nor Cole. Not in this way. Ir abelas. I cannot claim to regret that.” He stroked her cheek. “And those fools would have done it early.” “It was only a month, Solas,” she said. “What is a month to you? Hardly a breath, lost among so many others.” “Not this month. Not these breaths.” His chest was too tight, his throat closing with a kind of delayed panic. Her fingers on his cheek seemed his only tether. “Shh,” she said again and kissed him. “It’s behind us now. I’m here,for as many moments as I’m able.” “Ar nuvan nedan. I understand Alexius now, Vhenan. I have the power to erase the Veil and still not enough to save you. Ar elvyrlinor. Tel’vara, fanor. Tel’vara.”

[ahrorha]

Flame of Winter

Finally, some time to relax and much earned sweetness. (Idiot) Solas(I totally agree with your Raven) better has to patch things up or else I will kick his.... oh wait this is my own fanfic ;p

Warning: contains glistening elf.

Also, the number of chapters has changed because I have merged some of my first chapters.

I hope I can keep my writing up, have done a lot of pre-work on the next chapters. Crossing fingers that my writing mood stays like this.

Chapter 16

Solas felt terrible. He had killed one of his oldest friends, one of the very few he had left. One of the few who truly knew him. Who knew what he had been through, what he had done. Wisdom had always been was there for him, the one who he could always turn to for advice. Now she was gone, and it hurt. He felt alone, alone in his quest, in his purpose, in this altered world he had created.

Hidden away in an elven ruin, he spent his days asleep, searching the Fade far and wide, for any trace of her. Hoping that some part of her had survived. He found only faint traces of her energy, her purpose. Someday something new would form from them, but it would never be the same spirit again. Their shared experiences and friendship would remain only his memories, as so many things that had disappeared from this world.

As focused as he was to find his lost friend, Eirlana was never far from his mind. He felt guilty how he had treated her, how he had hurt her and left her behind. He had allowed his anger to overwhelm him. His control had slipped, and a dark part of himself had resurfaced, something he thought he had left in the past. At that moment he could see his own reflection in Eirlana's eyes, his ugly, violent, hateful side. The look she gave him was burned into his mind. Like a coward he ran away, leaving her abandoned. After all that she had done for him, what she meant to him, he had stabbed her in the back. He had violated the trust she had so willingly given him.

Solas sighed, almost a week had passed since then. Gliding his hand through the water, he hoped she would forgive him, though deep in his heart he knew he didn't deserve it. Satisfied with his preparations he took his hart at the reigns and headed towards the Inquisitor's camp. It was time he returned.

.

They had made good progress for one day. Finally, they were heading back to Skyhold, and Eirlana was relieved they left the nightmares of the Exalted Planes behind them. It had been hard seeing the horrible acts committed by both humans and elves alike in the brutality of that war.

In her tent, Eirlana rolled out both her and Solas' blankets and furs. 'Just in case.' she thought. Knowing it was more logical that, if he was ready to return, he would head to Skyhold. Her fingers slipped through the fur, hoping he was all right. Shaking off her worries she quickly changed into a more comfortable pair of leggings and a simple shirt. She paused a moment and decided to spend some more time at the fire before going to sleep.

It was a beautiful clear night, the reflection of a half moon sparkled in the river and lighted the hilly grassland. Draping a shawl around her shoulder against the chill Eirlana sat down and let her senses drift. She almost jumped to her feet when she detected Solas, he was close and moving towards them.

Noticing her leaving the camp Varric asked. “Where are you going Snowflake?”

“I need to....” she shuffled with her legs, pretending nature was calling.

Both he and Iron Bull had become more vigilant since she had been attacked.

“I won't go far.” she tried to assure them. “And if you hear something explode you know what to do.”

Getting the hint he was acting too protective, Varric laughed. “Just leave something for us. Be careful.”

Aided by her elven sight, Eirlana moved quickly through the dark. She had to be quick and warn him.

Just having left the ruins, Solas froze when he heard movement. His heart skipped a beat when he recognised Eirlana running towards him. “Vhenan? What...”

Before he could say more, she pressed her fingers against his lips, shushing him.

“Listen.” Eirlana whispered out of breath. “We haven't much time. I told them we went for a ride to see ruins in the morning sun. We found the mages battling a spirit and tried to stop them. It went wrong the spirit turned, killed the mages, and we ended its suffering. You were upset they also used dark magic to torture spirits, just like the pits we found. You left angry, needing some time alone.” Knowing she had to return before the others would look for her, she ran back. “Give me some time.”

On her way back she struggled to keep her emotions under control. Slowing down she forced her breathing back to normal. He was back. Soon they could talk.

“There she is.” Iron Bull called to her when she joined them again. Several comments and laughs about ladies always taking longer were exchanged, before Varric was glared down by Cassandra. He should know better then to ask if she really was a lady.

.

Hearing her brief instruction, Solas stared dumbfounded after Eirlana. He already prepared himself to defend his actions of trying to save his friend and his killing of the mages, but she had covered up his violent outburst. She had told a story close enough to the truth to be believable and yielded him the least amount of trouble. He was grateful she had lied for him, but also regretted that he had put her in a situation that she felt she needed to.

After enough time had passed, Solas continued his path. A group of patrolling guards were the first to spot him, and they accompanied him. Upon entering the camp, he noticed not everyone was pleased to see him, especially Ryan seemed to be cross with him.

“SOLAS!” Almost knocking over Varric's drink, Eirlana jumped to her feet and rushed to him. Letting her emotions free she flew into his arms.

Stumbling by her enthusiasm, Solas had to half catch her. Holding her in a tight embrace, he told her.

“I am sorry vhenan. I am so sorry.”

They let go of each other after Ryan cleared his throat next to them. “Solas we need to talk.”

Pressing a kiss to her forehead, he followed Ryan to receive his scolding. After he apologised for his action and promising it wouldn't happen again, he returned. Only now he noticed how exhausted everyone looked, especially Eirlana, who had dark circles under her eyes. He wanted to get her away from here. Ignoring Varric, who looked like he wanted to have a stern word with him, he pulled her to her feet and towards their tent.

