#vhenan’ara lavellan

[roboticromantic]

Refs for a few members of Clan Lavellan! I still have some Traspasser/Post Trespasser refs planned for Thalia, but wanted to show off her Inquisition/Pre Trespasser looks first while I had them done.

Thalia is, of course, Inquisitor Lavellan, but first and foremost she’s the Clan’s first. While she loves and misses her old life, she’s proud of the work she’s doing as head of the Inquisition.

Vhenan’ara is the daughter of Keeper Deshanna, and is easily considered one of the best archers in the clan. She’s the one in charge of leading the hunts, and teaching the next generation how to hunt as well. After Clan Lavellan is almost entirely wiped out with nothing more than a small handful of survivors, she makes her home with the Inquisition with the rest of the clan, thankful that her sister is there when she needs her most.

[moss-flesh]

i love the idea of tacking on elven titles to adahlens inquisitorhood. the elven language is apparently more about the feeling so i hope these are correctly put

Asha’abelas : woman of sorrow

Dalen Te’las : child of the fade

vhenan’ara fenharel : heart of fenharel

so like to andrastians and followers of the inquisition shes Inquisitor Adahlen Lavellan, Herald of Andraste.

but to the dalish who have joined solas

Adahlen of Lavellan Clan, Dalen Te’las, Vhenan’ara Fen’Harel, Asha’abelas

like solas’ agents working against the inquisition but fully showing love and respect for her coz thats what solas pushes. they defend themselves against the inquisition, and even work to thwart them, but directly attacking the inquisitor herself is like attacking him. so she becomes this sort of figure for them. maybe some branches are attempting to secretly get her to join solas so they can “rule together” (this sect would have a totally skewed idea of his values buT THAT HAPPENS ALL THE TIME so makes sense to me)

[defiledtomb]

After wisdom, she wrote him a letter, small words whispered into the ether.

Now that your gone and my lap is full of worry; I am tethered to you, the berries, the filth. Allow me a respite, don’t swallow your guilt. Ir abelas, ma vhenan. Ehn i'var ir'thas. Mala suledin nadas.

When he came back, a hundred years older, he stomped through the courtyard and twined his hands in her hair.

“Ar ady latha na bellanaris, na emma vun, lath, vhenan’ara.”

[bearlytolerant]

Tagged by @thevikingwoman @ejunkiet and @roguelioness thank you so much! 1. How many works do you have on AO3?

20

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

114587

3. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Vhenan’ara - a solavellan fic in which a happy ending for solavellan doesn’t mean perfect

the sun and the moon- Solas x Sarya Lavellan snippets I’ve written over the years

Free Falling- a modern solavellan circus/newspaper au

Soaring - circus au prompts that occur outside the main story

Say Something- a 5+1 Shega fic

4. Do you respond to comments, why or why not?

Yes! I adore when writers respond to me because it’s my fave feature about fanfic. So I respond to people who do me the honors of commenting. Sometimes I’m slower at responding than I’d like to be though 😩

5. What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

I don’t have any full fics.

But that one shot would be Apple Pie (ch 31) 😬

6. What’s the fic you’ve written with the happiest ending?

Bitter on the Tongue - a pentahawke love story

7. Do you write crossovers? If so what’s the craziest one you’ve ever written?

I don’t generally speaking but my mass effect fic, Unhinged, is technically.

8. Have you ever received hate on a fic?

Oh gosh, yes. Tbh it’s scared me off a few times but then I always come back with more spite to write. 😝

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Yes indeed. I don’t know. Porn with plot. Porn with feelings. I really like throwing in conversation. Sometimes I write more lyrical/poetic stuff. Things for twc have gotten a little kinkier these days. So a mixed bag of things. I don’t know. Depends on my mood I guess.

10. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I know of.

11. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Nope.

12. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

I started to co-write one before and it was a blast! 10/10 would co-write with someone again.

13. What’s your all-time favorite ship?

Oof. I don’t know. Solavellan is up there but so is Bethistair. And current twc ship obsessions are up there.

You know what, I don’t like this question. I can’t pick a favorite okay.

14. What’s a WIP that you want to finish but you don’t think you ever will?

Honestly, I don’t know. The dream is to finish every wip I’ve started. Maybe come back and ask me this in five years. Lol

15. What are your writing strengths?

I think I’m decent with dialogue these days actually. I’m also concise I think and I’m creative.

Oh I’m good at adding drama and decent at adding layers to my writing.

I once had someone tell me I’m great at writing the metaphysical. But I don’t know if that’s a compliment or not. I’ll just put it here anyway.

I’ll be honest, this feels really weird to write this out.

16. What are your writing weaknesses?

Brain is much more suited for this purpose. It wants to scream–everything—but too bad. Here’s some things though.

Getting discouraged easily.

Staring at a blank page for too long.

Adding too many subplots—a downside to my drama loving ass 😅

I feel iffy about my pacing.

I could get better at cutting the transitional sentences. Too many of those.

Editing is the bane of my existence and it probably shows–sorry about those grammar mistakes I still missed after 100 read throughs.

17. What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

I don’t know. I don’t have any. Now I’m wondering if I should be thinking about this 🤔…

18. What was the first fandom you wrote for?

Dragon Age 🥲

19. What’s your favorite fic you’ve ever written?

Again with the singular favorite. Cruel to make me choose.

From Dragon Age: Birthday Boy (ch 4)

From TWC: plant saga

Tagging @ellstersmash @kittlesandbugs and literally anyone else who sees this and hasn’t been tagged (I feel like everyone else I know has already been tagged lol)

[fiadhaisteach]

Things I’ve Read This Week* - 2020.12.05

New Stories

Tales of The Fade Child by LeafAdrift (@sillyleaf) - MCIT - 1,891 words, WIP

Rereads

Just Like Fire by Cracking Lamb (@crackinglamb) - Solas/Female Lavellan - 8,108 words, WIP (switch from 1-shots to chaptered)

Iwyn Lavellan & Solas: Fake Marriage AU, ⚜️Fake, ⚜️Emerald by Viking_woman (@thevikingwoman) - Solas/Female Lavellan - 3,251 words, each work complete

Iwyn Lavellan & Solas: Timetravel AU, ⚜️Temporal Arrangements, ⚜️Temporal Arrangements: Flip POV by Viking_woman (@thevikingwoman) - Solas/Female Lavellan - 29,836 words, each work complete

Tumblr (re)Reads

Aviselan Lavellan, ⚜️Out of Time, ⚜️Another Time (w/ pictures) by @buttsonthebeach - Solas/Female Lavellan (written for me when Temporal Arrangements by @thevikingwoman was still a single chapter one-shot that inspired plot bunnies for my OC, but I couldn’t wrangle ‘em write it 😍; and now when I read one, I have to read the other).

Subscription Updates

Lingrean Rosal'sule'din, The Future Is Not Yet Set In Stone by angelslaugh (@skyerie) - Dorian & Female Lavellan, Solas/Female Lavellan (Ch 24-29)

Til It Squeaks: A Modern Girl’s Take on Thedas, Twist by CrackingLamb (@crackinglamb) - Solas/MGIT (Ch. 74-76)

A Singular Shadow by AntlersandFangs - Solas/MGIT/Cullen (Ch. 58)

Solavellan Prompts by luzial (@luzial) - Solas/Female Lavellan (Ch. 7)

Vhenan'ara verse, the sun and the moon by bearlytolerable - Solas/Female Lavellan (Ch. 12 & 24)

The Creature in the Woods by apfelgranate (@notenoughdragons) - Solas & Female Adaar (Ch. 3)

Fade Objects by KeeperSpock - Solas/Female Lavellan (Ch. 76-77)

Sugar Honey Iced Tea by AntlersandFangs (@thededfa), Beckily (@beckily), & Celtic_Lass (@thecelticlass) - Female Adaar/MBIT, Varric/MGIT, MGIT (Ch. 9)

Unwritten by UnrealRomance - Solas/MGIT (Ch. 151-152)

Ariwyn and Solas, The Hunt by bubble_bones (@bubble-bones) - Fen’harel|Solas/Female Lavellan (Ch. 56)

The Guardian by HumblePeasant (@solas-disapproves) - Solas/OFC, Dorian/Male Lavellan (Ch. 131)

the forest is dark and deep and i’ve seen you here before by victoriousscarf (@victoriousscarf) - Solas/Male Lavellan (Ch. 92-93)

Hero by Tabikat (@tabikato) - Zevran/Male Mahariel, Alistair/OFC (Ch. 19)

Masters at Their Crafts by LeafAdrift (@sillyleaf) - Female Cadash, MGIT (Ch. 12)

I Have Found a Home (Ian x Solas), ⚜️Romantic Firsts, ⚜️You Brought the Colours Out by theharellan (@theharellan) & TheBraveHobbit (@theshirallen) - Solas/NB Lavellan - each work complete, series sub

The Rebel’s Ascension by InArlathan (@in-arlathan) - Solas/OFC (Ch. 14)

Vhenan'ara verse, Vhenan’ara by bearlytolerable - Solas/Female Lavellan (Ch. 9-10)

The Calling by SilverQueen (@sadfantasylife) - Solas/OFC (Ch. 22)

The DA Alternate Universe Chronicles, For Goodness Bakes by RogueLioness (@roguelioness) - Solas/Female Lavellan (Ch. 9)

Into the Chaos by Pakhet (@shiver-the-tiefling) - MGIT, MBIT (Ch. 55)

A Wolf Named Vengeance by CrackingLamb (@crackinglamb) & Iron_Angel (@ir0n-angel) - Fen'Harel|Solas/Female Lavellan (Ch. 3)

The Lavellan Siblings, Relief from the Cold by JessTalksAlot (@jessitasquirrel) - Solas/Female Lavellan (Ch. 1) complete, series sub

Blacked Out by Sagoberattare - MGIT (Ch. 13)

Shadowed Moon by Heartfelt_Memories (@evuna) - Fen’Harel|Solas/MGIT (Ch. 22)

Nadas by amandaterasu (@amandaterasu) - Solas/(y/n)MGIT (Ch. 5-6)

» side note - multiple chapters may mean multiple updates; or might just be me refreshing my memory, reorienting myself in the story, or rereading some for fun. 😊

*TIRTW & can recommend

I do a quick search for author tumblrs (if they’re not posted on their fic, or AO3 profile); then assume they either don’t have one, or don’t want it linked to their fic, if it’s hard to find. So if you are a writer who has a tumblr they want linked to their rec, or know someone who is, just let me know and I’ll fix it.

[maleficar-writes]

Empress

Pairing: Female Lavellan/Solas

Fandom: Dragon Age: Inquisition

Rating: Explicit

Additional Tags: Mildly Dubious Consent

Summary: Fen'Harel sweeps across the nations like vengeance, and all that will stop him is Ellana Lavellan as his wife.

