#solas pov

[vir-bellanaris]

Chapter 2 is here!! 3500 words babeeee Took me 4 hours but that's 20 mintues of reading time LOL please I hope you enjoy! I worked hard, comments are appreciate my loves :)))

Of course, Veilguard ending spoilers please beware.

[vivispec]

Atish'an

In her, he'd found everything he'd stopped himself from hoping for. She was earnest, honest, open-minded. And she was never meant to have existed.

In the arms of his lover, Solas gives into his guilt. Viera is quick to silence him. I'm going to quit pretending I can write anything fluffier than hurt/comfort, but in my defense a prompt like this lends itself to such.

Fluffuary Day 10: Reassurance Solas/Viera words: 646 tags: solavellan, hurt/comfort but heavy on the comfort, physical fluff, brooding solas, rogue lavellan, solas pov, during dai, cuddling, some allusions to datv lore if you squint

There was peace here, if he let his mind fall completely silent. A calm like the prelude to sleep, of slow inhales and melting exhales. He'd found it easier to grasp the longer he let himself linger in the half-light, between waking and sleeping, but for once he didn't wish to slip into the Fade. For however long he had, he wished to savor it within her arms.

Viera'vun cradled him against her chest, the gentle rhythm of her callused thumb dragging lazily from cheek to temple, and her warmth beneath his other ear seemed to sing. Not just a song of pulse and breath, but a song of spirit, crooning to his very essence through their skin pressed flush. It felt as if he should see her very being painted on the backs of his lids, the light of her soul branching and reaching just as his once had, intertwining with his own. As if he should feel her there, deeper than their skin would allow.

In her, he'd found everything he'd stopped himself from hoping for. She was earnest, honest, open-minded. And she was never meant to have existed.

His arms wound her waist tighter, as if to remind him where he was; still the thoughts found crack and crevice, still they crept inside. All this time he'd known and yet still he'd stumbled, careening so wildly off the path as to end up here. He traced his steps backwards, past the press of her lips and the song her company sang. It hadn't been that first sight of her, crumpled in a makeshift bed on the dungeon floor with the light of the Anchor ripping her body apart from the inside, nor was it that first touch as he'd grasped her hand and thrust it towards the gash in the heavens. She'd been collateral, then, and a guilt he'd grown unnervingly comfortable carrying. Regard, only in her ferocity to live.

Had it been the thoughtfulness with which she chose her questions, then, and the rapt attention she'd bestowed him? Or her adherence to her beliefs, her loyalty to what was right?

Where had she disarmed him so, and when, exactly, had he lost such control of his carefully laid plans?

"Vhenan, what's wrong?"

Her voice was a murmur, tired and slow, and his brow tensed over eyes still shut. "I fear I am a selfish man, for loving you the way I have," he confessed. She rolled her head, resting her cheek upon his crown.

"Tell me, how's it selfish when I love you?"

There was no doubt within his mind that, to some extent, she already knew. It was wishful to believe that she didn't, a truth he'd much rather ignore—and she made it easy to, always patiently waiting for him to come to her in his own time. But she deserved better than that. She deserved the truth, and if he was unable to give even so much to her…

"Am I truly who you want? You cannot know, the things I've done—"

"There's nothing that would keep me from loving you," she interrupted, guiding him to look up at her with a gentle hand. "As you are is who I care for. Who you once were has no bearing on that fact."

The rebuttal upon his lips, the insistence that she pull away as he couldn't possibly bear to any longer, was silenced before it could be given voice. She tilted his chin, and then Viera'vun stole his words with a kiss, soft, but insistent. It unraveled him. The pounding of his heart, the sigh of their mingling breaths, until the cadence of his thoughts meant nothing to him. Unintelligible, or simply just irrelevant.

There was peace here, if only he'd let himself feel it. Solas closed his eyes once more, and let her song lull him into silence.

[jochiemgrace]

Solas sees them talking outside haven, Emma and the Lion.

He is jealous, and chides himself.

