#what should have happened at crestwood

[liaragaming]

THEY MIRROR EACH OTHER!!!

"---looked at me as if I somehow mattered more than anything around us."

ANDRASTE BLESS THE CREATOR OF FLY-CAM MODS

[loredrinker]

Could Solas Kill Inky in Place of Varric?

I saw a poll making the rounds days ago asking the age-old question: could Solas have killed the Inquisitor if they, rather than Varric, had approached him during the ritual? I voted no - and now I’m driven to explain why.

I’m not claiming any kind of authority here. Fandom discourse can be sensitive (especially around headcanons), so let’s just agree this is one interpretation among many. And no, this isn’t denial or wishful thinking (though I’m sure some will roll their eyes). I’ve tried to keep this grounded in what the games present and build a case based on narrative structure, context and character logic.

I’m also not saying Solas couldn’t ever harm the Inquisitor. Under the right conditions, it’s possible. But the question is would he have done so in that moment - at the ritual site, in Varric’s place? And for me, the answer is no. Based on where Solas is emotionally and narratively at that point, I don’t believe that outcome fits. 

This post focuses on a Friend and Romanced Inquisitor - those the story frames as emotionally significant to Solas. (I’ll address the low-approval path at the end.)

For this, I want to start with the progression of Solas’ relationship with the Inquisitor as shaped by the events of the games and supporting material. (And of course, the prerequisite disclaimer: these are just my thoughts and interpretations.)

Apologies, it's a bit long.

Emotional Bonds: Solas’ Relationship with the Inquisitor

In Inquisition, Trespasser and Veilguard, we see Solas emotionally compromised by his bond with the Inquisitor - whether friend or lover - through a series of consistent narrative beats.

With a high-approval friend Inquisitor, the connection is built on deep respect. Solas says, “You show a wisdom I have not seen since… since my deepest journeys into the ancient memories of the Fade,” and adds, “It means that I respect you deeply, Inquisitor.” That word - deeply - is important. Solas doesn’t offer praise lightly, and considering what we know of his guarded nature and history, that line should be read as significant.

After Trespasser, he refers to revealing his plans as a “moment of weakness” (The Dread Wolf Take You), yet chooses to confess anyway because part of him wants the Inquisitor to know. When he meets with Charter, it's because he's learned the Inquisition is involved and knowingly risks exposure by appearing in person. And his message: "Tell the Inquisitor I’m sorry" in a faltering voice further underscores that the Inquisitor has a sort of hold on him.

He admits to Rook that during his rebellion, it took him centuries to build bonds with others - but within the Inquisition, he formed bonds within a year. This is yet another beat that tells us that what happened during the Inquisition was exceptional to Solas - it had immediacy, intimacy, and impact.

Strong evidence of the unique role of the Inquisitor comes from the romance path. Solas prepares to reveal everything but retreats in fear. Yet even after ending the relationship, the connection lingers through multiple narrative beats: dream visits, refers to never forgetting her, his letter, cherishing their time more than his victories. The Crestwood scene is most telling: “You are unique... I never expected to find someone who could draw my attention from the Fade. You have become important to me, more important than I could have imagined.” For Solas, the Fade is his sanctuary - where he finds clarity, control, and truth. That a romanced Inquisitor could pull his focus from it is the narrative explicitly telling the player they disorient him. Their emotional gravity is strong enough to draw him away from the only place he’s ever truly longed for. That’s why he runs. So when players ask whether he would have reacted the same way to a romanced Inquisitor at the ritual site as he did to Varric, I feel that dialogue reveals a lot. If they could pull his attention away from the Fade, then it stands to reason they could break his focus mid-ritual. Their appearance could have destabilized him again, just as it did before.

But perhaps what I find to be one of the most compelling pieces is what Veilguard itself tells the player: “The Dread Wolf could not foresee what it would mean to fall in love.” Note the use “the Dread Wolf” here - not Solas. The Dread Wolf is the myth, the feared manipulator. He is supposed to be above mortal emotion, detached and resolute. And yet, the Dread Wolf - not the man beneath the name - is the one undone by love. (How interesting the cut dialogue from Morrigan aligns with this: “And so the Dread Wolf is stopped by, of all things, love.”)