On AO3: Link

He had razed Halamshiral and built in its place a palace of crystal spires that speared the heavens with their glory. Sunlight glittering off balustrades and parapets and reflecting off towers and arches blinded the devout and the apathetic alike. It was a castle meant to inspire wonder and awe, and it did those things well. It also inspired fear. Bone-deep, icy fear that clawed at the spine and twisted the stomach, and as Ellana stepped from her carriage and regarded the magnificent work of his magic, she felt that fear.

That terror.

Magic had built this castle. The magic of the ancients, once lost and now resurrected. By the man she’d called Solas. The man who was Fen’Harel.

That one name was enough to bring out a host of feelings in her, and fear was the least of them. Her emotions roiled inside of her, a confusing mass of sensation that left her dizzy and weak, and she hated feeling weak. If only she had time to sort through her thoughts.

Time.

He tantalized her with promises of time, coming to her in dreams as he swept across Thedas with his armies. If she would just give in to him, if she would come to him, if she would love him once again, he would give her immortality. He held her in her dreams, possessed of a strength she hadn’t seen in him before, and he’d stroked her hips, her back, her breasts. “Come to me, vhenan’ara, give yourself to me, and I will give you immortality and freedom and a heritage of pride.”

She’d spat in his face. “Look what pride has wrought,” she had snarled, and that dream had dissolved.

But he was nothing if not persistent. Night after night, he had slipped into her dreams, sometimes to whisper promises, sometimes to tease her body to the point of madness, and sometimes to gloat over all he’d done. How Fen’Harel had brought nations to their knees, causing mighty Tevinter to crumble and proud Ferelden to fracture. Orlais, he promised, was next. Unless…

Unless.

Ellana lifted her chin, set her expression into one of stony indifference. She refused to be cowed by his glory, even if she had, at last, agreed to his terms. Her hand in return for peace. She was bartering her body and soul for all of Thedas.

And some dark, awful part of her delighted in it. Her body thrilled to the knowledge that he wanted her so desperately that he would stop his tireless march in exchange for her. The death would stop because she was giving herself over to him. A god desired her beyond all other things.

She took a shuddering breath, horrified at the ache between her legs. It was Fen’Harel who wanted her, the architect of her people’s destruction and, now, the vehicle for their salvation.

Closing her eyes, she took a minute to compose herself.

She was alone, without any of her companions to offer council. She hadn’t dared bring them when she finally gave into his summons. She knew what they thought of him. Half of them wanted to crush him and were still dedicated to resisting him at every turn. The other half simply despised him.

“God or no god,” Vivienne had said with fury lacing her tone, “I will not bow to him.”

A hand touched her elbow, reminding her that she wasn’t truly alone. She allowed herself a moment of fantasy, that the hand belonged to Cassandra. Cassandra would murmur a line from the Chant, tell her she was strong, tell her she was making the right choice. But it wasn’t Cassandra’s hand. The hand’s owner was the only person Ellana’s honor guard.

Once the Hero of Ferelden, now Fen’Harel’s general.

Exerting a subtle pressure, General Mahariel urged her forward. Opening her eyes, forward she went.

In their traveling together, the General hadn’t spoken a single word to her. There were stories that spoke of the Hero as a quiet soul, so Ellana hadn’t expected great amounts of conversations. Maybe a few traded pleasantries. Instead, she hadn’t even received a hello.

Mahariel guided her into the great palace. Its insides were as grand as its outsides, all glittering and glimmering and, quite frankly, breathtaking. Overwhelming. The vaulted ceilings were so high she half expected to see clouds gathered at their peaks. Instead, the ceilings were painted to look like the sky, and starlight glittered in their far reaches.

Magic crackled over her skin. Even a warrior like her could feel it. It pressed all around her, a static force. It tickled her naked arms, ghosted up her legs, curled against her thighs. She stopped walking abruptly, taking long, slow breaths to steady herself. The magic felt like his. She knew well what it felt like when he touched her with the Fade, when he bent the Veil around her to caress her and leave her gasping. How many times had he done that to her in dreams? How many times had he sat, just watching, as he brought her to quaking orgasms with nothing more than the force of his will.

She swallowed a whimper, and still Mahariel said nothing.

So she straightened her back. She took a deep breath, inhaling sharply through her nose and ignoring the spice of his magic on the air. Lacing her fingers before her – ostensibly to appear composed, but truthfully to hide their shaking – she strode forward to meet her destiny.

Destiny, it turned out, was even more breathtaking than she could have imagined. Some part of her expected his throne room to be gaudy to better show off his power. It was not. It was simple, understated, made of white marble threaded through with rich veins of emerald. Golden mosaics on the walls were inspired by those they’d seen in the Temple of Mythal but were clearly crafted by Orlesian hands. They depicted scenes of elven liberation and magic. They depicted him, in his glory. But nothing about the mosaics was tacky. Nothing about any of it was tacky.

All around the throne room, conversations died. The words simply dried up, turning to ash that floated away on a cold wind. Just like her freedom. But this was the duty of a Keeper, and Ellana had no illusions about who and what she was. She was no mage, but she was Thedas’s Keeper now, and Keepers stood between the Dread Wolf and their people. She stood between him and Thedas.

As her eyes swept over the people, her heart broke. There was Tevinter’s once might Archon, now a trembling, broken man. There were rings of scars all over his body, as though someone had tried to flay him. Across from him, the King and Queen of Ferelden. They watched her with hollow eyes. Accusing eyes. If you had done this sooner, they seemed to say, our people would not have suffered and died.

She had failed.

Worst of all was the sight of Celene. Because when Ellana saw Celene, she realized that Orlais was not the last bastion of a dying world. Orlais had fallen long ago, and Celene… Celene was a shell of herself. Gone was the mighty, assured Empress. In her place stood a woman who wore the trappings of royalty without any of the power.

Briala stood beside his throne in the position of a favored retainer, and Ellana had a moment of clarity. Briala had been the first.

Finally, Ellana’s gaze shifted to him. Once Solas, now Fen’Harel, and her breath caught in her throat. He had turned from a missive held in Briala’s hands, straightening slowly. His every motion was grace given physical form. Power dripped from him, distorting the air around him. Gone was the unassuming apostate. The man on the ironwood throne, wearing cloth of gold and a cloak of midnight, crowned with flame, was a god.

His expression didn’t change from one of mild interest as he rose.

All around her, the court went to its knees. Ellana’s eyes darted from face to face, finding rage and hatred on some and devout reverence on others.

“Welcome home, my queen,” he said, striding down the dais. He stopped when he stood an arm’s length from her and extended his hand.

For Thedas, she reminded herself, but she was unable to keep her face as blank as his. He regarded her with the same kind of curiosity one reserved for ants. She felt her expression twist into one of pain.

She hated him. She loved him. She craved him. She despised him.

For Thedas.

She put her hand in his.

His eyes softened with heat and longing, and he drew her close. With barely any space between them, his magic curled around her like a palpable force. It swept over her skin, caressing her cheeks, her throat, the daring neckline of her gown. He’d give her the dress. She’d worn it as a sign of her submission, but she detested it.

“Andaran atish’an, vhenan’ara,” Fen’Harel said to her in a voice so low it rumbled between them. His eyes raked over her, lingering on the swells of her breasts.

“You summoned me,” she returned, trying not to stiffen at his greeting. Trying not to melt.

His brows rose. “Ah. I see it is to be like this between us.” He lifted her hand to his mouth, brushing her knuckles across his lips. His tongue flicked against her skin and she ground her teeth together, ignoring the flood of wet heat between her legs. “It need not be, ma vhenan.”

“You made it this way,” she said tightly, “when you abandoned me only to come sweeping across Thedas, killing everyone who stood in your way.”

“An act of justice for our people.”

“Murder.” She whispered the word, sharing it with no one except him. “Murderer.”

A grin tipped up his lips, but it was not kind. “You see yourself as Thedas’s Keeper though you are not a mage. You view this as a failing. You did not fail, vhenan’ara, this was as inevitable as the changing of the tides.” His thumb brushed over her palm, drawing circles against her flesh, and she shuddered at the prickling heat he conjured beneath her skin.

“You crushing Thedas beneath your heel? Doing to the humans what they did to us?”

“No,” he said, nonplussed. He leaned forward, into her space. The magic that wreathed him curled around her breasts, stroking her nipples through the thin fabric, and she sucked in a sharp breath. She strangled a whimper in the back of her throat as the fingers of his freehand brushed over her cheek. “You coming to me.” He chuckled lightly, softly. “And, soon, for me. I have long dreamed of this day.”

Drawing away from her but not releasing her hand, leaving her trembling and all but panting, he turned to his court. “Let us celebrate,” he called. “Let us feast, for our empress has come at last.” And then, shifting close to her, he murmured, “Come, vhenan’ara.”

Fire washed through her, fierce and sudden, and his magic pressed between her legs. She would have stumbled if he hadn’t taken her arm. Gasping, she clung to him as an orgasm tore through her, sudden and impossible to hold out against.

She lifted her eyes to him, not sure if she should be starting at him with fury or lust, and she found him gazing back with barely concealed lust. “Come,” he said again, gently, and an echo of the pleasure rolled through her, making her legs tremble as he brought her to his throne.

Throughout the wedding, which was vaguely Dalish, and the feast, which was also vaguely Dalish, he toyed with her. He fed her from his own fingers, leaned close to whisper filthy promises in her ear, and used his magic to stroke and caress every inch of her body. She could barely lift her goblet of wine she shook so badly, and when he noticed, he plucked the glass from her hands.

“Allow me,” he murmured, and he lifted it to her lips.

She despised his proprietary behavior, as if he had the right to bring her food and drink. What made it worse was that, now, bound to him, he did have the right. It was his right and his right alone, and there wasn’t a single person in the throne room who would stop him.

“Why do you tremble so?” he asked her as he brushed his thumb over the corner of her lip. His long-fingered hand curled around the back of her neck. Slid between her shoulders. The gown he’d chosen had no back, so his caress fell on naked skin.

“Fuck you,” she breathed, arching away from his touch.

Something like a tongue licked her inner thigh. Fingers of magic caught the crotch of her smallclothes, pushing inside to stroke through the swollen, wet lips of her cunt.

“I plan to.” His voice was so steady. So assured. As if he wasn’t using his magic to wring pleasure from every inch of her body. In public. Where his defeated enemies watched. “Slowly, Ellana.” It was the first time he’d spoken her name. “So very slowly.” He brushed his lips over her ear. “Ellana.”

She went rigid, clenching her hands into fists in her lap. The tongue licking her thigh turned inward. Apparently cloth was no barrier for magic because the tongue swept through her folds without any hindrance, and she gasped softly, all her muscles tightening even more.

“Ellana.”

“Enough,” she spat. “I’m your wife, your empress, at least treat me with respect.”

He was silent for a moment. Then he drew away from her. His hand lingered on her back, but the magic pressing against her cunt withdrew. “You are right, Empress,” he murmured, and he lifted a fruit from her plate, offering it to her.