He can’t pursue her. Of course he can’t.

He still has to…

His rebellion…

His promise…

Yes. That was his anchor in her hand, but she isn’t his.

They are chatting about nothing.

Laughing and touching and-

His legs move him before he knows, arms crossed casually behind his back, hiding the wringing of his hands.

“Emma'lah?” His voice is calm, questioning.

Cullen’s smile pulls tight, trying to hide his distaste. The inquisitor turns to Solas, her smile touching every part of her face.

Creators she’s beautiful.

“May I speak with you?” His head gestures away.

“Of course!” She turns to Cullen, “Excuse me, Commander.”

The man nodded at her retreat. What else could he do?

She’s at Solas’ side the next instant.

“Is everything alright?” her concerned tone touches him.

“Yes. I just,” Shit. Shit! What does he say? What did he need her for? He glanced her way, her face was surprisingly… hopeful?

She bit her lip and stole a look at him, her ears flushing as she saw him looking back. “I take it Vivienne mentioned my ponderings of the Fade?”

She was … no. He couldn’t hope.

“She has not. But I would love to hear them.”

The blush flooded her cheeks as her head tipped downward.

She was quiet as she launched into her theories and thoughts

She’d caught him in his lie, and was happy?

Did she want to spend time with him?

Dangerous, that small voice cooed.

Solas paid it no mind as he learned more about Emma'lah's marvelous mind.

scene inspired while listening to:

[wolfmoonwildflowers]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age (Video Games) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Female Lavellan/Solas (Dragon Age), Female Inquisitor/Solas (Dragon Age), Lavellan/Solas (Dragon Age) Characters: Solas (Dragon Age), Female Lavellan (Dragon Age) Additional Tags: POV Solas (Dragon Age), Solas is Fen'Harel (Dragon Age), Pining Solas (Dragon Age), Protective Solas (Dragon Age), Lavellan/Solas Angst (Dragon Age), Solas Angst (Dragon Age), Solas Feels (Dragon Age), Solas Being an Idiot (Dragon Age), Solas Being Solas (Dragon Age), Solas is a Mess (Dragon Age), Solas is Bad at Feelings (Dragon Age), Solas in Love (Dragon Age), Solas Needs a Hug (Dragon Age), Named Lavellan (Dragon Age), Overthinking, Pining Series: Part 2 of Inevitable Summary:

Solas flirted with the Inquisitor and (gasp!) he liked it. Now he has to face the consequences of his actions.

[amaryllislavellan]

Need | 590 Words A study in how words feel as they exit the mouth, or maybe over analyzing is just a defense against really feeling what they mean. (Best if the words he's analyzing are said out loud!)

"Need is such a weak willed word. It’s short, callous, and overall falls fast in the mouth as if you’re trying to hide the vulnerability of yourself behind your front teeth. No. I do not need her."

Need is such a weak willed word. It’s short, callous, and overall falls fast in the mouth as if you’re trying to hide the vulnerability of yourself behind your front teeth.

No.

I do not need her.

I could brace myself against the flowery tones and the roll of my tongue when I say desire. The way the breath escapes in an attempt to flourish the thought, extending it out within the room on heated breath and a softly opened mouth. But that too, would be inaccurate.

I can attempt to articulate my feelings into words but none of them resonate with the way my heart bursts when I see her. The gentle moments we spend together that make my blood burn up through my chest and the air escape my lungs without being exhaled. Her smile traps the air there, held in the embrace of her warmth. Instead of searching for an escape I draw in a deep breath that comes out as a tremble and I fight back against my heart, losing my true purpose. My composure.

I-- I don’t need her.

Perhaps I simply want her. But want is a curt word, ending on a pop. It’s a short term proclamation that ends in a puff of air that resides in the forefront of the mouth. It is a word begrudging of neglect once obtained and my body would not do me the courtesy of abandoning her. With fevered fingers I indulge in tangling in her hair by the fistfull, pulling it back until she makes that golden sound. No. Want is far too small a word.

