#solas fanfiction

[vir-bellanaris]

Lavellan reclined on the lounge, the room dark save for the shifting lights of blueish white wisp spirits hovering in the air. She stroked gentle patterns against Solas’ skin as he lay with his head upon her thighs, her fingers tracing the sharp edge of his ears and down the contours of his neck.

“They’re so beautiful.” She murmured.

Solas nodded in agreement, his eyes never deviating from her upturned face, drinking in her expressions and little sounds of delighted awe.

“Is this what you looked like, before you gained a body?” Lavellan reached out, lifting her finger towards one of the delicate phantasms. Thin tendrils of gossamer light brushed and delicately intertwined with her seeking fingers.

“Of the same ilk. I was much larger, far more sentient than these wisps of intelligence.”

She lowered her gaze to his. The blueish glow illuminated her face, casting her features into sharp relief against the dim backdrop and the orbs of dancing light above her head. “I saw what you once looked like, I think. In one of your frescos.”

“I imagine you did.” He hesitated, reaching up to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear, his touch lingering. “May I ask your thoughts?”

“Beautiful. You were beautiful. Luminous.” She traced a fingertip across his cheeks, connecting the freckles that lay upon his fair skin in little constellations. “You still are.”

He sat up, enough to touch his nose to hers and give her an affectionate kiss.

She felt the curve of his smile as their lips brushed. She placed her hand against his abdomen, feeling the muscles shifting beneath his tunic. “I’m glad you decided to gain a body.”

Solas watched her, half amused, drinking in each graceful movement, the strands of her long hair cascading down her back and falling over a shoulder as she leant forward. “As am I.” Another light kiss. “Now more so than ever.”

She beamed at him. The radiance of her beauty dimming the waltzing lights above. Solas tucked a finger beneath her jaw, stroking her chin with his thumb. His eyes a dark amethyst as he regarded her, his thumb moved to caress the plump flesh of her bottom lip, watching as her mouth opened slightly in response.

He loved her.

How he loved her.

Every beat of her heart echoed within his own soul. His own spirit, once unbound from notions such as love and lust, now clothed in flesh.

He had never looked at her in such a way, not even in their stolen moments back in Skyhold. She saw his eyes drawn magnetically to her lips, the touch of his fingers causing her blood to quicken.

Drawn by the electricity between the two perhaps, a wisp alighted on Lavellan’s shoulder, tangling soft strands of essence in her hair. Solas released his hold on her chin, grinning as he chuckled quietly. “They seem to be drawn to you.”

“Maybe it’s the energies left over from the anchor.”

“Mm, I postulate more readily it is your aura that draws them.” Solas coaxed the wisp from her shoulder where it obediently drifted into the palm of his hand. He raised it back up and allowed it to float once more amongst its brethren. “Your own spirit is a rare and marvelous force, vhenan.”

“I seem to remember you saying something along those lines long ago.”

“Ah…yes.” Solas’ face fell slightly, the act of remembrance for him eternally bittersweet.

Lavellan slid her touch down his shoulders, taking his hands, speaking softly. “Do you remember our first kiss?”

His lips tilted upwards at the well-worn memory. “Every detail.”

She watched the movement of his lushly curved mouth, studying with loving awe the beauty of his features. “How you said it was ill-considered and impulsive?”

She moved in and pressed a kiss to the healing skin under each of his eyes. Kissed all the freckles scattered across his cheeks like stars.

“Yes.” Solas leaned into her, closing his eyes, inhaling her warm breath as it ghosted across him. He pushed aside the guilt still gnawing at him for what he had done to her, allowed it to be consumed and burned away by her persevering love. “I remember it all.” He caught her chin again, moving her so he could see her eyes. “The way you looked at me across the campfire, ‘lingering’ as Madame de Fer aptly described. The rise and fall of your chest becoming more pronounced whenever I would brush against your body in passing, or when healing your wounds.”

“Solas…”

But he continued. “The ache of wishing to forsake all my plans and just be with you. How much that inferno of desire frightened me.” Solas drew her closer, their noses almost touching. “The scent of your hair, the warmth of your skin, the curve of your body, it all threatened to undo me. Undo everything I had worked countless years towards.”

“Do you still think of us as ill-considered and impulsive?” Lavellan had to ask the question, even if she could see how deeply it affected him, the slight wince and tensing of his features.

Read More here

To Where Your Soul Travels, There Go I - Chapter 6 - MysticAwareness - Dragon Age: Inquisition [Archive of Our Own]

[acmelxvr]

Take A Seat, Inquisitor

Pairing: Female Lavellan x Solas

Summary: Solas finds the Inquisitor in desperate need of some relaxation in the Winter Palace. And, well, he can provide.

Genre/Tags: Explicit, Canon Compliant, POV Third Person, Spoilers for Dragon Age: Inquisition, Drunk Sex, No Penetration Though, Thigh Riding, Praise, Dirty Talk, Ear Licking, Edging, Orgasm Denial, Biting, Premature Ejaculation, Mentions of Oral Sex

Word Count: 3,900

Notes: This is my first Solas fic so be gentle pls...I also posted it on AO3, you can read it there by clicking this link if you want :3

“And that’s how I ended up hunting wyverns in the Frostbacks with only two pairs of breeches!” All the nobles and Inquisition personnel in the small circle laugh at the lord’s story, some more forced than others. The ball at the Winter Palace wanes into the early hours of the morning now with no end in sight. Although drinks and food are still being served, the massive crowd has thinned into small packs of chattering lords and ladies who would dare not make the faux pas of leaving too early.

“I think I’m going to explore the library.” Lavellan murmurs to Leliana, Josephine, and Cullen. The excuse is enough to dissuade the rest of the crowd from protesting the Inquisitor’s departure from the group, but her three advisors are unconvinced.

“Take me with you.” Cullen pleads through gritted teeth, smiling a bit too wide as he barely follows along to the conversation taking place. Josephine tuts at the Commander but simply nods at Lavellan. 

“Good idea. You might find some of the more intellectual attendees who would be interested in learning more about the Inquisition.” Josephine’s eyes twinkle at the possibilities, and the Inquisitor nods politely.

“Yes, I will most definitely be doing that.” She says flatly, causing Cullen to snort and this time earn a light kick from Leliana that could easily be passed as a stretch of the knee. As Lavellan begins to take her leave, the Spymaster grabs her arm and turns to speak over her shoulder to avoid any eavesdroppers.

“You did well tonight.” She starts. “You are a complete natural at The Game, despite the many forces working against you.” Lavellan smirks at the praise, knowing Leliana probably thought she would trip over her own two feet. “You’ve earned a respite, even just for a few hours before our work starts up again.” The last part she fully whispers, leaning in conspicuously. “For once, I will advise you to not listen to Josephine.” She smiles knowingly before dropping the Inquisitor’s arm. 

Lavellan chuckles. “You read my mind.” She takes small steps through the ballroom towards the vestibule, occasionally saying hello to people she passes. Her mind spins with the possibilities of her alliance with Empress Celene; what it means for the Inquisition, for the Dalish, for herself. The Inquisitor is still deep in thought when she looks up and realizes that her body seemed to auto-pilot her straight into the Grand Library. The guards that used to be stationed near the entrance have disappeared, gone hours ago once the threat against the Empress’s life was neutralized. She worries over this for a moment, before dropping her shoulders and taking a deep breath as she remembers Leliana’s words.

Her fingers trace over the many titles packed into the various shelves, some in languages Lavellan doesn’t even recognize. She smiles softly as she picks up a book by a professor in the Free Marches collecting Dalish songs and tales. She leans against a desk, facing away from the Grand Library entrance, while she flips through the pages and remembers a much simpler time. 

“I figured you’d be hiding in here.” The voice makes her jump, yelp, and drop the book at the same time. She quickly turns with her hand over her hidden dagger strapped to her thigh, only to sigh when Solas snorts with laughter. “The Inquisitor should not be so easily caught off guard.” He exclaims, the two flutes of champagne in each hand shaking as he chuckles to himself.

“Yes, well, forgive me if it pleases you.” She snips, then grimaces when Solas raises his eyebrows slightly at her short tone. “I’m sorry. I had finally escaped from all those people out there…I guess I got a bit caught up in what I was reading.” Her explanation is jumbled, but Solas places the two drinks on the desk before waving her off.

“Do not apologize. I’m certain you’ve had a much busier night than I. I can leave, if you wish.” He points towards one glass as an offering. Lavellan nods gratefully before grabbing the thin spine of the delicate piece and holding it close to her chest.

“Please, stay.” She says. “You’re good company.” Solas smiles and shakes his head as another laugh escapes him. He heads towards the shelf Lavellan previously occupied, now examining the tomes himself.  With his back towards Lavellan, she can’t help but take in Solas’ form. He towers over her a bit and his broad shoulders also help distinguish Solas from the Dalish elves she’s used to. Even in the alienages, Solas stands out as…bigger.

Lavellan coughs, a flush climbing her cheeks as her mind wanders to more depraved thoughts about Solas’ body. Solas was certainly free with his verbal affections, but they had only just started engaging in physical affections recently. Even then, they had only kissed. Lavellan didn’t mind waiting, of course, but it felt as though every time it developed into something more that Solas pulled away. 

Solas clears his throat, bringing the Inquisitor out of her thoughts as though he has eyes on the back of his head and can see how she’s examining him. Or maybe being a mage with a speciality in the Fade lets him read minds. Lavellan’s eyes widen as the drink begins to take hold. Can Solas read minds? She thinks, half seriously. “Inquisitor?” Solas asks.

“Yes!” He turns to fully face her as he holds a book in his hand. “Yes, sorry. Long night.” She mutters, taking another sip. She can feel Solas’s gaze on her as she redirects her vision to a different corner of the room. The shadows dance along the wall as the various candles around the room burn low. There’s a moment of silence, as though Solas is deciding to address the tension in the room. 

“I asked whether you enjoyed your time in the Winter Palace tonight.” Solas leans against the bookshelf, a sly smile gracing his face. “The way you managed to navigate the nobility, the ballroom floor, and an assassination attempt was particularly stunning.” He swirls his beverage in one hand as he flips through his chosen book. Solas’ choice of words cause Lavellan to finally bring her attention back to him. She scrutinizes him for a moment, furrowing her brow as her eyes rake over his stature from head to toe. Finally, she smiles too.

“Solas, are you drunk?” She asks. She giggles as Solas opens his mouth to give a quick retort, but closes it when he realizes he doesn’t have one. He shakes his head in slight embarrassment and drops his eyes as the Inquisitor continues to quietly laugh. “I guess I need to catch up.” Lavellan murmurs as Solas regains his footing in the conversation.

“I will admit to partaking in more drinking than I usually allow myself. All the power, intrigue, danger, sex…” He notices how Lavellan crosses her legs when he pauses. “Well, I suppose it’s nice to go unnoticed for an evening. To engage in behavior that is unbecoming of me.” Lavellan shakes her head, alleviating his fears that she thinks less of him now. “You haven’t answered my original question.” He states, placing his book back on the shelf.

“Enjoyed is not the word I would use.” She pauses, thinking deeply on her answer. “I’m glad I was able to play The Game well enough. It was almost satisfying being able to talk circles around humans.” Solas nods ruefully, staying silent. “But I was on edge the entire time. Constantly waiting for something to go wrong. And when the Grand Duchess was dragged away…” She trails off. 