After a second’s hesitation, she closed her lips around his fingers. Tit for tat, she figured, tucking the fruit to one side of her mouth. Her tongue swept over the tips of his fingers. Her teeth grazed his skin. When she released his fingers to bite into the fruit, he was watching her with wolf-like intensity, his eyes hooded. “Do not tempt me,” he said softly.

The remainder of the feast passed slowly for her, dragging by in agonizingly slow measures. His hand never left her back, and instead of being a comfort it gave her a sense of dread. Soon enough, that hand would be on her hips, her breasts. Between her legs. Before he’d returned, before he’d left her, he’d teased her mercilessly in the Fade, touching her until she screamed for him. But never once had he done anything but kiss her in the physical world.

No one had done anything more than kiss her in the physical world.

It wasn’t that she hadn’t wanted to bed someone. In the Clan, there had never been time, and then once she became Inquisitor, it had always been him, and he had always been very strict about where they drew the line for physical intimacy. After him, she’d had Cullen and Blackwall both being incredibly solicitous, but she could never bring herself to do more than kiss either of them. It just seemed wrong.

And now he was leading her down a shimmering hallway into a room draped with fluttering strips of cloth, a room where the light came from the walls themselves. There were no windows, only gorgeous, vaulted arches, and though it the night was chill, warmth seeped from the very stones beneath their feet.

Neither of them, she realized with a start, were wearing shoes.

He led her to the massive bed in the center of the room. Circular, it had no head or foot, but was laden with sumptuous blankets, pillows made from silk and velvet with gilded fringe.

For Thedas, she reminded herself as he stopped beside the bed.

He released her, lifting his hands to her face. Tilting her head back, he gazed at her with a soul-shaking tenderness, his eyes soft and gentle. He was so much taller than she was, towering over her.

The wicked part of her mind whispered, For you, Ellana.

Beside him, she was so small, so vulnerable. She once thought she was physically stronger than him, but she doubted that was true. He had magical and physical strength, the wisdom of ages, and she had nothing.

“You are terrified,” he observed, and she was.

With him staring down at her, she already felt naked. Her limbs trembled, feeling weak in a way she’d never felt weak before. Even standing before Corypheus, she hadn’t felt like this. Like she was giving away part of herself. It was for the greater good, everything she did was for the greater good. Part of her would die in this room, in his arms, so that everyone else could live. So the fighting would end.

Life was a series of sacrifices. Either you sacrificed yourself or someone else, but in the end, someone had to go to the knife. All she could hope for was a quick death.

Withdrawing his hands, he stepped away from her. She watched him, swallowing hard, trembling as her stomach twisted and turned. All the food he’d fed her burned the back of her throat, but she forced it back down. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing her throw up. Then she thought maybe she should. Maybe it would turn him off her.

But she didn’t want to turn him off her. She just wanted things to go back to how they were before all of this, back to the times when he slipped into her dreams. When he—

All the breath left her. He had dropped his midnight cloak and shrugged out of his golden tunic revealing a body that could only be described as perfect. Seeing him in the Fade was one thing. In the Fade, things could be manipulated. He could manipulate them. Reality was… She licked her lips.

How was she supposed to hate him when he was everything she wanted?

“Ask me questions, ma vhenan,” he said as he settled on a padded bench. He didn’t look at her, but she didn’t feel as though he were being dismissive. Rather, as he unwound the lacing around his ankles and calves, he was offering her privacy. Or keeping his. “Let us relearn one another.”

She bit back a waspish first question. Demanding to know why he razed half of Thedas wouldn’t do either of them any favors. Instead, she asked, “How much older than me are you, then?”

He paused, his fingers hovering over his calves. Then he straightened, turning to her with a look of dry amusement. “I make many mountain ranges look young.”

“Cradle robber,” she muttered.

The most miraculous thing happened. He threw back his head and he laughed, a full, rich sound that made colors ripple through the air. She tasted those colors on her tongue, bursts of bright citrus, and felt them like silk against her naked arms and chest. Heat unfurled in her belly, a warm rush of need and want that had her panting.

“Was there ever any doubt?” he asked her when his laughter subsided.

She was still too stunned to answer.

He rose from his chair, naked except for his trousers, and he passed her, moving toward one of the walls. A mural covered it. A living mural of a great forest that stretched for miles, so real she thought she might be able to step into it. He touched it, brushing his fingers over the wall, and the scent of pine filled the room.

“Another question, perhaps,” he said, and he turned back to her, padding slowly toward her. He moved… simply. Still elegant, but not predatory. It was a man’s walk, not a god’s. It set her at ease.

“Do I call you Solas or Fen’Harel?”

“Are you asking who I am or which I prefer?”

She thought about it for a moment. “Solas was a mask you wore to bear your shame,” she said softly.

“Just so,” he agreed.

The setting sun poured scarlet and violet light across the room, across him, painting him in fire and midnight. She wanted to reach out and touch him, to see if his skin burned or froze, but she was afraid to. Afraid of what she might feel if she did. She wanted him, desperately, but he was still the Dread Wolf. She was Thedas’s Keeper. By that logic, she really should just give in to him.

“Fen’Harel,” she breathed, testing the name.

He reached out, his fingers brushing her chin. This time, when their gazes met, his was full of hunger. Desire. Heat flared in her in response, and he inhaled sharply. “Let me show you that it will not be such a burden to be my wife,” he murmured, his fingers sliding over her jaw, along the length of her ear. She shivered, allowing him to draw closer. “My Empress.”

She licked her lips, a flick of her tongue over dry skin, and he groaned softly. It was a sound of need, of weakness, of helplessness, and it made more of that delicious, electric heat crackle through her. A god wanted her. She made a god weak.

“Allow me to taste you, vhenan’ara.”

He’d moved so close that his chest brushed the tips of her breasts, a tantalizing tease. “Yes,” she whispered, hating herself for giving in. A Keeper stood against the Dread Wolf, and here she was giving in to him in the most primal and elemental way.

His mouth brushed over hers. It was hardly a kiss at all, just a simple caress. A strangled sound escaped her. She wanted to throw her arms around his neck and drag him against her. She’d never had the patience for these sorts of kisses, these light, teasing, ephemeral things. When she kissed someone, she liked fire and heat, passion and torment. She wanted his arms banded around her like iron, wanted him to crush her to his body as he pressed her to the bed, parted her legs, and—

Wrenching back, gasping, she pressed a hand to her chest, staring at him. Such a light touching of lips should not inspire such a conflagration. But more than that, the ferocious depths of her desire terrified her more than he did. She wanted him beyond reason, with all the strength of her spirit, and it made her shudder with uncertainty and fear.

“Ma vhenan, my Empress,” he said, so gently, so kindly.

“I…” She choked on the words. “You…” She’d faced dragons and darkspawn and terrors untold, and the simple act of going to bed with a man frightened her more than all of them.

Because he wasn’t just a man. He was a god, the one she had been taught to respect and fear more than any other. And he was the man – the god – that she loved. With everything she was, she loved him, and that should make this easier. That should make giving herself to him simple. But there was all the hurt, all the pain, and the deep, yawning stretch of the unknown.

“What frightens you so?” he asked softly. He hadn’t put his hands on her yet. Though he stood achingly close to her, if she stepped back, his arms wouldn’t cage her. His eyes searched her face, bright with wisdom, and then he let out a quiet sound of comprehension. Of wonder. “Virgin.” He uttered the word with no small measure of awe.

Balking, she turned away from him, even though she was acutely aware of how close they were. How every breath brushed her breasts against his chest. How their breath mingled in the space between their bodies. “It doesn’t mean anything. I wasn’t…” She choked on the words. She hadn’t been saving herself for him. Before he left, she had fully intended on him being her first, but after that she just hadn’t wanted anyone else. It hadn’t seemed right.

One of his hands cupped the back of her head, his fingers sliding into her hair. He turned her gaze back to his, and his eyes were full of banked heat. Of want. Of predatory desire. She began to tremble.

“No, no,” he murmured, settling one hand on her hip. In spite of all the lust in his gaze, his touch wasn’t heavy. It was possessive, but not caging. He would let her run if she so chose.

Of course, he would probably chase her. And like it. She knew better than to run from a predator, from a wolf, so she remained in his hold, still like a deer.

“I’m not who I have or haven’t slept with,” she finally said, her voice strangled. She fisted her hands in the gauzy fabric of her skirt, twisting it, wringing it.

His teeth flashed. A feral grin. Animalistic. Unnatural. So much more than elven. “You are mine,” he growled, and he bent his face to hers, brushing his lips against hers in another of those wispy, ephemeral kisses. His gazed fixed on her own eyes, and she released her skirts to brace her hands against his chest.

He felt like fire against her palms. Fire fierce and deadly, like the sun had taken up residence in his form.

“People don’t belong to people,” she whispered against his mouth, shocked that she was arguing with a god.

“My Empress,” he returned, his voice like gravel, rough-edged and jagged. He stepped closed, into her, and she felt the hard line of his cock against her body.

Suddenly, she was in a memory, in the Fade, with him wrapped around her, kissing her, whispering the sweetest things against the point of one ear. His heart, his love, the breath in his lungs, the light by which he saw. His hope, his joy, his relief, his succor. He rubbed against her in that memory, her legs around his waist, their clothes a flimsy barrier between them. And then she was back with him, truly with him, in his arms. His lips were hot on hers, tongue tracing the line of her mouth.

She opened for him, needing that kiss to quench the fire he stoked inside her. Her arms slid around his neck, drawing him to her, against her, and it was all too much and not enough. She thought she might sob with relief that she was holding him again. That he was holding her. That it was real.

The minute his tongue touched hers, he changed. He all but dragged her against him, wrapping one arm around the small of her back so she couldn’t escape. She felt the strength in his embrace, so much greater than any man’s had a right to be, and her body answered it with a flood of wet heat and burning need. He snarled softly into the kiss, the sound one of delight not violence, and he moved her, pushed her, crowded her until her legs hit his massive bed.

Together, wrapped around one another, they tumbled down. He twisted to take the brunt of the fall, landing on his back with her on his chest, and still he kissed her. He devoured her. His tongue swept into her mouth and consumed her with a passion that stole her breath. With him, she didn’t need to breathe. He was all the air she needed.

She was trembling when he finally drew away from the kiss, his hand still in her hair, and it wasn’t from fear or uncertainty. She wondered what he saw when he looked at her, because he looked at her like there was no one else alive in Thedas. Like it was just the two of them. Like there was no such thing as time or conflict or anything else.

“I need to see you,” he said, and though it was a god’s command it sounded like the plea of a desperate man.

It gave her strength. Not the kind of strength it took to swing a sword or lift a shield, but the strength that women held over men, a sexual power of mystery and allure. The power of pleasure promised by the hollows of her body.

Straddling him, she pushed herself up, freezing when the motion brought her into contact with his cock. There were still his trousers and her smalls between them, but that pressure, that rub, arrested her entirely. She gasped, palms flat on his chest, eyes fluttering shut. Slowly, carefully, she rocked against his cock, like she had in so many dreams, and a little moan escaped her.

