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eunsuri · 6 months ago

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The Lighthouse

Pairing: Solas x Lavellan

Summary: Lavellan explores The Lighthouse and reunites with her heart.

Word Count: 6,608

Warnings: ANGST. Lots of emotions. Lots of love. VEILGUARD SPOILERS.

A/N: Hi everyone! Happy 2 weeks until Veilguard! This has taken me way longer to write than I'd hoped, but I MADE IT! This was inspired by a beautiful piece of art by @pani-artz, I couldn't resist! I've kept Lavellan's description vague for those who would like to keep their own Lavellan in mind while reading! Also posted on AO3!

“We’re here.”

A cold breeze swept through the crossroads, cooling Lavellan’s skin as she stepped up the stairs, Harding, and Leliana flanking her from behind. The three stood before the Eluvian, the shimmering surface glowing faintly. The ancient mirror reflected the crumbled pieces of the ruins floating within the crossroads, flickering with ancient magic and ready to draw them into another world.

Anticipation stirred in Lavellan’s stomach, her senses heightened and glaring at her warped reflection. The faint glow of the mirror’s surface cast a strange light across the stone floor through the overgrown foliage around its frame, and the chill in the air seemed to seep into her bones.

Harding and Leliana exchanged glances behind her, but she hardly noticed, her heart thudding rapidly in her chest like a wild creature trying to escape its cage. Harding had seen this Lighthouse before, She knew what lay behind the Eluvian, all the memories hidden in Solas’ base of operations.

Lavellan knew Solas wouldn’t be waiting for her on the other side. Instead, what awaited was everything he had left behind—his memories, his isolation, the echoes of a life spent in the shadows. The thought of stepping into his world, of facing the remnants of his past and the pieces he had chosen to keep hidden, sent a wave of dread through her. She wasn’t sure she was ready for what she might see—for how deeply his loneliness would be etched into every corner of this place

He had stopped appearing in her dreams, no matter how hard she searched the endless distance where he once stood, always watching over her from afar. Even when she reached out, he’d slip away like a shadow, yet his presence had brought her comfort. Night after night, she would speak to him—tell him how much she missed him, how she longed to change his heart. The wolf never answered, but the sorrow in his eyes cut deeper each time, and her desperation to find him only grew over the years.

Now, her dreams were empty, filled with nothing but the ache of waiting for a love that never came. Sleepless nights blurred together as she wondered if he had forgotten her, or if something terrible had happened to him. When Harding had brought news that Solas was alive but trapped in the Fade, it brought a measure of relief, yet doubt still gnawed at her. Would she find any sign that he remembered her in this place, or had she been lost to him as well?

Harding broke the silence, her voice gentle but laced with tension. “It’s… a lot to take in, but I thought you might want to see it.” She paused, then added, “Whenever you’re ready.”

Lavellan’s breath caught in her throat, a fresh wave of anxiety washing over her. Ready? She didn’t think she ever could be. How could anyone prepare to see the deepest, most private parts of someone they loved, but had lost so long ago?

She nodded, not trusting herself to speak. She needed to do this, no matter how much it hurt. She needed to understand him in a way she hadn’t before, to see his world, his pain, and his purpose. Where he had been all this time, if he remembered her. Even if he wasn’t there to explain it himself.

Lavellan took a shaky, deep breath and stepped toward the mirror, the surface rippling as she neared. With a final glance back at Harding and Leliana, she stepped through and the two followed.

Emerging on the other side, her breath caught in her chest. The three stepped into a realm bathed in a warm, golden glow, as if suspended in the sky. Floating islands hovered in the distance, each dotted with autumn-hued trees as if kissed by sunlight, gently swaying in an unseen breeze. Ancient elven ruins, crumbled yet graceful, drifted among them, suspended in the air like forgotten dreams.

Before them stood a weathered statue of Fen'Harel, the Dread Wolf, positioned in the heart of the courtyard. It was a figure of a protector—his posture calm, watching over the space with an almost serene presence. Cracks ran through the stone, softened by patches of moss that had claimed him over time, as though nature itself had embraced him. The statue seemed ancient, yet resilient, a symbol of an age long past, guarding the Lighthouse like a silent sentinel.

Beyond the statue, the Lighthouse rose, stretching impossibly high into the sky, its top crowned by a bright magical light encased in a spinning golden roof. The beacon pulsed with an ethereal glow, guiding not only the lost but also wandering spirits seeking refuge. The golden accents that decorated the Lighthouse shimmered in the sunlight, long streams of green fabric dancing in the wind.

Lavellan marvelled at the beauty and serenity of the place as she continued towards the entrance of the Lighthouse, carefully stepping down the broken staircase. The large door opened as the three approached, allowing them to enter the towering building.

Her breath caught in her throat as she glanced at the faded murals stretching along the pathway, their muted colours leading into the centre of the Lighthouse. Each one told a story—Solas’ time in Arlathan, his stories of rebellion, and the ancient history of the elves, including the tale of the Evanuris' downfall.The images on the walls, the stories painted into the stone, all reflected the weight of millennia.

Murals she had seen variations of before caught her eye, depicting Fen’Harel freeing slaves and removing their Vallaslin, as he had once done for her. Another told the story of the Evanuris’ rise to power and their tyrannical ways, with Fen’Harel’s outstretched arms attempting to show them they were not truly gods.

The Dalish legends she had grown up with had taught her to fear the Dread Wolf, to tread lightly lest the trickster god hear her footsteps. But now, knowing him as she did—not as the villain in their stories, but as the man who had fought to free his people, the man she loved—her heart was torn. The fear remained, lingering like an old scar, but it was now tangled with love, understanding, and sorrow for what he had become.

Lavellan wandered through the Lighthouse, her steps slow as she absorbed the surroundings. Relics of a world long lost lay scattered around, each one steeped in both history and longing. The air felt thick with memories—some sorrowful, others sacred—echoes of a time far beyond reach.

She found herself in a large room that appeared to be underwater, giant framed glass windows as a barrier between the water, with many schools of fish swimming through the depths. A lone green leather sofa was situated in the middle of the room, stuffed bookshelves lined the walls, and an array of candles scattered across the floor creating a cosy warmth that drew her in.

It was then that a soft flicker of candlelight against brilliant colours drew her gaze to a mural, its glow pulling at her like a distant memory. A set of candles was arranged on either side of the mural, almost as though it were a shrine. As she made her way towards the artwork, her heart sank deep into her stomach, a heavy weight settling in her chest.

The painting depicted a woman—one hand raised high, a radiant burst of green light pouring from her palm, the other clutching a sword close to her chest. Below the hilt, the familiar mark of the Inquisition gleamed. It was her.

The weight of this realisation struck her in an instant, chest tightening with disbelief, an ache settling deep as sorrow wrapped itself around her heart. Her likeness, immortalised in these ancient halls, was a reminder of what she once stood for, of the time they shared and the distance between them now.

Her fingers traced along the lines of the mural, imagining the strokes Solas had made, his hand dragging the brush across the stone with care. Every detail, every line, told her this was more than a mere addition to his collection of stories. This was crafted with love. He had painted her not just to remember her, but to hold onto her presence, as though each stroke was a vow to never let her fade from his memory.

Tears pooled along her eyelashes. She didn’t know whether to feel honoured, heartbroken, or both. Every detail of the mural seemed to call out to her, each brushstroke a whisper of what had been, what was lost. Slowly, Lavellan’s gaze fell to a small wooden box resting beneath the mural, its presence unassuming, as though it had always been waiting for her.

Hands trembling, she reached for the box, dragging her fingertips along the warmed wood, and gently lifted the lid. Inside, nestled among the old wood, lay Solas' jawbone necklace. The one he had always worn. Lavellan paused, inspecting the familiar necklace before�� reaching to lift it from the box. The sensation of the cold bone and thick rope looped around it was almost foreign, yet the weight of its meaning was still heavy.

As the jawbone rested in her palm, memories surged through her mind—fragments of what they once had. She recalled how she’d often tug him closer by the necklace, his lips moving against hers, fervent and desperate, as though her touch were the very air he breathed. She remembered idly tracing the rigid texture of the necklace as she lay against his chest, listening to the gentle rise and fall of his breath as he shared quiet stories of the Fade. Each moment felt as tangible as the cool bone now in her grasp.

She could no longer hold it with the same warmth she once had, but the connection to him, to their shared past, lingered still. The weight of the jawbone in her hand felt like a lifeline to the man she had been hunting for all these years. Desperate to keep that feeling close, she gently lifted the necklace over her head, letting the familiar curve of bone rest against her chest. It settled there, and for a brief moment, she felt as though she had him with her again.

Lavellan clutched the bone in her hand while blinking away the lingering tears which threatened to fall at any moment. As she moved forward, every step felt heavier, unable to shake the palpable sense of solitude that hung in the air. This place, with all its beauty, was not just a refuge for spirits. It was a place of mourning—a sanctuary for Solas’ lost hopes, where his memories whispered through every crack in the stone, and his loneliness lingered like a shadow.

Further in, a large dining table sat in the centre of the room. The long wooden surface stretched out before her, grand and ancient, yet only a single place setting lay at its head—a lone plate, a single cup, and neatly arranged cutlery beside them. An ache squeezed in her chest at the sight. This table, large enough for a gathering, bore only the quiet signs of one man’s solitary meals. Solas had sat here alone, day after day, surrounded by memories and ghosts of his old ambitions.

She couldn’t bear the thought of him there, sitting quietly, the vast emptiness echoing through the room as he contemplated the burden of his mission. He had been so steadfast, so determined, yet the loneliness had seeped into every corner of his existence. How many nights had he sat here in silence, the weight of his choices pressing down on him, thinking that this was the only choice he had.

The simple setting was a stark reminder of everything he had left behind for his mission—companionship, love, the simple joys of shared moments. The pain choked at Lavellan's throat and the tears she had fought streamed down her skin as she took in the sight. She rested a hand on the back of the chair, picturing him there, staring into the distance across the table, as he grappled with the weight of millennia. He had shut everyone out, even those who would have fought beside him, and in doing so, had consigned himself to this eternal isolation.

Lavellan stood still by the table, the weight of her thoughts pushing down on her shoulders like a storm cloud on the verge of breaking. Her sadness gave way to a simmering anger that twisted deep in her chest. How could he have left her—left them—like this? If only Solas had confided in her—trusted her with his truths. If only he had let her share the burden that had twisted his path into something unrecognisable. Things could have been different; they could have faced this together. She could have stood by his side, helped him bear the weight of his cause, find a better way, and maybe, just maybe, spared them both the pain of this isolation.