It falls as short in tone as need.

I can’t begin to define what happens when she looks into my eyes with genuine affection. She trusts me and my council, and I shatter. I shatter into thousands of tiny fragments that reflect back the many truths I have withheld to show me who I am. Who I was? No. The deep pools of trust she gives me--- I feed off of them. I drink it in and spill myself in turn, overflowing with greed. I am her reservoir of knowledge, always guarded and protected by the unseen corners of my mind. But, I find myself allowing the real truth to slip through the dam, like tiny cracks and rivulets that condense on the surface. She’s been clever, and attentive, and strong. I both fear and long for her to see the truth I have laid out for her in tiny admissions.

I refuse to think the word that rushes through my pulse. That rolls my shoulders forward with longing when she comes too close. I will not say the word that makes clever use of its consonants. The word that pushes the admission out of my mouth by forcing the tone across my lower lip held back and then permitted across my upper teeth. It betrays me. The movement of my mouth releases the end of the word in a way that almost vaults the confession faster to her ears. It leaves me open and willing to tell her anything.

I want to tell her everything.

I need to fight this feeling with all of who I am; hide my weakness tight in my throat. I have to rebuild these walls she so easily collapsed and make myself again in iron. I have to find the right words that will force this wall to collect between us. But the thought of losing her--- I.

I don’t want to need her.

[teamdilf]

The first chapter of my Solas POV companion fic to In Another World is up!

Iris Lavellan may be Elgar’nan’s creature. A desperate woman making a foolish decision. Can he sway her? Or should he remain distant, watchful, using her for his magic that remains embedded in her hand, and killing her once her usefulness ebbs away?

Confounded by the Herald of Andraste, Solas does all he can to determine what she is up to, aided by his friend, Wisdom, who attempts to temper his suspicions.

[evanhereonearth]

Slowly, as slow as the glacier upon which he sits, Solas pieces himself back together. There is time yet, and he will love her. He will love her with all the brightness she possesses and more. Solas will pour into her every drop of truth he can, every piece of every facet of his soul, store himself in her like secrets, give someone all Solas is. This someone. His someone. His da’lath’in. Because he is Solas, that is the secret. That is the deepest place of his deepest self, the curious spirit, the dreamer, the wondering wanderer. The world forgot him when they remembered Fen’Harel. They remade him in rebellion and betrayal, worked his image from Wisdom into Pride, painted every brushstroke with dread. Perhaps that is why he loves her, one of the myriad reasons. She sought him because she instinctively felt he was like her. Curious and dreaming and wondering, wandering. Forgotten and alone, pasted pieces of someone else’s thoughts sloughing off like dead skin. She is his da’lath’in, and he will love her as long as he can. He will love her forever.

(From a brief Solas POV chapter of my longfic that's back to living rent free in my head after basically being confirmed as canon after all this time.)

I've seen it said that Rook is a better romance option for Solas because unlike Lavellan, they know who he is from the get go. So let me make something clear:

Rook does not know Solas better than Lavellan does. They know his history, his crimes, even his regrets, but what he shows when they talk to him is very much a mask.

Fen'harel is not who Solas is. As dishonest as he was about his past during his time with the Inquisition, he also came the closest to being himself ever since he took a body.

In sappy terms, he hid his deeds and plans from Lavellan, but not his heart. With Rook, it's the opposite.

Who we see in Veilguard is not some kind of "Solas unmasked", it's Solas who has returned to wearing the mask he was allowed to shed for a little while and hide the fact he'd ever worn it.

The raggedy apostate who plays mental chess with Bull, trolls Sera, beats Blackwall at diamondback, who nerds out about magic with Dorian and approves of helping every single hinterlands peasant you encounter, that's the real Solas. Keeping his past a secret is what allowed him to stop being what his service to Mythal and his people made him into, even if for just a little while.