“Power can be suffocating, sometimes.” Solas finishes Lavellan’s thought. They’ve both finished their drinks at this point, the flush on Lavellan’s face indicating that she’s just as tipsy as Solas is. “There are times when a decision needs to be made. Even the correct choice is never an easy one.” Solas’s expression turns serious, and Lavellan cocks her head.

“So you think I made the right choice? Going with Empress Celene?” She asks. The candles in the Library have dimmed even further as the moon creeps higher above Halamshiral. Solas tilts his head back against the fine wooden shelf, crossing his arms and looking down at the Inquisitor.

“Is my praise necessary for you to feel at ease?” His question makes Lavellan laugh, a true laugh that comes from her stomach. It’s infectious to Solas, a smile creeping onto his face replacing the scowl he had moments before. “Briala and Celene could never have ruled together, and Gaspard is a disaster when it comes to court. In the Fade I’ve seen whole nations crumble because someone would rather force a compromise than make a real decision.” He moves towards Lavellan, all social grace completely lost, and places a hand on her shoulder. “You made a real decision, ma vhenan. They are never easy.” 

Lavellan looks up at Solas, who is only now an arm’s length away. “Ma vhenan?” She restates, teasing Solas now. “That is an odd way to pronounce ‘Inquisitor’, Solas.” Her hand creeps up to rest on top of Solas, the space between the two elves shrinking as he moves to grip her waist.

He rests his forehead against Lavellan’s, rubbing her shoulder with his thumb adoringly. “You looked breathtaking tonight. You were magnificent, awe-inspiring. You’ll forgive me if I drop your title. I couldn’t bear to hide how I feel for you any longer.” He pulls back momentarily to kiss the top of her head, one hand moving to the small of her back. She leans into his touch, and for some minutes the pair is silent, their embrace only betrayed by the soft skitters of someone passing through the hallway.

The trance is broken as Lavellan gives a soft push to Solas. “I should head back now. There are people probably looking for me.” She groans and rolls her shoulders, her muscles tensing back as she recalls what it feels like to have a dozen pairs of eyes on you at all times. She turns to leave, but Solas captures her arm.

“You’ve played your part for the night, vhenan.” Solas pulls Lavellan flush against him, her backside against his groin. Solas forgets his inhibitions as he pulls her collar back to plant a kiss on her neck, making Lavellan gasp. Another kiss and a roll of Solas’s hips makes her groan louder, planting her hands on the desk. “Relax with me. Forget your duty, even for a moment.” Solas’ words cause a small pit of guilt to form in his heart, but it retreats when Lavellan moans again. 

“Josephine would personally see to our executions if we were caught having sex in the Winter Palace.” Lavellan’s skin is practically lit on fire with every single one of Solas’s touches, his fingertips dancing down her waist. “And I think the Orlesian nobility would die from heart attacks if they found two naked elves here.” She turns to face Solas, who stops momentarily to grin wildly, showing his sharp canines.

“I haven’t said anything about being naked.” Their faces are inches apart, both of them breathing heavily as arousal sits heavy in their stomachs. “There are many things one can do to relax without being naked, if their imagination allows it.” Solas whispers in Lavellan’s ear. He pulls away and guides Lavellan to a plush couch in a dark corner, far from any immediate entrance into the library. Solas lets go of her hand and sits on the couch, spreading his legs wide. He leans back on the couch, throwing one arm over the velveteen, and pats his thigh, beckoning Lavellan to sit.

To sit on him.

Lavellan swallows as she takes the sight in. She’s imagined, dreamed of sex with Solas dozens of times, but this was something entirely new. Something she hadn’t even begun to consider, but was still enticing nonetheless. “Is this something you want?” She asks him.

“Yes.” Solas answers so quickly that Lavellan is taken aback. “Nothing would bring me more pleasure right now than to give you pleasure.” He holds out a hand for Lavellan to grab, and tugs her on top of him. “It is selfish of me to admit, but I do not kiss you the way I do solely for your benefit.” He rolls his thigh up causing Lavellan to cover her mouth as she moans. “I do it because I also enjoy it. No, enjoy is too simple of a word.” He turns his head to think while Lavellan grips his shoulders with both hands. “I relish it. Feeling you against me, with only some layers of clothing to separate us…Fenedhis, ma vhenan. You’ve undone me. I haven’t been this overcome with desire in a long time…You make it difficult to control myself.” He plants his hands on her hips. “Let me guide you. Let me show you what I mean. We can reckon with our indulgences in the morning.” 

Solas’ words have Lavellan dripping. she nods, and plants herself fully onto Solas’ thigh, moving her hands to Solas’ neck and jaw. He starts pushing her back and forth against his leg, adjusting the pressure by examining the way her face contorts just so. She moves to cover her eyes but Solas stops her. “You are so beautiful right now, vhenan. Do not think about how you might look, but focus on how you feel.” She obliges Solas and slowly drops her fingers back to his jaw. Solas notices how his words make her quicken the pace, if for a moment. “Ah, so you do need my praise to feel at ease. Very well.” 

Solas keeps one hand on Lavellan’s hips, and moves one to the back of her head, entangling his fingers in her hair and pulling her down so he can whisper to her. She gasps as he presses up into her, causing her to roll her hips on her own. Although she can’t see it, she knows Solas is smiling with pride right now. “Just like that, perfect. You are a natural at this, vhenan.” His lips move against her ear as she forms a rhythm, her moans forming a perfect harmony with Solas as he groans from the pressure building in his own sex. The slight push and pull causes him to rub against the smooth fabric, making him knit his brow in concentration to ensure he somehow doesn’t cum before she does. He can’t remember the last time he did something like this with someone else; and while he’s relieved himself plenty of times since meeting the Inquisitor, he didn’t allow himself to think their relationship would get this far.

Lavellan whines loudly when Solas grinds up against her clit, the wet patch on his thigh exciting him more than before. He pulls Lavellan so that way they’re face to face, and kisses her like it’s the first time. She heaves against him, pressing her chest against his to get a better angle. Solas groans, louder this time as Lavellan’s knee presses up against his erection. Like everything else about Solas, it’s somehow bigger than she expected. “If you keep stopping, Inquisitor, you will inflate my ego. And getting you into this position has made me prideful enough already.”

 He kisses her again, sloppily this time, the alcohol ignoring any expectations of how their first time together would go. Solas presses his tongue against Lavellan’s, his eyes rolling back at the vibration of her moans. He finds her chest with one of his palms, kneading her and finding a nipple with ease. She yelps when he pinches and rolls, her thighs beginning to shake. Lavellan’s pace has quickened to a point where her thighs burn, the strain of muscle mixing with her pleasure. She begins to chant his name, panting and whining when Solas lets go of her nipples and moves his hands to her backside, massaging Lavellan and gripping her with a strength she didn’t know he had. “Do you know how many times I’ve finished thinking of this exact situation? How I’ve dreamed of having you completely?” Lavellan shakes her head. “Thirty four times I’ve spilled myself over my own hand thinking of how beautiful you’d look like this. For the first time in my life, my dreams cannot compare to the real thing.”

Lavellan gains confidence through Solas’s words and leans forward, almost coming in for a kiss but at the last second, she moves past Solas’s lips. Instead, she focuses on his ears; she licks a long strip from his jawline to the tip of his ears, noticing how Solas shivers and making him wonder how the hell she figured that out. She laughs while still moaning and gasping for more. “I knew you were sensitive here. Had to be, because I noticed how you pulled away the first time we kissed when I went to grab you,” She moves her thumb just underneath the other ear, making Solas jump in shock and pleasure. “Here.” She finishes, returning her mouth to latch onto Solas’s helix. She licks a circle around the apex of his damned ears, running her tongue up and down the ridge before returning to his lips. “Imagine what else my mouth can do.” Her breath mixes with his as both of them pant, although Solas does close his eyes momentarily to see the picture she’s painted. 

Solas bites his lip, almost drawing blood by how close he’s come to cumming over himself. Both of them are sweating now, Lavellan’s pristine hair stuck to her forehead. “Fenedhis–” She presses her knee against Solas’ cock again as she moves her clit down onto him, “–Fuck–”, he groans loudly as her pace quickens and she begins to babble quietly in his ear. If someone had walked in on them, Solas was too preoccupied to notice.

“I’m going to–I think I’m gonna–” Solas nods approvingly while Lavellan’s release reaches its peak. Solas closes his eyes, tears forming in the corners as he pleads with himself to hold off for just a bit longer. In a final move of complete desperation and arousal, Solas latches onto Lavellan’s neck.

And bites.

Lavellan yelps and it’s what finally sends her over the edge. She cums on Solas’s thigh, stuttering and gripping onto him while he licks at the marks his teeth had left. Both of them are moaning, although Lavellan has the sense to cover her mouth. When she finally comes down from her orgasm, Solas leans back to examine his work. Lavellan looks down and breathlessly laughs. “I made a bit of a mess.” Is all she says, and Solas lifts her momentarily to examine her handiwork.

Solas’s thigh is so soaked that Lavellan’s juices had even begun to pool next to Solas in those final moments. He smiles softly and pats Lavellan approvingly. “It is an easy enough task to warm my hands and dry my clothes, as I have done before. Do not worry.” Lavellan moves to get up off of Solas and onto her knees in front of him, but he stops her. “As much as the thought entices me, and believe me when I say it does, I’ve stolen enough of your time tonight.” She crinkles her brow in confusion, and gestures towards Solas’s groin where his erection is clearly visible, and pre-cum has even started leaking through his trousers. 

“Ah.” He says, and while he does entertain the thought longer than he should have, he still shakes his head. “This was for you, not for me. And besides,” He stands up and kisses Lavellan. “I can’t imagine there won’t be more opportunities for me to catch up.” Lavellan snorts, giving another kiss to Solas before smoothing down her attire and hair. 

“How do I look?” She asked sarcastically.

“Magnificent.” Solas responds, moving closer to brush her hair with his fingertips. He plants a gentle kiss on her forehead. She seems to be remembering something and laughs; Solas tilts his head in a silent question.

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard you curse like that. I didn’t think ‘fuck’ was even in your vocabulary.” Solas’s cheeks flush red and he coughs in surprise.

“Yes, well…” He stammers underneath Lavellan’s stare. “You bring out a part in me I thought I put away long ago.” Solas smiles lightly. “And that part is inclined to curse, occasionally, when underneath a fascinating woman such as yourself.” This time, Solas is the one to let go. He nods towards the Library entrance, and Lavellan sighs before squeezing his hand and stepping quietly into the hallway. He waits until he can no longer hear her footsteps before sitting down and throwing his head back against the couch. The late hour and sudden physical activity has him utterly spent.

The elf looks down, his cock practically bursting against his leg and begging to be taken care of. “I’m not that depraved.” He murmurs. Solas’s eyes close, and while he tries to think of more important matters, he can’t remove the image of Lavellan on top of him from his mind. The way she bounced on his lap, how her mouth felt against him, makes Solas bite his knuckles to hold back a moan. How she jittered when he marked her, claiming the Inquisitor all for himself as her neck bloomed with purple splotches from his sharp teeth and how quickly her release came from an action that felt as natural to Solas as blinking. Solas breathes in, then out through his nose, attempting to bring himself back to reality, but he can’t help but recall the offer she left on the table before Lavellan took her leave. Her lips would look so pretty wrapped around him, gagging and moaning as she would try to take him all the way, his tip hitting the back of her throat—

Solas jolts suddenly as his orgasm hits him like a slap against the face, the dark stain of cum now spreading down his thigh. Solas bites down hard on his palm, unable to fully hold his voice back as the smallest movement against his trousers prolongs his release even further. When the immense pleasure finally subsides, Solas opens one eye hesitantly to assess the damage. He groans into his hands, a conjured flame able to dry his clothes but not the Orlesian, and definitely expensive, couch.