The thoughts of what could have been pierced through her, sharp and unyielding. How different would their lives have been if he hadn’t pushed her away, if he hadn’t shrouded himself in secrecy and left her to chase shadows for years? Heavy and unrelenting regret settled into her bones. They could have shared this—this fight, this journey. She had loved him enough to stay, to fight for him, but he had locked her out, too consumed by his purpose, too afraid to burden her with the truth.

Her fingers curled into her palms, hands clenched at her sides, frustration clawing its way up her body as she thought of the pain he had caused—his actions had left Varric wounded, with the false gods free to wreak their havoc upon the world. He had condemned himself to isolation, convinced he was sparing her the pain when, in truth, he had only deepened the wound.

Maybe he had been too proud, too wrapped in his conviction that he had to bear this weight alone. He hadn’t let her love him the way she could have. If only. If only things had been different. If only he had trusted her.

Lavellan’s thoughts were then interrupted by the sound of footsteps echoing through the corridor. She wiped at her eyes hastily, straightening her posture as Leliana appeared at the doorway.

“They’ve returned,” Leliana spoke softly. “Rook and the others are back.”

Lavellan turned, her heart still heavy from the weight of her reflections. Without a word, she nodded, following Leliana out of the room and towards the group that had gathered in the main hall.

There was more to it now—she’d learned that Rook had formed a connection with Solas. A tether, almost, caused by the disrupted ritual. She had to know if there was a way, some hidden thread she could pull to reach him herself, to bridge the distance between them once more.

A spark of determination tingled through her skin. If Rook had found a way to connect, perhaps she could too.

Later that same evening, with the sharp sting of her discoveries still fresh in her chest, Lavellan found herself standing in the Fade.

Rook had spoken of how they had become connected to Solas through the ritual gone wrong, their fates intertwined, and Lavellan had seized upon that fragile link. It was all she needed—a thread, however thin, to follow him.

With Varric’s warning in her ears and Solas’ necklace warm against her skin, she stepped forward, stumbling through the dark and desolate landscape of the Fade. The twisted remnants of broken elven statues loomed around her, their cracked surfaces glinting dully in the ethereal light, like forgotten memories trapped in stone. The air was thick with the acrid scent of burnt magic, a bitter tang that clung to her tongue, tainted by a ritual gone horribly wrong.

As she moved, the ground crumbled beneath her feet, each step sending a shiver through her body as she navigated the uneven terrain. She could feel Solas’ presence—distant, yet unmistakable—like a flickering flame in the depths of her mind, pulling her forward despite the air of despair that settled around her like a shroud. Echoes of lost voices whispered through the stillness, their lamentations brushing against her ears, urging her to keep searching in this forsaken place.

She had worked so hard to find him over the past ten years, constantly reaching for him in her dreams only for him to slip away like a fading memory. Her relief at hearing he was alive warred with the anger gnawing at her heart. He had stopped appearing in her dreams, and for so long she had feared the worst—afraid he had been consumed by his mission, or worse, by his pride. Yet here he was, trapped in the Fade, perhaps lost in his own way.

The thought of him being trapped, cut off from everything, pulled at her heart. Just as she had found him again, he was suffering. But that grief mixed with a simmering anger. He had hurt Varric, who had only been trying to stop him from making a terrible mistake.

Her steps quickened, the greyed path through the Fade twisting and bending as though it were alive. She remembered Varric’s words—how he had tried to stop Solas, how Solas, in his struggle tugging at the lyrium dagger, had let it go too far. The thought stung, reopening the old wounds that had never fully healed. He had hurt someone they both cared about. Had it been an accident, or had his obsession with his plan blinded him to everything else?

It was then she saw him. Solas stood at the edge of the platform, his presence powerful and untouchable like a distant star. His eyes caught hers with a knowing look, as though he had been expecting her all along.

His strong stance wavered ever so slightly, a near imperceptible shift. Somehow, he was even more beautiful than she remembered. He was draped in dark leather armour that hugged his frame, his broad shoulders embellished with gold which decorated his chest as well. His face remained sharp and regal, though it now carried a colder edge. The weight of his millennia-old burden clung to him, as heavy as the Fade around them.

The sight of him sent a rush of warmth through her, but it was quickly swallowed by the bitter pang of nostalgia and regret, memories crashing over her like an ice cold wave. Lavellan’s voice faltered, the carefully rehearsed words slipping from her grasp, lost under the crushing gravity of his presence. For countless nights, she had imagined this moment—each conversation, every plea, practised over and over. But now, as he stood before her, all those thoughts scattered like dust, leaving her speechless.

“Solas.”

Her voice trembled with the only thing she could utter, a raw mix of anger and longing breaking free. Lavellan felt the years between them collapse. The sorrow, the love, the pain, and the anger—it all surged forward, overwhelming her in an instant.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. Solas’ expression remained guarded, though the tension in his jaw and the weariness in his eyes betrayed him. His lips parted, as though he might speak, but the words died unspoken on his tongue. The silence between them stretched, thick with unspoken history.

Lavellan’s heart raced as she struggled to steady her breath, emotions crashing over her: love, anger, and grief all vying for control. She wanted to scream at him for the pain he'd caused—to her friends, to her. She wanted to demand answers, to weep for his loneliness, for how lost he had become. But she also longed to run into his arms, to hold him so tightly he could never leave again, to feel the warmth of his lips, to taste the love they once shared.

Across the distance, Solas silently soaked in the sight before him. Amidst the boundless darkness of his prison, his heart stood before him once more. A dull ache crawled from his chest into his throat as he noticed how time had touched her. Soft lines had etched themselves across her skin—subtle, almost imperceptible to anyone but him. She looked exhausted, as though the years had been heavy, yet her beauty had not faded. Her eyes still held the same fire, the same brightness that had captivated him.

His gaze fell to her arm, the gleam of metal catching his eye—her prosthetic. The sight of it twisted his heart into a deep, bitter knot of guilt. She had lost her arm because of choices he had made. Though removing it would save her from an untimely end, her connection to the Anchor would have consumed her had the arm remained. However, that knowledge offered little comfort.

It was because of him. she had been marked in the first place, that she had been forced to bear that burden, to lose part of herself for a cause that had never truly been hers to fight. He carefully swallowed the pain in his throat in an attempt to mask the surge of sorrow that threatened to break through.

For a heartbeat, the distance between them seemed insurmountable and never ending. Yet the connection they had forged so long ago, deep and unshakable, remained—like a tether drawing them together even now.

Solas shifted subtly, searching the depths of his mind for words that could bridge the chasm of time and pain between them. No words could repair the damage that had been done, not a single syllable could undo the devastation he had caused.

“Vhenan…” he whispered at last, his voice rough, heavy with all the things left unsaid. It was the only word he could manage, the only truth left to him, spoken as though it held within it all his love and regret. The word hung in the air like a fragile promise.

The harsh and unforgiving hand of grief gripped Lavellan’s heart at the sound of his endearment. It had been so long since she had heard the word leave his lips, and yet it was the same—soft, full of meaning. She placed one foot in front of the other, taking a tentative step forward, her fingers brushing against the jawbone necklace, grounding her in the reality of the moment. The memory of their love flooded her, the fluttering which overwhelmed her belly when he would call her his heart, mingling with the anger that still smouldered in her chest.

“What have you done, Solas?” Her voice cracked through her cutting words, the accusation spilling through her lips before she could bite her tongue. “You stopped coming to me. You were…tearing the Veil apart, and then Varric—” She swallowed hard, her eyes burning with unshed tears. “You didn’t stop. You hurt him, and now… the false gods are free and ready to destroy this world.”

Her words were sharp, biting, but beneath the anger was the raw, unspoken truth: she loved him. She always had. And seeing her proud, cunning love like this—trapped in the cage of his own creation—cut deeper than any wound she had ever known.

Solas’ eyes fluttered closed for a moment, his head bowing beneath the shameful weight of her words. When his eyes found her again, there was a subtle flicker in his gaze—something raw and aching, a depth of emotion she couldn’t quite define. Regret, perhaps, or something far more tangled and broken.

“It was not supposed to happen this way,” he murmured, voice thin and weary, as if even the admission pained him, the words almost too heavy to continue. “I had a plan. The ritual, I was moving them to another prison. But Varric interfered, he disrupted a dangerous ritual. I did not intend for him to get hurt.”

The flame in Lavellan’s eyes blazed with fury, her voice trembling as the words tumbled out without a second thought. "Varric was our friend, Solas. You’ve gone too far. He wasn’t aware of your intentions. He tried to stop you, tried to make you see reason, and you—" She faltered, the pain caught in her throat reducing her voice to a weak whisper.

Though Varric still lived, his fate was uncertain, the magic from the lyrium-infused dagger weaving through his veins unpredictably. Her dear friend had only wanted to help—and yet, he had paid the painful price for it.

The hardened resolve in Solas’ eyes wavered, his brow furrowing with the slightest shake of his head. “I’m sorry,” he uttered, the words quiet, but laden with everything left unspoken.

“That’s all you have to offer? After everything that’s happened? After all this time?” Lavellan’s words sliced through the air, her voice was low yet biting. Her fingers curled in, hands tense at her sides as her frustration simmered just beneath the surface.

She was torn between the depth of her love and the hot flame of her anger. She had missed him so achingly—every day without him was a quiet torment—but now, seeing him like this, the one she’d loved so fiercely, all she could feel was the cold sting of his absence, the ache of betrayal. He had left her, and worse, he had hurt Varric in his reckless pursuit.

And now, after everything he had done, he stood there with regret etched into his sharp features, yet offering nothing more than a simple apology. She could see the remorse in his eyes, he meant it, but it wasn’t enough—not after everything. She longed to reach out to him, to close the distance between them, but the wound was too fresh, too raw. How could she bridge the gap when all he had to offer were those meagre words?

“Nothing can change what I have already done,” Solas sighed, the sound long and weary, as though carrying the burden of centuries.

“I know,” she replied, her voice trembling with the heaviness of her admission. “You can’t undo what’s been done… but you can still do better. You can still choose differently.”

Solas studied her, his expression unreadable for a moment, though the gravity of her words seemed to hang between them. "Better choices do not erase what has already been set in motion," he spoke quietly, his tone almost resigned, as though he carried the inevitability of his fate like a burden.

“So what, you'll just let the world fall apart because it's already in motion? You think destroying this world will somehow lead to salvation?” Lavellan began, her voice cold and cutting. Her eyes locked onto his, unflinching as she took a hard step forward. “The elven people you’re trying to save? There’ll be nothing left for them if you don’t help us stop this madness now.”

Her words hit him like a sudden gust, rattling the walls he had built around himself. For a moment, his defences collapsed under the truth of her words. But then, almost instinctively, he pulled them back up, his expression hardening as his gaze held hers.