[antlerlad]

i cant stop making these it's so fun

[bishicat]

in his sourdough era

[sky--phantom]

Times other people discussed Solavellan + Times Solas and Lavellan talked about each other (dav)

"I've seen how you look at him. You're in it" - Sera

"Is it my imagination, dear, or have certain... lingering looks passed between you and our Solas?" - Vivienne

"You're real, and it means everyone could be real. It changes everything, but it can't" - Cole

"The two of you were close. Perhaps he had no choice? He might return at any moment" - Leliana

"How have you been? It seems ages since we've spoken. I know you were cruely disappointed when Solas left" - Vivienne

"Are you hoping for word on Solas? I'm sorry, Inquisitor. I'm afraid I have nothing" - Leliana

"I've been meaning to ask... Solas hasn't come back? Sent word? Anything?" - Thom

"Oh, and Inquisitor? Feels weird, but I'm sorry Solas never came back. Well, no, I'm not, but... I'm sorry he left you." - Sera

"I am not a god, Charter. I am prideful, hotheaded, and foolish, and I am doing what I must. When you report back to the Inquisitor…. Say that I am sorry.” - Solas

"Maybe it's gullible of me, but I know the Inquisitor feels the same: Solas isn't too far gone to bring back" - Varric

"Solas was... important to me. If this statuette helps you understand him, if it uncovers something that... Honestly, I don't know. I wish I did. But this feels like a part of him, and whatever he and I once were... I think... I-I hope... it might help you" - Lavellan

"And when I served the Inquisition, I tried to avoid entanglements" - Solas

"Except for Inquisitor Lavellan" - Rook

"I said that I resolved to do so, not that I succeeded. She's a good woman. Growing close to her was... selfish of me" - Solas

"Do you regret it?" - Rook

"I live with countless regrets. Some of them I have grown to cherish more than my victories" - Solas

"Solas took this path because he thinks he has no choice. But the Inquisitor believes there is another way for him. For them. She could save him, if he would just let her" - Harding

"God of Lies, Dread Wolf, Fen'Harel. They're titles he earned from enemies, followers and fractured history. He and I shared another name: Vhenan" - Lavellan

"You've spoken to him in your dreams. You've felt the power of that mind. His love could burn against me like a bonfire. He seemed so kind, and wise, and sad, and looked at me as if I somehow mattered more than anything around us. For a time... I thought I would have followed anywhere he asked me to" - Lavellan

"Or maybe I'm the prideful one, imagining his broken heart so that I never have to face my folly. That I loved someone who made such grave mistakes. That I might love him still" - Lavellan

"He really made you happy?" - Rook

"Yes, he really did" - Lavellan

"Harding... I am sorry" - Solas

"For what, Solas? Betraying the Inquisitor and breaking her heart?" - Harding

"Is there any chance - any chance at all - that he would listen to reason?" - Lavellan

"Speaking from the heart, Inquisitor?" - Morrigan

"With Elgar'nan and and Ghilan'nain dead, and the Inquisitor finally reunited with her true love... it looked like one of the biggest stories this world had ever seen was finally drawing to a close" - Varric

[abyssal-ilk]

currently obsessed with the idea of elgar'nan and rook being dragged into the regret prison together instead of it just being rook. solas frees himself and traps two of the biggest threats to his plan to bring down the veil in one swoop. with both ghilan'nain and razikale dead, rook and elgar'nan trapped, all he needs to do to bring down the veil is to kill lusacan– which will then allow elgar'nan to fall to the blight as the other evanuris did and allow the veil to collapse. while the rest of rook's team and the factions are scrambling trying to pick up the pieces, elgar'nan and rook are held fast in the prison of regret. both unable to kill each other.

idk! i just think forcing rook and elgar'nan to be around each other for WEEKS as their plans crumble around them and they have both experienced devastating loss (harding/davrin, bellara/neve, and ghilan'nain) is fun to think about. especially considering that they are directly responsible for the other's loss, and have both been betrayed by solas.

[vivispec]

Vhenas

His eyes dropped to his reflection in the rich, red liquid, its scent having taken on the spices she'd added, and warming him even before it met his lips. Sweeter than he preferred, and young in age, but where his people had let depth develop over the span of decades hers had found a way wholly their own, to please the palate.