Expecting he wanted to talk more privately, she followed him. To her confusion, he started to roll up their blankets and furs, packing them.

“What are you doing?”

“I have something prepared for us.” he said and continued.

Not understanding what he meant, Eirlana went quiet. Her initial relief that he was back made way for her pent-up emotions and stress. There was too much she had been through this past week.

Noticing her shift in mood Solas stopped and crouched towards her. He cupped her face and sat with her. “What is wrong?”

“What is wrong?” a mocking laugh escaped her. “Do you really have to ask? You were gone. I was worried sick. I didn't know where you were. If you were all right. When or if you were coming back.” Her frustration and anger came spilling out. “You left me. Left me here in the middle of.... of all this” she swung her arms around. Irritated that he just carried on as if nothing had happened.

Hearing, the hurt he had done, in her wavering voice Solas hung his head. Normally not lost for words he didn't know what to say. “Vhenan...”

“I... You didn't have to grieve alone.” of all the things, this was maybe what hurt her the most. That he chose to be alone rather than let her be there for him.

“I am so sorry vhenan.” he took her into his arms. “I didn't know what to do. It has been so long since I could trust someone.”

Buried against his chest, she took a deep breath. Slowly calming down. “Where did you go?”

“At first I just rode for hours, until I came upon some abandoned ruins far away from any road or farm. I dreamed there, searching for any trace of her.”

Knowing who he meant she raised her head and looked at him hopefully. “Did you find her.”

Lowering his eyes, he shook his head. “Her purpose has survived, but it will never be her again.”

.

By the time they slipped out of the tent, the rest had already gone to sleep. Only Iron Bull was still awake. He frowned when he saw Solas getting his mount. “And where do you think you are going?”

“To those ruins.” Solas pointed towards some ruins visible in the distance, not too far away.

Iron Bull wasn't satisfied. “I don't want the same shit like last time happen again.” He pointed at Eirlana. “If you aren't taking her somewhere nice I won't let you go.”

“That I can promise you.” he pressed a kiss on Eirlana's head. “I have a lot to make up to her.”

“You know he will be pissed if he finds out.”

“I know.” Solas smiled at him and rode with Eirlana towards the ruins.

.

Leaving the hart outside to graze, they entered the old elven bathhouse. Though it lay in ruins, traces of the beautiful mosaics of plants, flowers and birds were still visible. On his way back Solas had disrupted here some Venatori in their digging efforts for lost treasures. Seeing one of the baths was intact, he got an idea. He wanted to do something for Eirlana, to apologise for his actions. With the aid of a little magic, he managed to make the bath working again.

In amazement, Eirlana looked around. Shallow stairs let into the deep basin filled with clear water. Warmed by the heating stones Solas had reactivated, small wisps of steam escaped its surface. A few glowing orbs hovered in the air like fireflies, casting a warm, cosy light around them. It was lovely. The broken down arches gave a magnificent view of the river, where once was a roof countless stars sparkled in the sky.

Not far from the bath a small fire burned, Solas spread out their furs and blankets next to it, and unpacked the towels and soaps he had brought. It was luck that the Inquisitor had chosen to camp near this place. He noticed that his various wards, to protect them, were still active. With everything in place, he hoped this would become a night to remember. He wanted to show her how much he cared about her, how precious she was to him. To spend one night alone with her, away from prying eyes, to forget what had brought them here.

.

With only his leggings on, Solas waded into the water. “Join me vhenan.”

Eirlana started to blush, only now realising that he wanted to bathe with her. A little flustered she removed her shawl and leggings. Not feeling comfortable enough about being seen naked she kept her shirt on. With Solas already swimming she stepped into the delightfully warm water. As she went deeper, her shirt started to billow. Not wanting to be more exposed, she held it down and dipped her body under the water so it would stick to her skin.

Solas swam towards her when she staid on the stairs. After a few strokes, he rose out of the water.

Eirlana felt her stomach flutter as the water pearled of his broad shoulders and taut muscles. His wet skin glistening under the light of the glowing orbs. He was beautiful.

His breath stuck as he stepped closer. Her wet shirt was moulded to her curves and had become translucent. He could see the outline of her breast perfectly, with her dark nipples that had stiffened in the night air. He smirked when he caught her staring back, and looking away quickly. Apparently, he wasn't the only one who enjoyed the view. His desires inflamed, he took hold of her and pulled her deeper into the water.

“Solas! I can't swim.” she exclaimed.

“Then you have to hold on.” he grinned and continued swimming.

“Solas.” She clung to him, laughing nervously when her feet couldn't reach the bottom.

Holding her waist, he helped her stay afloat. “Relax. You won't sink. Just peddle with your feet.”

It didn't take long before she got more comfortable. Soon the air was filled with the sound of them splashing, laughing, giggling and her squealing whenever he let go of her.

.

Floating close together, Eirlana's arms rested around Solas' neck. Looking deep into his eyes, she brushed her lips against his. “I missed you.” and kissed him.

Solas pulled her closer, savouring the kiss. He exhaled deeply when they parted. “I missed you too.”

Her braid had become undone, and her hair floated in the water like fine silk, almost glowing in the unique light of the moon. Stroking her cheek, his hands wandered down her neck. His fingers slipped under her choker and opened its clasp, uncovering her burns. He traced them softly with his fingers.

“You are so beautiful.”

Another blush flushed Eirlana's face. Gazing into his eyes, she could only see his affection and admiration. She knew her body was a roadmap of the abuse she had suffered. Not that she thought she was ugly, but being called beautiful? Before she could object Solas captured her lips again. Feeling his love, his body moving against hers, Eirlana gave in. Her hands began to roam over his shoulders and back.

Enjoying her fingers gliding over his wet skin, Solas hummed in pleasure and deepened their kiss. Underwater their legs brushed more against each other. Sensing his growing arousal, Solas told himself to calm down, that he needed to take things slow. Just then her nails scraped teasingly over his shoulder blades. The wolf in him howled, pushing him to let his impulses take over. Nipping her lips playfully, his hand slipped under her shirt caressing her stomach. He felt her freeze up immediately.