”'Did you come only to scold me, Vhenan? Or is there more you wish to say?”

Lavellan’s breath quickened at his response, the fire in her eyes dimming for just a moment as his question hung in the air. The silence between the two stretched, filled with all the things that had never been said, all the pain, all the longing in their time apart. She opened her mouth to respond, then closed it, struggling to speak past the heaviness of her own heart.

"There is plenty I wish to say. But in truth, I came because—" She managed to murmur, the words catching in her throat. Her feet moved before her mind could stop them, stepping slowly towards Solas. "Because I was worried about you. Because I wanted to see you." Her voice was raw, as if speaking the truth aloud burned at her tongue. "Because…even after everything I—"

Solas’ head tilted ever so slightly, his expression softening as his furrowed brows relaxed, and for a fleeting second, something in him seemed to break. The unspoken bond between them, ever-present and undeniable, pulled at him once more. He reached out, almost as if drawn by the force of her words, but stopped himself just short.

He wanted nothing more than to hold her close to him and never let her go again. To let every thought spill from his lips and confess his love for her as if it were the first time. The warmth of her presence was only growing closer as she stepped further in his direction, her beautifully intoxicating scent stirring memories of their past together. He craved her fiercely—the softness of her lips, the feel of her smooth skin beneath his fingertips, her lovely voice whispering words of love that echoed in his heart.

But the shrinking space between them felt like a chasm born not only of time, but of all the hurt and chaos he had left in his wake. He didn’t deserve her. Not after his failure. Not after what he had done. He couldn't bear to drag her into the darkness of his journey, a path that he believed would only lead to death. She deserved so much more than the ruins of his mistakes.

He imagined the weight of his choices suffocating her, dimming the light that had always drawn him in. Yet as she drew nearer, he could feel the pull of her more acutely, as though the Fade itself conspired to draw them together. The ache of her absence, the torment of his own regret—none of it could dampen the magnetic force that still lingered between them.

"You should hate me," he spoke quietly, his voice barely more than a breath. "After everything I’ve done. All of the pain I have caused."

Lavellan had closed the never-ending distance between them, the air around them thick with an intensity that took her breath away. Her already racing heart quickened, emboldened by a sudden rush, a defiance against the pain that had lingered for far too long. With a trembling hand, she reached for him, her fingertips brushing against his cheek. The connection was electric, sending shivers through her, reigniting a fire that warmed her very core.

In that moment, all his carefully constructed walls began to crumble, melting away beneath her touch. She could see the tension in his shoulders ease, the weight of his regrets momentarily lifting. Their breaths mingled in the space between them, a fragile intimacy that felt both exhilarating and terrifying.

It had been years since they last stood face-to-face, their encounters reduced to her lone whispers in her dreams. Each night, she yearned for the warmth of his presence, the comfort of his touch, imagining the feel of his skin against hers, the sound of his voice calling her name. The ache of separation had clawed at her heart, and she knew he had felt it too—a longing that transcended the boundaries of their worlds.

"I tried," she confessed, her voice heavy with emotion, barely above a whisper. "I tried to hate you, but I can’t, Vhenan. I could never."

Solas’ resolve crumbled even further, the flicker of vulnerability in his eyes undeniable. “I never wanted you to see what I’ve become. I do not deserve your forgiveness,” he pushed further in a weak attempt to suppress the overpowering love that threatened to consume him.

“I know you cannot change what you have done,” She began through her breath, gently placing her prosthetic hand against his armoured chest and meeting his eyes directly, as though reaching into the depths of his heart. “But I see you, Solas. I see the burden you carry, I’ve seen what you hide in your Lighthouse. It hasn’t changed the way I feel about you.”

Her touch unravelled him completely, cutting through the barriers he had so meticulously built to keep her at a distance and protect her. For all the power that pulsed within him, he was utterly powerless before her. His breath was hitched in his throat, his senses overwhelmed and intoxicated by her nearness. All words escaped him, and instead, he clutched her prosthetic hand to his chest, his knuckles brushing the delicate skin of her cheek, drinking in the moment as if it were the last.

The space between the two vanished, the long-forgotten warmth of each other’s touch easing the ache of a lifetime apart. Starved of the love they had once shared, the air around them grew heavy with anticipation. The energy between them hummed, drawing them closer with each breath, until their eyes flitted shut, surrendering to the inevitable pull of their connection.

“Vhenan…” Solas found his voice once more, before the thread which held him together finally snapped and his lips found hers.

The kiss, at first tentative, quickly deepened as the years of distance, longing, and unspoken words melted between them. It wasn’t gentle; it was desperate, filled with the ache of years apart, with the pain of betrayal and the hope of forgiveness. Lavellan’s hands instinctively reached for him, fingers curling against the cool, textured surface of his armour as if he might slip away again, as if this moment might vanish like a fleeting dream. His hand cradled the back of her head, pulling her closer still, like a drowning man grasping for air.

Solas trembled against her, the control he had so precisely maintained for years finally unravelling in her embrace. Every heartbeat, every breath shared in their kiss spoke of the time they had lost and the memories they had clung to in the dark.

He clutched at her waist, tugging her impossibly close, as though she might disappear if he allowed any distance open between them. The taste of her lips—familiar and sweet—sent a rush of emotion surging through his mouth and into his heart, blooming with love. It was a taste he had dreamed of, mixed with grief, regret, and the bittersweet recognition of all the time they could never reclaim.

For Lavellan, kissing him felt like breaking the surface after endless years submerged in sorrow. She had imagined this reunion, longed for it in her loneliest moments, but nothing could have prepared her for the rawness of it now, the intensity of feeling his warmth, his breath, after so long. Her lips moved fervently against his, as if she could anchor them both in the present, as if this kiss could hold them together while the world threatened to crumble around them.

Time seemed to slow, each second stretching into eternity as their spirits reached for one another, desperate to bridge the chasm of all that had been lost. The air around them shimmered with the intensity of their emotions, the soft crackle of magic lingering like static electricity. Tears mingled between their lips, and Lavellan found herself unsure if they were born from her own heartache or Solas’ sorrow.

When at last they reluctantly parted, it was only enough to breathe, their foreheads pressed together and breaths mingling in the narrow space between them. The warmth of Solas’ skin contrasted with the coolness of the Fade around them. His fingers brushed her cheek, wiping away a tear, his eyes searching hers with a mix of reverence and sorrow, as if committing her face to memory all over again.

“I have missed you,” Solas admitted through a trembling breath, his voice fraying at the edges, each syllable thick with longing and vulnerability. “Every moment, I have missed you.”

Lavellan’s heart stilled at his confession, the pain she’d carried for so long softening, giving way to a quiet joy she had scarcely dared to feel. It was real—his yearning, his regret. He had missed her, and in hearing those words, a wave of warmth rushed through her, filling the hollow space his absence had left behind, like sunlight breaking through a dark, heavy cloud.

“As have I,” she whispered, her voice a breath, an ache. “I love you, Solas.”

The distance between them vanished once more as she closed the space with her lips. An electric tangle of desperation and love crackled in the air, as if they could pour every stolen moment of the past ten years into this one kiss. She breathed the words against his lips— Ar lath ma. I love you, I love you, over and over, with each fleeting pause for air. One hand gripped his broad shoulder as though holding onto the thread of the life they might still have together, while the other skimmed gingerly across his sharp jaw, the cool metal of her fingertips shooting a shiver down his spine.

As their lips moved together, she tasted the faint remnants of the Fade on him—like the bittersweet tang of twilight and the warmth of embers long extinguished. The air was thick with unspoken promises, Solas’ scent enveloping her, an earthy blend of ancient forests, fragrant herbs, and a whisper of magic that felt both familiar and achingly distant. Her heart raced, a wild drum echoing in her ears, as she felt the world around them fade into insignificance. In that moment, nothing else mattered—just the two of them, entwined in a dance of love and longing, the taste of their shared past lingering sweetly on their tongues.

Solas drew a tight breath, his lips forming the words in return, “Ar lath ma, I love you,” each confession fragile and tender, as if speaking it aloud made the moment more real. His hands cupped her face with reverence, fingers tracing the contours of her skin as if rediscovering her all over again, as though he needed to believe this wasn’t some fading dream. She was truly here with him, loving him still, despite all that had come between them. And with each kiss, each murmured promise of love, he felt the final crumbling of the walls he had built to protect himself from this—this undeniable truth that she saw him, truly, as he was: Fen'Harel, the Dread Wolf. And still, she chose him—Solas.

Warm, fresh tears streamed down his cheeks—tears of relief, not of sorrow, and for the first time in an age, he felt lighter, the burden of millennia softening in her embrace.

Lavellan’s fingers traced the familiar lines of his face, feeling the tension in his jaw slowly release. She caught her breath, pressing her forehead gently to his once more, letting the moment wrap around them like a fragile cocoon, holding them together.

They no longer needed words. There was no need for promises, no talk of what came next.

For now, they were simply here—together.

Solas’ hands held her tightly against him, as if memorising every curve of her, grounding himself in her presence, in the warmth of her body pressed to his. He drank in every bit of her, enraptured by the way her eyes sparkled with the tears she had shed. There was no one more beautiful, in body and spirit.

The world beyond them faded into the abyss—no ancient gods, no torn Veil, no crumbling ruins. Just the rhythmic sound of their breaths mingling between them, the quiet beat of their hearts within their chests, steady and sure. For so long, he had dreamed of this, and yet the reality of it was more than he could have ever imagined.

Lavellan clutched him closer, as if to say all the things she couldn’t form with her lips, as if to tell him that here, in this moment, she chose him—not Fen’Harel, not the Dread Wolf. Just Solas.

And as they stayed there, lost in each other, neither knew how long the moment would last—only that, for now, it was enough.

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an-established-butt-dent · 1 year ago

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One of my many Solavellan head cannons.

They traveled together for months, years even. Don't tell me these lovesick fools didn't regularly disappear into the woods together, to have a quiet romantic moment away from the prying eyes of the other companions.

Mixed media on paper.