Solas’s Actions Toward Varric Were Not Premeditated 

When Varric approaches Solas at the ritual, Solas doesn’t strike him. He disables Bianca, which Varric has pointed at him - choosing non-lethal intervention - and turns back to his ritual. He speaks to Varric, is composed, focused. There’s no bloodlust or intent to kill. It’s only after Rook topples the statue and Varric lunges at him that Solas stabs him. It’s fast, instinctive, defensive - his control breaking in the middle of a complex, high-stakes spell. And while it’s clear Solas was prepared to incapacitate Varric if necessary, I don’t believe his intention was to kill him (if he truly wanted a fatal outcome for Varric, he would have turned him to stone). I interpret his expression afterward as much: he tilts his head down, his eyes/face fall. This wasn’t premeditated or cold-blooded - it was a response to immediate, physical interference in a moment where precision and focus were everything. Unfortunately, his aim was fatal.

The Inquisitor Would Not Approach the Way Varric Did 

Okay, maybe this part is more subjective, I can admit that - but do many players believe their Friend/Lover Inquisitor would have charged Solas the way Varric did? The Inquisitor is not Varric. Across the games and extended media, they’re portrayed as strategic, influential, and focused on the long game (as I write about here). Varric made an impulsive choice - physically lunging at Solas in the middle of an intense, years-in-the-making ritual. His reaction triggered a defensive response. That’s who Varric is: brave, loyal, emotional - but not really all that strategic. 

By contrast, a friend/lover Inquisitor would most likely approach differently. Look at the atonement ending in Veilguard: they approach slowly, hands out, knowing exactly how dangerous the situation is, yet still choosing to reach him emotionally, rather than physically. Wouldn’t it be reasonable to assume that the same Inquisitor, placed at the ritual site, would do the same? 

And really, we only have one canonical example of an Inquisitor confronting Solas directly: Trespasser. Just the two of them. And even when the Inquisitor is angry or feeling betrayed - not even a low-approval one is harmed. What that shows me is simple: when the Inquisitor is the one standing in front of him, Solas responds differently.

Solas Had Already Changed His Strategy Since Trespasser 

By the time of Veilguard, Solas is no longer fully committed to the most absolute, destructive version of his plan as originally told to the Inquisitor. In The Missing, he tells Varric in a note that “what must be done, will be done cautiously, and I will limit the damage as best I can,” At the ritual site, he again tells Varric that he has taken precautions to minimize the damage, In the Fade prison, he confirms to Rook that he had a host of spirits ready to help minimize loss of life. And while some players may dismiss this as manipulation or self-delusion, it’s worth noting that Emmrich affirms the spirits still think highly of Solas and continue to support him - suggesting he hasn’t lost their trust. Taken together, these are not throwaway lines. They form a consistent pattern.

This isn’t about excusing Solas - it’s about acknowledging the material the game presents. Across multiple sources, the narrative signals that Solas’ internal direction has shifted. He’s no longer blindly pursuing a path of total destruction. Since Trespasser, he’s made a conscious decision (however flawed) to try to control the outcome - to do less harm. Whether or not he’s lying to himself is a valid question, but the story shows that he believes he’s acting with restraint. That belief defines the version of Solas we meet at the ritual site: conflicted, calculating, and trying - however imperfectly - not to repeat past catastrophes.

The Killing of Felassan Is Not a Useful Comparison 

Some players point to Felassan’s death as precedent for the idea that Solas could kill the Inquisitor - but in my view, the circumstances are entirely different. At the assumed time of Felassan’s death, Solas is either still in Uthenera or has recently awakened from it into a world made tranquil by the Veil. He was still reeling from Mythal’s murder and the consequences of his own actions. His psychological and emotional state was unstable to say the least, shaped by disorientation, grief, and urgency. Felassan, by contrast, had centuries to adapt to this changed world, to mourn Mythal, and to forge new connections. Solas had not.

If we look at Solas’s perspective, Felassan didn’t just disagree - he disobeyed a direct order at a critical time, likely seen as a betrayal not only of Solas’ plan, but also of Mythal’s memory. I also don’t believe Felassan’s death was premeditated, it fits a pattern of how Solas reacts when he’s desperate and his control is slipping. (And don't take this as me agreeing with Solas, I'm simply attempting to provide context.)