Solas cursed himself; he had pushed her too far. This was not why he brought her here.

Instinctively Eirlana led go of him, covering herself with her arms. Her fear intensified when she saw his eyes. His pupils were dilated, making them dark, smouldering with desire and want. Part of her mind screamed at her, to flee, to get away. At the same time, she knew it was okay, that this was Solas, that there was nothing to fear.

“Sorry I....” in part she resented her reaction, but she knew she wasn't ready for this. The guilt and shame she felt made it only worse.

“It is alright.” Solas pulled her with him to the stairs so they could sit down. There he held her and stroked her head, assuring her that it was okay until she calmed down.

.

To break the awkward moment, Solas handed Eirlana the soap and hair-oil so they could wash. Initially, he had planned to help her with that, but he knew she needed a little more time. After they had finished, he sat with his back against the edge, and he beckoned her to join him. With his arms lying securely around her, and her head resting against his shoulder, they sat quietly gazing at the stars above them. Peacefully they listened to the sounds of the night drifting over the planes. The calls of the halla, the bats hunting above their heads and the occasional howl of a wolf in the distance.

“What are you thinking about?” Solas asked her after a while, his face brushing against hers.

“That they are some things, that luckily even we can't change.”

“What do you mean?”

She pointed to the night sky. “We come and go, empires rise and fall, but the stars keep watching over us unchanged. If we had been alive eight hundred years ago, we wouldn't see anything different.” she twisted her body towards him and giggled. “Do you know how lucky we are? Can you imagine how crowded it would have been back then at a night like this? We wouldn't have had the luxury of being alone.”

Solas had to laugh, wondering how she could be so optimistic. Even among a sea of destruction, she was able to find beauty or see something positive. His arms still securely around her he leaned forward.

“Oh, I don't know about that.” he whispered in her ear.

His voice sounded deep and full of promise, making Eirlana shudder lightly as goosebumps spread down her spine. Not buying his claim she challenged him. “You really think not a dozen other couple's would have come up with the same brilliant idea as you?”

“I would have simply taken you to my own baths.”

“Your own?” Sceptically, she raised an eyebrow. But the bold and confident look he gave her, told her he wasn't joking. The strange perception she sometimes got about him returned. Making her want to question who he was or where he came from. She had heard the same story as the others. That he came from a small village far to the north, but unlike the others, she had been there. In his search of forgotten knowledge, her former master had brought her to almost every ruin in the Imperium he could find. She knew there was nothing out there but old stones, where Solas claimed his village was. Not for the first time, she thought he harboured secrets that went farther and deeper, then would be necessary for a 'simple' apostate to hide his identity, his past. His fluidity in Elvhen and his careful phrasing whenever he indicated time. She opened her mouth and saw his eyes tense up as if he knew he had said too much.

'How old are you?' was the first the question that lay on her lips but kept unspoken.

Solas cursed himself; he had slipped up. Comfortable and at ease, he had let his guard down. It was not his first time, and he knew she already suspected that he was different. Already having several half-truths prepared, he anxiously waited for what she would say next.

Eirlana could feel his tension. Whatever he was hiding he wasn't ready to share it with her jet.

“A own bath. That would be nice.” She smiled and leaned back against him. When Solas began to relax again, she knew she had made the right decision. Even if her assumption was correct and he was one of the survivors that had awakened, it could be dangerous for him if people would discover it. Like no other, she knew that some things are better to be kept secret and hidden away, especially from the humans. It was also possible he was protecting others. Believing he would confide in her someday, she took hold of his hand. Entangling it with her own, she raised it out of the water and kissed it. “Thank you, for coming back.”

Closing his eyes, Solas held her tightly. Pressing his lips to her temple, he wished he wasn't the lord of deception. That not millennia of secrets rested on his shoulders. That one day he could tell her the truth.

“Thank you for being who you are.” he whispered to her.

.

Slowly Solas let go of her, and his hands wandered lightly up her arms. Brushing his lips along her neck, he placed soft kisses down to her shoulder. Eirlana sighed and tilted her head. She didn't notice his fingers tugged at the top strings of her shirt, opening it and slipping it off her shoulders. She froze again, holding onto her shirt, she looked over her shoulder at him.

He could see her apprehension in her eyes. Pressing a kiss to her temple, he mumbled. “Don't worry vhenan. Nothing is going to happen.”

With little pressure, his hands started to move, massaging the tense muscles in her neck and shoulders. Little by little she relaxed, but he could tell how tired and stressed out she was. He wanted to show her how precious she was, make her feel loved without the tension of sex hanging like a sword above them. To show her that there was nothing to fear.

She squeaked when his hand moved under her legs and lifted her out of the water.

Before Eirlana could object Solas carried her to where he had laid out their towels. Giving her space to shed her wet clothes, Solas hastily dried himself off and changed into a pair of dry leggings. After stoking the fire and rearranging their blankets, he turned back to her.

Wrapped in a towel, and her wet clothes spread out over a fallen pillar, she was wringing out her hair.

“Here let me.” With a little of his magic, he created warm air, helping her hair dry a little. With practice, she quickly brushed it and secured it back into her usual braid.

“Solas?” Eirlana exclaimed as he picked her up again. “I can walk you know.”

“Oh I know.” he laughed at her and carried her to their fur bedding next to the fire.

“Please lay down on your stomach.”

Curious at what he was planning she lay down. Enjoying the heat of the fire against her skin, she listened to him shuffling behind her. A blanket was spread out over her, covering her from the waist down. Kneeling beside her Solas tugged lightly at her towel, unwrapping her body.

“Solas what...”

He brushed her cheek. “Please vhenan. You have nothing to worry about.” he reassured her.

Trusting him, she let him pull the towel away. Nervously she waited, feeling vulnerable and exposed. He paused a moment, seeing for the first time the full extent of the scars she had gained from her captivity and years of enslavement. Though they shared the same living space, he had always been careful to give her the privacy she required. It angered him. How could anyone do this? Especially to her. Her back and arms were covered with a criss-cross of small and more prominent scars, from burns, cuts, beatings and whiplashes. Some of them were old, slowly fading away. Others were still dark and angry red.