"It's just as I remember," she sighed.

Solas brings Viera a gift, and the two enjoy it—as well as the company—together.

Fluffuary Day 5: Beverage Break/Date Solas/Viera words: 1,694 tags: solavellan, fluff, brooding solas, rogue lavellan, solas pov, during dai, cw: alcohol

"Solas, is that you?" called her voice from the top of the stairs, pushing aside the sounds of rustling paper that he'd heard upon opening the door. "Hold on, give me a moment. Let me throw something on, before you come up."

He paused where he stood upon the steps, grip tightening its hold of the jug that he carried. The heady aroma of sweet wine within mingled together with his thoughts, diluting whatever deliberation he harbored still of descent. The climb to the Inquisitor's quarters were, as they always had been, harrowing as much as they were humbling. Yet, still he made it, as if it were a compulsion he'd no power to fight. Still he came, pitcher in hand, as if the wisdom he made claims to had fled him.

"Alright," she said after a moments time, and the groaning of her wardrobe. "You surprised me. I didn't think you'd come, considering the hour."

In all honesty he'd surprised himself as well. It wasn't so much that the hour was terribly late, or that such a visit held certain implications—the sun glowed yet upon the horizon out her balcony door, and talk would make the rounds no matter their attempts at discretion. No, what had surprised him had been how helpless he'd been to the impulse that had driven him here.

All it had taken was the sound of that voice, the same that called to him now, as she'd responded to a greeting from Varric outside of the rotunda upon her return. His head had been filled with her then, with the convenient excuse Lady Josephine offered only the final push he'd needed, to send him off the edge. Only that, and all of his better judgment had crumbled to dust.

Any hesitance that lingered still left him when finally he ascended. How often that seemed to be the case, when it came to her. She smiled at him from across the room, hands still busy tying the wrap she'd thrown over her lounging garments, and more at ease than he'd seen her before. Lighter, as if relieved of some great unseen burden. "It appears that you enjoyed your hunting trip," he stated, and her grin seemed to spread as she hummed an affirmation.

"Very much so. It was good, to get back out there with Ilo again. I almost forgot about the Inquisitor for a couple nights." Her eyes returned to the knot, though her cheeks bore still the evidence of her smile. "I even shot down one of the billies myself, alongside some small game."

A feat for her, he knew—she proclaimed herself the tracker, and never the marksman. Such had been the task of her partner, he'd gathered. Her eyes flicked back up as she began to pad towards where he idled, having set his offering on the table beside her couch.

"What'd you bring?"

"Lady Josephine asked that I bring it, once she surmised of my intentions," he admitted, leaning back against the railing as she drew close. "I fear she may have figured them out before even I did."

Viera'vun breathed a laugh. "That sounds like our ambassador." She reached a hand out to take the jug from the table, the already lithe motions of the huntress somehow freer now, and the tilting of her head exposing the slope of her neck. "Did she say what it was?"

Where her wrap bunched at the shoulders he could see unimpeded, down the bare span of her back. Solas cleared his throat, and averted his eyes. "Only that it is wine," he said, "and that you would recognize it."

"Hmm. I wonder if it's another—wait." Her brow knit as she brought it to her nose, and shook her head. "It couldn't be."

Drawing the pitcher to her lips she sipped the wine, letting the drink sit on her tongue a moment before her face split with a grin, and she swallowed.

"Creators, I can't believe it. It is."

He pushed aside the prickle that the title elicited. "And what, exactly, would it be?"

"It's Silthun's wine—my uncle, from my clan. This is from my clan." For a moment she simply stood there, cradling the gift as if it might vanish were she to move. Then, she blinked, and with her breath found motion again. "I'll prepare it for us, if you have a moment. Go get comfortable, it won't take long."