“Later, ma vhenan,” he said roughly, grasping her hips and stilling her.

“Now,” she insisted, trying to move in spite of his hands and not succeeding in the slightest. He was too strong, too firm, too everything.

“Later,” he said again, rising, trapping her against his chest. “Your gown. Remove it.”

She shot him what she hoped was a venomous look as she started shrugging out of the dress. The sleeves were just caps on her arms, there was no back so there were no buttons. It was a gown for an elven queen, something he’d commissioned and sent to her. Truthfully, it seemed made for slipping into, and out of, easily.

“No.” He stilled her with gentle hands, but his expression was intense. Intent. “You have me in your power, my Empress.” He leaned close, tipping his head to the side and kissing her softly, lingering for a moment. “Kill me with it,” he breathed against her mouth.

She was panting when he drew back, a little dazed by his words. Then, slowly, she rolled her shoulder and drew one of the straps down her arm.

A quiet groan escaped him, and his eyes followed the path of the sleeve. Watched her arm pull free. Fixed on the place her scandalous décolletage started to gape and sag. His lips parted as though he were about to speak, but he didn’t. He simply turned his gaze to her other arm and waited.

There again was that feeling of power. Of control.

Emboldened by his rapt attention, she pushed lightly on his chest. “Down,” she said. He gave her an arch look, and though it pained her, she added, “Please.”

“As my Empress asks,” he murmured, and he stretched himself across the bed, still watching her fixedly. Hungrily.

Astride him still, she felt the hardness of his cock rubbing between her legs, and she had to steel herself against the faint, burgeoning pleasure of it.

Slowly, she stroked her hand over her shoulder, dragging the sleeve with it, her fingertips trailing along her skin. She gasped softly, back arching, surprised by how her own touch sent pleasure feathering through her. When she released the fabric, her bodice sagged, falling away from her breasts. They were firm and high but terribly small, and she’d always been self conscious about them.

He stared at her breasts like they were the humans’ Golden City, like they were the most beautiful things he’d ever beheld. So she lifted her arms above her head, struggling against shyness, and arched her back.

A string of Elvish she couldn’t understand flowed from his mouth, and then his mouth was on her, on her breast, sucking her deep. She cried out, stunned by the shock of pleasure that tore through her, by the sudden fire that burst in her veins. Her body curled toward his, her head bowing over his own, and she shuddered as he suckled her, as his teeth worried one hardened nub. He bit her, just hard enough to hurt, then soothed the pain with a stroke of his tongue, and she was panting, gasping, barely capable of breathing.

“Fen’Harel.” She whispered his name, and he groaned against her breast, turning to the other. His hands swept up her side, lifting her breasts for his teeth and tongue and kisses. His hips shifted under hers, and she couldn’t stop herself from grinding against him. Rubbing over him. The motions were instinctive, needy, and felt so damn good.

Reality exceeded everything he’d ever done to her in the Fade. Which, admittedly, hadn’t been much. Their clothes had never come off. He’d never seen her. Never touched her like this.

His arms came around her, and he bore her gently down to the bed. Then he rose over her, staring, taking her in. The shyness overcame her then, and she started to cross her arms over her breasts.

“No,” he said firmly, catching her wrists in his hands. “Don’t hide from me, ma vhenan, my Empress.” He paused, briefly, before adding, “If you do, I will bind you to my bed. Let me drink in your beauty. Let me feast on the sight of your body.”

Her body flushed with heat at the same time her mind suddenly screamed protests at her. This was Fen’Harel. This was the man who slaughtered his way to his throne. Who had betrayed her. Who loved her, the forgiving part of her whispered. “Who talks like that?” she said aloud, her voice embarrassingly breathless.

He arched a brow. “I do. Hmm.” He ran his palm over one of her breasts, and she arched into the touch mindlessly, already addicted to the reality of him. “Hands above your head, Empress.”

She hesitated for just a moment before obeying, lifting her arms and dropping them above her head as commanded. His eyes swept over her, over her breasts and the toned musculature of her stomach. His fingers followed his eyes, dipping into the valley between her breasts and then following those lines of muscle. “You were always magnificent,” he murmured. “You still are.”

His fingers dug into the fabric of her gown and he pulled it down her legs in a single motion, pulling her smalls with the dress, and he tossed both aside. Leaving her naked. She cried out in surprise, feeling suddenly, terribly vulnerable. But instead of leaning back to stare at her, he stretched over her, curling her against him, and he kissed her.

He kissed her for what felt like hours. The tension in her melted away, replaced by sweet fire. Her body pressed against his, molded itself to his form, and he laughed into her mouth. She whimpered in response. One of his hands curled over her naked hip, pulling her leg over his, spreading her, opening her, and it didn’t frighten her. Instead, she arched against him as he ran his tongue over her lips, into her mouth. She moved sinuously against his body, his cock trapped hard and hot between them, and she moaned softly, eagerly.

“Please,” she whispered into their kiss, the fire inside her becoming too much. Too strong.

“Ah, my sweet Empress, what need have we to rush?” he asked, but he urged her onto her back, settling between her legs. Open-mouthed kissed scalded her neck, her chest. He laved her nipples with a rough tongue, and she shivered against him, whimpering. His hands swept over her sides, curling around her hips, and he rubbed himself against her, the friction of his clothing almost unbearable against her sensitive cunt.

His tongue traced the lines of her muscles. His teeth bit the arch of her hipbone. Then he drew back. He looked at her, splayed and open before him, and there was nothing but desire in his eyes. Hot, hungry desire, and she was too fascinated by it to be ashamed of her nakedness, of her openness.

One of his knuckles brushed over the outside of her sex, stroking her, and the electric pleasure of it bowed her back. She cried out, feeling as though she’d come out of her skin, and anxiety, sharp and terrible, replaced pleasure. Her hand shot out, grabbing his wrist to stop him.

“Release me, ma vhenan,” he said so softly she nearly missed the words.

Her eyes flew to his, and she realized she was pushing him. She didn’t want to push him. Well, that was a lie. She wanted to shove back against him. Maybe grasp his cock and stroke it to repay him for that caress between her legs. She wanted more power. More control. With his every touch, he stripped control from her even as he gave her power. Power over him.

“I…” How could she tell him the intensity of this was overwhelming her? Subsuming her? She felt like she was drowning, and it was wonderful and terrible at the same time. “I can’t.”

“This is no different from the Fade,” he said, prying her hand off his wrist. He kissed the tip of each of her fingers and then set her hand aside.

“I wasn’t naked there,” she whispered breathlessly, staring at his face like he was a solid anchor.

He slipped off the bed, and she didn’t know whether to feel relieved or bereft. But then his hands were at the sash holding up his trousers, pulling the knot free. He tossed the red slash of fabric aside, and she stared as he began stepping out of his trousers. Then she turned away, but not before she saw his cock, hard between his legs.

Squeezing her eyes shut, she tried to focus on breathing. But breathing was next to impossible. She wanted him but was afraid of him, she loved him but she detested what he’d done. No, no! She was giving herself to him to save Thedas, not because she cared. Not because she wanted. Not because she desired.

She certainly didn’t want to see him naked.

What a lie that was.

She felt him settle beside her, felt his naked skin on hers. “Now we’re both naked,” he murmured. “Does that help?”

“No.”

His mouth found her ear, and she shivered as he traced the shell of it with his tongue. He took the point of it into his mouth, sucking lightly, and she whimpered. At the same time, his hand settled on her belly, and her eyes flew open as it crept lower. But curiosity kept her silent.

“I dreamed of touching you,” he murmured as he released her ear, as he kissed the tip. “Of dipping my fingers between your legs and finding you wet with your need for me.” She trembled as his fingers curled over her mound, slipping between the swollen lips of her sex. “I have often wondered what I would do to find you—” He broke off with a growl. “Wet,” he hissed, and she moaned as his fingers stroked her, teased her.

“Wonder no more,” she said breathlessly as he began a ruthless perusal of her body.

“Indeed.” He kissed her cheek, the corner of her lips. “Look at me, my Empress. Let me see your face.”

Shaking, she obeyed him as his fingers stroked her, caressed her, traversed every inch of her. He was meticulous but not dispassionate. Every time he coaxed a quiet moan or whimper from her, a restless, needy sound broke from him. His brows drew together, his lips parting. She bit hers, not to hold sound in or for any logical reason. Just because. It made him growl.

Then he slipped one finger inside her. She cried out, grabbing his shoulders hard enough to bruise, her nails digging crescents into his skin, and he snarled, dragging her against his chest. His finger curled inside her, moving hard and fast against tender, sensitive flesh, and she cried out again, her head falling back as her eyes drifted shut. All she could feel was the pleasure, the burning intensity of it, of him.

He whispered to her in Elvish as he stroked her, caressed her, as he burned her with that single finger inside her. She didn’t know the words, but she didn’t need to. She understood his intent. Either he was complimenting her or speaking filth, but she didn’t care. All she cared about was how he was touching her. It was so much more than having her own fingers inside her, so different. So surprising. He did things she’d never tried, stirring her, pressing against her, curling that finger against one spot that made her scream.

“Fen’Harel!”

He snarled against her neck, slipping another finger into her. His fingers stretched her, and there was a shocking, obscene pleasure to that. She let out a keening wail that transformed into his name and then into senseless pleas for more.

She thought he’d bring her to a swift completion.

Wrong. She was so wrong.

He tormented her, thrusting into her and building the pressure but never letting it overwhelm her. She was drowning in it, swept up in it, suffocating in it, but it was wonderful. He was wonderful, and she’d never known. She hadn’t guessed she would find this in the Dread Wolf’s arms, this pleasure, this mindless, aching need.

As he worked her body over, as she arched and twisted and begged senselessly for him to give her completion, he pressed his mouth to her ear. “Beautiful,” he whispered, voice ragged. “Indescribably beautiful. You are perfection, vhenan’ara, my Empress, my wife, and you are mine.” He snarled the word. “No one else shall ever have you. No one else will touch you, taste you, fill you. You belong to me.”

“Yes, yes,” she chanted, beyond any sense of arguing with him.

“My name, Ellana.” He all but purred her name, dragging it out with sinfully rounded vowels. Her body rippled around him, and he laughed, the sound delighted. “My name, and I will give you everything.”

Arching into his hand, trying desperately to get him to touch some nameless place inside her, she whispered, “Fen’Harel.”

His thumb brushed over her clit, his fingers curled, and she came with a shattered, broken cry. Pleasure coursed through her, burned her, scalded her. It devoured her body and left her empty and formless, a piece of clay for him to remake.

Before her orgasm died, he was between her legs, spreading them wide with his hands and dipping his head. She tried to stop him, to tell him not to, but then his tongue touched her, and she was lost. Oh, she was lost to everything except him, except his touch, except the sheer agony of him.

He consumed. He devoured. His tongue ran over every part of her sex until she was shuddering and trembling beneath him, until she was barely sensible. Every thought of resisting him was gone, replaced by the singular need to have him. To be had by him.