#Only to return to the morning back to camp with Lavellan having slightly more dishelved hair than usual.#and Dorian commenting on it immediately ofcourse #Like their romance is incredibly angsty but i really wished there had been more scenes of them just them having a sweet and intimate moment #I mean yes there is the balcony scene at skyhold #but solas literally runs off when he confesses his love for Lavellan. LOL #talk about running away from his feelings #kinda hard to run away from your love when you are travelling months together. I imagine they have had moments where they basked-#-in the newness of it all. A moment of quiet understanding and feeling alive. Of new love.#Ugh these two #solasmance #Solavellan headcannons #solas x female lavellan #solas x inquisitor #inquisitor lavellan #my art #solas #dragon age inquisition #art #my fanart #dai #drawing #traditonal illustration #pencil art #the dreaded husband rises #the dread egg #solas dragon age #solavellan fluff #solavellan fanart #dragon age dreadwolf #da: dreadwolf

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virginiathegray · 5 months ago

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Wisdom Wept, and Hope Replied

*major spoilers for Dragon Age: The Veilguard* a quick fic on what I imagine the moments immediately following the Solavellan ending in Veilguard might have looked like since I couldn't stop thinking about it...hope u enjoy <3 solas x f!lavellan | 834 words | oneshot also on AO3 here ~~~

The fade tear closed behind them.

For a moment, they both just stared forward, taking in the blighted black city before them, the prison for gods that would now become their…home? A place born from regrets that, as they watched, shifted into a new shape. A black spire melting into something resembling a waterfall, elven statues growing broad, regal horns.

Crestwood.

That first eternal beat passed from the present as understanding dawned. Solas’s stiff shoulders curved, then crumbled, then collapsed with him as he fell to his knees.

She followed him down. As she always had, as she forever would.

“I am here,” she said.

“You are.” His head hung low, tucked into his chest. Blackened droplets of blood from still-open wounds caressed his lips as they fell. He did not speak another word, did not move a single muscle. Not for ages.

Her prosthetic hadn’t followed her into the fade. Only the shadow of a lost hand remained, a glowing green figment of raw magic where the anchor once tethered itself to her spirit. But this shadowy remnant could touch and feel like the real thing, a truth learned only when she brushed it over his cheek, wiping away the blood to reveal the cut beneath. Hissing a breath between her teeth, she wondered briefly if the fade had something as mundane as stitches and gauze.

Would he even let her tend his wounds? Something in the familiar rush of water, the whispering of leaves from a moment ten years past, resurfaced old hurts. Was she ever the fool, nipping the Dread Wolf's heels as he ran from her?

There wasn’t much time to ponder it. One moment, she looked at his split lips, and the next they were on her, frenzied and wanting and warm against her mouth.

Over the years, she'd had plenty of time to analyze those few kisses she shared with the trickster god. The first, quick and sweet and impulsive on her part, indulging in the magic of the fade and the easy smile of the man who walked so confidently through it. The second, only moments later, drawn back as she turned away to hide her embarrassment. Then the third, the caress of his arms as they curled around her. Perhaps she should have known the truth of him then, in that kiss. Nothing in all her life had ever felt quite so divine. God-like.

And so many more, combed over in detail long after that final goodbye eight years ago. But this was not any of those kisses. No, this was desperation. Hunger. The great wolf, wounded and starving, descending upon his harvest.

She was no limping halla separated from her herd, however. This was her bounty, too, and when the initial surprise passed, she swelled into the kiss, into him, submitting herself to that sense of return, of home, that lay within his arms.

But then he winced, and her passion cooled.

“Vhenan,” she said against his mouth, starting to pull away.

“No,” he growled back and kissed her again.

“Solas.”

He made one last valiant effort, a peck at the corner of her mouth that lingered in its intimacy, but he obeyed the unspoken command in her voice and pulled away. Only by a breath.

“I am more the fool and coward than I ever dared admit, and for those follies I will pay eternal,” he said, staring at her lips, at the blood smeared there from his kiss. “Tomorrow there is work to do, to make this place a home for you, or to cut a tear so that you might escape it.”

He wiped the blood from her face, brow furrowed. Not for the first time, she wished she could read the thoughts behind those troubled eyes. Would he try to send her away, as he always had? Had her vow to him truly meant so little? Did he still believe her misled, her love tarnished by his own lies, even now as she stood by his side at the edge of the world?

Mercifully, he spoke, quieting her fears.

“But that is tomorrow, and eternity waits. In this moment I am selfishness incarnate. Your gift is one I don't deserve, your spirit meant for gentler things, but I claim it if you will have me, Vhenan.”

Her hand found his cheek, and he nuzzled his face into her palm.

“Please,” he whispered. “Have me.”

At last. A request in that pleading voice, not to leave him behind but to draw him close. Perhaps he thought it selfish, but she was selfish, too, and oh, how she’d missed him.

Around them, something like sunlight peeked through blighted clouds. Flowers bloomed at their feet. Something beautiful was being born here, but neither dared look from the other's eyes.

“Dread Wolf take you,” her clan used to say. Perhaps he had. But in this moment, with a dip of her chin and a meeting of swollen lips, she took the Dread Wolf, too.

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ladyofc · 3 days ago

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We have a new start...

I wanted to make something cute for my birthday! Enjoy. Just two elves forever in the fade ✨✨

#dragon age #solas #solavellan #da4 #art #lavellan #datv #animation #digital art #delphi lavellan #fluff #dragon age the veilguard #dragon age 2 #dragon age origins

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tired-truffle · 14 days ago

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Something's Gotta Give

A CullenxLavellan fic

Chapter Word Count: 7.7k

Part 44 - I Won't Say (I'm In Love)

"You're trying not to tell him you love him, and you're trying to choke down the feeling, and you're trembling, but he reaches over and he touches you, like a prayer for which no words exist, and you feel your heart taking root in your body, like you've discovered something you don't even have a name for." - Richard Siken

Song Rec: The Line by twenty one pilots

Tag list: @thomrainierapologist (If you'd like to be added to the tag list, let me know!)

(Thank you for posting this gif @sweetjulieapples, it's perfect!)

Masterlist

“You’re like a brother to me, Dorian,” Ash said as the carriage ground to a halt outside of the estate. “I meant to tell you that earlier. Sorry for the delay.”

Ash had spent the majority of the carriage ride back in silence. Sitting across from her, Dorian cast concerned glances in her direction, his eyes filled with a helplessness that mirrored his inability to find the right words. What could possibly suffice in such a situation? How does one comfort a friend who had been struck on the back of the head, kidnapped, drugged with the Mage Bane, and manipulated as a pawn against her own sister, only to have her throat slit in the end? She’d survived, but only out of sheer luck.

Dorian's eyes diffused of their consternation, a genuine smile replacing his frown. "My dear Ashvalla, I'm touched. Truly. Though your timing is impeccable as always. Nothing quite says brotherly love like near-death experiences.”

She reached out, her fingers trembling slightly as they grasped Dorian's hand. The calluses from his staff were oddly comforting against her palm.

"Well, you know me," she quipped, her voice still rough from the healing magic that had knitted her throat back together. "I like to keep things interesting."

Dorian squeezed her hand gently, his gaze sweeping over her with poorly concealed concern. "That you do, my friend. That you do."

The carriage door swung open, and they were ushered out by an attendant to the lonely estate.

Ash couldn’t fathom how this day could get any worse. Love, on the other hand, possessed an imagination unbound by such constraints.

Burning and bubbling beneath her skin, Love unleashed her anger, her pent-up desire that had been suppressed by both Ash and the Mage Bane. As she stepped up to the manor, she stumbled, hiding her wince by ducking her head.

“Are you alright?” Dorian asked, his steadying hand on her elbow.

“I will be,” she answered, eyeing the enclosed confines of the opulent manor. If Love was going to throw a temper tantrum, Ash was reticent to allow her to do so inside. “I think I need some time alone, though. I’ll be in the gardens, should anyone need me.”

“But you’re still covered in your own—“

“It’s already dried, there will be no difference in trying to clean it now or later,” Ash spoke over him. “Please, Dorian, I just…need a minute to clear my head.”

Dorian sighed, tilting his face up to the night sky like it held the answers to his suffering. “If Cullen skewers me for leaving you alone, my death will be on your hands.”

The reminder of the Commander had Love flaring again, and Ash gritted her teeth into a smile. “I owe you one,” she said, and she did - or rather, she owed him several.

Dorian clicked his tongue against his teeth and nodded to one of the manor attendees to unlock the gate to the gardens - giving her a hard look that promised retribution should she not follow through on their deal.

Moonlight flowed across meticulously trimmed hedges, illuminating stone pathways that wound between beds of dawn lotus and roses. Crystal grace hung from latticed arbors, and the night air carried a heady floral perfume, mingling with the earthy scent of soil and the faint metallic tang of her own dried blood.

Ash followed the central path, her steps unsteady as Love pulsed angrily beneath her skin. It was like carrying a storm inside her chest, lightning crackling through her veins with each heartbeat.

A marble bench stood in a small clearing at the garden's heart, surrounded by a circle of roses. Ash sank onto it gratefully, the green silk of her gown billowing around her as she settled, spilling across the bench like liquid emerald. Ruined now by her crusted blood.

When had her life come to this? For over two decades, she’d been possessed without complications, until Cullen came into her life. He set her heart aflame, making her feel things she’d never experienced before. She’d known familial love, of course, both given and received through her bond with Rae. The love from friends had been new, Dorian opening the door to the kind of companionship she never thought she’d have. But Love wasn’t this tumultuous when Dorian didn’t speak to her for weeks, and Ash loved him dearly. Why was Cullen so different?

"Enough," she whispered to the spirit. "You're giving me a headache on top of everything else."

But Love was not in a listening mood.

As if in answer, Love pressed her flames along the insides of Ash’s ribcage. She clutched her arms tightly around her trembling torso, her body quaking as she stifled a cry. Tell Cullen she loved him, or turn into an abomination - a choice that should have been simple but was anything but. Gods, she loved him so much it ached in her chest, raw and consuming like a dying star, deeper than any pain that Love could inflict.

Love’s power ebbed, granting Ash a brief respite to catch her breath. She needed to banish thoughts of Cullen, to cease feeding Love the fuel for her yearning, yet by Mythal, the image of that man's face stubbornly lingered in her mind. Horror and concern that had crossed his face when he’d seen her covered in her own blood. The angry furrow of his brow as he seized her wrist in the ballroom, softening into something she couldn’t identify. How flustered he’d been when Leliana challenged him. She longed for him - for the steady comfort of his arms around her, quiet words of reassurance whispered against her skin. She’d cast him aside, and now she was paying the price.

Love surged again, stronger and hotter than before, and Ash had to double over and bury her face in her skirt to suppress the scream clawing at her throat. Dizziness struck her as she struggled to breathe, gasping inhales that failed to replenish her lungs. Fuck, it felt like her chest had been branded by a searing iron, molten lava coating her flesh. Light filtered through her tightly shut eyelids, and she hesitantly cracked them open, staring down at her chest - a sinking stone falling to her gut.