It’s hours later when the morning sun rises over Halamshiral that the Inquisition takes their leave. Solas blearily rubs his eyes and yawns, although when he catches Lavellan’s smile he can’t help but reciprocate despite his weariness. The Iron Bull looks between the pair before laughing and slapping Solas on the shoulder. “Sleep well?” He asks simply, although Solas knows the Bull well enough to know that his questions are never simple.

“No, I had a long night.” Solas quips, eager to head back to Skyhold and be as far away from the Winter Palace as possible. The unspoken part being that he is more eager to finish what he started mere hours before.

“Yeah? Spend some time cleaning in the library?” The Iron Bull asks, looking at the way Solas and the Inquisitor blanche before guffawing loudly. As he walks away he shakes his head. “You guys are not fucking subtle.” 

[bg3daydream]

At the Winter Palace

Solas x Inquisitor Lavellan Fanfiction.

Summary: A short and fluffy one-shot about Solas' and Lavellan's night at the Winter Palace's ball. This is rated mature but not explicit. 2'3K words.

Stars shone over Haramshiral, but Inquisitor Lavellan was in no mood to appreciate them. She wasn’t sure what was worse, all the murders, threats, and conspiracy, or every decision again weighing on her shoulders, or all the mean gossip and cruel, passive-aggressive comments about her and her advisors and friends.

She’d gone to one of the more secluded balconies, trying to hide from it all for as long as possible. How the dancing, celebration, politicking, and gossiping continued after what had happened was beyond her understanding. Morrigan had followed her out, and it seemed now she’d be her advisor too. Lavellan still didn’t know what to make of her.

Lavellan leaned over the balcony's railing when Morrigan left, glad to have time alone, but someone else walked out to join her. This time it was Solas, though, and his presence was more than welcome.

“I’m not surprised to find you out here,” he said as he leaned over the railing next to her. “Thoughts?”

Too many… She didn’t even know where to start.

“We came here to prevent a murder. Instead, several murders happened and we, I, sanctioned one. That death is on me.”

“You can’t save everyone,” Solas said, matter of fact, Lavellan didn’t know how he could sound so unbothered. “And these people playing what they call The Game, they know what can happen to them.”

“Still…I’m not sure this was the right thing to do…” Lavellan let out a sigh and Solas placed a hand on the small of her back, comforting. “Everyone’s saying this is a victory for Orlais and for us, but it doesn’t feel like it, and we all know this is only a temporary victory.”

“You’re right, there’s much trouble ahead.” Solas nodded, caressing her back with his knuckles before pulling her a bit closer. “But for now, focus on what’s in front of you.”

Lavellan looked at him with a small smile, reaching to stroke the side of his face and cup his cheek with her palm. “You are in front of me,” she told him softly. 

Solas turned his head to kiss her palm, and Lavellan felt her heart swelling as she looked at him smiling at her. He was looking so carefree that night, way more at ease at the ball than she, as if he was actually enjoying it.

“I think you might be a bit drunk, my love,” Lavellan teased, caressing Solas' cheek again.

“I am not!” Solas huffed and Lavellan laughed.

“No? I remember you saying that the food and drink were excellent, and that the servants were happy to refill your glass. How many glasses did you have?” Lavellan kept her teasing.

“I didn’t count,” Solas answered and Lavellan snorted.

“Okay…but you’re not even a bit drunk.”

“Not at all.”

Solas leaned to her and Lavellan thought he was going to kiss her, but then he turned his face to look inside the palace and pulled back. Lavellan wondered if he’d noticed someone approaching, but before she could ask, Solas bowed to her and reached out his hand.

“Come, before the band stops playing, dance with me.”

It took Lavellan by surprise, and for a second she could only blink at Solas, but then she took his hand, her smile growing. Solas had sounded so excited and hopeful, as if he had really been wanting to dance with her, it made her feel twirling butterflies on her belly

“Id’ love to.”

Solas pulled her close, one hand holding hers, the other on her waist, and as they danced, Lavellan’s troubles and worries seemed to pause even if only for a moment. Soon, she found herself grinning, enjoying the moment between them, and her heart fluttered at the way Solas looked at her while they danced. It was the first time she enjoyed herself that evening, and perhaps the ball had been worth it just for that moment.

The band stopped but Solas didn’t, and Lavellan let Solas lead her without music, dancing for a bit longer. Eventually, she stopped, wrapping her arms around Solas’ shoulders, pulling him close and kissing him. Solas kissed her back, holding her to him so tight that Lavellan almost had to cling to him to keep her balance.

Lavellan pulled back from the kiss but kept her arms around Solas, while he still held her close. “I know I’m supposed to be in there, letting people see me and forging alliances but I want to stay here longer…stay with me? Unless you can wait to go back to all that court intrigue you seem to love so much…” She teased.

Solas chuckled, pecking her lips before answering. “I can sacrifice the pleasures of the Orlesian ball in order to keep the Inquisitor company,” he joked back.

He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close, and Lavellan snuggled to his chest as they turned to look at the night sky again. Solas nuzzled her hair, then kissed the side of her head before leaning to kiss her lips. It was sweet, making Lavellan feel like she was melting as she kissed him back, holding to him.

She didn’t know when it had happened, but she knew she loved him, and she counted herself lucky that he seemed to love her too.

They stayed like that for a while, snuggled together, enjoying each other's company. Lavellan wouldn’t mind staying like that for the whole night, away from the ball and cuddled to Solas’ side, until they could watch the sunrise and finally go back to Skyhold.

They were interrupted sooner than they would have liked, though.

“Inquisitor…I’m sorry but you’re needed.” At Josephine’s voice, Lavellan pulled away from Solas and turned around to face her. 

Solas kept his hand on her waist, taking her by surprise. She didn’t mind it and she was certain pretty much every one of her companions and advisors knew that there was something between them, but still, Solas had been somewhat private about their relationship, and he’d mentioned how talks about the Inquisitor and an apostate elven mage may hurt the reputation Josephine was trying to craft.

“Sure…what happened now?” Lavellan tried not to sound annoyed, it was not Josephine’s fault.

“Nothing happened, but there’s a noble who’d like to speak with you, and we could really use the support of his house,” Josephine explained.

“Alright.” Lavellan sighed but gave Josephine a tired smile, before looking at Solas. “I’ll see you later, once all this is finished, please?”

She thought either Solas or Josephine might think it a bad idea, that they'd comment about the talk and gossip if someone knew about Solas going to the Inquisitor’s room that night, but he only nodded and Josephine graciously didn’t comment.

“Let’s go, then…”

*

When finally Lavellan was free to go to her room, she was more than glad to find Solas already there. He’d changed from his ball uniform back to casual clothes, and he was sitting down on the desk, reading, but he smiled at her as she walked in.

“Vhenan.”

“Love.” Lavellan greeted as she headed straight to the bed, dropping down on it with a tired sigh. “Finally it’s over. I can’t wait to go home tomorrow.”

“That bad?”

Lavellan wasn’t sure when she’d started to think of Skyhold as home, but at that moment, it felt like it.

Lavellan sighed and undid the buttons of the neck of her uniform, tugging at it. “Not bad, just….I don’t know, too much.  Everyone wants to speak to me, and I don’t know what to tell them or if I’m doing it right, despite Josephine's training, I think I’ve messed up a few times, and then some don’t come to speak to me but I can see them speaking about me, not nicely.” She scoffed.

“Pay them no mind, vhenan, you’ve done well today.”

Solas went to sit next to where she was lying, taking her legs and placing them on his lap. He unfastened the straps of her high boots and then took them off her, caressing her calves in the process. He did the same with her long gloves, tugging them down her arms and placing a kiss on each of her hands as he did.

“Thanks…” Lavellan gave him a soft smile, and she felt butterflies in her belly at his caring, sweet touch. “I probably shouldn’t be lying on a bunch of small knives.”

She sat up and unfastened her belt, which held three tiny blades to her back. She didn’t want to get up, and so she just dropped it to the floor. Next, she undid the cloth that wrapped around her waist like a belt and over her shoulder, and Solas helped her unwrap it from her, discarding it on the bed. Lastly, Lavellan undid the buttons of her jacket and took it off, dropping it to the floor next to the belt.

Once she was only on her undershirt and leggings, Lavellan leaned closer to kiss Solas’ lips before pulling back and falling on the mattress again. She tugged at Solas so he’d lie down with her and so he did, resting his head on her chest. Lavellan wrapped her arms around him, stroking his head softly.

“I’ve had enough of this court and its intrigue, but you’ll have to tell me about the ones you saw in the Fade.”

It took Solas a couple of seconds to answer. “You’ll fall asleep, vhenan.”

She snorted. “Right now, maybe yes. But I like it when you tell me about things you’ve seen in the Fade.” She felt Solas place a kiss on the arm that she’d wrapped around him, making her smile. “I don’t know how it was in the Fade but I didn’t like this court. I hated that they introduced you as the Inquisitor’s elven servant, it was not my doing.” 

Lavellan had wanted to speak up when it happened, but she knew it wouldn’t have been well received and she didn’t want to stress Josephine more.

“I know, vhenan. It didn’t work as I hoped, though.”

“What do you mean?”

“Nobles act like servants are invisible, talk as if they’re not around. I’d thought perhaps I could hear them say something of interest that they’d not say around you or your advisors,” Solas explained. “But it seems they took care not to gossip around me.”

“That’s smart.” Lavellan hadn’t thought of it that way. “There was this woman, though, she was talking about you, calling you the Inquisitor’s pet mage.” She scoffed, angry again just thinking about it. “I could have punched her. I think Josephine saw it on my face because suddenly she dragged me away because apparently I needed to be somewhere else.”

Solas chuckled, he didn’t seem as upset as Lavellan by what had happened. “You don’t need to defend my honor, vhenan,” he joked.

Lavellan brushed her fingers down Solas’ cheek and to his chin, gently lifting his head from her chest to make him look at her. “I’m going to do it anyway.”

Solas gave her a small, half smile, moving over her to kiss her. Lavellan kissed him back, her arms still wrapped around him.

What started soft and sweet soon turned heated, the kiss deepening as Solas pressed his body against hers, and Lavellan opened her legs further to accommodate his hips between hers.

Lavellan slid her hands under Solas’ shirt, caressing his warm skin, and he moaned softly into the kiss. His hips pinned her and she could feel him already hardening against her. Liquid heat pooled in Lavellan’s belly and she pressed her thighs harder against his sides.

One of Solas’ hands rested at the side of her head, his fingers tangling on her hair, and he slid his other hand up her thigh, stopping at the side of her butt, squeezing. Lavellan gasped, moaning against his lips as she lifted her hips to press her heat against him.

Lavellan tried to pull him even closer, if that was possible, but Solas did the opposite, pulling back. He was breathing hard, his eyes closed tight before he opened them to look at her.

“Solas?” Lavellan called his name softly when he didn’t say anything, and she stroked his face, cupping his cheek. “Something wrong?”

Solas swallowed hard before answering. “You should rest, vhenan.”

“I’m not tired.” All the events of the ball had drained her and she felt more than done with it, but Solas’ kisses had awakened her in more than one way. “But…it’s okay if you want to stop.”