She was off and to the fireplace before he could respond, kneeling down to pour the drink into a pot. He nearly spoke up to offer his help in heating it, as a mage—but then, as he watched her, he recognized the motions as she dipped her fingers into pouches of dried herbs for what they were, a ritual beloved and oft-repeated. Instead he retreated, through the balcony doors and into the cool air of a highland evening, just barely brushed by snow.

It didn't take long for her to join him, placing into his hands a cup warmed by its contents. "Here," she said, pulling her wrap tighter around her shoulders and leaning against the railing. She closed her eyes, inhaling deep its aroma. "Ma ghilana vhenas," she whispered like a prayer, and took a long swig.

'Guide me home'. Her Elven was simple, but its intent was clear. His eyes dropped to his reflection in the rich, red liquid, its scent having taken on the spices she'd added, and warming him even before it met his lips. Sweeter than he preferred, and young in age, but where his people had let depth develop over the span of decades hers had found a way wholly their own, to please the palate.

"It's just as I remember," she sighed. "The hearthkeepers used to make it like this. They'd save it for the coldest stretch of winter, when there was little else to fill our bellies."

He wondered if they'd known where their wayward lethallan found herself when they'd sent it, cold and starved not of food, but of their company. Again she brought it to her lips, closing her eyes on the draw, melting into it. "I cannot say that I've drank it as such before," he said, swirling the cup until its spices reincorporated.

"And? Have the Dalish disappointed you again?"

She may have been teasing him, but there was still a very real bite to her words. "Despite its cloying nature," he bit back, to a roll of her eyes, "it pairs well with the heat and herbs added. They ease its intensity."

"They're not all this sweet. They just know I like this one best."

Such came as no surprise—the Inquisitor was partial to fresh fruit, and juices. "You said it was your uncle who fermented it?"

"Silthun, yes. It's one of the most important jobs of the clan, to find clean water, to brew and ferment for when there is none," she explained. "If you can believe it, the duty might've been mine in another life. My grandfather was manaste'lan first, my mother training to take his place. Silthun only took over because no one else knew how, once they were gone."

It was a difficult image to conjure, knowing her as she was now…but then, how different might she have been, had she been handed an apron and not daggers? Would that passion have carried over, the pride she'd expressed in guiding her clan translated into a different language, one that saw dry throats soothed and laughter on lips? Or would the act have twisted her?

Had she been born for a purpose, an ideal, or molded into that shape? How far was she, from what he'd once been?

"It's strange to think about, isn't it?" she eventually said, reading him as easily as she read the stars, or tracks in the snow. "I've wanted to be a hunter for as long as I can remember, I can't imagine being anything else. But I might have, if a single thing had been different."

"Often the path forks. There is no way of knowing what lies at the end of either side," he said, as if the very thought hadn't haunted him for centuries, as if he hadn't pinpointed the exact moment from whence his greatest regrets stemmed. "Do you believe you would have been happier, in that other world?"

She swirled the dregs of her drink, studying them as if they held the answer. "Maybe," she considered, "I'd still be home. The Chantry wouldn't know my name, and the days would go on like they always did. Warm, sweet wine in the winter." Her eyes strayed from her cup, along the railing and to his wrist. "But I left for a reason. I'd wanted to leave for a long time, to see the world outside my clan. Maybe I could've been happier, or maybe that honor would've been a chain. Maybe, I never would've stepped past the treeline."

Her hand left her cup to creep closer to his, and she looked up to meet his eyes. Inviting, not imposing. Always waiting for him, to make that move. "Besides, I can't say that I regret being here," she continued. "There are people I'd regret never having met, even more."

Despite his reservations, the guilt at having stolen her affections dishonestly, he didn't keep her waiting long. He couldn't, drawn to her nearness like moth to flame, no matter the reality that he might snuff the both of them out in indulging. Her fingers intertwined with his, and as her warmth penetrated deep into his bones he closed his eyes.

"Is there truly any single person, worth that which you have endured?"

The hum she answered with radiated from where they were joined, resonating within the hollow space his sorrow had made inside of him. "I can think of one."