.

Solas noticed Eirlana began to fidget as he stared at her back. Setting his anger aside he took the flower-scented oil and let it drip over her spine. He had to smile when she gasped at the cold liquid flowed over her skin. Warming his hands with a little magic, he set to work. Aided by the oil his hands glided over her back, caressing her body. With ease he began to knead her overworked muscles, his fingers and thumbs slowly increasing pressure whenever he found a knot.

With her head resting on her hands, Eirlana let out a groan. Gradually she felt the warmth of his hands and the oil seeping into her body, removing a tension she didn't know she carried with her. Closing her eyes, she surrendered and indulged herself.

It had been a while since Solas had done this, but his fingers quickly remembered. It felt wonderful to touch her skin, to feel her trust. She looked absolutely breathtaking in the warm glow of the fire, and he wanted to worship every part of her. The soft moans escaping her lips were music to his ears, and her pale skin was starting to glow beautifully in a healthy pink. In intervals he released healing magic at places where she had the worst scars, hoping it would help a little. Having finished with her back, he pressed several kisses on her shoulder. He laughed when she made a sleepy and satisfied murmur. Covering her with her shawl, he folded the blanket up and started to work down her legs.

Eirlana was dosing off, feeling warm, safe and enjoying every stroke of Solas' hands. She inhaled deeply when he reached her feet. Curling her toes, she hummed in pleasure when his fingers glided over her callous soles and slipped between her toes. She felt her body tingle when he bent her feet and pressed down on certain points.

Solas drank in every sigh and moan she made. He was glad he had taken the time to arrange this.

Having massaged everything, she would be comfortable with, Solas noticed Eirlana was struggling to stay awake. After making sure her shawl was still wrapped securely around her, he unfolded the blanket and tugged her in. Like a cat she stretched, smiling fondly at him with her eyes half closed. Moving quickly Solas dispelled the orbs of light, checked the wards one last time, attended the fire and hung their clothes to dry.

Eirlana waited and raised their blanket when he had finished so he could slip in with her.

With hooded eyes, she mumbled “That was wonderful.” and kissed him tenderly. Half asleep she nestled herself against his warm torso. A shudder spread through Solas, feeling her partially naked body against his skin. She took his breath away; her parted lips inviting him to taste her. Her strange form of innocence was sometimes difficult to handle, how she could be so oblivious to the desires she enticed. Wishing he had thought about a change of clothes for her, and glad his leggings were somewhat hiding his arousal, he draped his arm around her.

Pressing a kiss to her forehead, he whispered. “Ar lath ma.”

At that moment the world became smaller. It centred around their small fire. For a brief moment, Fen'harel didn't exist. There was only her and him. Content and at peace the wolf fell asleep...

.

Ar lath ma -  I love you

.

Some explanation of Eirlana's knowledge about the ancient elves.  

Based on finding a whole bunch of ancient elves at the temple of Mythal, Solas conversation with Abelas and the existence of Felassan. I concluded that there are more ancient elves alive, either in uthenera or walking around keeping a low profile. Having seen a lot of ancient elven places Eirlana has discovered elves that were still asleep, hidden away from the outside world, like those at the temple of Mythal. This is the reason she is not totally freaked out by the idea Solas is much older then anyone thinks. With the knowledge of uthenera being obscure at best, she, of course, doesn't suspect just how old Solas really is. With the line between legends and the truth obscured, especially in the Fade, she only knows the basics of uthenera, and that its practice was lost, like so many other things.

[clan-lavellans-magpie]