It was not the first time Solas stopped and pulled back after stealing her breath and all thoughts with his kisses and touches. She didn’t understand why, and it was not that Lavellan wanted to press him for sex, not at all, but she could feel he wanted her too, and she didn’t know why he always stopped. He never said anything and she wasn’t sure how to ask without seeming pushy.

“Want is not the word I’d use,” Solas murmured, pulling further away from her and sitting up. Lavellan reached for his hand, afraid he might actually leave.

“Then?” She asked but Solas said nothing. “You can tell me…” She whispered.

Solas looked away from her. His eyes were sad, she’d noticed it before sometimes, and she didn’t like it. She didn’t know what was the cause of that sadness in him, and she wouldn’t push him to tell her, no matter how much she wanted to know. She could just hope one day he’d tell her.

“You’re right, we should rest.” She told him softly.

Lavellan blew the candles at the bedside table, still holding Solas’ hand, and got comfortable on the pillows. She tugged at Solas’ hand gently so he’d lie down with her again. He seemed hesitant for a second, but soon he was curling up with her, his head pillowed on her chest.

Lavellan wrapped her arms around him, holding him to her, one of her hands caressing his head, and she placed a kiss on top of it.

“Goodnight, my love,” she whispered.

Solas didn’t say anything, but she felt him snuggling even closer to her.

*

NA:

I just need to write fluffy, sweet things for this two while hoping they'll have happines in Veilguard.

I debated for so long about writing smut in this, I kept going back and forth, but finally Solas decided for me somehow, I kept trying to write it and he'd stop it (I know he's fictional and I write it but...I can't explain the feeling), words wouldn't flow anymore...she here we are, I decided to end the fic like this.

I might write a smutty one (as Cassandra would say), because I keep having thoughts of Lavellan and Solas on his couch and his desk..., if anyone's interested, we'll see if Mr.Solas agrees to smut the next time.

Thanks for taking the time to read this. If you liked it, please let me know in a comment, and as always, reblogs are more than welcome.

I hope to write more Solavellan, if anyone would be interested in reading it, although writing Solas is incredibly intimidating. But if you have something you want to see writen, let me know.

Excuse my English, it’s not my first language.

[astarions-autistic-caprisun]

Guys, I just wrote a fanfic plot so good that my mom shed tears because she knows that I will 1) never use it or 2) use it but never finish. I enjoy this - mainly because my mom is my number one supporter but also my number one enemy. Harassing her with my ideas and feeding snippets is great because she is also my beta reader.

But, there was honestly nothing better than watching her go through the five stages of grief as she realized that I wrote a whole chapter worth of symbolism in a dark romance with Solas that she will never be able to finish because I got sidetracked by making Emmrich fall in love with a vampire OC from Skyrim.

She hates me as a writer but loves me as her daughter. And I love her as my mom, but I enjoy tormenting her as my reader. A good balance.

[scripts4dreamers]

Leave a light on pt. 6

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Seven, Part Eight

Whatever she had been imagining, the prison of regret was ten times worse. It had taken conspicuously little power for Solas to open a door into the pocket dimension that was the prison and so their journey from the lighthouse was quick and painless. After all, the prison was designed to keep people like them in, not out.

People like them.

Amala shivered. It was cold in the prison, and unsettling, and dreary. The atmosphere made her feel as though she were being watched, as though the eyes of history itself were bearing down on her, eager to pick her to pieces and cast its judgment.

She looked up at Solas, his hand clasped in hers, warm and firm and real. She saw his anguish. His eyes were darting around, his breath was shallow and her resolve hardened.

“It’s going to be okay,” she whispered, even though there was no one around, “we’ll get through this.”

He tore his gaze away from the hated place, his whole body relaxing when he was reminded that she was with him.

“I know we will, Vhenan,” he promised, looking back up, “The question is where to start.”

The prison was a twisting, ephemeral maze of crumbling platforms, corridors to nowhere and staircases that bent over on themselves in ways that shouldn’t have been physically possible. It looked designed to tear you down, to whittle away your stamina and hope, keeping you frustrated at all times. There was no clear start and no clear end, just endless grey. Her chest pinched. Still, trying to be brave, Amala pointed to a spot northwest of where they were standing.

“What about th-”

Before she could finish the sentence the world exploded in a flash of stark light. She felt herself be ripped forward with brutal force. It felt like space twisted and contracted around her, crushing the air from her lungs. Just when she thought she might pass out she was flung down onto the stones, where she lay in a crumpled heap, dizzy and heaving. Her head was ringing. There were spots of light flashing in her eyes and everything felt…fuzzy. She clenched her hand and felt nothing.

“Solas?” she mumbled, forcing herself slowly to her feet as her head throbbed, “Solas?”

She looked around. She was alone on a crumbling grey island.

“Solas!” She shouted, feeling her already very thin veil of composure fraying, “Solas, where are you?”

There was no reply. No sound at all, not even the echo of the wind served as a response. The panic was almost choking her now. She searched the landscape with her eyes for any hint of the familiar tall figure, but was met with endless fields of grey. Slowly, as she searched, the reality of her situation sunk in. She was in a prison built from regret, and she was alone.

“Fenhedis,” she shouted, her fists clenched with rage.

She kicked at a nearby chunk of gravel, feeling a sense of grim satisfaction when it shot into a pillar and shattered. Her head ached. She could feel bruises forming on her elbows and shoulder blades. She was sore and fed up and afraid and she was alone. She was never supposed to be alone, that wasn’t the plan.

“Since when do our plans ever actually go to plan, hey Mol?”

She spun around, a combination of shock and elation shooting through her like an arrow.

“Varric?” She called.

“Woah, no need to yell, I’m right here.”

Amala turned again, letting out a sound that was somewhere between a gasp and a sigh when she saw her old friend Varric Tethras standing before her. He looked just how she remembered him, his long hair loose around his shoulders, Bianca strapped to his back and a look of casual roguish charm on his face. The sight of him soothed something in her and suddenly, rather than being on the verge of a panic attack, Amala was almost calm. Varric was here. Everything was going to be alright.

“Varric,” she said with relief, “I thought-”

The words died in her throat and the momentary rush of calm was swallowed by pain. Something must have shown in her face because Varric raised his arms apologetically.

“Don’t shoot the messenger, Inquisitor. I didn’t ask for this either.”

“You’re dead,” she said, just to hear the words, “you’re not really here to help me because you’re dead. Solas killed you.”

“Accidentally,” Not Varric corrected, “but yeah. Sorry about that. I am here to help though. It’s why you brought me here.”

She shook her head, hating herself for the awful empty feeling that was opening in her chest. Hating the hot prick of tears in her eyes and the way her throat started to close like she was going to cry. Regret prisons. Never underestimate the cruelty of them.

“I didn’t bring you here. How can you help me?” she asked, surprising herself with how cold her voice sounded, “you’re gone. You’re not here.”

“But I was here for Rook,” he answered, “and most of the things you know about this place, you know from them. This may be a hell prison built by a tricky bastard, but it’s still the fade. It’s still going to warp itself in line with your expectations.”

Her shoulders loosened, the veneer of toughness cracking as a sliver of understanding wormed its way in.

“So, because on some level I expected you to be here…”

He spread his arms, pride sparkling in his warm eyes, “I’m here. See, I knew you’d get there.” He waved her over and started walking, “Now come on, we’ve got a lot of ground to cover, and I’m worried that if we leave that boyfriend of yours alone for too long he’ll go back to wanting to blow up the world.”

“Solas wouldn’t-”

“Mol, I’m a figment of your imagination and memories. If I’m saying it, at least some part of you is thinking it.”

“Or thinking you would be thinking it.” she pointed out.

“Now that’s the kind of thinking we need in a place like this.” He replied, shooting her a wink.

“We should say thinking more,” she teased.

Varric sighed, “Remind me why I’ve missed your dumb ass again?”

She shrugged, feeling comforted despite herself, “Beats me.”

He let out a low, familiar chuckle and the sound made her heart hurt so badly that Amala physically stopped walking and pressed her hand to her chest. Memories of long days trekking through the Western Approach flashed before her eyes, endless games of Wicked Grace, firm pats on the back whenever things became too much, and stories traded around makeshift campfires. Varric Tethras, the consummate storyteller and showman, weeping in a backroom where he thought no one could hear him when she came back from the fade and Hawke didn’t. She remembered how he’d never blamed her, how he’d quietly thanked Andraste for her safety even as his heart was breaking, how he’d kept up a brave face, only letting his true feelings show in the darkest, coldest hours of the night.

She would never get the chance to apologise, to thank him for his kindness, to tell him she liked his new novel, to just talk to him again. An eternity without Varric Tethras stretched out before her, a yawning, gaping maw she couldn’t hope to escape. Amala knew, better than most, that grief comes in waves and right then she felt like she was staring up at a tsunami waiting to bear down on her and crush her into dust.

“Not the time, kid,” Not Varric said gently, reaching up to give her shoulder a comforting squeeze, “you and I will have our chance to hash it out later.”

“Promise?” she asked with a rueful smile.

He didn’t respond. Luckily, or unluckily, she was extremely practiced at shoving her feelings aside to focus on the larger cause. As the pair navigated the endless, barren landscape together, Amala distracted herself by sifting through the memories of her life, wondering what she might be forced to face, which of her many scars would be sliced open again. It was pointless to wonder but, as the oppressive atmosphere started to weigh on her, and it started to feel like she was wading through a thick bog, she couldn’t stop herself. If Not Varric noticed her discomfort he made no indication of it and they continued on in companionable silence.

They walked together for an indeterminate amount of time before something changed. It started with a breeze. An icy breeze that cut to the bone. Amala noticed her breath coming out as steam and, as she stopped walking and looked around, she noticed that they were no longer alone. Instead, they stood at the base of a snowy hill. It looked like a giant anthill. Hints of wooden spikes poked through the snow here and there, there was the idea of a gate, a path with towering walls of snow on either side and everywhere else, statues. Hundreds of statues. Thousands of statues all facing them with blank, unseeing eyes. Most of the forms were humanoid but some were warped and twisted with large stone shards jutting out of misshapen bodies, gruesome and familiar in a way that made her hands fly immediately to the knives on her belt.

“Are those-” Not Varric asked.

“Red templars.” she agreed.

“And that makes this place-”

“Haven.”

As soon as the words had left her lips, she knew they were true. She could make out the shape of familiar buildings beneath the snow and the path, the one they were clearly supposed to walk through, was one she had walked a thousand times, going from the gate to the Chantry. Only there was no Chantry. Not anymore. They would have to walk the path with the statues bearing down on them like gargoyles to get wherever the prison was sending them. Being so exposed made her teeth itch. Slowly, as they walked, Amala gave in to her fear, unsheathing her daggers and settling into something like a combat crouch. She would do as the prison wanted, but she would also be prepared for anything.

“You buried us,” the templar statues spoke in grating, bellowing unison, “lost in the dark, in the cold. Our bodies burned from the lyrium, devouring us from the inside.” As Amala and Not Varric forged ahead the statues turned to face them with accusing eyes, “We knew not what we were doing. Following orders. One foot in front of the other. You buried us under the mountain. We were crushed. We were suffocated. We froze to death even as we clawed our way to the light.”

Amala closed her eyes, breathing deep to steady herself against the pang of guilt in her chest, “You were doomed the moment you started ingesting the red lyrium. It is Corypheus and your Commanders that are to blame for your deaths. They sent you here to destroy this town and kill the people under my protection.”

“You started the avalanche,” they replied, thousands of voices overlapping to form a cacophony echoing against the walls of compacted snow, “we died alone, in agony and afraid because of you.”