Her shoulder met his, and he leaned to meet her touch with eyes still closed. She couldn't possibly know what it was she was saying, but how he ached to let himself believe it.

How he ached, to think that she might forgive him once she did.

[wardensantoineandevka]

I thought I already saw the worst possible Dragon Age takes I could ever possibly see, but then "believing that Solas did actually kill Felassan and blaming him for Felassn's (unproven) death is ableist" came into my view and I was humbled by the depth of possibility of awful takes

[ar-ghilas-vir-banal]

I lied. I betrayed you.

Ir abelas, Vhenan.

I will go. And seek atonement.

[dustoftheancients]

A little late, but it’s still 05/10 somewhere! I just really wanted to make sure I added something to the dreadrook week, even if I did throw this together over 30 minutes.

@thelighthouse-server

—

Day Six — The Ending

—

The connection—

It severed.

As soon as Solas stepped — finally, finally — out of the Fade, as soon as the tear closed behind him, the connection blinked out of existence. Gone was the tenuous tie he had held with Rook, out like a candle. It almost didn’t feel like anything, except that it felt like nothing.

Nothing. A physical presence, or lack there of.

A loss.

That surprised him, that it should feel that way. Surely his connection to Rook had not been that strong. He had to build it, in the beginning, so that he could keep an eye on her. It had grown, because he willed it. And it snapped, because he severed it.

Why he dwelled on it—

He didn’t dwell on it. It simply surprised him that he had grown their connection enough to feel its absence. He had gotten used to her nuisance, but would no longer need to take that into account. He could at last return to his mission.

And Rook—

Rook was where she could do no harm. Not to his plans, and not to herself.

And yet, the image of her falling into his prison clung uncomfortably to his thoughts. The way she had called his name, half question and half plea, like she thought she could count on him to help her.

She hadn’t expected the betrayal. She had never passed up an opportunity to point out that she knew exactly who he was — that she would always expect the worst from the elven god of lies — and yet she hadn’t expected it. She had expected help. An ally.

A foolish child after all.

He had built her trust in him and she hadn’t even noticed. The affection he gave her — but it hadn’t been affection. He would not allow himself to call it that, when he had chosen the words he used like choosing a weapon. No matter if the sentiment was genuine. No matter if he meant it went he told her she deserved better. That he admired her spirit.

He imagine it would all sound the same from where she stood, imprisoned for eternity.

Then, the thought — when had she realized? She had reached out to him when she called his name. Even after the dagger had fallen from her hand. Her fingers had brushed the inside of his sleeve.

Going for the dagger, he told himself. Even if he knew better.

The world around him felt empty and cold, as it always did. It was a wound he could fix. Would fix. But the loss of that connection—

He had nothing to give Rook but pain, no matter how he wished it otherwise. And he could not undo what he had done to her. Not at the expense of the world.

Solas pressed his lips together. Briefly brushed his fingers over the inside of his sleeve, then let his hand fall.

Enough time had been wasted already. He could no longer sit in inaction and regret his actions when he had no other course open to him. Rook was always going to be expendable.

No matter the loss.

He would not let himself think about her again.

[teamdilf]

The 2nd chapter of A Rare and Marvellous Spirit, a Solas-POV companion piece to In Another World is up!

At Haven, Solas’ suspicion of Iris prompts him to take a risk he normally wouldn’t and it backfires. Badly.

Why would Elgar’nan grant his champion immortality? There would be little use in offering the gift, given that his champions were little more than sacrificial lambs if they were fortunate and blighted monstrosities if they were not.

Iris orders the three of them to flee and he remains behind Varric and Cassandra, trusting that they’ll be so focused on escaping with their lives that they will not notice his absence until it is too late to act. He hides against a crumbling stone wall behind smouldering rubble, which offers a view of the trebuchet that promises to bury him and Iris.

If he can just obtain his orb, he may be able to shield them from the worst of the roaring snow, giving him time to interrogate her and determine who, precisely, she serves.