She reached out blindly, her back bowed as she gasped his name, and he laced his fingers with hers, his thumb tracing the scar of the Anchor on her palm. She cried out, gasping, for that simple touch made her burn brighter, hotter. He laughed against her, and the sound resonated inside her, shattering her, breaking her into a thousand little pieces as she came undone for him again and again, until she lost all sense of anything but the endless pleasure.

It was dark when he slid up her body, still holding her hand. It was midnight when he finally eased into her. “Ar lath ma, vhenan’ara,” he whispered against her mouth, and she drank in the words, unable to repeat them for her murmurs of more. More of him, more of his pleasure, more of everything he could possibly give her.

There was no pain when he was finally inside her, no discomfort. Only glorious, impossible fullness. She rolled her hips against him to test the feeling, gasping with delight at the pleasure that sparked through her. Her revelation of ecstasy made him laugh again, and his laughter delighted her. She’d never seen him so pleased, so happy. But his eyes shone as he braced himself above her and thrust slowly into her, taking his time taking her.

He brought her hand to his cheek, nuzzling against her palm, and then he kissed the green slash of light. It flickered, crackled. Then he licked the mark, and she whimpered, staring at him.

Releasing her, he bent his head to her lips, teasing her with promises of kisses but making good on none of them. She chased him as he thrust into her, his pace even and steady, until the friction of his cock in her became too much to ignore. Then she wrapped herself around him and pleaded for more, for something, for some end to their dance.

“Do you want it to end?” he asked her, his lips brushing her ear again. “I could make love to you until the sun rose over the mountains and bathed us in its light. I could make love to you until days turned to weeks, my Empress.”

She gasped, straining beneath him. Sweat slicked their bodies, and they slid together so sweetly, so perfectly, but it wasn’t enough.

“Please,” she whispered. “I want…”

“What do you want?”

She wanted to come with his cock inside her, but he was denying her that, keeping her on the edge. She wanted him as mindless as she was.

So she did the only thing that seemed logical. She bit him, digging her teeth into the unyielding flesh of his shoulder, and he howled. Her name echoed through his room, and then he was moving against her, driving into her, his hands on her hips to hold her.

Elvish words spilled from his lips, and she understood some of them, more of them than she expected. He spoke of filling her, of completing her, of branding her with his essence. He snarled softly and dragged her mouth to his, murmuring more words into their kisses as one hand slid between them to find her clit.

He touched her, and with that touch, he ended her. Her world dissolved, and she drowned in the shattered pieces of it, crying out his name as her body clenched around him, rippled around him, grasped at him with greedy pulls to drag him deeper. And again he laughed, the god and the man jubilant and victorious.

“You are magnificent when you come,” he told her, still moving inside her, but now his thrusts were harried instead of measured. “Your sweet cunt squeezing me, your back arching, your gasps and moans.” A groan escaped him, then another. Then his hand closed hard on her hip and he jerked into her, his head falling back and his lips parting. He breathed her name as he came, as he spilled hot jets of his seed into her pliant, open body.

Her fingers curled over his shoulders, brushed over the base of his neck. “Yes, yes,” she whispered, awed by his face, by his pleasure, by the look of utter freedom and contentment he wore.

When he was finished, he dropped his forehead to hers, and for a time they stayed like that, still wrapped around each other. Their gazes locked, they simply breathed.

Then, softly, as if the words might break her if spoken to loud, he murmured, “I have waited ages for you, vhenan’ara. You are the heart that beats outside of my chest.”

She smiled at him tentatively, and because the world and its troubles seemed so far away, she said, simply, “You are everything.”

[roguelioness]

Once Upon A Dream

For @designfailure56, who wanted her Lavellan and Solas to meet. I might have tweaked it a little bit.

The night was bathed in the gentle glow of the full moon that hung prettily in the sky; the bright twinkle of stars scattered through the inky sky offered company to those who wandered the land at this late hour.

She was one of the wanderers, and though her heart was filled with dejection and loneliness she was glad they lit her path.

Why was she here? She had asked herself a thousand times as she meandered into the glen, the crystal-clear pool as undisturbed as it had been the first time she had visited the place. The air was filled with the sweet scent of night-blooming flowers, and she made her way towards the source, her fingertips trailing across the soft, soft petals of the crystal grace that seemed to sway to an invisible tune.

Their softness reminded her of Solas, of the way his lips had felt when he had pressed them to hers all those years ago when he first brought her here.

Unconsciously, she touched her lips, a small, sad smile on her face. She missed him terribly, and never stopped thinking about him; and even though he had broken her heart here, it was still the place she felt the closest to him.

The Veil is thin here. Can you feel it tingling on your skin?

His words, spoken almost a lifetime ago, lingered as a whisper in the wind.

A kaleidoscope of colors danced over the foliage, soft and muted, nature herself highlighting the beauty that filled this space. There was a waterfall nearby, the low, whooshing sound a soothing accompaniment to the peaceful aura of the little isolated cave.

Two wisps, golden yellow and glowing, rose from the waters, dancing around each other playfully. Lavellan sat on the lush grass, watching them dart from corner to corner, their antics bringing a smile to the corners of her lips.

A haunting, achingly beautiful tune drifted along with the wisps. She should have been alarmed, but she was not, having heard it a myriad of times.

The song was why she came here as often as she did.

I know you,

I walked with you

Once upon a dream…

The two wisps melded together, shifting into a form with features she knew and loved well. The spectral Solas offered it’s golden arm to her, and she took it, surprised as always when her fingers passed through its form instead of meeting substance.

It was not perfect, for the spirit was but a shimmer of mist held together by the desperate longing that churned within her; she could not hold it as she wished she could, nor could she feel its touch on her skin - but it was all she had, and this was better than nothing, so she smiled brightly at this Solas with all the love she held in her heart, and placed her hand on his shoulder, trying to ignore the fact that it was merely hanging mid-air.

I know you,

The look in your eyes is so familiar a gleam…

She danced with him, this kindly spirit that knew her loneliness, the two swaying in the middle of the clearing; and as the song continued to play she sang with it, her words quiet and shy at first but increasing in volume till her voice filled the entirety of the cavern.

And I know it’s true, That visions are seldom more they seem…

She looked up at him, tears welling up in her eyes as he gazed down at her with a kind, gentle patience-

But if I know you,

I know what you’ll do-

You’ll love me at once

The way you did once-

She choked up, unable to finish the line, her hands dropping to her sides.

“I don’t want it to be a dream.” She whispered the words to herself, but the spirit understood, and backed away from her silently until it hit the water’s edge; upon which it dispersed into a shower of golden sparks.

Its departure felt like a rejection, and she couldn’t help bursting into tears, sobbing into her hands, her shoulders shaking with the force of her misery. So loud were her sobs that she missed the rustling at the entrance of the cave.

When the tune started up again, she stiffened, for the voice was an unexpected one, both beloved and welcome. She turned around slowly, hoping desperately that her wish had come true yet fearful that it would be just another illusion.

It was not.

She could not help but gape at him - at Solas, the real Solas, she could tell by the way his feet flattened the grass as he made his way tentatively towards her - and stood there motionless till he had caught up to her.

Her hand shot out instantly, her fingers trembling as she reached up for his face, fresh sobs pouring from her chest as they touched the warmth of his skin and soft suppleness of his lips. He wrapped his arms around hers, pulling her to him, one hand cradling the back of her head as she wept into his chest.

When she had recovered from her hiccuped sobbing, he pulled back from her slightly, enough to see her; his grip on her tightened, long fingers digging into the flesh of her hip, as though he feared that if he loosened his grasp on her she would vanish.

“Ar lath ma,” he declared fiercely; and the measure of affection, the depths of adoration his eyes held instantly banished any doubts she held. “It is not a dream,” he breathed out in disbelief and wonder, and she was startled to see tears in his eyes. “Vhenan’ara,” he cupped her face between his elegant hands, hands that she had missed so dearly, and brought his lips to hers, kissing her as though he needed the taste of her to survive.

Behind them, the music echoed softly in the air.

But if I know you, I know what you’ll do- You’ll love me at once The way you did once- Once upon a dream.

[theharellan]

vhenan’ara

the heart’s journey

I’ve always been a supporter of people including Solas x Ian in threads with me, but I realise not everyone may know the details of their relationship and the path it takes. Therefore, I decided I would make a bullet-point list of the general progression of their relationship, including how it might look were it to happen in-game.

This is mostly from Solas’s perspective, just FYI.

Content warning for Tranquility, suicidal thoughts, and amputation.

If the Herald brings Solas along during In Hushed Whispers, then during the year he is locked in Redcliffe he meets Ian in dreams. They fall in love, meeting in the Fade until the red lyrium chokes Solas’s ability to walk the Fade. By the time the Herald reappears Ian has been broken by torture and much crueler than the Ian we know, but still Solas expresses that he is thankful he had the chance to know Ian.

Neither Solas nor Ian remember meeting, obviously. After the quest (or should the Inquisitor side with the Templars) then Solas and Ian can meet in one of two ways:   - The Herald can bring Solas to recruit Ian in Redcliffe. If they are not a Lavellan, then they can prompt Solas to convince Ian to join them, promising him safety as well as opportunity to help.  - If not, they meet at a camp in the Hinterlands shortly after his recruitment.

Their relationship is somewhat strained at first, Ian’s Dalish heritage creating friction. However, Ian’s willingness to ask questions despite disagreements enable them to get to know one another, and they become friendly.

At this point, Solas can occasionally be found within a hut alongside Ian rather than where he is typically found in Haven.

It isn’t long after they become friends that Solas begins to recognise his attraction to Ian. Bring them out in a party together and he’ll probably flirt, albeit gently.

After an injury he sustains in battle, Solas is healed by Ian. Many of Solas’s feelings of disassociation from the world are a result of how emotions are not carried through magic as they were before the Veil (and in the Fade). Being healed by Ian forces him to confront both the magic and emotion in the world, as well as his emotional investment in it.  - These realisations are accelerated if the Herald and him are on positive terms.

After the Breach is sealed, Ian kisses Solas, claiming it is thanks for his part in sealing the Breach. They do not kiss in private, and so it is possible for rumours to spread. Had Corypheus not attacked, they may have been forced to confront their feelings then, rather than weeks later.  - If you ask Solas about the kiss before he has a chance to talk about it with Ian, then he will either deny it happened (low approval) or insist he would rather not talk about it yet (positive approval)

Once they arrive at Skyhold, Ian avoids Solas (and truth be told, both were too busy to talk as they had before).

About a week after settling in Skyhold, Solas confesses his feelings for Ian. Their first proper kiss is in private, in Skyhold’s gardens before they had been weeded and cleared. It’s after this that they are officially together, and Solas will respond favourably if asked.

The relationship is overall stable and happy, and tends towards the sickening. If you bring them out together they’ll flirt still, but it’s more blatant.