it is better in her hands

In which Solas and Lavellan are definitely artists. A fic present with Helwys Lavellan for my dear beautiful friend @koala-biscuits.  It was splendid. Gods and men, the destruction and chaos of battle; he had managed it, finally filled that next spot in the Rotunda. Haven crouched at the base of the wall, flame bright above it, a looming figure behind. His brush scraped against the clay. With his attention focused, he could distract himself from thoughts of his friend, the empty spot in the Fade. Now I must endure. The room seemed cold, a draught from outside blowing in through the corridor, cooling his hands. If he didn’t finish first, the wind would harden the plaster. Eventually, he stepped back, inspecting the masterpiece. It covered the wall from ceiling to floor in both bright and sombre shades, reflecting the nature of the event, and the losses they could not escape. Then he glimpsed a bare patch of plaster, barely the length of his thumb and just beneath where he was looking. How had he missed it? Well, it would be fine. Surely. No-one would see it; it was small enough, and... it could have been intended. Solas attempted to quiet his discomfort - he could mix more of the pigment later. It would be fine. It looked good, actually. He stirred the pigment on the palette and chose a dark blue, leaning towards the illustrated shadows on Corypheus’ robe. “You missed a spot!” The voice was surprisingly loud behind him. “I - I’ve got paint here, so… uh… I could - just - ?” A brush snuck through the space between his arms, laden with red paint - not his, but remarkably similar - and began dusting it gently on the bare spot. An arm followed it, outfitted with a Dalish wrist-guard that he knew belonged to Helwys Lavellan. He frowned, brows knitting together. “Not like that!” “Look, it was annoying me. Were you supposed to leave it blank?” Helwys tilted her head to look at the painted spot. “At least it looks hidden, now.” It was, as she pointed out, disguised. The colour even matched. “How should you know? I was unaware that any Dalish currently practised this style.” Discomfited and flustered, the words came out with more bite than he intended. “Well, given how much you seem to dislike us, I’m surprised you have any accurate information at all.” A replying tinge of annoyance coloured the words. Helwys crossed her arms, dripping paint on her sleeve. She barely noticed, with her eyes fixed firmly on his. “So what if we don’t? I read your notes on it.” “What? When?” He’d thought he had hidden those notes, given how little he needed them. He’d written them when he had woken, as one did a half-remembered dream, but his skill was still as strong as it had been. So he had put them away amongst… amongst the other reports, on his desk. “While you were still in the Exalted Plains. That was more than enough time to get through the four volumes on paint alone. I damn well hope it’ll help me understand this. Four volumes.” He swallowed. “I spent a lot of time observing artists in the Fade.” The Fade. Spirits, knowledge, and Wisdom. The ache inside him still hurt. He wanted to get back to painting, shut out the world again, but she was here. And he… He didn’t want her to go. Helwys ran her fingers feather-lightly across the dry paint, almost reverently. Coming out of his thoughts, Solas found his respect for her deepening. “I’m not entirely sure ‘a lot’ covers it,” she was saying. “Nobody practises this anymore, and yet you’re painting masterpieces on the walls of this castle as if it happens every day!” “You think they are masterpieces, lethallan?” Helwys went a fiery red. “No! - Yes! - I mean, maybe? I’ve just heard people say that.” Then she shifted the documents in her arms, tucked the paintbrush behind her ear, and examined the closest fresco critically. “I mean, they’re fine, other than the bit you completely missed.” “It is practised by precious few in this day and age. But if you think you could do better, go ahead.” “Oh, really? Pity you sound so cynical about it.” She blushed, scowled, then her gaze set, determined and in her element. A smile of challenge danced over her face as she took the palette from his hand. He felt forgotten already. As his hand brushed hers, he felt the power beneath her skin, entrancing and warrior-like and beating to a dancing rhythm. It set warning bells ringing in his skull. He should not leave his painting alone with Helwys Lavellan; who knew what he would come back to? But he kept watching. It turned out to be as much a distraction as painting was, saving him from the dark thoughts that kept creeping into his mind. His artist’s sense couldn’t look away; his gaze was caught by the slender line of her figure, the curve of her arm as she touched the brush to the wall, the colours of her skin and her hair and her clothes. Dark hair crumpled in a knot at the nape of her neck, and he was fascinated by every spark of light within it. By the time she stepped away from the painting, he was drunk on the sight of her. Beautiful, lyrical, his dreamer’s mind called. She had spent time around him before now, but never like this… She was occasionally brusque, gathering reports and information from him without a ‘hello’ or a second glance, and always, always quiet-seeming, secret, walls like cliffs around herself. He’d seen her, walking the battlements when the whole of the Inquisition was asleep. She, who never slept, and himself, who spent all his spare moments asleep in the Fade. He was coming to realise that he wanted more of her company. … That was if she didn’t try and change everything he’d done in the Rotunda. Solas looked up, trying to catch a glimpse of what he’d let her loose on, trying to gauge just how great a mistake this would turn out to be. This is the price of being hypnotised by that scowl of hers, he thought. It was… surprisingly good, for a first try. She missed the finer points of the technique, and the details she added ended up slightly blurry-edged and clunky, but he wasn’t left cringing. He was, in fact, left staring. The red swathe of light, which he had left relatively simple to better emphasise the detail at the top of the wall, was covered in tiny details, so many that he could barely see them, like fish scales through ocean water. She… She’d met his challenge, and preserved his intention. “Have you had any… Other experience, other than reading those notes?” “You asking if I’ve practised?” She turned fully around from the wall and stared down at him, pigment smudged across her nose and wielding her paintbrush like a knife. “Go check the walls of my damn room. Creators, I can even show you, if you want.” A look of mortification crossed her face. “Uh… I meant… Not like that.” He chuckled quietly, and she went back to painting, scowling. Most of the time, she was invisible. Caught in the shadow of her brother’s decisions, decisions that shook the world and the Fade. The elf in the corner of the Orlesian balls. Like himself. But doing this…. Standing in the faint light of his veilfire, painting, she was a goddess, an angel, infallible in her own light. Doing this, she stood out further than her brother’s reach could ever put her. “Lethallan -” She waved him silent with one hand, barely even glancing down. “Shush, stay there. I didn’t lose four nights of sleep over this stupid technique for nothing.” “Four nights?” “Not in a row, obviously. And I’m not even counting the days. You and my stupid brother were gone a while, and you were away even longer than he was.” He felt almost… honoured, if that was possible. If she’d done it for him. “What possessed you to learn such a thing? Curiosity?” “Curiosity. Mostly.” She stood on tiptoe to reach higher up the wall. “Thought I could help you. Either that or I’d paint murals in my brother’s room just to freak him out. There’s a good wall...” Her voice softened, thinking out loud to herself. Solas thought he caught Sera’s name in her murmurings. Shortly after, Helwys slid down the ladder, happy sparks of magic popping around her, and announced, “Done. I think. Probably.” He gazed up at the wall. From far away, it was still his work - but now he knew. There was now a part of her in the mural of Haven. And there was a part of her that clung to him, sticking to him like the last trails of a good dream. “You are an artist, then.” She raised an eyebrow, tone slipping into sarcasm. “What kind of question is that?” “I… I didn’t mean… I haven’t had the honour of seeing your work before. All I knew was from the Inquisitor.” He held his hands up in surrender. She was close now, her silhouette close to pinning him against the desk. The light of the veilfire caught in her hair, in the air behind her, creating an aquamarine halo like those around Andraste in the human chantries. Inadvertently, Solas’ breath caught in his throat. He wanted to - but there was no place for that now. Not to mention he would be on thin ground, both with Helwys herself and the Inquisitor as her half-brother, when events reached their... climax. They had just begun in Skyhold; there were duties to be seen to, reports to be written - there was no time for this. But, if he went by that same logic, there would be no time for painting, either. And she was a painting. It was in the smile that rarely surfaced on her sharp face; the brushstrokes were the tiny ink droplets that always accompanied her signature, smudged fussily as her eye for perfection tried to get rid of them; caught in the books and papers that she was forced to put down in order to do anything other than work. She was light caught in ice, frost on flower petals. She was beautiful like an avalanche was beautiful, and he was standing on the ice. Helwys raised a brow. “You look like you’re thinking something especially poetic.” “I am around you. How could I not be?” “No. No flirting. Stop it.” She glared at him, shifting from foot to foot. Then, in as low and quiet a voice as she could possibly manage, “Flatterer.” A simple word. But one she seemed unused to saying. Did she mean -? No. The moment he started thinking things like that, everything would go awry. Helwys flushed as red as a sunset, and hurried to turn her attention back to the finished wall. “Mmm,” she muttered, purposefully fixing her gaze on a spot halfway up, “Huh. Should’ve added something -” Her sentence trailed away as he laid a hand on her shoulder. “It is wonderful, lethallan.” In a blink, Helwys spun around, the length of the palette all that separated them. “What?” “It is beautiful.” Like you, he didn’t add, knowing it might make her uncomfortable. Always like you. “Uh… thank you?” She leaned closer, closing the divide between them, and his heart leapt with hope. Their gazes met, his blue-grey eyes meeting tired ones, rimmed with kohl that was more smudge than line, the colour of aeons of veilfire, and for him, only for him, as warm as a hearth. This couldn’t go on for long, he would only hurt her, would only bring her grief and sadness, but she was the brightest soul he had seen since her brother became Inquisitor, since the Fade. He knew how he felt. What he felt. This might not work out, might never last - relationships were a dangerous thing in times like these, and she knew that, too. He couldn’t do this. Not properly. But he knew love when it grew upon him. In that instant, he gave his heart into her hands, and kissed her. Helwys’ eyes widened, and he caught a trace of awkward happiness in them, before her eyelids flickered closed and she leaned into him, palette forgotten. Her lips were soft on his. Solas’ heart skipped a beat, breathless and full of light, weighing no more than a feather. She smelled of leaves and paint, fresh air and ink and the sharp scent of frost magic. Joy poured through him, thundering like a waterfall. At the end of it all, this would hurt more than anything. The barbed thought stung more than he would have liked. He could see her, in his mind’s eye, what would happen if he left as he needed to. Tears unshed. Sleep forgotten. Paint strewn across her hair, her skin, the floor, nowhere, the canvases whose tears she hid. Veilfire and betrayal written in her eyes. He pulled away, breathing sharp and deep to calm his nerves. He could not do that to her. He could not. She had cares and worry enough of her own. She needed light, not darkness. Not what he could give. Perhaps he could stay. He loved her, after all, he knew it. He could stay with her, or - or take her with him. No, not that. But if he didn’t have to leave… He could stay. He could. With her. Helwys’ eyes opened, and he smiled, to reassure her all was well. Vhenan. Watching her reaction to it - confused, suspicious but glad - his smile reassured himself, too. She took a breath as she scrambled backwards, blinked several times, and murmured, “Woah.” He was thinking the same thing. “Who is flattering whom now, I wonder?” Her mouth shaped into an O of indignation, and she lunged for the palette. Elegant fingers scraped all the red from its wooden surface, and he didn’t even mind when she smudged a great deal of it over his face. Helwys smirked. “Missed a spot.” Then she leapt off the platform and ran for the door, feet flying, echoes ringing all the way up to the rookery, Solas at her heels. Eventually he gave up and stopped to lean against his desk, paper rough beneath his fingers, sighing and catching his breath. Her lips had left him with the taste of salt and strawberries, quiet and unassuming but powerful enough to shake his world to its roots. She was a wonder. “I am never going to be able to let that go, am I?” Just before the door of the Rotunda swung closed, he heard a laugh that made his heart race, and her gleeful voice shouting, ��Never!”