From over her heart, jagged cracks had erupted in her blood-crusted skin, like a spiderweb spun by a vengeful hand. Fissures branched out in every direction, converging around a core of seething, spitting flames. Love had only ignited such a transformation once before, the morning of her dress fitting after Cullen had accidentally barged in and promptly left. Was this the signal of the end? Her final warning before Love turned them into an abomination?

Ash twisted her fingers in her hair, tugging at the strands and tearing them out of her ruined updo - pinpricks across her scalp almost unnoticeable under Love’s fire.

Dorian. She needed to find Dorian. She’d meant it when she’d promised to go to him if it became too much.

“Ashvalla? What in Andraste’s name are you doing out here on your own? And is that—you’re still covered in blood.” Cullen - because, of course, it was him - had snuck up on her. Or perhaps it was more accurate to say she had been so consumed by the pain that she failed to notice the heavy thud of his footsteps drawing nearer.

Staying curled in on herself to hide Love’s light, she gritted out, “Go away.”

He scoffed, his earlier irritation bubbling back to the surface. She doubted that the bright lights and relentless chatter of the ball hadn’t pounded a headache into his skull and furthered his foul mood - assuming he didn’t already have one gnawing at him to begin with. "Not until you tell me why you're out here in the dark instead of in bed resting, where you ought to be."

All it had taken for her to become the recipient of his concern once more was a near-death experience at the hands of some exceedingly rude Orlesians. He should have still been at the ball, right? But perhaps she had been sitting in the gardens for longer than she’d realized.

“You’re not my minder, Commander. I owe you no explanation,” Ash spat, pathetically unable to straighten. Love, taking issue with this, released a new surge of fire that ate away at the marrow of her bones. She hissed, low and under her breath, but Cullen heard her in the silence of the garden.

She felt him grow closer more than she heard the soft sound of his boots crushing the grass. His hand hovered over her shoulder.

“Don’t touch me,” she growled, jerking away from his touch even as she yearned to feel it.

“Why not?” he asked briskly, and she could perfectly picture his nettled scowl.

“Cause fuck you and fuck off, that’s why.” Ash was well aware of how childish she was acting, but she did not have the energy to care. “Let me find my moment of peace alone.”

Love disagreed, and Ash shuddered as another bout of fire rolled through her and boiled her organs.

"You sit here, in blood-soaked clothes, clearly in pain, trying to find peace? What possible peace can you find in such a state?"

Her ears flattened against her skull. “Didn’t I tell you to fuck off? No need to worry about the crazy, possessed mage, Templar.”

"Oh, for the love of—“ Cullen cut himself off with a frustrated growl. She peered through the curtain of her hair and noted his hands clenching at his sides. “Is it your neck that’s bothering you? Did Solas not heal you properly?”

His hand extended toward her once more, his fingertips gently grazing her shoulder. She recoiled slightly, finally lifting her gaze to meet his. Her hands were pressed protectively against her chest as she remained bent over, her skirt concealing the glow of Love’s rage beneath. She must appear utterly disheveled; tiny specks of blood clung stubbornly to her cheeks and matted her hair, while her eyes, rimmed with smeared kohl, were bloodshot and weary.

“I said: don’t touch me.” She barred her teeth in a snarl, pointed canines glinting in the low moonlight, ears tight to the sides of her head. It did little to deter him. Love writhed, slashing at her spine, deepening Ash’s snarl.

“You’re a mess.”

Ash’s attempt at a grin ended more in a grimace. “How sweet of you to notice.”

He wiped a hand down his tired face, his gloves discarded along with some of the more decorative pieces of his Inquisition formal wear. Had he been in the middle of undressing for the night when he’d decided to take a late-night stroll through the gardens? Was he…meeting someone out here? There were plenty of eligible women at the ball, petite and demur - the opposite of Ash in every conceivable way. Perhaps that was more his type; someone who would yield to his every command without resistance, modest and agreeable. Not her, not difficult, bossy, demanding, loud.

He liked it when I was loudly screaming his name. Her mind added unhelpfully.

“Would you allow me to help you for once in your damn life?”

“Then leave!” she cried as the cracks in her skin lengthened, cutting through her defences. “I don’t want you here!” A lie, she wanted him with her always, but it hurt too much. The magic flared again, her body jerking of its own accord and sending her sprawling to the ground. Her knees hit the soft grass, her hands following suit as she released a strangled sob, bent over and weeping into the dirt. “Please.”

He followed after her, crouched at her side, before she’d finished her sobbed plea. “Not until you explain what’s going on. Don’t think I don’t notice that…light you’re trying to hide.”

Get up. Straighten your spine. Since when do Lavellans wallow?

Ash froze, the voice so clear she almost looked around for the source. Her mother had been dead for over two decades, yet there she was, chiding Ash as if she were still a child with skinned knees rather than a grown woman with a heart breaking apart.

You think you're the only one who's ever suffered? Stop making your problems everyone else's burden. Handle it yourself.

The phantom scolding stung, but beneath the harshness lay the steel that had shaped Ash's own backbone.

“I have it under control,” Ash said through clenched teeth, both to Cullen and the voice of her mother. “I’m not going to hurt anyone.”

“The last thing I’m worried about is you hurting someone.” He looked her up and down, a concerned tilt to his brows. “Right now, I’m more worried about you. You could have died today.”

“But I didn’t.”

Cullen pinched the bridge of his nose. “No, I’m not doing this with you.” And with no further warning, he shifted to kneel in front of her, grasping her biceps, and pulled her into an upright position. She felt the sway of her body as she rose, her limbs too feeble under Love's overwhelming power to muster any resistance.

She tried in vain to cover the roaring magic with her hands, but the cracks had spread too far to be hidden. Tears rolled down her cheeks as his eyes widened and his lips parted, his breath catching at the blood and flames.

“Is this the spirit’s doing?”

Fear slithered down her spine like a snake shedding its skin - what would he do if he didn’t think she could be controlled? “Will you make me tranquil if I say yes?” she spat, though her venom did nothing to quell the hard look in his eyes.

“How many times do I have to say no before you believe me?” he shot back. “Stop being difficult and tell me.”

She wasn’t going to win this one, she may as well explain and put his worries at ease - if she was lucky. “Love is upset with me. I’ll be fine once she calms down again. The Mage Bane hurt her, she’s confused.”

A half truth, one that Cullen saw right through.

“Are you trying to get yourself killed?”

“She won’t kill me, she’d just end up killing herself.” Ash panted as the magic slowed to a simmer, preparing to launch another attack. At least she had time to prepare herself.

His hands tightened around her biceps.

"There are thousands of different ways for that to go wrong, and you're just sitting here taking it."

“What else would you have me do, hm?” She pulled her arms from Cullen’s grasp, and he released her without resistance. She let her arms fall to her sides. There was no use hiding it from him anymore. “Beg to be made tranquil so it can all go away?”

“I'm trying to help you!” He ran a hand through his hair, letting loose a curl that hung over his forehead. “I don't wish for you to be in pain. Is that so difficult to understand?"

“I don’t really want to be feeling this either, but there’s nothing you can—“ Her body shook around a sob as the flames ate at her skin, curling in on herself like she could keep it contained - keep it from hurting him too.

“Ashvalla—“

“You don’t have to be here.” She swallowed a groan. “I know you’re still…angry with me.”

"How could I not be?” Frustrated and incredulous and worried, he could hide none of it in the strain of his voice. “Look at what you’re doing to yourself, and for what?"

If they fought, Ash could avoid the truth of her pain. A baited hook she latched onto like a common pike.

“Tell me how you really feel.”

He raised his face to the stars, taking a deep breath - praying to his god to give him strength. Similar to how Dorian had done earlier that evening. She was skilled at driving those she cared for to witless exasperation.

“Forget it, that isn’t the point.” Damn, she’d been hoping he’d continue down that path until he got so frustrated that he stormed off. “You say that you don’t need help, but you’re…being harmed by that spirit. I will help you if you’d allow it.”

There were countless reasons she denied him swirling in her mind, too numerous to name. A deep-seated fear gripped her heart, preventing any flicker of hope from taking root that he might still harbor feelings for her. Even if such feelings lingered, the harsh reality remained unchanged - he would always fear her.

“You’ve done enough.”

"Ah, yes, my apologies." His words dripped in sarcasm, his anger seeping out. "Clearly, this is all my fault. I'm the one that's possessed by a spirit, collapsed in agony on the blasted ground."

“She wouldn’t be so upset if you weren’t here!” The same tired argument, relentless and repetitive, but he wouldn’t listen.

"How dare I be concerned about your welfare."

“You don’t care for me! Not—ah—anymore!” Ash yelled, voice grating as Love flared. Biting back screams, the cracks in her skin reaching her shoulder, she squeezed her eyes shut.

“Maker’s breath, Ashvalla, I never stopped caring!" His voice was almost a shout to match hers, his words strained. "You're the one who's been pushing me away! You're the one that keeps running from anything that makes you feel a damn thing! But no - no, you'd rather sit here and suffer than let anyone help you."

He cared for her, after everything, every cold glance and clipped dismissal, he cared for her. But it couldn’t be willing, he cared because she had tricked him, fooled him into believing that she was someone worthy of it.

“You’ve spent so long putting other people’s feelings before your own that you’re practically breaking yourself doing it. And for what? So you can be a martyr?”

“No!” She winced as the magic continued to roll through her. “All I want is for the people I…the people I care about to be safe. I’m not a martyr because I will survive, I have to.”

“For someone else, right? Never for yourself.” She hated how gentle his tone became, tinged with frustration, but soothing in its low timbre. Why couldn’t he just scream at her instead? “It has become increasingly clear to me why the Inquisitor was so incensed before Adamant. She’s had to watch you do this your whole life.”

Rae. Always Rae. She had almost died too many times to count, Ash couldn’t let it stick the next time she put herself in danger.

But wasn't that just another excuse? Another wall built to keep everyone at bay? The fortress of her soul, constructed brick by brick with every rejection, every dismissal, every time she turned her back on what she truly wanted - on who she truly wanted.

Her sister's face swam before her eyes, but it blurred with his. Emerald and amber, earth and the sky at sunset, both looking at her with the same exasperated concern. Both trying to save her from herself.

Only she could save herself now.

The cracks in her chest weren’t solely from Love. She’d been fracturing for years, hairline fissures spreading with every grin to cover a grimace. Every helping hand brushed away. It was second nature, a crutch she wasn’t able to give up, lest her knees collapse and she crumble to dust.

“I’m sorry that this is so hard for you,” Ash sneered, but it didn’t have the desired effect; he remained. “I’m sorry you’ve been involved in my mess yet again and by the gods do I wish you’d just fucking leave me alone. All you’re doing is irritating Love. You’re not helping.”

His lips pressed into a thin, unimpressed line. “Why?”