“We died for you,” new voices echoed, “We fought for you. We believed in you. You buried us just the same.”

They were nearly halfway up the path now and her chest was tightening with the horror of it all. The wind bit into her exposed skin. The metal of her knives grew colder and colder. They were Inquisition soldiers. Those that had been too injured to make it back to the Chantry, those who had been too low when the second avalanche was triggered. Cullen had never explicitly told her, but she knew they existed. She knew what she had done to them.

Another pang of sorrow, “I never wanted anyone to die for me,” she said, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I couldn’t save you all, but I had to make a choice. I had to do what I could to save Haven and then, when that failed, to save our people.”

“And you failed at that as well,” another familiar voice said.

She stopped dead in her tracks. There was a statue on the path before her, painfully lifelike, standing at attention, her stone eyes fixed on Amala.

“Flissa,” she said, her voice barely more than a whisper.

The beautiful, clever, friendly barkeeper. The one who had been so kind to Amala, who had always greeted her, always stood up for her, who had never let anyone call her a knife-ear. She had spent so many nights in Flissa’s tavern, traded stories with her, shared jokes over ice cold pints. There were others gathered behind her as well. Men, women and children who she had known in Haven, those who had been killed by the Templars or were too weak to survive the trip to Skyhold. Innocent people who had died all because Amala Lavellan brought war to their doorstep.

“I believed in you,” Flissa’s voice echoed, “even as the building was burning down around me, even as I heard the templars closing in. Do you know what my last words were?”

Amala instinctively took a step back, fighting the urge to cover her ears as the guilt rolled over her in waves.

“The Herald will save us,” she continued, “that’s what I said. I swore you would come for us and yet…”

“Flissa-”

“You just ran right past me. You left me to die, Herald.”

“I didn’t mean-”

“You’re a failure,” the voices called in ghostly, tormenting unison, “You failed us.”

Amala shook her head, her mind twisting and stumbling over itself as she tried to formulate any sort of coherent response.

“It was chaos,” she started, “there were too many-Haven had no defenses-” she looked up at the statues that surrounded her, taking note of their faces and burning them into her mind, “It was an impossible situation. I made the best choice-the only choice-I could in the moment.”

“Who gave you the right?”

“Somebody had to make the call or every single one of us would have died,” she insisted, feeling the slightest bit of strength flow back into her, remembering the faces of all the people she did save, all the lives that weren’t lost, “I am so sorry that I couldn’t save all of you. Flissa, I-” her voice cracked, “you needed a divine herald, and all you got was me. I’m sorry I wasn’t able to do more, but I won’t be held responsible for Corypheus’ mistakes. He brought war to Haven. He brought death. It is him who should pay the price.”

There was a moment’s silence.

“And he did,” Flissa said, “you put an end to his scheming, to his murderous plans. You avenged Haven.”

“We are free from our suffering,” A red templar agreed, “we can be used no longer.”

“Pass,” Flissa said, “and do not allow our sacrifice to be forgotten.”

The statues didn’t move, per say. One moment they were there and the next…Amala and Not Varric were alone atop a snow covered hill with not even a footprint to mark the statues’ departure. For her part, Amala felt like someone had reached into her chest and scooped her insides out. She was left with nothing but a hollow ache and the promise that more pain was to come.

Not Varric whistled, “Damn, that was some heavy stuff. You need a minute?”

She shook her head, hastily wiping away the few stray tears that had fallen and frozen on her cheeks, “Let’s just keep moving.”

He sighed, “Whatever you say, boss.”

[prettybadathis]

Somnairu

Solas's promise to Somnairu was that once the breech was closed and Corepheus was defeated, he would reveal the truth. However, upon the victory of the final battle, Solas instead disappeared, only visiting Somnairu in his dreams, rescuing him from the nightmares that chased him every night. With each dream, Somnairu became more and more determined to reunite with his love at any cost. Once they're together, at last, nothing in the entire world could stop them. That is, of course, unless the entire world around them is nothing but a fabrication of one's imagination, clinging onto what could have been, wishing this reality was the truth. Which is it, even? Surely it is real... It feels real, sounds real, smells real. Reality never felt like this before but, then again, before now he'd been apart from his lover. Perhaps this is the work of what love does to someone's psyche? But then, the pain- throbbing, torturing, terrible turmoil. It stung, singeing, scorching, stirring his consciousness.

"Sh, sh, sh... Hush, vhenan, just sleep..." A valley of greenery speckled with flowers washes over the scenery, greeting him with a golden sunset. A warm, familiar hand reaches him, offering a gentle, welcome embrace...

[moonlightheretic]

In search of a Reprieve

Grief was no stranger, rather it was a pestilence, one that kept finding him repeatedly. The ache never lessened; it showed no mercy as it took its shape. Pierced right through a once indomitable heart. Solas couldn’t remain here; sleep was not safe. He maneuvered himself to stand on cold stone. His knees threatened to buckle, and he took ahold of the cushion to steady himself. The illusion of peace was only an Eluvian away. A mirror that reflected two worlds, two outcomes, two tragedies. His feet led him where his heart dare not tread. He was a nocturnal nomad inflicted upon a shifting desiderium, and it would know him. They would know him. His silhouette shimmered as it was drowned in the swirling depths, and the faint scent of crystal grace greeted him. A baptism of humility, the lone elf shed himself of falsehoods and orphaned his machinations, there was no mask to cower behind, no lie to twist, no city to destroy. He shaped himself into a function of purpose, he cared, created, and grew. Solas released a breath and rotated his stiff shoulders, bare feet stood before a construction of Dawnstone. Assembled around the edifice were soil beds of Crystal Grace. He tended to them as a humble steward of the earth, gently prying the weeds and undergrowth, so that only the chosen buds grew. Crystal Grace had been her choice of flower. Among the many flowers that called Thedas home, the sharpest and the most vulnerable and difficult to reach was her preference. The petals were blades, paper thin crystals that could shatter with a single touch, or slit the finger of someone too clumsy, they symbolized parting and farewells. How fitting. The bud split apart as he cradled it. Dal’nim’s little leg shattering—with a sharp intake, Solas stood up, freeing himself of the shackles of his guilt. “I am sorry.” He whispered. The violet ledge caught his weight as he glowered at the small desk squatting on the other side of the small room. Stacks upon stacks, messily strewn about its surface displayed a familiar face, resigned to paper. A kaleidoscope of expression, punctuated by charcoaled memories, she wept, she laughed, she pouted, she smiled, and she was lost. Solas hung his head, eyes tracing over something beneath him, and his jaw set with determination as he made a pledge to another, “I will find her.

[elvyn]

Interesting how one sad worm almost turned the world upside down

[durgeapologist]

Let's Talk About Ir Abelas, Da'ean

As some of you may know, I am vehemently against the dishonest use of AI in fandom and creative spaces. It has been brought to my attention by many, many people (and something I myself have thought on many times) that there is a DreadRook fic that is super popular and confirmed to be written at least partially with AI. I have the texts to prove it was written (at least) with the help of the Grammarly Rewrite generative feature.

Before I go any further, let it be known I was friends with this author; their use of rewrite features is something they told me and have told many other people who they have shared their fic with. It is not however, at the time of posting this, tagged or mentioned on their fic on AO3, in any capacity. I did in fact reach out to the author before making this post. They made absolutely no attempt to agree to state the use of Rewrite AI on their fic, nor be honest or upfront (in my opinion) about the possibility of their fic being complete generative AI. They denied the use of generative AI as a whole, though they did confirm (once again) use of the rewrite feature on Grammarly.

That all said: I do not feel comfortable letting this lie; since I have been asked by many people to make this, this post is simply for awareness.

You can form your own opinion, if you wish to. In fact, I encourage you to do such.

Aside from the, once again, high volume word output of around 352K words in less than 3 months (author says they had 10 chapters pre-written over "about a month" before they began posting; they are also on record saying they can write 5K-10K daily) from November until now, I have also said if you are familiar with AI services or peruse AI sites like ChatGPT, C.AI, J.AI, or any others similar to these, AI writing is very easy to pick out.

After some intense digging, research, and what I believe to be full confirmation via AI detection software used by professional publishers, there is a large and staggering possibility that the fic is almost entirely AI generated, bar some excerpts and paragraphs, here and there. I will post links below of the highly-resourced detection software that a few paragraphs and an entire chapter from this fic were plugged into; you are more than welcome to do with this information what you please.

I implore you to use critical thinking skills, and understand that when this many pieces in a work come back with such a high percentage of AI detected, that there is something going on. (There was a plethora of other AI detection softwares used that also corroborate these findings; I only find it useful to attach the most reputable source.)

Excerpts:

82% Likely Written by AI, 4% Plagiarism Match

98% Likely Written by AI, 2% Plagiarism Match

100% Likely Written by AI, 4% Plagiarism Match

Some excerpts do in fact come back as 100% likely written by human; however, this does not mean that the author was not using the Grammarly Paraphrase/Rewrite feature for these excerpts.

The Grammarly Paraphrase/Rewrite feature does not typically clock as AI generative text, and alongside the example below, many excerpts from other fics were take and put through this feature, and then fed back into the AI detection software. Every single one came back looking like this, within 2% of results:

So, in my opinion, and many others, this goes beyond the use of the simple paraphrase/rewrite feature on Grammarly.

Entire Chapter (Most Recent):

67% Likely Written by AI

As well, just for some variety, another detection software that also clocked plagiarism in the text:

15% Plagiarism Match

To make it clear that I am not simply 'jealous' of this author or 'angry' at their work for simply being a popular work in the fandom, here are some excerpts from other fanfics in this fandom and in other fandoms that were ran through the same exact same detection software, all coming back as 100% human written. (If you would like to run my fic through this software or any others, you are more than welcome to. I do not want to run the risk of OP post manipulation, so I did not include my own.)

The Wolf's Mantle

100% Likely Human Written, 2% Plagiarism Match

A Memory Called Desire

99% Likely Human Written

Brand Loyalty

100% Likely Human Written

Heart of The Sun

98% Likely Human Written

Whether you choose to use AI in your own fandom works is entirely at your own discretion. However, it is important to be transparent about such usage.

AI has many negative impacts for creatives across many mediums, including writers, artists, and voice actors.

If you use AI, it should be tagged as such, so that people who do not want to engage in AI works can avoid engaging with it if they wish to.

ALL LINKS AND PICTURES COURTESY OF: @spiritroses

[sibylance]

We Need to Talk About AI Detectors

Over the past few weeks there have been two posts in particular that have come out against two authors in the community that have resulted in near witch hunts for one, and essentially driving the other off the internet from all the bullying and hate received. These posts were related to the potential use of AI in fanfiction, as well as using supposed “AI Detectors” to support their claims. With the help of friends, we have been able to look into the AI claims that were made against both The Silence and The Song and Ir Abelas, Da’ean.

We were curious about how and why these posts were being flagged with high levels of “AI Probability” when the authors have been adamant (either in chats or in public) that they have never used generative AI for their work. So we did the most logical thing, put on our detective caps, and rolled up our sleeves. We would like to note that we do not wish to have philosophical discussions, we wish to have transparency and honesty.

Spoilers: We found inaccuracies almost IMMEDIATELY.

Firstly, we looked into the weakness of AI detectors, and read through online posts where people voiced their frustrations with detectors. One thing that we noticed was that the common denominator was that well written articles were being flagged as “Likely AI”, particularly with Originality, and that the solution was to either “dumb them down” or to remove punctuation such as commas, which immediately improved the score, tipping the scale to “Likely Original”.