[shift-shaping]

The Lioness and the Wolf - VII - Of Your Dreams

This work is also available on Ao3. If you enjoy my work, please reblog, leave a comment, or donate to my Ko-Fi. Thank you!

Rating: Mature

Genre: Slow Burn, adventure, talking

Pairing: Solas x Surana

Warnings: Gaspard, dialogue heavy

Part seven of The Lioness and the Wolf.  Part one.

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Everything was easier for him in the Fade.

Being surrounded by magic, by spirits and shifting landscapes and an entire world controlled by will, was all much more familiar to Solas than the ironclad reality of the waking world. He’d spent his last few visits scouring the endless twisting plains for some sign of his friend, for a shred of hope that Wisdom was not lost. 

Now he returned with a more concrete purpose. It was unlikely, but if Eirwen were sleeping, he could find her and explain where he was and what happened to him. Finding other mages over significant distances was not easy, especially if he did not have a strong bond with them, but finding Adaar had not taken much effort and Eirwen was at least as magically gifted. The raw power of another mage would draw him to them like a beacon draws ships in the sea.

When he fought at her side, he’d gained something of a sense for her magic’s signature. It was bright, as that of most powerful mages was, but tinged with fuzzy sparks owing to her innate storm abilities. Her experience in healing and shapeshifting made her magic more amorphous as well, its shape and structure ill-defined. The unusual combination of her training in creation, healing, shapeshifting, and combat magic was distinct, uncommon to him despite his countless years of experience. 

He did not find her, despite the hours he spent searching. Were he not so desperate for the distraction, for the act of hunting itself, he might have given up after only a few minutes. He thought that if he waited long enough she might go to sleep so he could find her, but her signal never appeared.

Even after the fruitlessness of his search became apparent, he continued sleeping and came up with excuses to stay in the Fade. A small part of him wished to look for Wisdom again, but he knew that quest would only result in disappointment. 

He did not have long to wander. A harsh hand shook him, the world of his dreams falling apart as the waking world re-materialized around him. He awoke with a start, magic jolting to his fingertips. His vision focused on the figure beside him, a dwarf with a greasy beard and small, beady eyes. 

“What? What is it?” He sputtered, sitting up as Sam leaned away.

The dwarf shrugged nonchalantly. “I got food. You said you’d cook.”

Solas took a moment to catch his breath, then nodded and set to work. They’d stolen a number of cooking implements from the prison during their escape, and Solas used them now as he started a fire and heated a pan. 

“I was scared you weren’t goin’ to wake up!” Sam sat on the other side of their small camp, picking between his toes. “You’ve been out for most of the afternoon.”

“Abelas. I was... searching for someone.”

Sam grinned. “What kind of someone?”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re looking for someone in your dreams, right? So that would make them the man or woman of your dreams. That kind of someone.”