Solas will play along with sexual jokes made about him and Ian, if he finds them amusing (especially if Inara suffers for it) but it’s important to note that, even if they weren’t both ace with little to no sex drive to speak of, Solas wouldn’t consent to sex with Ian before Ian knows everything about who he is. Feel free to assume ic that they’re having sex, just be prepared to be wrong about it.

If Ian is brought along for Solas’s personal quest and the Inquisitor chooses not to stop Solas from killing the mages that bound Wisdom, Ian will step in and stop him, instead.

Ian and Solas share a room above the gardens. Inside, it looks like his study and Ian’s study had a baby, and there is always a pile of clothes on the floor.

Solas is locked into the Inquisitor’s party when Ian’s personal quest begins, refusing to not be there when they attack the Red Templar stronghold on the coast. He will leave temporarily when it is discovered Ian was made Tranquil, but can be found at Skyhold when you return.

Solas requests that the Tranquility be reversed, and will disapprove if the alternative is even considered (though if the reversal is accepted the points will be earned back). He will provide logical arguments as to why this is the best option: that it will set a poor precedent for their mage allies (if the mages were conscripted or allied with), that Ian was one of their best healers, etc.  - If his personal reasons for pursuing reversal are questioned, he will not deny they play a part, but wishes to convey that even if he had just met Ian that his feelings would be the same.  - However, Solas will also disapprove if the Inquisitor tries to rush the reversal, and will cite the safety of the spirit that undoes Ian’s Tranquility as a reason for why they should proceed with caution.

Eventually, Solas offers forward a spirit of Love as the ideal candidate to undo the rite. Having both the strength, the will, and a personal connection to Ian.

After Ian is no longer Tranquil Solas will not be able to be found in his study, but in either Ian’s study or their room at Skyhold. When he must be elsewhere (should his personal quest trigger, or Cole’s) then someone else, such as Solas’s old friend, Miraen, will be present in Ian’s room. This is essentially a suicide watch, one that ends after What Pride Has Wrought, though for rp purposes likely ends before that.

If Ian is not allowed to drink from the Well, and Solas is brought along to offer his voice in favour of this outcome, then he and Ian fight. Their relationship is strained until they manage to sort it out.  - It’s at this point that Solas realises he has to tell Ian about his past if he wishes to keep the relationship going, as he does in-canon. He had plans to tell Ian before, but his Tranquility put those plans on hold.

Shortly after they make up, speaking to either Solas or Ian will reveal that they’re taking a trip east. The next time the Inquisitor leaves Skyhold, neither will be available.

At the grove in Crestwood, Solas reveals that he is Fen’Harel to Ian. Unlike in canon, where he pulls back, revealing his identity to Ian does not jeopardise the Inquisition, nor his future plans (or that’s what he thinks, anyway). Ian runs, but they reunite before Solas reaches Skyhold.

When they return, they are both exhausted, with Solas carrying Ian on his back. Which probably raises a few questions about what the heck they were doing.

After this, their relationship is more committed than before. Solas is more open with Ian about himself, and is also comfortable being intimate (though it’s still doubtful they have sex, he’s more open to things like bathing together).

Ian asks Solas to remove his vallaslin, but waits until after he’s had a few days to think about it. Ian’s reasoning for removing it eventually causes Solas some grief, but at the time he’s far too enamoured to consider them.  - It’s at this point that if an Inquisitor Lavellan (or any Dalish elf in Skyhold) can ask Solas about how he did it and why.  - If he’s friendly with them, he’ll explain both that they were slave markings and offer to remove them as he did Ian’s.  - If he’s unfriendly with them, he’ll only say that he can remove them. Any knowledge that they’re slave markings will have to come from Ian or a friendly Dalish he did explain it to. If called out, he’ll simply explain that he had no interest in being yelled at for explaining their history. He will remove the vallaslin, but must be prompted to.

Before the final confrontation with Corypheus Solas and Ian say good-bye. Ian is gifted with the wolf’s jawbone Solas wears.  - If Solas and Ian are on poor terms with the Inquisitor, both leave together.

Ian can be brought through the eluvian alongside the Inquisitor to confront Solas (and is, for my default Inquisitor).

Ian is an option to amputate the Inquisitor’s arm, which I headcanon (though I believe Weeks confirmed this) was not taken by Solas. Solas merely took the Anchor.

At the end of Trespasser, Ian leaves the Inquisition regardless of whether it was disbanded or not, to find Solas and join him in hopes of changing his mind as well as helping him through his health issues.  - The Inquisitor may suspect Ian (given that he and Solas left on good terms and there is an issue of spies in the Inquisition) and apprehend him. Though if this happens, he will most likely vanish from his cell weeks later, taken by another of Fen’Harel’s agents.

[dalishbanalras]

Nas’falon

Leather & Lace Romance Week, Day 7: Soulmates/Destined to be together

Fandom: Dragon Age

Pairing: Solas x Mahariel Lavellan

Rating: Teens

Notes: Solas and Mahariel spend time together after Wisdom’s death.

Read on Ao3

She made her way to her quarters after her meeting in the war room. All talks were revolving around Halamshiral. The grand ball was to happen in a little while.

If Joséphine did not break before it, she would truly be impressed by the Antivan, seeing how much it stressed the woman.

Her eyes were set over the reports as she reached the top of the stairs, mumbling. Seamstresses appointments everywhere. Going through every single detail of Orlesian politics of the last years. So much things were still to be done.

The breath of cold air caught her attention. She looked up to find the balcony’s door open. She scanned the room, noticing quickly the books that were not her own on the desk.

Solas had always got free pass when it came to her quarters. His room was in a tower close to the rotunda, and it had taken time to fix the holes in the roof and settle proper furniture. The apostate was discreet, and had not been voicing loud protests to get something decent and private for himself quickly, satisfied enough to sleep on the rotunda’s couch while waiting. Considering, she had let him know soon that her own quarters were open to him in the meantime, including when she was not there.

A courtesy made despite the fierce rolling eyes of Vivienne, of course. Alright, maybe she lowkey saw these as one more reason to extend the said courtesy.

Solas did not ask for it. But she knew him, and having constantly people around was to annoy him. He needed quiet and alone time, and her quarters could provide that.

His room had been settled after a time, but it was a habit that remained, for him to come study here when it got too crowded for his taste downstairs.

With the craziness going around Skyhold with the Ball coming closer, it was also a way now to offer the both of them some stolen moments.

She put the papers down on the desk quietly, watching him. It had been few weeks since he came back. Few weeks also since they talked on that same balcony. He was still mourning, she could see it. A shadow that crossed his steel eyes when he was lost in thoughts. His first instinct was to hide it, to keep it for when he would be alone. Her footsteps were light over the cobblestones as she came next to him. He gave no sign, but she had no doubt he was aware of her presence when she crossed the threshold of the balcony. She respected his silence, her gaze drifting over the mountains and the orange shade of the early evening sky.

“It is getting late. Did you wish to be alone to review your last meeting?” He asked quietly.

“That can wait.”

“Thoughts?”

“I was going to ask you that.”

He wetted his lips and side-glanced at her. She offered a sweet encouraging smile. Hesitation flashed in his eyes. He shook it away.

“Forgive me, vhenan. I found myself nostalgic. How was this meeting?”

Her nose wrinkled, the ghost of a frown planning over her forehead. She did not give up so easily. She slid her hand in his and fell back silent, waiting patiently. His eyes dropped to their joined hands, almost surprised an instant. A tender smile tugged the corner of his lips and he entangled their fingers. Her thumb drew small circles upon the back of his hand. His features softened at the small gesture. He uttered.

“It would have loved you.”

This was the first time she made him admit he was thinking about his deceased friend. She looked at him softly.

“Tell me about Wisdom, vhenan’ara.”

She saw the hesitation crossing his features again. And then, he looked at her, as if she was the most precious, impossible thing that could come to pass. His perfect lips slightly parted, eyes intense in hers. Her chest warmed at the love in his gaze, unknowing of what earned it. He shook the hesitation away again, but this time, she knew it was in the right way. He brought her hand to his lips and brushed a kiss upon her fingers. He leaned more over the guardrail, wistful. She mirrored his position, shoulder grazing his.

“Wisdom is different from Knowledge. It has incommensurable knowledge, but it was not the only thing about it. It is not about having the answers, it is about asking the right question. It could be light-hearted as well. One often pictures Wisdom as serious, stern old man. Wisdom, in truth, brings a peace of mind that has not to be stranger to humour. It was full of wits.”

A faint chuckle escaped his mouth.

“One who seeks advice to Wisdom must be prepared, for it rarely is what you wish to hear. This is no simple, straight answer. It makes you question only more.”

He paused then. His smile fluttered. His voice grew lower.

“I had known it my whole life. It was my dearest and oldest friend.”

She nodded and leaned more against him. His arm came around her, bringing her against his chest. She would have loved to find words to comfort him. But the truth was, there was no word that would do such effect. That would take the pain off of his heart. Sometimes, being here had to be enough, and it was one of those time. He kissed the top of her head, his body relaxing at the warmth she brought him, as much physically as emotionally. She pondered.

“Nas’falon.”

He looked down at her, pondering what she offered. It sounded only logical deduction. Yet, as he considered her…

“Perhaps.”

[Credit to FenxShiral and the Project Elvhen for the elvhen!]

Vhenan'ara - Desire of my heart.

Nas’falon – soulmate. The elvhen concept is not intrinsically romantic. It applies to a relationship where two people are so incredible close, so incredibly devoted to each other and incredibly inseparable, that it is as if they share a soul. In the Elvhen context, you only ever have one nas’falon, one soul mate.

[patheticnugbaby]

Ink

Have some more Solavellan fluff, instigated by Cole because he absolutely would. I don’t think there’s any elven that needs to be translated in the tags so I hope you guys enjoy.

Adahla sat at her desk, trying to bandage her fingers. Her left hand was bandaged fairly well if a little lopsided. She growled as she gingerly tried wrapping her right hand again, cursing whichever god had decided that in order to be right handed her left hand had to be absolutely useless. She held up and twisted her hand a little, knocking over an ink vial.

“Fenedhis!” She hissed, scrambling to tip it right side up before it completely ruined all of her letters.

Ink spilled over the half-wrapped bandages on her hand, staining her skin pitch black. After she put the stopper in and set the inkwell aside on her bookshelf she used her ink-free left hand to carefully pick up the letters. Most of them were still alright, it was the bottom three which had been irreparably blotted with the ink so that only a fraction of the words were still legible. On the bright side, they were letters she’d written instead of letters she hadn’t read yet. She threw the ruined letters into the hearth, then used the rest of the bandages she’d intended on wrapping her right hand with to mop up the ink. She rolled her shoulders in an attempt to relax as she walked back around to her desk.

Intense pain stung her toes as she stubbed them on the corner of her desk, “Fenedhis lasa!” she snarled, angrily smacking the side of her fist on the offending desk.

“... Inquisitor?” A soft, hesitant voice floated through her door, followed by a little knock, like an afterthought. Solas.

“What is it?” She growled with a little more venom than she’d intended, “I’m sorry, come in.”