Ash blanched, and Love stabbed her spine with white-hot needles. “Why what?”

“Why am I irritating Love?”

Oh, that look in his eyes, ripe with understanding. Did he know? Was he disgusted by her feelings, and this some sick torture?

“Go awa—“ She couldn’t say it, couldn’t give him the answer he sought, and Love punished her for it with another bout of fiery pain. “Fuck.”

“Stop pushing yourself like this,” he said, trying to keep the anger out of his voice - anger at her? She wasn’t sure.

“I don’t have a choice, she doesn’t understand.”

His fingers found her chin, tilting her face up towards his, his brows pinched in concern, frowning in aggravation. “What doesn’t the spirit understand?”

Again with the same leading question that she had no intentions of answering.

Love pushed, and Ash whimpered.

“Please don’t make me,” she whispered under her breath, meant for Love, yet with Cullen’s proximity, she was certain he’d caught every word. “I don’t want to tell him, not like this. Please, not like this.”

She needed to find Dorian, to get him to…solve her predicament? No, there was only one solution, only she could end this.

Ash rubbed her sternum, fingers pressing against her chest as if she could physically push Love back inside. The pressure did nothing to soothe the burning, but the motion was instinctive, desperate. She winced as the pain intensified rather than abated.

"I've seen you do that before," Cullen said, his eyes tracking the movement of her hand.

Love flared hotter at his observation, as if pleased to be acknowledged. The cracks widened, tendrils of golden light seeping between Ash's fingers.

"Yeah, well," Ash said, unable to meet his gaze, "she's particularly active around you."

The moment the words left her mouth, her mind screamed in panic. Would he know what that meant? Possibly. She didn’t want to be around to find out. Incensed and feeling a jitteriness rise beneath her skin, she leapt to her feet, wavering as her weak legs adjusted to the sudden weight. Cullen followed her up and she turned from him, pacing away until his hand encircled her wrist, pulling her to a stop.

“Stop running away,” he said tersely. "You're being reckless, and until you are no longer in danger, I’m not letting you out of my sight.”

“I lied to you, I allowed a relationship between us when I knew the truth would wound you deeply. Why do you still bother?”

The confession was blunt but true. He didn’t let go of her wrist.

“You had your reasons.”

Ash scoffed, turning to face him, hand pressed to her chest as she gritted through Love’s assault. “You didn’t seem to care much for my reasons a few weeks ago.”

“I was upset, I was hurt, I still am - how did you expect me to react?” He released her wrist to throw his hands to the side in a gesture of perplexity.

“Exactly as you did.” Cold and contrite, another honesty bestowed upon him.

A shadow passed over Cullen's face, the moonlight catching the hollows beneath his eyes. He looked at her - really looked at her - as if peeling back layers of armour she'd spent years perfecting.

"Is that what you think?" His voice had softened to something dangerous, something raw. "That I reacted exactly as expected because you deserve nothing better?"

Love twisted inside her, a terrible longing that wrapped around her limbs like ivy climbing a forgotten ruin.

"Don't you dare pity me," she whispered, the words scraping her throat.

"Pity?" He laughed, a broken, humourless sound. "I've never pitied you. Been infuriated by you? Constantly. Worried for you? Every day. But never pity."

He stepped closer, and she stepped back in turn.

“What happened between us after Adamant…” He sighed, shaking his head ruefully. “It wasn’t only your fault.”

“Yes, it is!” She insisted, hands balled into fists at her sides, angry tears falling from her cheeks to splash on her corset-squashed breasts. “It’s all my fault! And now Love won’t let me rest because I won’t do what she wants, I can’t! She doesn’t understand, and I don’t know what to do, and I’m hurting her too. I can’t get myself to stop.”

Unravelling at the seams, unable to push back the terror that rolled off her tongue.

His eyes narrowed, his gaze darting across her damaged skin as though he could find the source of her pain. “What do you mean you’re hurting her? How are you hurting a spirit?”

At her silence, he stepped forward and wrapped his hand around her shoulder, pulling her attention to him. “Tell me,” he prompted.

Neither of them acknowledged that the cracks in her skin receded from his hand. Ash could breathe a little easier.

“I won’t do what she wants. I’m…stifling her.” And turning her into a demon, but she couldn’t bring herself to say it aloud.

His hand tightened, and the cracks receded further. “What does she want?”

“What I can’t have.” Ash’s voice broke along with the shattered remnants of her heart. What didn’t he understand? Why did he have to keep pushing her? Did he not see how desperately she needed him, how much she craved his touch?

Something shifted in Cullen's eyes - softening his features while tightening his jaw. His gaze dropped to the fissures spreading across her chest, to the embers flickering beneath her skin. When he looked back up, his eyes held a question. His hand dipped a hairsbreadth lower. Asking permission without words.

Ash froze, trapped between the desire to flee and to surrender. Love surged beneath her skin, yearning toward him like a flower seeking light.

She met his gaze, those eyes that had haunted her dreams, now filled with an emotion too tender to name. She gave him the barest nod.

His hand descended with excruciating gentleness, fingertips brushing the crusted blood on her chest as though touching a priceless relic. When his palm pressed flat against her heart, covering the worst of the cracks, Ash's breath caught in her throat. Where his fingers splayed, the cracks receded, sealing themselves as though they'd never been. The fire that had consumed her dimmed to a bearable simmer.

His thumb swept gently across the skin. It wasn't forgiveness - not yet - but understanding. Acknowledgment that neither could voice.

For a fleeting moment, Ash allowed herself to savour it, to pretend that this touch meant forgiveness, meant healing, meant more than a temporary respite from her torment. But beneath that touch, beneath the momentary peace, a tide was rising inside her. Not Love's rage this time, but her own.

How much longer must she endure this endless cycle? This constant battle between what she wanted and what she feared? Between protecting others and destroying herself?

Gods, she was so fucking tired.

Tired of the push and pull between them. Tired of the secrets. Tired of the constant vigilance required to keep Love contained. Tired of denying herself even the smallest comforts. Tired of being strong for everyone but herself.

She was shattered shards of a childhood ceramic bowl held together by nothing but stubborn will, and even that was failing her now.

Every day felt like walking on a knife's edge, waiting for the inevitable slip that would send her plummeting into an abyss from which there would be no return. And for what? So she could maintain this façade of control? So she could protect everyone from truths they would eventually discover anyway?

What was the point of surviving if she wasn't living?

She didn't want this anymore. This half-existence, this perpetual state of barely-contained madness. She wanted peace. She wanted to breathe without feeling like her lungs were filled with broken glass. She wanted to love without fear of destruction.

She was so tired of fighting herself. Of fighting Love. Of fighting him.

The tears that spilled down her cheeks weren't born of pain but of profound, bone-deep exhaustion. A weariness that had become her, tainting every thought, every breath, every heartbeat.

She wanted it to stop. All of it. The lies, the fear, the constant struggle to keep herself together when all she wanted was to fall apart in someone's arms and be told that she didn't have to be strong anymore.

In his arms.

Ash's shoulders slumped as something inside her finally, irrevocably broke. The last of her defenses held up by shoddy mortar and scaffolding that tumbled to the ground.

"I can't do this anymore," she whispered. The admission like tearing out a piece of herself, raw and bleeding. "I'm so tired, Cullen."

Not Commander, but Cullen. The man she’d lost her heart to long ago. His eyes widened slightly at her words, at the naked vulnerability. “Ash—“

No longer able to hold the weight of her anguish and fear and a desperate need she didn’t understand, she crumbled. Hot tears fell down her kohl-stained cheeks, her voice becoming doubled, like it had at Adamant when Love had spoken with her. “Just tell me what to do and I’ll do it! I don’t care anymore, I just can’t take it! Tell me how to fix it, please, Gods, I can't do this.” She clutched at his shirt, her voice returning to solely her own. “This fucking spirit doesn’t understand that I fucked everything up. Every time I am near you she’s begging me to close that distance, but I’m the one who put it there!”

His shock at her outburst rendered him speechless, his mouth slightly agape as if frozen in time. She continued her tirade, the words tumbling from her lips with a relentless, raw intensity, like rivulets of blood oozing from a mortal wound.

“I couldn’t bring myself to tell you, and maybe I should have, but I couldn’t. Maybe I could have trusted you or believed you when you claimed you had no intention of killing me, hurting me, or making me tranquil. I never allowed you the chance to adapt or understand. Instead, I threw my possession at you and distanced myself before you could do the same to me. I’m a coward who doesn’t know how to let anyone in, but I’m trying to learn.” Her chest heaved with panted breaths, her eyes wild as Love’s fire coursed through her veins. She sobbed through her agony. “I love you so terribly that sometimes I think it may kill me, and I would welcome it. I’m afraid and I love you and I can’t do this anymore! I can’t—Cullen, I can’t do this.”

The agony in her chest faded away, and clarity took its place. No…she hadn’t meant to admit that. But in her exhaustion and the relentless pain that had worn down her defenses, she’d let it slip, unbidden. Love was satisfied, her relief spreading under Ash’s skin - she was no longer teetering on the brink of becoming a demon. If fortune favoured her, Cullen hadn’t caught those words or, amid her incessant ranting, hadn’t registered their significance. Maybe—

No, she should know by now that counting on luck was a fool's errand.

Cullen’s lips parted around a choked breath as he stared at her, stunned into silence. Oh Gods, this was mortifying - to profess her love to a man who…did he despise her? Surely not, as he had assured her he cared, but what did those words truly mean?

No, it didn’t matter. Nothing would change. He could care about her all he wanted, but she would never be rid of her spirit possession. Love would always be a barrier to, well, love.

Her hand gripped her arm where it hung at her side, nails digging into the twisted, scarred flesh. She couldn’t feel anything except for the hand he’d kept affixed to her chest.

“You were supposed to be fun, not…” Ash didn’t know why she was still talking. She’d said enough, but now that she’d started, she couldn’t get herself to stop.

“What?” Cullen prompted, a burning intensity to his gaze and a hoarse bark to his voice.

She took a shaky breath. “Everything.”

He inched closer, as if drawn in by each confession.

“Again.” He prompted, his hand moving from her chest to cup her cheek, fingers brushing away tears.

Ash blinked rapidly, certain she had misheard him. “I beg your pardon?”

“Tell me you love me. Just one more time. And then I’m going to kiss you.”

Her heart stuttered. “What?” she asked breathlessly, like he’d punched her in the gut.

“You heard me.” His eyes never left her face. “One more time, and then I’m going to kiss you.”

He leaned in a fraction, then paused, uncertainty written in the furrow of his brow. Did he think she didn't want this? That after baring her heart, she would reject him now?