Solas sighed and poked at the fire. Whatever food Sam had found went into the pan with a small chunk of butter. “That is... not quite how it works. I can find other mages in the Fade if they are powerful enough, like looking for a camp at night by the amount of light it lets off.”

Sam nodded, looking down at his toes. Solas deliberately turned away as the dwarf picked something particularly grimy from beneath a toenail and suppressed a gag. “Did you find ‘em?”

“Unfortunately, no. She is likely awake, in which case I cannot locate her. She would need to be in the Fade consciously for me to find her.”

Sam considered this for a moment, pausing in his picking to frown at the fire Solas’s spell made. “What’s it like? Having magic?”

“Describing magic to one without it would be like describing sight to a blind man.”

“’Like touching, but better’?”

“I... suppose. In that case, it would more resemble a general use of all your senses, but better. You have access to an entirely separate set of skills through a force you can physically feel. I imagine a dwarf’s stone sense is along similar lines.”

“Don’t got that either.”

“You did not come from Orzammar, then?”

Sam looked up from his toepicking with a frown, his brows furrowed as if he were thinking very deeply about the subject. “I don’t think so.” 

“You aren’t certain?”

Sam shrugged. “I’m pretty sure I was born on the surface, but I don’t remember so I don’t know. My mom told me I was, but she might be lying.” He considered the middle toe on his right foot. “Just cause I’ve been told something is true, doesn’t mean it is.”

“Wise words,” Solas replied, impressed. Sam burped appreciatively. 

“You and me could be a good team, you know,” Sam said as he finally put his feet back into his shoes. “An elven mage and a dwarf that isn’t drunk all the time? We’d be unstoppable.”

Solas decided to ignore his idea, at least until he brought it up again. “You mean you are not drunk all the time?”

Sam shook his head and frowned heavily. “Nah. Hate the stuff. Alcohol, that is. Makes me real sick. Bread too. Wine is okay, though.”

“Are you allergic to wheat?”

“Why’s that matter?”

“A lot of alcohol is made from wheat. As is, obviously, bread.”

“I... huh...” Sam crossed his legs and stared into the fire, still frowning deeply. A long silence followed, during which Solas focused on finishing their meal. Finally Sam jolted upright, grinning, and spoke so loudly it made Solas jump. “See?! This is why we make such a good team. Your smarts, my skills and talent and fighting ability and good looks? We’d be unstoppable.”

Solas chuckled and gestured to their meal. “It is finished.”

“Thank the Maker,” Sam gushed. He poked at the meat and took it into his lap. “But listen, really. We could be bounty hunters or something. It’d be so good.”

“I am with the Inquisition. As... tempting as that is, my time is heavily occupied with my duties.”

Sam waved his hand as he tore off a piece of meat. The smell of the food tempted Solas to eat, but he couldn’t bring him to. “Just drop it.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. Who cares? There’s better horizons. More interesting shit.”

That made Solas smile, though he was getting tired of Sam’s insistence. “I assure you, my time with the Inquisition is plenty interesting.”

“Is it lucrative?”

Solas snorted. “I am living in a castle and the food is excellent. Gold is hardly a concern.”

Sam’s jaw dropped, his beard touching the middle of his chest. “No way. A castle?” Solas nodded. “Shit, can I join? I want to live in a castle.”

“I imagine you would be allowed. We could venture to the nearest Inquisition camp, as I have been attempting for several days now...”

“Days? Where are they?”

“I am not sure. I suspect something has pulled our troops from the region. It concerns me, but there is nothing I can do for the time being. I need to find my companion, and the camp. Barring either of those options, I will return to Skyhold.”

“Skyhold...” Sam smiled, softer now, and looked up through the trees. “It even sounds fancy.”

“It is.” A similar fond smile pulled at Solas’s lips, and he finally took some food from the pan. “It is an ancient elvhen fortress in the Frostbacks. For hundreds of year it stood empty, but now it sings with life.”

“Do people actually sing?”

“Sometimes.”

“I’ll fit right in, then.” Sam smiled, showing bits of food between his teeth as he tore off another bite. “Let’s find a camp, then. I want to see this fortress for myself.”

Solas nodded as he chewed and swallowed. “First I need to find Eirwen and ensure her safety. If I cannot meet her in the Fade, we will go on to a camp and attempt to send an emissary back to Fort Revasan.”

“Do you think your friend is okay?”

Though he hesitated a moment, Solas knew instinctively that she would be fine. “She is extremely clever, and a very talented mage. Few things would seriously threaten her, and I imagine none of them are at Fort Revasan.”

An uncomfortable grin took over Sam’s kind smile, and Solas grimaced at the seedy expression. “She must be pretty great.”

“She’s the Hero of Ferelden. She will be fine.”

---

Eirwen’s initial plan regarding Gaspard was not to have a plan at all. She didn’t think she needed one, as she had nothing to lose or gain by talking to him.

Nothing to gain or lose personally, anyway. She could use this meeting for her troops, if not for the Inquisition as a whole. 

Still she did nothing to improve her appearance beyond fixing her hair and putting cleaner clothes on. For days now she’d been living in the plains, bleeding and starving and relying on her magic for survival. She’d spent the last day sleeping in a prison under the supervision of a Templar. If she needed to dress up to meet someone, they would need to find her at Skyhold. 

Eirwen knew a little about Orlesian nobility from her travels. She expected duplicity, a literal mask, and a heavy dose of racism. She had no interest in “The Game” but knew how little her preference mattered. Regardless of whether she actually tried to play, any Orlesian noble would verbally destroy her. 

She figured someone would get her and take her to meet him on his terms, perhaps in his tent or office. Instead, the inevitable knock at her door brought her face-to-face with the Duke.

“I thought Orlesians wore masks.”

Gaspard was a formidable man, easily a head taller than Eirwen and broad even in his riding gear. He was significantly older than she’d expected, but she wasn’t sure why she thought he was younger. He bore heavy lines on his face, accentuated by the shadow of dark hair on his oval-shaped head. 