For the second step, we ran some of our own works through Originality AI checker–works that were made prior to the creation of AI and generative AI. However, after punctuation was removed, this magically changed from 50% likelihood of AI to 100% original work. Again, these works were from before the dawn of generative AI, and therefore could not have been created by AI. For fun, we even ran the first chapter of Harry Potter through it–a novel that is objectively without AI, which still did not come out with results stating 100% original work. We then removed almost all of the punctuation from it, and it actually improved the originality score by 3% (from 95% to 98%).

Personal fic, before and after:

Next step, we ran our own scans through Originality and Quillbot.This includes full chapters of Ir Abelas, Da’ean, both with and without punctuation in Originality, and excerpts in Quillbot. Interestingly, the excerpts in Quillbot pinged as “0% likely AI”, and that is without any removal of punctuation. Across the board, the removal of punctuation from the chapters caused an immediate and dramatic increase in the score, from “100% likely AI” to “96% likely Original”. We have found that the more grammatically correct a work was, the more likely it was to be flagged as “AI”, much like how the freelance writers were complaining about.

Chapter 1 of Ir Abelas, before and after:

Chapter 1 through Quillbot:

Chapter 45 of Ir Abelas, before and after:

Chapter 45 without commas or double hyphens:

Chapter 45 through Quillbot:

Even the Ai detection websites caution against this:

To Durgeapologist, Fangbanger3000, and friends: If you do actually read this, I hope you realize that your posts have done more harm than good to the community. You are correct that AI is a potential threat to creative spaces, but you have gone about addressing it in the worst possible way. By creating multiple posts across platforms with the intent of creating a negative perspective toward certain authors and their fictions rather than the use of AI as a whole—not to mention the counter-accusations with personal attacks rather than focusing on the issue at hand—you are creating an environment that fosters negativity, bullying, and division—none of which are directions to take a sustainable and healthy community. AI Detection is the Wild West right now. There is no way to determine if something written is AI through the use of algorithms, and it requires the use of human intervention and careful comparison to previous works to be within a certain level of certainty that it is AI. Our hope is that in the future, you will take time, step back, and consider all possible sides before causing a stir in the community like this.

[vir-bellanaris]

Uttering the battle cry of her people, Lavellan launched herself toward the sundering goliath of rock and fractured spirit.

Solas shouted a surprised curse, making a gesture and covering her body in a magical barrier right before she impacted.

He transformed into wolf-form and leapt into the fray, taking advantage of the opening Lavellan had created.

His jaws clenched around the semblance of a brittle neck, cracking it like dry grass under a boot.

Shards of lyrium shattered icelike from the massive creature’s form, pulsing veins of red oozed magma blood which ran in rivulets down its distorted and crumbling body.

The Dread Wolf paced between it and where Lavellan stood recovering.

She braced hands on knees, catching her breath.  Solas’ magic had protected her from the brunt of the blows, shielding her from the massive clublike hands.

It was a sentient construct of twisting shadow and pulsing blue lyrium, that much she knew.  Lavellan could also ascertain it was tied to the unrest of the Titans somehow and had sensed their presence enter the Fade, particularly that of Solas.

She gathered herself, walking to where the great wolf stood gazing at the smoldering heap.

She reached out tentatively at first, her fingers pushing through black smoking energy roiling off him.  

Her hand found his flank, the tough hide surprisingly sensitive as it twitched at the touch.  The Dread Wolf’s head turned from its vigil, three glowing blue eyes shone upon her, the milky pupils moving individually until they rested upon her face.  

The snarl twisting the canine mouth eased, the glint of his long fangs disappeared.

Lavellan stepped forward, running her hand up his body like a guide, her eyes never wavering from his.  

When she was inches from his snout she smiled, his presence filling her with a sense of comfort rather than that of mortal dread.  

She moved her mechanical hand up, reaching the palm of it towards the large wolven nose, the green flaring of the anchor sputtering once up her shoulder and neck.

Only when she hesitated, a hair’s breadth from the long nose, did his many eyes close and he pushed gently into her palm.

“Solas.” A low murmur left her, awe and love welling pools of emotion in her eyes.

Cyan light shimmered around his form which twisted and shrunk until it was his cheek that her palm cupped, his familiar smile her thumb traced.

A slow grin spread across Lavellan’s face. “Just like old times, huh?  With some added dramatics.”

Solas shook his head, fond but stern. “If by that you mean throwing yourself bodily at the enemy, then yes.”

“I’m efficient.”  Her smile didn’t fade.  She felt his fingers caressing gently along her chin and under her bottom lip.

“You’re reckless.”

“Same thing most of the time.”

“Vhenan.”

She mimicked his exasperated tone. “Solas.”

He kissed her, rubbing his nose against hers, allowing himself a moment to really taste her and feel her breath on his tongue.

When he pulled back, Lavellan felt slightly dazed. “Besides, I have you.”

He stared down at her, his lips twitching at the winded expression on her face. “You do have me.”  He conceded with a soft sigh.  “Better still, I have you.”

A faint glimmering caught Lavellan’s attention, her face turning as she squinted in the direction of the crumbled titanesque body.

Read the rest here

To Where Your Soul Travels, There Go I - Chapter 8 - MysticAwareness - Dragon Age: Inquisition [Archive of Our Own]

[lagunapoint]

pairing: Solas x F!Reader <3

A description: Solas is always tender and uninhibited under the blanket

Notes and tags: +18, soft and gentle sex before sleep, unprotected sex (or protected if you imagine it as magical protection or something like that :D), kisses, kissing, kissing, cuddles, elvish, pointy ears meow

word count: about 1k

Leaving one candle burning, its reflections scattering around your room, you tiredly undressed and slipped beneath the cool, thin blanket. The fatigue that had been building in your body throughout the day instantly enveloped you, and the softness and comfort of the bed surrounded you from head to toe. Lying with your eyes closed, you smelled the sweet scent of lavender from the bedding. Through the open balcony doors, you could hear tired voices from the Skyhold tavern and the occasional laughter of those resting by the fire. The birdsong had been replaced by the quick trills of crickets. The soothing night bustle lulled you, but even through the oncoming drowsiness, you heard his footsteps.

You pretended to be asleep, hiding your smile in the pillow when you heard him approach, heard him take off his clothes, leaving them on the couch. You yielded to temptation and opened your eyes to look at him. In the diffused candlelight, in the nighttime mist and the haze of the fading day, Solas looked magnificent. You studied his half-naked body with thirsty curiosity, and when he discarded his pants and turned to look at you, you quickly closed your eyes. This small mischief dispelled your drowsiness. It was replaced by a quickening heartbeat and an exhilarating anticipation of what was to come. You focused on listening, following his steps as he approached the bed, lifted the edge of the blanket, and lay down next to you. His arms enveloped you in a needy embrace. This embrace, homely, tender, and greedy, consumed you completely. Like a soft vine, he wound around your body and pulled you against his chest. 

"Are you asleep, vhenan?" 

He whispered softly, tickling the delicate skin of your ear with his breath. In response, you slowly stretched out in his arms, settling in more comfortably. You sensed the warmth of his body, breathed against his chest, and, with your fingertips, you began to stroke his back. You felt Solas’s hand move to the roots of your hair, and with a gentle motion, he loosened it, letting it fall onto the pillow behind you. One kiss. Light. Quick. You touched your lips to Solas’s bare chest and felt his hand move to your buttocks, slowly and unhurriedly stroking the tender skin. Did he sense the shiver of goosebumps beneath his hand as they rippled across your skin at his touch? 

He did not stop. Ignoring the thin fabric of the nightgown, his hand moved up to your lower back, where you arched pliantly, pressing your chest closer to him. Gentle warmth in light waves of arousal spread through your body from his proximity, and he always felt that, anticipating and predicting your next desires. Solas paused for just a moment, only to find your lips. Reaching for him, you touched his soft lips in a tender and sensual kiss, giving a blissful feeling of tranquility. 

He leaned in slightly, touching his nose to yours, and repeated the kiss, deepening it. He gripped your thigh with his fingers as he gently urged you to part your lips and touched your tongue with his own. Your body yielded, slowly rocking and pressing against his as the kiss became deeper and deeper. His kisses were always greedy, striving to obtain the forbidden at any cost. You liked how he took the initiative, playing with your tongue, pausing to look into your eyes, then continuing again. Each kiss constricted your throat in anticipation, stealing your breath. 

He breathed against your lips without touching them as his fingers traveled from your lower back along the curve of your waist to your chest, pushing the nightgown up high. His unrestrained desire resonated in your body, and lifting yourself slightly, you kissed him the way you had been dreaming of all day. Touching his neck and squeezing it lightly with your fingers, you deepened the kiss, allowing each unfulfilled longing to come true. He broke the kiss, gently touching your cheek with his lips, then your jawline, lowering himself to your neck, lightly sucking on the tender skin. Pulling the nightgown down, he kissed the protruding, aroused nipple through the thin fabric. Unchecked waves of arousal filled your mind and body each time he nibbled the excited skin with his teeth. With his free hand, he stroked your stomach, tenderly caressing lower, pressing gently as your body arched to meet his touch. He rose above you as you pulled him closer, no longer willing to follow the rules of his game. Solas lingered for a few moments, gazing into your face and at your moist, parted lips. You ran your hand over his face, his soft cheek, and touched his pointy ear with your fingers. 

A quiet, unrestrained word in Elvish escaped his lips with a deep exhale, its meaning lost amidst the overwhelming sensations that enveloped you. He kissed your lips unrestrainedly, and simultaneously with the kiss, he spread your legs apart and slipped his fingers inside. A quiet moan broke out against his lips, and it was met by new, abrupt sentences - quiet Elvish words he whispered into your ear in a low voice, allowing your hips to sway on his fingers. 

Each of his words hypnotized you. Your fingers slid along his neck, the back of his head, and down to his shoulder blades every time he broke off and covered the tender skin on your neck and collarbone with kisses. You lay more comfortably when Solas rose above you, settled between your spread legs, and slowly entered to you. Swaying together in ecstasy, every cell of the body seemed to turn into liquid electricity. Desires, insistent and unrestrained, sped up the movements that merged the bodies into a single whole, until the point of ecstasy completely swallowed every thought. A whirlwind of arousal spread in pulsating warmth, and Solas blissfully buried his nose in your neck, breathing hotly. 

The long and strong embrace lasted an eternity. You felt how his breathing calmed, how his body pressed more firmly against you. His slightly husky and dear ar lath ma, vhenan scattered into stars within your thoughts. Settling on his shoulder, you caught yourself thinking, just before sleep claimed you, that tonight, more than anything, you wanted to join him in the Fade. With these thoughts, in a blissful doze, you finally let sleep take you, remaining in his cozy and protective embrace, where the world beyond the room lost all significance.

[bg3daydream]

Together (Post-DATV Solavellan fanfiction)

Solas x Female Inquisitor Lavellan Fanfiction.

Summary: Lavellan takes care of Solas once they leave, finally together, after the last battle. Hurt/Comfort and Fluff. 2300 words. Please be mindful of Spoilers if you haven't finished the game.

Lavellan looked around once more, equal parts mesmerized and confused. She didn’t know what she’d expected when Solas took them into the Fade, or where she had thought they were going.

Considering how both Solas’ and Rook’s prisons of regrets seemed to have been, and her own unwilling ventures into the Fade, she’d braced herself for the outcome, and sure, she’d caught brief glimpses of darkness and ruin, but that was nothing like the room she was now in.