I think it's worth noting that Felassan’s death may have changed Solas. One of the regrets Rook confronts in the Crossroads is The Betrayal of Felassan, suggesting the moment haunts Solas. It was a personal failure that may have contributed to the caution and restraint we see from him later.

The Flemeth/Mythal Scene 

Some players also cite the end of Inquisition - when Solas absorbs Mythal’s fragment from Flemeth - as proof that he’d kill the Inquisitor, because he kills Mythal. But that reading feels overly simplistic and overlooks what the scene actually depicts, both in Inquisition and its altered version in Veilguard. And maybe this is where I’ll get the most eye rolls, but here it is: Flemeth is not Mythal - she carries only a fragment of her. And in both versions, the visual and narrative cues strongly suggest she anticipated this outcome.

Yes, it does seem cold that Solas has to kill Flemeth to gain Mythal’s power - taking the life of this powerful woman who has influenced and shaped Thedas. But that’s precisely what makes her lack of resistance so fascinating. She doesn’t fight or flee. She reaches out to Solas, touches his face, and calls him “old friend.” So I have to ask - why? If Flemeth or Mythal truly objected, would someone of Flemeth’s immense power (especially when Solas is still regaining his strength) have allowed it? The most reasonable answer is that she didn’t make this decision alone. As the vessel of Mythal’s fragment, it’s entirely plausible that Mythal’s will/memories/essence - her understanding of what must happen - guided the moment. That doesn’t make it easy, or even ethically clean, but it reframes the act as one of grim necessity, not aggression as it wasn’t positioned as theft, but a sorrowful transfer of power.

And we see this tension captured in a single line of dialogue from Mythal: “While the prison is important, it is not the only goal you seek.” She doesn’t reject Solas’ reasoning - she acknowledges the prison’s importance, and by extension, his need for power to do it. But she also makes sure to take this moment to challenge him. She allows the transfer, as she calls him out about why he wants it. Again, Flemeth’s death doesn’t serve as precedent for Solas using violence against the Inquisitor.

The Atonement Ending Reaffirms the Inquisitor’s Unique Emotional Bond

By placing the Inquisitor alongside Mythal in Solas’s path to atonement at the end of Veilguard, it felts like the writers made a deliberate narrative choice. Mythal - the immortal who shaped Solas and his ideology - and the Inquisitor - the mortal who affected his heart - stand together because both are essential to who he’s become. This pairing is symbolic in my eyes as the Inquisitor is framed as Mythal’s equal in emotional and narrative influence over Solas’s fate. They speak before and after her, effectively bookending the moment that changes everything.

A character granted that level of symbolic and emotional influence in Solas’ arc is not someone I feel Solas would plausibly kill at the ritual site.  

Conclusion 

All of this has been my attempt to lay the groundwork - to trace the story’s emotional and narrative architecture - behind why I believe Solas couldn’t have killed the Inquisitor at the ritual site at the beginning of Veilguard. Could he hurt them later, in a moment of desperation or collapse? Yes, there is the possibility, but I don't think intentionally, likely through an accident scenario. But in that moment at the ritual site? I don’t believe he’s in that place yet.

And there’s also this: Solas never kills Rook. Even when he manipulates them in the Fade and tries to use them to take his place, he doesn't physically harm them. At the end, he tells Rook he doesn’t want to fight them and only attacks when Rook strikes first. So to suggest he would kill a high-approval/love Inquisitor - someone he has a deeper, longer, and more emotionally complex bond with - while sparing Rook doesn’t hold up, narratively or thematically in my mind.

Call it delusional or coping - but nothing I’ve presented here is headcanon (if anyone feels it is, please point it out, happy to expand!). I’ve done my best to stay rooted in the material the games and extended lore provide. And as always, I’m open to counterpoints, things I've not considered and happy to keep the conversation going!

..........

Low Approval Inquisitor

Ok so what about a low-approval Inquisitor? The one who rarely brought Solas into the field, frequently antagonized him, or made decisions he fundamentally disagreed with? That doesn’t mean they were a bad leader necessarily. In fact, it’s entirely possible this Inquisitor maintained high approval with other companions and made principled choices. But from Solas’ perspective, that relationship never deepened into an emotional relationship. In Veilguard, he remarks that such an Inquisitor was "useful" - a cold assessment - before shifting focus to bonds that mattered to him, like his friendship with Cole.