“Cole said you needed my help,” Solas elaborated as he opened the door, cautiously peering into the room as he came up the steps, “through the door, it sounded like you needed someone’s help.”

Adahla shot him a little scowl that wrinkled her nose, “Just a trying day. I can’t imagine why he’d specifically ask you.”

“I imagine because you’ve got ink on your face.” She froze, ears flicking tersely as she slowly turned on her heel to the tiny mirror she had above the dresser.

She had a few long smears where she liked to pinch the bridge of her nose when she was frustrated, two more along her right cheek and a few flecks around her lips. Heat suddenly flared in her cheeks and at the tips of her twitching ears as her lips pressed into a thin line.

“Mmhm,” She heard him laugh, which only made her blush more and she whirled on him, flicking her ink-stained hand at him, making him jump back with a small, indignant yelp, “Not so funny now!”

“Unfortunately, vhenan, it’s still funny,” He chuckled a little more before clearing his throat and nodding down at her hands, “What happened to your hands?”

“Oh,” She gave her fingers a surly look before she folded them behind her back, “still practicing with some of the alchemy Kihm’s been teaching me. It’s more... Volatile than I’m used to, just some minor burns and things. Teach me to be more careful next time.”

“May I see?” Solas held out his hands like he was expecting to take hers.

She grumbled a little before she held them out to him, trying to stay at least a little bit angry with him while he carefully examined her fingers.

“I assume that binding them yourself is what caused the accident with the ink?”

She gave him a curt little nod.

“And the colorful curse I heard through the door?”

Adahla felt her blush creep a little higher in her ears and cheeks, “Ah, no. I also stubbed my foot on the desk cleaning up.”

He smiled like he was holding back a laugh before he let her hands go, “Would you like some help?”

She narrowed her eyes at him, trying to decide if the soft, sly turn of his mouth was worth it, “What is this ‘help’ going to cost me?”

“I didn’t say it would cost you anything,” That slyness became just a little more obvious, something in his eyes, or his eyebrows, “but if it were then I’d say it’d be a promise.”

“What kind of promise?” She wrinkled her nose a little bit.

“Only that if you need help with your hands again you ask me,” He paused, inclining his head at her desk, “if only to prevent you from ruining more letters.”

“I think that’ll be acceptable,” She over-exaggerated the gracious nod she gave him, making him chuckle a little as he went to her desk.

“You have more bandages in here?”

“Bottom drawer on the right,” She held her hands up as she sat on her bed, careful not to drip ink on the bedding.

He pulled a few more bandages and a cloth from the drawer, taking a seat next to her, “Let me redo your left hand, first.”

“What’s wrong with my left one?” She scoffed, but she allowed him to take it and start to unwrap her hand.

“Nothing, if you don’t mind it coming off inside of an hour,” He quipped with a soft smile, looking a little harder at her hands, “what burned you?”

“Oh, that one,” She tilted her hand a little, “that was my first attempt at bottling lightning this morning.”

“Bottling lightning?”

“Mmhm. As far as a first try goes I’m told I did well,” She grinned, a small swell of pride in her chest.

“What is it that this Kihm’s been training you to do that requires that you bottle lightning?” He asked with a soft, skeptical tone as he spread an acrid-smelling paste on the burns.

“He calls it Tempest. Here, I prepare alchemical draughts and explosives for various purposes, most of them involving throwing them at things, or drinking them.” She replied, wiggling her fingers a little as he started to wrap them.

“Hm,” He wrapped all the way up to her wrist, leaving her thumb still mobile, “too tight?”

“No,” She flexed her hand a little with a smile, “thank you.”

“It’s no trouble,” He replied with a soft little smile, unwrapping her left hand and throwing the ink-stained bandage into the fire, “why ‘Tempest’?”

“I’ve always liked alchemy, as much of it as Clan Lavellan knew, which wasn’t much,” Adahla admitted, watching his slender fingers as he scrubbed gently at the ink stains on her hand, “and there is something enticing about seeing just how far you can push yourself, or seeing how far you can push the rules,” her ears flicked a little, “when I actually use the things I’ve made it feels like I’m running in the eye of a storm. I’m sure that to anyone else it looks like chaos, glass, and fire everywhere, but there’s a rhythm to it. Like a dance.”

“Magic can have a similar feeling,” He replied, gathering some of the harsh-smelling paste in his fingers and gently rubbing it into her hands, “I expected that you’d be more... Measured in what path you chose.”

“You of all people should know that I am only a ‘measured’ woman when it is necessary. If there is a freer, wilder path that can be taken then I should like to take it,” She said, giving him a little, feline smile that she almost wasn’t sure he saw.

Solas started wrapping her left hand, eyebrows furrowed a little with concentration. Struck by impulse, she leaned in and pressed a feather-light kiss on the scar on his forehead. He smiled, glancing up at her as he finished wrapping her left hand.

“What’s that for?”

“Do I really need a reason to kiss you, vhenan?” She smirked, flexing her left hand a little, “Can I not kiss you only because I like to?”

He laughed softly, picking up the cloth again and gently tilting her face by the chin, “Hold still.”

Solas gently dabbed and scrubbed at the ink smears on her face, starting with the ones on her cheek. His brows were drawn down slightly, eyes intent on the streak he was currently working on. Despite the fact that she knew he wasn’t intentionally meeting her eyes there was something about the intensity in his eyes that made butterflies roil in her stomach and up to her chest.

“Is something the matter, vhenan?” He asked, a little smile playing on the corners of his mouth, still not directly meeting her eyes.

“No,” She frowned a little, “why?”

“Your ears are twitching, and you’ve been biting your lip,” There was that slyness again, in the way he smiled, she wasn’t sure what about the smile made him look any more sly than usual, but it was there.

“Oh,” She made a conscious effort to still her ears, a blush creeping on her cheeks again.

“What’re you thinking?” He asked, changing what side of the cloth he was using and starting on the bridge of her nose.

“Ah- sorry, what?” She wrinkled her nose a little, blinking a few times.

“What’re you thinking?” He repeated a little slower, dabbing at the side of her nose, “You’re usually a little more talkative.”

How much I’d like to kiss you, She thought, ears flicking a little, or that I’d like to nibble at your ears and drag my nails down your back so you’ll make that delicious little sound.

“Just entertaining ideas,” She answered with a coy little smile.

“What kinds of ideas?” His eyes flicked to hers for a moment, a knowing gleam in them.

“I think you could find out, if you had a mind to,” Adahla gave him a nearly predatory smirk, her tongue running along the edge of her teeth.

His ears gave a sharp little flick as he finished dabbing the ink spots from around her lip. There was something heated and dark in his eyes as he lightly traced the outline of her lips with the tips of his fingers. His ears flicked again and he cleared his throat, slowly, almost reluctantly moving his hands away.

“Another day, vhenan,” Solas pressed a tender kiss on her forehead.

“Vhenan’ara,” She answered, taking his hand and giving it a gentle squeeze, “thank you.”

“You’re most welcome,” He squeezed her hand back before replacing the bandages in her desk, “was there anything else you needed assistance with?”

“No, though you’re welcome to stay if you’d like to,” She smiled, standing as she came over to her desk, “I still have a lot of work to do today but you’re always welcome up here.”

“Thank you,” He gave her a warm smile before he started to step out from behind her desk, only to be blocked by Adahla, “... Vhenan?”

“You don’t need to sound nervous, Solas,” She chided him with a little smirk as she brought her arms to snare around his waist, “May I kiss you before you go?”

He didn’t answer, just brought his hands up to tenderly cradle her face and pressed his lips to hers. His kiss was warm and gentle, only the barest touch of his tongue that she suspected was more of a habit than anything else. She treasured his kisses, the taste of him, the softness of his lips against hers, how after almost every kiss he took the extra time to run his thumb along the outline of her lips, like the ghost of a kiss. He pulled away from her, only to place a softer, quicker kiss on her lips again, followed by the feather-light touch of his calloused thumb. She smiled up at him, something about the warmth and adoration of his gaze made her feel like she was melting.

“Ar lath, ma vhenan,” He murmured smiling a little wider when she grinned up at him.

“Lathan na,” She replied, pulling away a little to let him pass, “Should I come by later tonight?”

“I look forward to it,” He said, tucking her hair behind her ears before he left.

“And if you’re asleep?”

He stopped before he started down the stairs, looking over his shoulder at her, “Then you should wake me. Time spent with you is well-worth lost sleep.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” She smiled, rounding her desk and sitting in her chair, pulling over a stack of letters, “Until tonight, ma’arlath.”

“Until tonight.”

[thevikingwoman]

updated with two fics - but the list above has many more and includes these two so the base post can easily be referenced/reblogged!

Vhenan’ara by @bearly-tolerable

Solas x Lavellan, post Trespasser, WIP

This wonderful story is set after Solas and Sarya Lavellan have reunited. Married and settled, what happens next? Sometimes, when you think everything is fixed, it’s still falling apart. This is such an unique take on Solavellan, full of poignant and mature writing. It carries both a sadness and a hopefulness. Also featuring the Warden and Alister and many others, this is a treat to read.

She stared into her lap and he averted his eyes and did the same. Solas fiddled with the edges of his shirt. He could hear her picking at her nails. They sat still and quiet but nature remained moving and unyielding all the while spying on their somber scene. Red padded up to them, laying herself between their chairs, head on her paws while her eyes glanced back and forth between them. Almost as if daring one of them to say something. A spritely firefly lit up between them and Red snapped at it. It flitted then fluttered away. - Chapter 2

Rather be by @wardsarefunctioning

Solas x Trevelyan, Modern AU, WIP

Elizabeth Trevelyan is not only the only mage among her siblings, she also is in the unfortunate situation that she is the only of her sisters who is single for her sister Jane’s wedding. Luckily another of her sisters has a great solution - a pretend boyfriend, an old co-worker of Jane’s.

This fake-dating story is cute and delightful - not only because of the wonderful interplay and romantic tension between Elizabeth and Solas, but also the dynamic between all four of Lizzie’s sisters. The dialogue is fun and fast paced and the modern setting full of great details.

Two months later, Elizabeth and Lydia went to look at bridesmaids dresses together. Lydia had not been triumphant in her choice of colors; Jane had settled on sage green, which was about as far from neon as she could get. As the car pulled off Elizabeth’s street, Lydia snuck a look at her sister.

“Oh, um,” Lydia said in an overly casual voice. “By the way. Mama might be a little mad at you.”

Elizabeth raised on eyebrow. “Why would Mama be mad at me?”

“She doesn’t like that you’re dating an elf.”

“What?”

“I know, I know,” Lydia said, rolling her eyes. “She is such a racist.”

“That’s not what I….” Elizabeth shook her head. “Lydia, I’m not dating anyone.”

“Well, Mama thinks you are.” - chapter 1

Fanfic Recommendations

hese are a list of longer fan fics I have read and enjoyed. It is mostly Solavellan focused, and not exhaustive. I am sure there are many excellent fics not on this list.