Ash couldn't bear the thought of him pulling away. Not when she finally had him so close, when the possibility of everything she'd yearned for was within reach. Even if this was the last kiss, she was powerless to resist. Love hummed contentedly beneath her skin, urging her forward.

“I love you, Cullen.”

With a low, strangled noise in the back of his throat, Cullen closed the distance between them. His lips met hers in a kiss that was hard and desperate, like neither of them had breathed since they’d parted, like the kiss would bring back to life what they’d destroyed in the solitude of his office.

One sword-roughened hand slid into her hair while the other arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her flush against him. Ash's arms wound around his neck as she pressed closer, deepening the kiss.

It felt like coming home, like finding a piece of herself she’d been searching for all her life. Cullen's lips were soft yet insistent against hers, his stubble scratching at her tear-stained skin. She could taste the faintest hint of wine on his tongue, feel the strong beat of his heart against her chest.

All the pain and fear of the past hours melted away. There was only this - Cullen's arms around her, his warmth enveloping her, his kiss setting her ablaze. Love sang through her veins, no longer an agonizing burn but a joyous, radiant glow.

When they parted reluctantly, both breathless, Ash kept her eyes closed for a moment. She was afraid that if she opened them, she would find it had all been a dream. But Cullen's forehead rested against hers, his fingers gently combing through her tangled hair, and she knew this was real.

She opened her eyes to find Cullen gazing at her with such tenderness it made her heart ache. A smile tugged at her lips, mirrored on Cullen's face.

"Ashvalla," he said, rough and tender and everything in between. "Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

She let out a humorless laugh - why not tell him everything? What else did she have to lose? Her dignity lay shredded in the garden bed. "When should I have done that? When I was lying to you about being possessed? Or after, when you could barely look at me?” Ash said, shaking her head and trying to pull away. "But nothing's changed. I'm still possessed, you’re still afraid of her."

Cullen didn't let her go. His other hand came up to frame her face, forcing her to meet his gaze.

“Yes,” he said quietly, “I was afraid of Love, of what it was doing to you, what it can do to you. But losing you frightens me more.”

Ash's mind reeled, heart skipping beats as his words sank in. No, that couldn't be right. He was a former Templar, trained to hunt mages who stepped beyond the line of acceptability. Her entire existence crossed that line.

"No, that's not right." She shook her head slightly against his palms. "We were only—"

"No." Cullen cut through her protest. "I know what you’re about to say. You are not just a body to me. I am certain I made that clear, so end this tireless attempt to make me slip. There is nothing to slip on. You are…even terrain."

Even terrain. The words echoed in Ash's mind as she studied Cullen's face. If he truly feared her - if Love's manifestation had triggered the Templar instincts he'd worked so hard to shed - wouldn't she have seen it? Wouldn't there have been that telltale flicker of revulsion, that instinctive recoil she'd witnessed in others?

But as she sorted through her memories since he’d joined her in the gardens, searching his expressions for any hint of disgust or fear, she found none. When Love had cracked open her skin and spit fire, he hadn't stepped back - he'd moved closer. When the spirit had raged within her, he hadn't reached for his sword - he'd reached for her.

Every time she'd expected him to turn away, had begged him to leave, he had leaned in instead. Where she expected judgment, he offered kindness. His hands on her skin had been gentle, his eyes concerned rather than alarmed. Even now, his thumbs stroked her cheeks with a tenderness that made her want to weep.

"You're not afraid of me.”

"No," Cullen agreed firmly. "I'm afraid for you. There's a difference."

"But I lied to you," she whispered, clinging to the last thread of her resistance. "I betrayed your trust. You told me what happened to you, and I still kept my possession a secret."

"And I reacted poorly," he conceded. His thumb traced the line of her jaw, the touch reverent and hesitant, as if she might shatter beneath his fingers. Or perhaps it was he who feared breaking.

"When I learned about Love, I was angry because I thought all we had shared was a lie, that your feelings weren't real - that they were the spirit's, not yours." His eyes searched hers desperately. She hoped he found what he was looking for. "I couldn't bear the thought that what I felt was one-sided. And then we argued and I…regret how it ended, that I let you push me away.”

Love pulsed beneath Ash's skin, not in pain but in triumph, a warm glow that spread through her veins like honey.

"What you felt?" she echoed, hardly daring to breathe. Her ears fell, quivering slightly.

"I thought it was obvious. I've been told I wear my emotions on my sleeve."

"I don’t understand." She needed to hear the words, needed them spelled out in a way that left no room for misinterpretation or doubt. She held her breath, barely daring to hope.

Cullen smiled, pained and tired, but it was beautiful - he was beautiful. "I fell madly in love with you. Maker help me, but I love you still, Ashvalla. I always will."

A small, choked sound wriggled from Ash's throat. She stared at him in disbelief, her eyes wide and glistening with unshed tears.

"But…how?”

"Because you're brave and selfless and infuriating," Cullen said with a wry grin. "You challenge me and frustrate me and make me want to be better. And yes, you hid your possession. But I…understand why, now, even if I don't agree with it.” He leaned his forehead against hers, and on instinct, she tilted her face up towards his, his breath puffing over her lips and her eyes fluttering closed. "These past weeks have been torture without you. You were there, but I couldn’t reach you."

Ash's hands came up to grip Cullen's wrists, holding him there as if afraid he might disappear. Her chest ached, but this time it wasn't from Love's fire. It was something warmer, sweeter - hope blossoming where she thought it had withered away.

"I don't deserve you," she said.

Cullen shook his head. "You deserve so much more than you give yourself credit for."

"I'm still possessed," she whispered. This was a dangerous line they were toeing, and she wanted nothing more than to bound past it and fall into his arms, but she couldn’t stand it if he changed his mind later - once reality set in. "That hasn't changed."

"No," Cullen agreed softly. "But my understanding of it has. Love isn't controlling you. She's a part of you. You are still you."

“Am I?” So quiet she almost couldn’t hear herself speak. She hadn’t been just Ash in twenty-three years, but did that mean she wasn’t still herself?

“Of course you are,” he said with a fierceness that breathed air into her tired lungs. “You’re still the same—you’re still the same woman I fell in love with.”

Creators, she loved him and he…loved her, too. She wasn’t naive enough to think that love would magically fix all their wounds, but it was a start. They would have time to sort the rest of their mess out - together.

He pulled back, his eyes roaming over her face before settling on her neck. He gently tilted her chin up, thumb brushing across the fresh scar that marred her throat. The dried blood still caked her skin, flaking off in places where her movements had cracked it. His fingers ghosted over the crusted crimson stains that ran down her chest, disappearing beneath the neckline of her ruined gown.

"When I heard you'd disappeared," he said, raw and filled with sorrow, "I thought I'd lost you without ever getting to apologize for my behaviour that night." His eyes met hers, filled with regret and a deep, aching tenderness. "I was…I don't know if I have the words to describe how distraught I was. It made me realize how much of a fool I’ve been."

Ash swallowed hard, feeling her throat bob beneath Cullen's fingers. "You weren't—"

"I was," he insisted. "I let my fear cloud my judgment. I let you push me away when I should have been trying to understand." His thumb traced the line of her jaw, a feather-light touch that sent shivers down her spine. "When they told me you'd been taken, all I could think about was how our last conversation had been an argument. How I might never get the chance to make things right."

Ash leaned into his touch. "I'm here now.”

"You are," Cullen agreed, thick with relief. "But Maker's breath, Ash, you nearly weren't. This scar…" His fingers brushed over it again, reverent and careful. "When I saw all that blood, I thought…"

"I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize. None of that was your fault." His hand slid to cup the back of her neck, fingers tangling in her hair.

"I'm so grateful you're alright. That I have the chance to tell you how I feel, to make things right between us. I wouldn’t have been able to live with myself."

Ash's heart swelled. She brought her hand up to cover Cullen's where it rested on her neck. "You’ll never hear me admit this for anything else, so listen up,” she said with a tired grin. “We both made mistakes, but we're here now. Together. That has to count for something."

A small smile tugged at Cullen's lips. "Together," he repeated like a promise.

He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead, then to the tip of her nose, before finally capturing her lips once more. This kiss was different from the first - slower, deeper, filled with all the words they couldn't quite say.

His hand pressed harder against the small of her back, and Cullen's lips moved against hers with growing urgency, pulling her closer. Ash melted into him, her fingers coiling in his hair as she kissed him. A soft moan fell from her throat as he nipped at her bottom lip.

Love hummed contentedly beneath her skin, urging her on. Ash's hands slid down Cullen's chest, feeling the strong muscles beneath his shirt. His own hands dipped lower, gripping her hips and holding her flush against him.

No, this was a terrible idea. As much as she wanted to shed their clothes and fuck him in the garden, not caring who saw, it wasn’t the right time.

Reluctantly, Ash pulled away. "Wait," she panted, pressing a hand to Cullen's chest. "We can't…we have to talk about this first. There's still so much…"

Cullen cleared his throat, the round edges of his ears turning bright pink. "Yes, of course," he said. "You're right."

Ash giggled at his flustered expression - caught in his desires. She leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. "Don't worry, Commander," she purred, her lips brushing his ear. "We'll have plenty of time for that later."

His blush deepened, spreading down his neck, but his eyes darkened with hunger as they roamed over her.

"I should probably wash up," she said, gesturing to her blood-stained dress and disheveled appearance. "I'm hardly fit for polite company at the moment." Cullen's eyes softened, a flicker of disappointment crossing his face as he realized their time together was coming to an end. He didn't voice his reluctance to part, but Ash could see it in the way his hands lingered on her waist, the slight downturn of his lips as he stepped back.

"Right," he said. "That dress can’t be comfortable."

Ash nodded, and the full weight of exhaustion settled over her. The events of the day - the kidnapping, the blood loss, the emotional turmoil - all crashed down at once. Her legs felt weak, her eyelids heavy.

"Actually," she said, sounding small and uncertain, "I'm not sure I can manage on my own. Would you…would you mind helping me? Even just to get back to my room."

"Yes," he said eagerly, though he tried to hide it by averting his gaze. "Whatever you need."

Ash gave him a grateful smile. "Thank you.”

Cullen wrapped an arm around her waist, supporting her as they made their way back into the manor. The halls were quiet, most of the guests having retired for the night. They encountered no one on their way to Ash's room, for which she was thankful. She didn't have the energy to field questions or concerned looks.

Each step required more effort than the last, her body finally demanding the rest she'd been denying it. But soon, she’d be able to lie down, warm and clean and heart mending. The worst part was over. Although there were many challenges left to navigate, having Cullen by her side filled her with an unshakeable joy that nothing could diminish. She loved him, and by the Creators, he loved her, too.