Without shared understanding or personal rapport, this Inquisitor might register to Solas as someone capable of interfering, but not capable of reaching him. If they had approached him at the ritual in a moment of volatility - the outcome could have been very different. I can’t speak broadly, as I’ve only played a low-approval Inquisitor once, and even then it was more of an across-the-board low approval run. But I do think it’s more plausible that this Inquisitor would have been at far greater risk of sharing Varric’s fate.

That said, there’s a counterpoint worth considering. By the time of Veilguard, Solas has made efforts to minimize harm - he even helps to stop the Qunari invasion in Trespasser to preserve some peace in Thedas till the veil comes down. In that light, killing the Inquisitor might risk triggering unrest, something he seemed to want to avoid until his ritual. Whether that restraint would hold in the heat of the ritual is debatable - but it’s a possibility. I’d love to hear other perspectives on this as I know I'll think on this one further.

[enasamelan]

Honestly, with everything that has happened with dragon age veilguard, im really sad to say a part of me wishes this game had been cancelled.

I trusted weekes to write a great ending for solavellan. I defended the devs on Twitter and got called slurs by antiwoke weirdos for it. I bought into the hype and bought the rooks coffers and the artbook. Now i just feel ill, i wish the game had never been released, and then i could have stayed in my little headcanon bubble. So many writing choices left me just thinking, why?!

Spoilers

I knew there wasn't going to be a happy walk into the sunset type ending for solavellan, and there were things I liked about the ending like solas and lavellan going into the fade to be with each other eternally, really tying back to "in another world"

but some of the other choices I just can't get behind. Mythals' relationship with solas just felt wrong. We're they lovers or mother and child? I can't tell, which is not something anyone should have to say, but either way, it was toxic and manipulative, and it's never brought up or confronted in any meaningful way. They could have used this to highlight the difference between lavellan and mythal. How mythal forced him to change to what she wanted while lavellan loved him for who he was.

Mythal should have been the bad guy who had manipulated and corrupted solas, using his guilt and desire to save the elven people, so that she could have her revenge and to change the world how she saw fit. Have lavellan be the one to reason with him, to finally show him that he was wrong, again. That thedas was worth saving. I know some people (me included) wanted the veil down, but I understood for gameplay reasons that couldn't happen.

They could have finally shown solas loving lavellan from his pov. shown us memories of what he thought of her when he first saw the little mortal with his magic in a cell in haven. What he did after the first flirt, what he thought after the fade kiss or the kiss on the balcony, what happened after crestwood or when he left skyhold or the end of trespesser. show him pining for her, show him watching her dreams from his pov, always running when she reached out for him. Apart from one codex and one piece of dialogue, we aren't given any sign that he misses her. They put more effort into the relationship with mythal than the one with lavellan.

I'm not even going to bring up what happened with varric because honestly I still not ready for it, it was such a terrible writing choice not just to varric but to solas ans the player as well, and a terrible send-off for a beloved character.

So many of the lore reveals were thing that we already suspected and they were given to us so quickly.

Overall, I'm a bit heartbroken, angry, and broke. This is ME3 ending all over again.

[sunlight-shunlight]

i do kind of personally like the idea of solavellan with a lavellan who is... also quite wary and guarded and commitment-averse, bc then you can end up with a situation where solas drops the "ar lath ma, vhenan" very early. and then lavellan goes "oh shit. what. this is unprecedented," and spends the rest of dai having an internal crisis of "am i experiencing love? i do care about him a lot. what is this feeling. should i say it back? what is HAPPENING-", and then... by the time crestwood rolls around, they have not yet successfully psyched themselves up enough to ever actually express their feelings verbally.

and then, they still don't, bc then it becomes "well. i'm not going to confess to this WHILE being broken up with. that's undignified. play it cool. i'm not crying even a little bit. this is fine. 😐😐😐"

[ar-ghilas-vir-banal]

I love Varric. I do. But I just finished Cole’s personal quest and I’ve never wanted to grab that glowing stone off Solas’ desk and SMACK A GUY SO HARD!