It was odd, it shouldn’t make sense, a room like that shouldn’t exist, but there it was, somehow making sense, a room that seemed to combine the places her heart had once called home. Her aravel, back when she lived and traveled with her clan, her room at Skyhold and Solas’ rotunda.

Those shouldn’t go together, they should clash, not combine, the construction made no sense, and if Lavellan stared at it too hard, it’d begin looking too odd, but she wasn’t going to. She supposed it was a thing of the Fade, how it took things from you, changing from people to people, and combined it in strange ways, much like dreams did.

She’d have followed Solas almost everywhere, but she wouldn’t lie to herself saying that she hadn’t been worried about what that somewhere might be. She might not have as heavy of a weight of regrets over her shoulders as Solas did, but she knew too well her own mistakes, and she was relieved she didn’t have to dwell on them.

She’d been confident, or at least had tried to be, that, no matter where they went, it wouldn't be that horrible if Solas and she were together. It seemed that, thankfully, she’d been right, and the Fade’d decided to be kinder.

Lavellan tore her attention away from the impossible, changing room, and focused on the beaten man with her.

Solas had seemed taken aback by their location too, looking at the room in wonder, but he was now looking at the ground, seeming defeated and almost cowering on himself, and he hadn’t said a single word. Lavellan was used to her tall, proud, confident Solas, and seeing him like that killed her.

Still, she tried to put on her best face as she approached him. She’d do everything she could to make him feel better.

“So…it seems we’re home.” She reached to take his hands and Solas let her but he still wouldn’t look at her.

Solas shook his head almost imperceptibly at her words. “I shouldn’t have dragged you here.” 

As many times before, his words seemed at odds with his actions, saying that while he held to her hand almost desperately, like he was afraid she might just disappear and leave him there, alone.

“Here looks pretty homey,” Lavellan tried to sound nonchalant, as if she wasn’t in the Fade, somewhere, just a bad step away from perhaps falling into a nightmarish Fade-pit of regret, still unsure if she could leave the Fade at will or not, or how everything worked.

Solas shook his head again. “You know what I mean.”

She did, he too wondered if he’d trapped her in a Fade-shaped prison, but she was not going to let him rethink his actions of taking her with him and add a new regret. Besides, she’d gone willingly, she was the one who had followed.

“You didn’t drag me, I wanted to go with you,” she assured him, “and we’re going to be okay.”

Solas looked at her with sad, liquid eyes, and Lavellan’s heart squeezed painfully. She tugged him closer so she could hold him and Solas folded into her, leaning his forehead against hers, and she could almost feel the weight of his sorrow.

“Thank you.” Solas’ voice was a choked whisper and Lavellan held him to her in silence, caressing the back of his head.

She’d have stayed like that for as long as Solas wished, and she herself wanted nothing more than to bask in his embrace now that they were together, but he was hurt and exhausted, and if he wasn’t going to tend to himself properly, then she would.  When she tried to move, though, Solas held to her tighter as if afraid of letting her go.

Lavellan pulled back so she could look at his face and give him a soft smile, reaching to caress his cheek with her knuckles, mindful of his bruises, and Solas leaned into her touch.

“I’m no expert, but I think one should rinse archdemon’s blood from their mouth.” She tried to sound lighthearted, even though she was worried Solas might get sick, but she tried not to think it much.

Solas nodded, and he finally let go of her to approach a stone sink that was in the corner of the big room, and that Lavellan thought wasn’t there before but she tried not to question it. She’d heard Rook and her team talking about their base, the Lighthouse, their rooms there, that kept appearing out of nowhere, how there was a kitchen with a dinning-hall, how it seemed to have been Solas’ home at some point, and they also seemed to think he’d made it.

Lavellan wanted to ask him about it, and she wanted to know how the Fade worked and the making of things in it, but that could wait until he’d rested and healed, and processed everything that had happened.

No sooner had Solas rinsed the archdemon’s blood, Lavellan was already pulling him closer to kiss him properly. His arms wrapped around her instantly, almost as if by instinct, as he kissed her back deeply, holding her like he was melting into her, and Lavellan could cry, she’d missed this…

Solas’d always made her forget about everything around them when they kissed, but a small, painted groan against her lips when she held him a bit too tight, reminded her that he was still hurt.

Lavellan pulled back and gently unwrapped his arms from around her but held to his hands. “You’re still bleeding, vhenan,” she told him softly. “Let me help.”

She walked him to the bed in the middle of the room, which looked comfier than Lavellan had expected from the Fade, and that reminded her of her Skyhold bed but with a dalish quilt. She pushed Solas gently so he’d sit down on it.

“See,” she began softly, trying to give him a reassuring smile. “Homey.”

Solas gave her a small smile, but his eyes were still pools of sadness. “Because of you. It’s only like this because of you.”

Lavellan wasn’t sure if he was right or not, and to what extent, but she’d decided not to question whatever good things the Fade decided to provide for them. Without a word, she leaned to kiss his forehead before she pulled back and headed to the stone sink.

There was a basin on the wooden cabinet next to the sink, along with a small towel and a clean cloth, and Lavellan tried again not to question how or why, if those things were there before or if the Fade had conjured them itself because she’d wanted them…and she was far too tired to wonder about maybe having conjured them herself.

She filled the basin with water and brought it to the bed, along with the towel and cloth, and left it all on the mattress, next to Solas, careful not to spill any of the water. 

Lavellan dipped the cloth into the basin, wrung the excess water, and began to carefully wash the blood and dirt from Solas’ face and head, mindful of his cuts, open wounds, and bruises. 

Solas let her do it in silence, allowing her to tilt and move his head as she pleased while she cleaned him. His eyes were closed, and a small sigh escaped his lips as he leaned into her touch, as if he were enjoying it. It warmed her heart.

Once his head was clean enough, Lavellan changed the towel from the cloth, and she carefully dabbed and cleaned the cuts over his face and head. She hated to hurt him and she flinched whenever she made him hiss in pain, but she knew it had to be done, and she soothed him with quiet, soft words.

The cut that ran from his forehead to his cheek, across his eye, was the worst, but at least it didn’t seem to have damaged the eye. Lavellan was inspecting it, caressing the bruised skin next to it softly, when she noticed Solas' eyes wetting with unshed tears She pulled her hand away, afraid she was hurting him.

“Did I hurt you?”

Solas shook his head, reaching to wrap his arms around her, pulling her close until he could bury his face under her chest. Lavellan noted his shoulders shaking as if he were crying, and she wrapped an arm around him, holding him tight to her, while her hand reached to caress his head.

“Vhenan…” She whispered, trying to comfort him, but she supposed that, after everything that had happened, crying was not a bad thing and a welcomed release. It still hurt her to see Solas like that.

“I am sorry.” Solas' sob was muffled against her shirt.

Lavellan knew he was, but she also knew that, even if it might be enough for her, it wouldn’t be so for everyone. She also knew he shouldn’t be the only one to be sorry. She was sure Solas’d fix what he’d wronged, he was set on it, starting now with the blight and the Titans driven mad, and she was sure too that she’d be there by his side to help him.

“You’ll make it better,” she tried to reassure him. “And I’ll help you, if you let me.”

“Thank you.” His voice was almost inaudible, muffled as he held her tighter to him.

Lavellan said nothing else and Solas held to her for a moment longer, but eventually he pulled back so he could look at her, but keeping his arms around her. 

His eyes were wet but he was smiling softly at her, the sight making Lavellan realize she’d do pretty much anything to see him smile like that everyday, and he was looking at her in that way that’d always made her heart flutter, like she was precious to him.

Solas leaned up to kiss her lips and Lavellan kissed him back, moving even closer to him, but when she placed a hand on his side, pulling him to her, he grunted again.

Lavellan pulled back. She’d seen him strangled, choked, and thrown around by the vines and the archdemon as the Dread Wolf, enough to make her fear she’d found him just to lose him again, this time forever. He must be hurt and she wanted to check how bad.

She began to unbuckle the straps of his armor and Solas let her, helping her with the stubborn ones that, until she could remove his armor, leaving him in his undershirt, and she lifted that too so she could check for injuries.

There was a big bruise on his side along with some smaller bruising and more cuts across his body, but all in all, it wasn’t as bad as it could have been after such a fight, even though the big bruise worried her.

“Vhenan, I am okay,” Solas told her as her concerned eyes roamed over his injuries.

“If you said so…” Lavellan sighed. There wasn’t much she could do anyway. 

She wondered if she could make the Fade be kind enough to provide them with a bathtub and hot water, somehow, so she could just get Solas inside until his wounds and cuts were cleaned properly and his muscles had relaxed. 

That could wait, though, right then, Solas looked exhausted and he needed to rest, but when she told him so, he shook his head, pulling away.

“The blight, I-”

Lavellan stopped whatever he was going to say with a finger to his lips. Solas blinked at her at that, the corner of his mouth tugging up into a small smirk, and he moved his head to kiss her hand.

“We'll work on that but not now. You said you linked the veil strength to your own and right now it’s looking like a light breeze coming from that window could knock you both out,” she told him, and Solas let out a weak snort but gave her a nod. “I’m tired too so let’s get some sleep.”

Solas nodded again, and he reached to untie the cloth wrapped around her waist as a belt, taking it off her. Then, he helped her remove the rest of her clothes until she was wearing only her undershirt.

Lavellan lied down on the bed, getting comfortable on the pillow and reaching out a hand for Solas as he beckoned him close. Solas took her hand but didn’t move close. Instead, he just looked at her in that way again, like she was precious, while a soft smile illuminated his face, and Lavellan felt as if her heart were squeezing and also growing in size at the same time.

It didn’t matter what someone else might think, she knew Solas loved her, and she loved him too, deeply, fiercely, as she’d always done.

Solas moved to hover over her, leaning down to kiss her lips again, before lying down with her, his head pillowed on her chest. Lavellan reached to pull the quilt over them and then she wrapped her arm protectively around him, holding him to her with a content sigh, while Solas snuggled even closer.

Lavellan knew there was much to do, much to research, fix, and fight, and there was much Solas and her had to talk about, but all that could wait, even for a moment. For now, all she wanted to was to lie there, Solas in her arms, basking in the feeling. The world could wait just a little bit longer.

*

I needed to give them fluff.

If you liked it, please let me know in a comment, and as always, reblogs are more than welcome.

I also have some other Solavellan fics linked in my tumblr if you want to check them, Inquisition based.

Excuse my English, it’s not my first language.

[astarions-autistic-caprisun]

A random blurb brought to you by Hozier's Work Song and Solas.

At her declaration, Solas' grip on her tightened, and he drew her even closer, his body nearly trembling with the intensity of his emotions. He lowered his head, their foreheads touching as his eyes closed tightly to hide the brewing storm within him. Did she even know how much her very existence impacted his life? Oh, how he would wail and snarl upon her fall.

"Never speak of such things,” he whispered hoarsely. The very thought of her being away from him hurt his heart. She was his. His. Not even the earth was allowed to touch such a celestial being. "The mere thought of losing you, of you being entombed in the cold, dark earth, away from my grasp, is enough to drive me to the brink of madness."

He took a shuddering breath, his fingers pressing into the small of her back, gripping at the laces that kept her corset tight against her form. He longed to tear her apart and rebuild her anew with his unfiltered devotion. He may be a God, but with her, he was only a man. "You are mine, always. I will never let you go."

[scripts4dreamers]

Leave a light on pt. 7

AN: So, this is where we start to get a bit more specific Amala Lavellan lore. It's kind of impossible to avoid with something like a regret prison arc.