A second chance. They had found their way back to each other, and for now, that was enough.

Next Chapter

A/N: Finally! They figured some of their shit out, and there's plenty more where that came from. Don't worry, Cullen will learn exactly what was going on, but it will require a deeper conversation than the gardens will allow.

I hope it was everything you wanted, and I shall see you all in the next chapter!

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dayntee · 2 months ago

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Okay, like, I started the Arlathan University long fic mostly as a joke. 1-2k chapters meant to be dumb vignettes of various Veilguard students tormenting Professor!Solas and also Solavellan desk sex because we deserve nice things.

Now I’m 14 chapters deep, 6k words into my latest draft and nowhere near done, and outlining out at least another 10 similar length chapters because these idiots in love decided they wanted plot and are taking me along for the ride.

Enjoy a snippet, this one’s gonna take a bit of massaging. Yes, that asterisk means what you think it means.

#dragon age #solavellan #solas #dragon age the veilguard #dragon age inquisition #solas dragon age #dragon age veilguard #university au #arlathan university #fic preview #solavellan fanfiction #fanfiction #Solas is a sleepy head #he only slept in until like 9:30 that’s pretty good for him #expect teasing fluff smut and plot #because I have a grocery list and it’s all getting checked off

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an-established-butt-dent · 1 year ago

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'Dreamers' A quiet evening

Solas x Lavellan, available as print here.

Mixed media on paper

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chronicsolasapologist · 2 months ago

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Don't mind me, just thinking about Lavellan accidentally stumbling into Solas' dreams. Into his oasis, ruins of the Arlathan, graveyard of his regrets. The wisps cling to her, curious of her bright fiery soul in this place that's usually so empty and filled with dread. She looks at them and praises their beauty and Solas longs for being just a little spirit worm wrapped around her fingers.

*screams violently into the pillow, kicking my feetsies and losing my mind*

yea-uhh so you can read about it in Chapter 7 of "Bog Bodies" >:)))

#solavellan #solavellan hell #solasmance #dragon age solas #solas dragon age #dragon age #dragon age inquisition #solas x female lavellan #angst #fluff #solavellan fanfic #solas x lavellan #bogbodies

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littlechaoscosplay · 1 month ago

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More than enough

SolasXLavellan

Rated (T).

He found it a bit strange that his love is sleeping in just a tad later than normal

Solas sat the cup next to her plate filling it close to the brim of the warm beverage, knowing full well she is not a morning person and looking at the time he had a feeling she might need the extra pick me up.

However as he awaited to hear her foot steps that would slowly make their way through the room, it didn’t come. It was strange but not worrying he did warn how the lighthouse could effect someone’s inner time clock due to its nature.

But as time passed and the steam from her cup died; it was then something did not feel right and he headed straight to her room.

As he walked he kept his composure; rationalizing that she must have stayed up later after he had fallen asleep; that or her mind is elsewhere and had simply lost track of the time.

He stopped at the door and gave it a few gentle knocks; no answer.

He knocked once more, silence.

He swallowed back the anxiousness as he slowly opened the door, just to peak to ease his thoughts. He looked to see her still in bed; and could see the gentle rise and fall of her breaths, he chuckled to himself feeling a bit foolish but before he could close the door, “…Wha.”

He paused, “A-apologize vhenan…you have slept in quite a bit.”

In the darkness with just the small stream of light bleeding in he could see her sit up, wiping her eyes before looking to him, “Oh…I’m-” She wiped her eyes again, “I’m sorry, I’ll be right there.”

A simple answer but it felt…off.

Perhaps lingering worry was still itching in the back of his mind that he could not leave. “Are you sure you are alright…?” He asked quietly.

She turned away from him as if she was searching for something, “Yes, I’m fine.” She answered.

He frowned, and made his way into the room. That tone of voice he knew, a tone that was used in front of companions , the tone used to ease the worry of the masses. He took a seat next to her making her jump at the feeling of the bed dipping slightly.

“My love” He started carefully, “Please look at me.”

She kept her gaze from him, “I will be only a minute.” She assured in that unchanging happy tone.

“Inquisitor.”

He could see her freeze tilting her head confused, “Why are you calling me-“ she stopped when she almost looked at him.

“Because the Inquisitor tends to put on a very convincing act when she is trying to conceal her true self.”

“Not unlike someone I know?” She joked.

He chuckled, “Yes…and dare I say I pride myself in knowing when someone is lying to me.”

She let out a small breathy laugh, “…I’m just tired is all, I’m sorry I worried you.”

He felt a pit in his stomach, the sense of uneasiness still there but not wanting to pry made it unbearable, “I could bring something to eat here?” He then offered.

“Honestly, I’m not very hungry at the moment.”

He nodded, but wasn’t sure if she noticed as she was still looking away from him, “How about a beverage at least? Something hot, may-haps?”

“That…would be nic-” She then shook her head, “Actually no, it’s alright.”

“Would you like to lay down a bit longer, I can wake you later?”

“I think I might;yes...”

It was a silent acknowledgment as he got up, looking back to see her slither under the covers before closing the door. It was still there as he walked the halls down into the small courtyard. The worry, along with an almost helplessness.

Back in the days of the Inquisition he knew the brave face she would display but the natural anxiety that came with sudden leadership never left her bed ridden, at most caused her to be a tad exhausted or needing a small moment to herself to collect her thoughts.

He remembered watching her closely in the beginning more so to make sure the anchor that once marked her hand would not outright kill her, But then saw the stress of it all forming and how it effected her and would offer little comfort he could give in those moments, it was at first selfish acts of kindness to make sure she was able to continue the duty to right his mistake but as they got to know one another…

He cursed himself everyday since for damning such a kind soul to such a cruel fate.

And now he is finding that he has done so again, even though she consented to being with him, even though he warned her…no, he should have done more, he managed to push her away twice but in that moment his selfishness took over. The moment a prideful; cowardice man could not bear the thought of being alone, even though he deserved to be…

She must be suffering yet again because of him, the lighthouse does offer its comforts but he is still bound to the fade and the crossroads, he cannot journey the waking world however she is not, She can still leave. She should not be burden with any more of his wrongs.

He turned heel and went back to her room, he must do this now, before he finds himself unable.

He reached for the handle and announced his presence as he slowly opened the door, only to be welcomed by a darken room, she was still sleeping and he felt a pang of regret as he approached to wake her.

He took a breath before lighting one of the lanterns near the bedside, but as the soft glow illuminated the room it did not seem to bother her, she laid peacefully.

He leaned in but lost his courage to speak and instead gently brushed the loose strands of hair from her face it was then he noticed the deep shadows under her eyes, his voice was still lost in his throat as he carefully pressed his hand to her forehead, a small relief that she did not have a fever. His hand then instinctively moved to stroke her hair softly, he had to hold in a laugh as she moved her head into his touch further.

But stopped as her eyes fluttered open, “S-solas?” She said her voice slightly hoarse.

“I am here.” He answered; finally finding his voice, “How are you feeling?”

“Better…” She said as she sat up.

He pressed his lips together in a thin line, he knew this was for the best, “M-may I speak candidly?”

An uneasy smile slowly formed as she spoke, “You may?”

He knelt down beside her, “Vhenan, You being here is the greatest gift I do not deserve, but seeing how my imprisonment is effecting you so…I do not think it’s wise for you to continue being here… being with me.”

Her eyes widened she went to say something but all she did was stare.

He continued, “You have always deserved the best.” He then chuckled as he felt his eyes start to burn, “-and I knew this wasn’t, I should have stopped you…”

Her head slowly shook, as her sleepy demeanor quickly fell at the suddenness of what was being said, “I-I do not understand, I chosen to be here…”

“I know but seeing you so ill because of this, you still have a chance to live a better life.”

She went quiet, pressing her eyes shut, “You are worried because…” She let out a shaky breath in hesitation, ”I am not ill from being here; being with you Solas…it’s because of my own self.”

His eyes narrowed, “Whatever do you mean?”

He patiently watched as she looked for the right words before turning to him almost defeated , “For as long as I can remember I’ve had this…ailment, so-to-speak.” She explained.

“But during the Inquisition…”

“I was better at hiding it.” She said bluntly, “My mind could not hinder me if it was occupied.”

“Your mind?”

She nodded, “Somedays It feels as if my mind and body are separated, my thoughts feel as if they are trying to claw at the inside of my skull while my body lays heavy and just…aches.”

He swallowed down the shock of her words, “That is-“

“Unpleasant? It’s why I didn’t wish to tell you-anyone for that matter and just hoped the feeling would pass on its own as it usually does.”

“But even so….”

She placed a hand on his shoulder as she softly spoke, “You have your own self to worry about, and regardless on how it sounds it’s nothing compare what you face.”

His head lowered, “Instead I’m left with the knowledge that you suffer in silence?”

Her hand slipped from his shoulder and placed it back into her lap, “…You are taking this too seriously, just as I feared.” She muttered.

He frowned before getting up and taking a seat on the bed, “Of course I am…! If I can do anything to ease the pain of the woman I love; I will do everything within my power to do so.”

He was then taken aback when he saw tears begin to form in her eyes that she quickly wiped away with a genuine smile, “Sweet talker.”

“Vhenan…” he pleaded.

She thought a moment, “There is not much you can do, and I’m not speaking as though I do not wish for your help. I just…don’t really know what can besides waiting for it to subside.”

His face dropped, there had to be something, “You said in the Inquisition it did not affect you as terribly aside from the obvious duties was there anything else that kept you at ease?”

She laughed, “Quite frankly “ease” is not the word I would use…it was just dulled. But I see what you’re trying…” she closed her eyes, “I will say…this is nice; being able to talk about it.”

“I am to assume you had not brought it to anyone’s attention after the Inquisition?”

She shook her head, “I didn’t know how…and over the years it wasn’t something that was exactly my main concern.”

He winced, “Ah…”

She gave him a slight nudge, “Now, now don’t pout.” she teased.

“Apologies If not for me you could have-“ he stopped himself then carefully cupped her face, “No, this is not about me, Are you still feeling unwell?”

She leaned into his touch as she did before while she slept and hummed in contentment, “A little but it feels as though it’s settling, Thank you…vhenan, for listening .” She smiled.

He smiled back, “I only wish I could do more.”

She gently pulled from him and settled herself back down before reaching out, he accepted her welcoming embrace and made himself comfortable next to her. She nestled herself against his chest as he wrapped an arm around her bringing her closer.

“…Right now this is more than enough.” She whispered.

#dragon age #solas x lavellan #solas #lavellan #solas x female lavellan #solavellan #comfort fic #dragon age fanfiction #fanfic #They are both just trying their best #been feeling down wrote fluff to make me feel better

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