Solas is trying SO HARD to help Cole maintain who he is and Varric is trying SO HARD to make Cole change. And even after hearing how Compassion became Cole, he still wants it! Varric, sweetie, becoming the form of a young man who starved to death IS NOT HOW YOU WANT TO BECOME A PERSON.

And he never tries to understand. Cole is furious and wants to kill the guy, yes, but HE IS COMPASSION NOT VENGEANCE!! Varric just “could’ve been a person :(“. Dude, no offense, but it’s not about you. And you’re not even trying to grasp what it really is about.

Also, just how hard Solas is working to keep Cole from following his own footsteps. It’s heartbreaking. And the way Cole says his chains are gone, he’s free… Solas even sounds like he’s about to cry a time or two. Just being able to keep one of his kin, basically, from this.

And seeing the Inquisitor, at least Ar’Sulahn, immediately grasp that Cole isn’t a person in the sense that he’s LIKE people in nature. He isn’t. He’s a Spirit. He must be handled differently. I noticed that Ar’Sulahn won no approval points with Solas; she’s maxed them out.

That man is so in love with her at this point that he couldn’t undo it if he tried. Everything he hoped for in Mythal is now embodied in this woman and she is so very unaware of how incredible she is. They’re in a lull now when all the kisses are over except the last one. The end is all of their romance that I’ve yet to reach. But I have to think that this portion of time was when the intimacy they did share began.

Ar’Sulahn left Solas a little note that if he wanted a softer bed, her’s was large enough for two. And when he came up to sleep, she didn’t do anything but tell him goodnight. Not so much as a touch. Until she found herself wrapped up in his arms and held to his chest. Because after all this, after seeing her with Cole and watching her advocate for his ability to be who and what he is, after the respect and aid she tried to give Wisdom, her promises and decisions to protect him, and her constant kindness, that man can’t stand it. They may remain at arm’s length in public, but in private Solas is going to hold her as tightly as he can.

Up until that moment of panic in Crestwood, he was going to tell her. That was where he was aiming. This portion of time in DAI should be one of sliding further down that slope to confession because it was exactly what was going to happen in Solas’ plans.

Until it wasn’t.

[lana-writes]

Parting Words

A Solas x F!Lavellan fanfic

Word Count: 2.3k

Rating: general audiences

Tags/Warnings: just pure Trespasser angst

A/N: I had to process all that somehow. I'm sorry in advance you guys😭

Read on AO3 | Masterlist | Character Letters (Etsy)

Never had a kiss hurt more than it could ever soothe. Even the erratic pulse of the anchor could not distract her from this heartrending touch he offered her. A final goodbye, he intended, and she felt that intent, but to allow it to be true was something she could not accept. Var lath vir suledin, she had said. She wanted to beg him to stay but the agony of it, the shock, even now left her struggling to form the words. In later years, she’d wonder if a part of her knew it wouldn’t matter what she said.

But here, now, jumbled pleas begging him to stay, to reconsider, to let her follow him, crowded her mind, finding their only escape in her eyes, the desperate grip of her hand in his, and the wretched press of his lips to hers. I wish it could, vhenan, he had said. How could he believe that? After everything that’s happened? The fact that she begged to join him should have meant something. If he understood the depth of her love, despite everything she had learned, how could he not understand that she would die for this just as he would? If he must walk the din’an shiral, she would walk with him. Whether for her people or for him, it didn’t matter. She would and he knew it. He had to. 

Instead of a place at his side or even just his love or the promise that he would return to her one day, he offered nothing but knowledge, a warning, and one last kiss, as if that could ever touch the pain she felt as she reached for him again and he rejected her one final time. He took her breath and her heart from her as his touch disappeared and she watched him step away. 

“I will never forget you.” 

She felt herself drift with him as he walked to the eluvian, his back to her. The flare of the anchor ripped through her again and she cried out. The pain jolted from the mark through to her head, even to her heart and deep into her chest. It would have brought her to her knees were she not already there and it brought her lower still, her right hand falling first to catch her, but when the flare stopped, she felt more than the pain lift from her. A weight gone. Her balance was suddenly uneven as she noticed the absence of her arm. Scars healed by his magic were already visible where the remainder of her limb ended. Finally, she gasped for breath as she pushed herself upright again. 

The eluvian was dark and her heart stopped.