In addition to these recs, my reading tag is ‘viking reads’. I also do monthly reading lists (tagged ‘reading list’). Along with published fiction and compete longer fanfiction, these include short fic highlights.

 I have mostly excluded short fic from this list, as it got too long otherwise, but I love reading short stories. 

I have added a little about what I love about each story, so this is a rather big post, and it goes under a cut.

Keep reading

[fiadhaisteach]

Things I’ve Read This Week* - 2020.10.10

New Stories

Sugar Honey Iced Tea by AntlersandFangs (@thededfa), Beckily (@beckily), & Celtic_Lass, (@thecelticlass) - MCIT x3 - 6,466 words, WIP

Solavellan Prompts by luzial (@luzial) - Solas/Female Lavellan - 2,297 words, WIP

Dacw 'Nghariad by HardingHightown - Solas/Female Lavellan - 3,434 words, WIP

Beyond The Veil Dragon Age Discord Artober 2020 Prompts, ⚜️Dreamer, ⚜️Imperium, ⚜️Tranquil by Arista_Holmes (@kita-lavellan) - Solas/Female Lavellan, Dorian & Female Lavellan - 1,477 words, each work complete

Rereads

This is the New World State, The New World State by proudprussian (@memoriscrow) - Zevran/MGIT- 75,944 words, WIP

Thedas Unveiled, Nobody Expects the Dragon Age Inquisition by enigmalea (@enigmalea) - Solas/Female Lavellan - 70,561 words, WIP

Tumblr Reads

Orlais by @thevikingwoman - Solas/Female Lavellan

Untitled prompt by @blarrghe - Solas/Female Lavellan

Subscription Updates

In the face of your light, A tapestry of stars by noverture (@noverturemusings) - Solas/Male Lavellan (Ch. 5)

Masters at Their Crafts by LeafAdrift (@sillyleaf)- MGIT, OFC (Ch. 8)

Brute heart of a brute like you by elo_elo - Solas/Female Lavellan (Ch. 32)

A Singular Shadow by AntlersandFangs - Solas/MGIT, Cullen/MGIT (Ch. 57)

The Hunt by bubble_bones (@bubble-bones) - Fen’harel|Solas/Female Lavellan (Ch. 47)

Unwritten by UnrealRomance - (@unrealromance) - Solas/MGIT (Ch. 135-136)

The Rebel’s Ascension by InArlathan (@in-arlathan) - Solas/OFC (Ch. 10)

Vhenan'ara verse, Vhenan’ara by bearlytolerable - Solas/Female Lavellan (Ch. 7-8)

For Goodness Bakes by RogueLioness (@roguelioness) - Solas/Female Lavellan (Ch. 5)

The Cult of Fen'Harel by WizardofOzymandias (@wizardofozymandias) - Solas/Female Lavellan (Ch. 9)

the forest is dark and deep and i’ve seen you here before by victoriousscarf (@victoriousscarf) - Solas/Male Lavellan (Ch. 74)

Fade Objects by KeeperSpock (@outragedvulcan) - Solas/Female Lavellan (Ch. 57)

The Calling by SilverQueen (@sadfantasylife) - Solas/OFC (Ch. 19)

Hero by Tabikat (@tabikato) - Zevran/Male Mahariel, Alistair/OFC (Ch. 13)

Accidental Meddler by PurpleBilli - Solas/OFC (Ch. 18)

Til It Squeaks: A Modern Girl’s Take on Thedas, Twist by CrackingLamb (@crackinglamb) - Solas/MGIT (Ch. 59-60)

Just Like Fire - Prompt Fills for La'vise Lavellan, Little Black Dress by CrackingLamb (@crackinglamb) - Solas/Female Lavellan (Ch. 1), complete, series sub

In the face of your light, In the face of your light by noverture (@noverturemusings) - Solas/Male Lavellan (Ch. 39)

This is the New World State, The New World State by proudprussian (@memoriscrow) - Zevran/MGIT (Ch. 17)

Til It Squeaks: A Modern Girl’s Take on Thedas, The Cutting Room Floor by CrackingLamb (@crackinglamb) - Solas/MGIT (Ch. 27)

Lamb in Wolf’s Clothing by jasna - Solas/Female Lavellan (Ch. 57)

» side note - multiple chapters may mean multiple updates; or might just be me refreshing my memory, reorienting myself in the story, or rereading some for fun. 😊

*TIRTW & can recommend

I do a quick search for author tumblrs (if they’re not posted on their fic, or AO3 profile); then assume they either don’t have one, or don’t want it linked to their fic, if it’s hard to find. So if you are a writer who has a tumblr they want linked to their rec, or know someone who is, just let me know and I’ll fix it.

[patheticnugbaby]

Forget

Have some more happy dancing elves. Just a little piece of indulgent fluff exploring how I canonically want their dynamic to work. For me personally I like the idea that despite Lavellan being the one doing the chasing she’s the one pulling the strings in the relationship. She initiates almost everything and he responds because he just can’t help himself. Without his cause right there in front of him it’s almost too easy for her to bring him to his knees.

I forgot what the point was but here, have a fluffy drabble. Elven translated in tags.

“Solas?” Adahla peeked into the rotunda; it was late but she saw firelight under the door.

“Inquisitor,” Her head snapped up, finding him on the rickety scaffold against the wall, “What can I do for you?”

Adahla slid inside, walking around to stand at the base of the ladder, “I don’t know. I’ve finally caught up on the mountain of paperwork leftover from Halamshiral, I should feel exhausted but I’m restless.”

“In what way?” He asked, his back was turned to her, the slow scratching of charcoal on stone, his next piece.

“Like there’s beetles under my skin, or a beehive in my chest,”

“How long has it been since you last left Skyhold?”

Adahla stopped, cocking her head to the side, ears pulled tight to her head, “I don’t, I don’t think I’ve managed to get out since we got back.”

He chuckled a little, “You are a wanderer, Inquisitor. Before the Conclave I’d say you rarely set foot inside anything larger than an aravel, never mind a place as steady as Skyhold.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” She grumbled, her ears flicking irritably.

“Ir abelas, that is not how I meant it,” He sighed softly, sitting on the edge of the scaffold, legs dangling in the air, “Your clan doesn’t often stay in a single area for long, most nights having only the sky and the horizon has your only barriers. Now, you are here,” Solas gestured expansively at the room, “Walls and barriers abound. Skyhold will always be a safe space for you, but you and I both know you’re more comfortable in the wilds.”

“You know, you could’ve just said I needed to get out more, or that I was cooped up for too long.” She gave him a teasing grin, prompting a laugh from him, Adahla leaned on the ladder, “And since I need to get out, would you like to come with me?”

“How could I refuse?” He smiled, swinging onto the ladder when she moved away, “Did you have something in mind?”

“No,” She giggled a little, taking his hand in hers, interlocking their fingers, “Will you come anyways?”

“Lead the way, vhenan.”

She grinned widely and whisked him out of the rotunda, out the front doors and down the steps. The air outside was crisp and dry, even if it was nearing late spring it still smelled like snow. A few torches lit the yard, bathing the frozen grass in orange light. She looked up to the sky, framed by the imposing towers of Skyhold. The moon was gone, the wispy darkness of clouds obscuring some of the stars. They winked at her, tiny white jewels, far too many to ever count.

“It’s beautiful tonight,” She breathed, the fingers of her left hand lightly touching her lips.

“You are.”

Adahla shot him a look over her shoulder, a soft flush creeping into her cheeks, “I always am.”

He chuckled softly, allowing her to tug him across the drawbridge and out into the snow, “Are you not worried about being seen?”

“What are any of them going to say?” She smirked back at him, relishing the feeling of untouched snow under her boots, “I saw the Inquisitor stealing away into the night with an apostate?”

“Yes.”

She scoffed, letting go of his hand to spin in the snow, arms outstretched, head thrown back to the sky, “Let them!” she stopped, tilting her head as she looked at him, a smile curling her lips, “You are the only thing I have chosen for myself since the Conclave, Solas, and I’ll steal away with you whenever I like,” she paused, “So long as you’re amenable to it.”

Solas smiled, taking a few steps forward to slide his hand back into hers, “I am,” he tugged her gently to walk again, “You are particularly fierce tonight.”

Adahla laughed, louder and freer than she had in weeks, “I am! I almost feel like dancing,” she shot a look back to the looming walls of Skyhold and frowned, “Not here. I almost feel like it’s watching me.”

“Tarasyl'an Te'las always feels that way to those who hold it,” He replied, looking up to the towers, “You do it justice, Adahla.”

“As much justice a dalish can do an ancient fortress,” She said, turning away from it and gently pulling him down the hill, “Come, ma’arlath, lose yourself in the moment with me, just for tonight.”

“I don’t know if that’s wise, Adahla.”

“For one night let’s not worry so much about what is wise,” She answered, turning to face him with a warm smile, slowly backing farther from Skyhold, “Let us both forget, just for a while.”

He exhaled sharply, ears twitching a little, “Adahla.”

“Solas,” He had that tiny pleading note in his voice that she so enjoyed, “Dance with me, wild and unbound in the starlight, ma vhenan’ara.”

She took a slow step forward, gently taking his other hand. Her fingers gently pressed at the underside of his wrist, she felt his fluttering pulse. Adahla turned her back to him as she stepped closer, putting his hands on her hips, she brought her hand up to cup his jaw.

“You know the steps, ma da’vhenan?” She prompted quietly, a sly glimmer in her eyes.

“I do,” He barely whispered, his breath tickled her ear as his hand slid up to take her hand from his face and hold it firmly in his own.

She smiled, extending her leg to draw a long arc on the ground, grinning when she felt him follow, just a hair’s breadth behind her. They started slowly but surely, her back pressed against him as their feet crunched softly on the thin layer of snow. The air was still and cool, carrying the light scent of new growth; the moonless night quiet enough for her to hear the softness of his breathing, watched as it clouded the air.

He spun her to face him, pressing her close with his hand firm on the small of her back. Solas took several sharp steps back and she mirrored them, keeping her legs firmly pushed against his own. They turned in wide arcs in the snow, faster. When she looked up to him there was a steady heat in his eyes, a wide, warm smile on his lips. Adahla mirrored it, laughing giddily as he spun her away, then pulled her back into his arms with a laugh of his own. Butterflies roiled in her chest as his hands went to her hips to lift her but instead of turning to toss her into a leap he just spun a little, holding her up.

She giggled, wrapping her arms around his shoulders to kiss him. Adahla felt his lips smiling against hers. When she pulled back he set her back on her feet, kissing her again. Her hands cradled his face, one of his on the small of her back, his other reaching to cover one of her hands with his.

“Ar lath, ma vhenan’ara. Ar lath ma’sahlin, la’melanda, ar isala’ma, ma ar’lath.” He spoke like he couldn’t say it fast enough, like if he didn’t say it now he never would again.

His eyes were closed. She felt the slightest tremor in the way he held her. Adahla smiled and gently pressed her forehead against his.

“Sahlin, la’melanda, ma vhenan.”