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six, Part Eight

Amala raised her hand, gesturing to somewhere to the northwest. She started to speak and the world imploded. Solas felt the fabric of the prison warp. Instinctively, he moved to pull her behind him, to shield her body with his own, but the prison was too fast. His vision went bright white and he felt her get pulled from his grasp. There was panic, disorientation and the familiar feeling of being powerless that he’d always despised, but it wasn’t until the world started to come back into focus and Solas saw His Heart alone, yelling his name and looking around frantically that the full horror of the situation registered.

“Amala!” he shouted back, “Amala, I’m here!”

But she didn’t react. There was only a chasm separating them, by all accounts she should have been able to hear him calling. He could tell from the frustration on her face that she couldn’t. He watched her turn, squinting as she searched for him somewhere in the distance and came up empty. Her eyes slid right over him like he wasn’t there. He was forced to watch her go from confused, to frustrated, to afraid and then to hopeless, all with no way to intervene. He wanted to scream, but that would be letting the prison win.

“Is this the new game” he asked it instead with audible frustration, “Making me watch her call out for me? What must I say then? How do I apologize for this slight?”

He felt foolish talking to the construct as though it were a sentient being but, after months of having been trapped here, of experiencing its endless capacity for creative cruelty, he felt justified in this act of foolishness. Amala was talking to someone now, her voice distorted by the wind as she started to walk away, deeper and deeper into the prison, one hand on the hilt of her blade.

He watched her go. She wasn’t walking away from him, intellectually, he knew that. Intellectually, he knew that she was more than likely going to search for him but, emotionally, every step she took felt like a rock in the pit of his stomach.

It was too much like Crestwood. Too much like every bad dream he had had of her in the last ten years. He flexed his hands and took a deep breath, feeling the urge to take on his wolf form. Things always seemed simpler when one was a giant wolf.

“So, I take it that’s the girl.” The voice he knew was coming asked, adding another heavy rock to the ones in the pit of Solas’ stomach.

Felassan looked as he always did in Solas’ memories, clean, well fed and restless for their next adventure. His violet eyes glittered with mischief, promising endless fond teasing that Solas ached for, but never deserved.

“You know very well who she is,” he answered, “You are me, and thus know everything that I know.”

Felassan blew a loud raspberry, “Which means I know you’re not always this dull. Come now, Solas, humor your old friend.”

He sighed, running a hand over his face as his insides twisted with a combination of dread and longing.

“Yes,” he eventually said, “that is Amala.”

“She came here with you.”

“She did.”

“You let her come here with you,” Felassan pointed out with a meaningful look.

Solas shifted uncomfortably, “She is an adult woman, free to make her own choices.”

“Still,” Felassan, “that never stopped you from making choices for her before.”

His face twisted, “It was never my intention.”

Felassan sighed, “Never is with you. Well, come on then. Might as well get this started.” He gestured forward, waiting for Solas to take the lead.

Without Amala by his side, her own regrets mingling with his and forcing the prison to change, it had resettled into the pattern he was familiar with, the pathways that had been his entire world for months. Some he had walked, some he had even succeeded in conquering, but most remained unexplored. Felassan would accompany him, as he always had. He would walk the paths, like he had a thousand times before. The weight would crush him, like it always did. In a way, it was as though nothing had changed, and the hopelessness threatened to swallow him whole. Just as he had designed.

He looked across the chasm to the new section of the prison, where he could just about make out Amala standing at the base of a village-sized hill. He remembered the warmth of her hand in his, her pleading eyes holding his as the world fell apart around them, the faith she still somehow had in him, even after all these years. He felt his resolve harden.

It had to be different this time. He had to be different. He fell in step beside Felassan, who let out a surprised, but encouraging whoop.

“That’s the spirit! Where should we start?” Felassan asked.

Solas thought for a moment, “Let’s find Valina and work from there.”

—

Amala had more regrets than she had anticipated. After Haven there was Adamant, after Adamant there were all the Dalish clans she left behind. At every turn Amala was stripped raw, cut to the bone and forced to find a way to confront the realities of the life she had lived. Each encounter bounced around in her head like an angry wasp, but she knew it could only get worse. Up until now she had only been faced with group failures. Haven and Adamant were traumatic events that had had so many moving parts that she could only ever grasp pieces of them at any one time. It didn’t absolve her, of course, but it softened the blow. There were always other people who had been there with her, who had made the choices alongside her or supported the ones she made. The Dalish were suffering from systemic prejudice that dated back centuries. She owed it to them to fight for their freedom, and she had, but even the prison of regret had to acknowledge that she was only one woman.

She had other regrets, more personal ones, ones that she knew would cut harder. The longer she and Not Varric walked, making aimless small talk and trading old banter, the more afraid she became. That was part of the prison’s power, she realised. The anticipation of being faced with your deepest shames was almost as bad as actually being faced with them.

She had become so wrapped up in her growing paranoia that, at first, she didn’t notice when the stone turned to grass and color gradually soaked back into the world. It wasn’t until a strong wind blew, buffeting her hair into her face in the previously windless space, that she actually took stock of her surroundings. Not Varric let out a long, appreciative whistle.

“Oh shit,” Not Varric said under his breath, “what is this place?”

“Home,” she replied breathlessly, her eyes filling with tears again.

The aravels of clan Lavellan stood tall and proud beneath the ancient trees, surrounding the clearing and creating a safe space for the children to play. She could see familiar faces going about their daily lives, free of tension, free of fear. The colors were still somewhat muted, but she knew this clearing. She had camped here countless times before. She knew it was a trick but still, for just a moment she didn’t care. For just a moment she let herself believe that she had escaped and had somehow found her way home.

It was a pair of familiar eyes that broke the spell. With a pang of dread, Amala turned and found herself faced with-

“Rook,” she said simply.

The person in front of them was not the tall, strong, confident savior of the world she had left behind. No, this was the nine year old child who had been stolen. This was the ward of clan Lavellan who, along with ten others, had been captured by slavers in the Free Marches and taken to Tevinter to be sold. This was the child she had helped the Shadow Dragons rescue. The child she had left in Tevinter instead of bringing home to the clan.

They smiled, “That’s not my name yet.”

“Siyhu,” she corrected, instinctively dropping to one knee so she could be at their eye level, “Look how big you’ve gotten.”

“It’s nice here,” they said, looking around.

“It is,” she agreed, “are you having fun?”

Siyhu tilted their head to the side, confused, “No? This isn’t real, Amala. I never came here.”

She looked down, swallowing hard past the lump in her throat, “I know that, da’len.”

“You left me in Tevinter,” they said simply, “after you helped rescue me. You were meant to bring me home, but you just left me in Minrathous instead. I became a Shadow Dragon because of you. Varric only heard about me because of you. He recruited me on your recommendation. Everything that happened to me, everything I went through only happened because of you.”

Even bracing for it, the shame that washed over Amala was powerful. She took a deep breath, flinching at every word.

“You wanted to stay in Minrathous,” she attempted.

“I was nine!” Siyhu’s voice shifted from child to adult, echoing across the suddenly empty clearing, “It was your job to bring me home and instead you left me with Ashur and Tarquin.”

Their form rippled and changed. Their body lengthened, gaining height and muscle, their features shifting rapidly to adulthood with a speed that was almost nauseating. Suddenly they were fully grown, sweaty and bloody from battle, looking down at where she was still crouched with a look of deep hurt on their face.

“I watched my friends die,” they said, their voice breaking with emotion, “I saw the world brought low by blight. My city-my city- was destroyed by a blighted dragon and those Venatori lunatics and there was nothing I could do about it. None of that would have happened if you had just done your damn job and brought me home.”

“I know,” she said softly, not able to meet their gaze as tears started to slip down her cheeks.

“And then, to make matters worse,” Rook continued, “your psycho trickster boyfriend kills Varric and uses me to claw his way out of this fucking place.” they gestured around at the rapidly darkening landscape, “I was gone for weeks, Amala. My friends thought I was dead. I’ll have nightmares about this for the rest of my life and every single second of it was entirely your fault.”

She was on the verge of sobbing now, “Rook-”

“And then you left with him!” they continued, with an incredulous laugh, “After everything he did to me! After everything he did to the world you kissed him and told him you forgave him. How could you? How could you leave me alone in Minrathous again?” She flinched. Rook crouched down to get on her level, “You’re a failure, Amala Lavellan.” They said softly, “You failed me. You never cared about me. You’ve never cared about anyone but yourself.”

“It’s not them, Mol,” Not Varric said from somewhere far away. She heard him, but she kept her attention on Rook.

“That’s not true,” she told them, feeling the first flicker of defiant anger, “I checked in on you every year. I kept in constant contact with the Dragons to make sure you were safe and every time I saw you I asked you, again, if you wanted to come back with me. It was stupid for me to let a nine year old make a choice that big for themselves, I acknowledge that, and I’m sorry if that caused you pain, but I always cared about you. Always.” she forced herself to her feet, wiping the tears from her cheeks, “You are not my Siyhu. My Siyhu encouraged me to forgive Solas. They went out of their way to see the best in him. They did everything in their power to give him another chance to make the right choice and, wherever they are, they would be proud of me. They are proud of me, and I’m proud of them!”

Flashes of memory cut through the grey.

Ice cream on the docks of Minrathous with a thirteen year-old Siyhu, listening intently as they told her about the people they were helping and the magic they were learning.

Years later watching their eyes drift to their companion in the Cobbled Swan with quiet pinning adoration.

Their loud, booming voice, softened by too many glasses of wine, saying, “Shit, Mol. If you love him that much, and he makes you that fucking happy, you should be with him. Who cares if he’s a little bit evil? You can fuck that nasty little genocidal impulse right out of him, I’m sure of it.”

Their arms around her for one last hug as the light of the Veil paints a blighted Minrathous in shades of green and blue.

“Be happy, Rook,” Amala whispered, “promise me.”

“I will if you will,” they replied.

“I am so proud of the person you’ve become.”

They flushed, squeezing her tighter, “What can I say, I had a great role model.”

The world flooded with harsh bright light again and, when it faded, Rook was gone. She was standing on a giant stone chess board, broken pieces scattered all around a lifeless grey landscape. It was a depressing sight. She had been bracing herself for this, but even so she felt wildly unprepared for how real it had felt. She was a wreck. Everything in her wanted to curl up in a ball and sob until she had no tears left to cry, but she knew she had to push on. Under the grief and the shame, she could feel herself making progress. The landscape itself never changed but somehow she knew. She felt…not better exactly, but maybe lighter?

She looked over at the apparition of her dead friend, wiping the stray tears from her face, “Let’s go, Varric. We’ve got a lot more ground to cover.”

[lathbora-virann]

Thinking about potential

✨️Solavellan baby names✨️

for no particular reason don't worry about it and there's so many good options just using already established elvhen words. I've seen a couple used by some amazing artists but not most of them:

 Atish’an (peace)

Bellanaris (eternity)

Dirthara/Dirthera (learn; to tell tales)

Enasal (joy in triumph over loss; a variation of joyful relief)

Halani (help)

Hamin (rest)

Hellathen (noble struggle)

Melana/Melava (time)

Revas (freedom)

Serannas (thanks; gratitude)

Setheneran (land of waking dreams; a place where the Veil is thin)

Shivanas (dedication to duty)

Sulahn'nehn (rejoice; joy)

Suledin (the concept of finding strength in enduring loss or pain)

Sulevin (purpose)

Theneras (dream)

We're really spoilt for choice over here