He smiled and she kept looking him over, not reacting. “There is no need for formalities. We are two former soldiers having a conversation.” He bowed slightly, and she returned the gesture with a spark of hesitation. “May I?” He gestured toward the table in her room, but he must have noticed her wariness because he did not enter; instead, he gestured behind him and Lezare stepped out from his shadow. She nodded to Eirwen. “I understand you are Ferelden, in culture at least.” There was an unmistakable note of superiority in his voice that nearly made Eirwen roll her eyes. “Perhaps you would feel more comfortable with a neutral party?”

“No,” Eirwen said flatly, quickly, glancing at the Templar. Should something unexpected happen, Gaspard could not prevent her from escaping like Lezare could. “We’ll be fine.” She stepped back, showing the Duke inside. “Thank you for the offer, though.” Her eyes briefly met Lezare’s, but she couldn’t read her expression. She left the door open, mostly because her crow form struggled with doorknobs. She knew full-well that Lezare would most likely be on the other side waiting for disaster, but putting distance between her two main concerns would buy her valuable time.

“I’m surprised anyone in Orlais knows about the Blight,” she began, finding her flask by her bed and unashamedly taking a drink. It burned on the way down and she hissed, shaking her head. “I was worried Loghain told you all it was an elaborate myth, created by the Grey Wardens to take over Ferelden, or something.”

“No, he was far more concerned with Orlais spontaneously invading a darkspawn-infested swamp.” Gaspard looked at her flask, one brow raised slightly. “What are you drinking?”

“I’m not even really sure anymore,” she smirked and put the flask back down. “I just dump whatever liquor I can find into it.”

“La Félicité du Fantassin. The Infantryman’s Bliss.”

“Is that what you call it? A random selection of alcohols?”

“It was not uncommon to find half-empty bottles and split them among us. The truly desperate would pour it all into one flask, as I assume you do.”

Eirwen nodded. “It tastes like shit, though.”

He shook his head, smiling slightly. “That is irrelevant, no?”

She shrugged noncommittally. Instead of sitting across from him at the table, Eirwen sat down on the edge of her bed. “You said former soldiers.” She nodded to the sword at his hip. “You’re still fighting.”

“I misspoke. We are both still fighting, are we not? I fight for my countrymen, you for... yourself, I suppose. Or perhaps for another drink.”

“If only. I’d rather fight only for myself. It’s easier that way.”

“What is your fight now, Warden? The Archdemon is dead, you do not lead the Inquisition... you are not even fighting for mages, despite being one yourself.” He leveled his gaze, his expression respectful but confused. “I admire your accomplishments, and I have great respect for the Grey Wardens, however... I am not sure what brought you here.”

Eirwen’s eyes narrowed. He knew full-well what brought her there. She’d told Lezare, and Lezare must have briefed him. Why would he ask a question he already knew the answer to? “Do you know where my troops are, Gaspard?”

“I... assure you I have no idea what you are referring to.”

“Deserters from your army, from your war, kidnapped my men and took them somewhere. They left me for dead, and were it not for the kindness of a person your soldiers are keeping in the prison of this fort as we speak, they would have succeeded.” She spoke clearly, with no hint of slurring, and kept her voice even and low despite her accusatory words. 

Gaspard sighed heavily, as if exasperated, and looked away from her. “Those bastards... We should have hunted them down and killed them before they could cause such damage.” He shook his head and turned his gaze back to her. “They call themselves the Freemen of the Dales. It is absurd.”

The bed creaked as Eirwen shifted her weight, crossing her legs before her. “Mm. Why are Orlesian soldiers acting like common bandits? They’re harassing Inquisition troops and refugees passing through the area.” She’d nearly mentioned the Dalish, but caught herself. That clan struggled enough without Gaspard’s men harassing them.

“They are not our soldiers, not anymore. They are cowards. Many men took up arms to fight the Empress, whether they had the heart for it or not.” He tilted his head, the ghost of a smirk returning to his face. “Not everyone is fit for war.”

“So, what? No one takes responsibility? You let your ill-trained men run wild in the Dales, disrupting trade and attacking your allies?”

“No.” He was unexpectedly firm, and the disbelief on Eirwen’s face must have been obvious, because he leaned toward her and went on with sudden and alarming conviction. “I wish to make peace with the Inquisition, if not an alliance. I will work to eradicate the Freemen of the Dales, and you will take a contingent of my soldiers with you to destroy their base in the Exalted Plains and retrieve your men.”

A harsh reply buzzed on her tongue, but she held back. That was a suspiciously good offer. 

“Consider it an act in good faith,” he said before she could question him. He sat back and cleared his throat, looking towards the open door for a moment before turning his hard, dark gaze back to her. “I must admit to some curiosity on my part. Do you still hold the title of Warden-Commander?”

Eirwen swallowed and looked away, effectively giving him his answer. 

“In that case, I am certain you know of the insanity at Adamant Fortress.”

“What?” 

He stood and straightened his shirt. “I suppose they are Orlesian Wardens, in truth. None of your concern, really.”

“What is happening at Adamant?”

“Lezare!” He called suddenly, giving Eirwen a start. The Knight-Captain stepped inside with a quick bow. “Prepare a small group of our best men at Revasan and assist the Warden-Commander in getting her men back from the deserters.”

“As you wish, my Lord.”

“Gaspard.” Eirwen stood, her voice and posture hardened. She no longer cared about Lezare’s presence. “What have you heard?”

The Duke glanced at Lezare, feigning confusion. “My sincerest apologies, Warden-Commander, but that is confidential information. Perhaps we may speak again at a later time, in more discerning company.” There was a flicker of offense in Lezare’s eyes, but the schadenfreude did nothing to soothe Eirwen’s frustration. 

Gaspard bowed to her, and Eirwen’s jaw stiffened. “I need to know, Gaspard,” she insisted, unmoving. “Or at least the Inquisitor does. Send her a missive. You aren’t doing us any favors by withholding information.”

“Again, I apologize. I will consider the missive, but I cannot give you any more information at this time.” He bowed to her, deeper than he did before. “Another time, Warden-Commander. It has been a pleasure.”

She clenched her fist, but let him go. For now, she would take the soldiers and find her men. She would deal with Gaspard, and Adamant, in due time.