“No!” She leapt forward, a single hand bracing the ground as she stumbled to her feet. Stopping before the great mirror, she stared at it. There must be a key, a phrase, a spell, but there was no way of knowing what it was. He was gone. Again. Her hand drifted forward to touch it. Her fingertips met the cool glass first then her whole palm as she let her head lean forward too. There was nothing left in her now. 

He’d made her feel empty before. That night in Crestwood, she laid out her heart to him, promising him that she wouldn’t give up on him even when he told her that she truly should, but this was different. Now, she believed she had not known emptiness before this. Before, she had hope that he would return. She had a purpose with the Inquisition. She had another soul that she loved and wanted to see safe and happy more than any other in this world. He had held her and seen her as no one ever had. He loved her. He called her a rare and marvelous spirit, the like of which he’d never encountered in this world, and now, he had decided that was over and he would take the rest of the world with him. 

Her tears caught up to her as her knees gave out once more and she drifted down to the ground, hand sliding along the glass. She could not have heard her companions approach when she let out a long, whining groan and with it opened the floodgates. Her open palm turned to a fist as she sobbed. She pounded it once, then again harder as she let out a wailing sob. 

“Althima,” a voice tried to break through the noise in her head. A gentle hand followed by another met her back but she didn’t react. It wasn’t until the hands tried to guide her away from the eluvian that she turned to see Dorian’s face twisted in pity. She resisted his urging at first but with so little in her, she couldn’t fight him. Instead, she let him take her into his arms. 

“That’s right,” he muttered to her, “I have you.” He doesn’t know what else to say so he holds her as tight as he can. They all wanted to know what happened and she knew they were waiting for her to be ready. She owed them the truth of it after all they’d given to get here, after all they’d sacrificed to aid her. She tried to steady her breathing enough to speak. It took a few minutes of anxious silence but she managed finally.

“He was here,” she breathed out softly. “And I— He— He lied. He lied.” 

“So he was working for Fen’harel?” Dorian asked. 

“No,” she shook her head. “No, he– He is– ” 

Dorian stared at her, then looked over at Bull and Cole, brows furrowed as he understood. They all did. “It was him. It was him all along,” she breathed between sobs as she tried to steady herself enough to speak clearly. “All along.” 

“What do you mean?” Dorian asked. 

“The Viddasala— she was right,” she gasped. “The Breach, the orb, Skyhold,” she paused, “the Veil. They’re his.”

“He’s Fen’harel.” To hear it again felt like a nail through her, pinning her to the earth, and she didn’t have the strength to remove it. “Then he’s lied to us all,” Dorian said. She felt a sob punch through her again. 

“Oh, my dear,” he whispered, holding her a little tighter.

“He took–” she cried, “–the anchor.” Straightening herself, she revealed her arm and what remained. “It was his– his magic all along.” She spoke as if pleading with them to understand though there was no need to, but it was all so strange and none of it had truly set it. She wished it was a nightmare, that she was plagued by some demon in her dreams hellbent on manifesting her worst fears, but not even her worst fears could have conjured this. It had been right there with her for so long and she hadn’t seen any of it before it stared her in the face. Had he drawn her and the Qunari through all those safe houses and temples and the library with the intent of showing her who he was? How much of it was planned and how much of it was real? Had it all been planned by him? Her discovery of his plotting. The Inquisition. The Breach. The love they shared? No. The rest perhaps but not that. She could accept the rest but not that. She breathed deep and slow until her body stilled. 

“I feel like such a fool.” 

“No,” Dorian replied quickly, “If you’re a fool, then we all are. He lied to all of us. And frankly my friend, his cruelty doesn’t deserve any more of your tears.” Tears burned her eyes again, and just as they were beginning to dry.

“But I loved him,” she whispered, eyes pleading with him to understand. “I truly loved him, Dorian.”

“I know.” He had tears in his own eyes. 

“And what’s worse—” She smiled through the pain of it all even as it tried to choke her again. “ — is that I love him still.” Sobs like laughter rolled through her as her hand gripped Dorian’s arm. “I would have followed him. I tried–” She tried to calm herself and control her breathing.

“Why did he leave?” Dorian asked. “Did he say?” Althima stilled and her eyes slowly climbed up to meet Dorian’s. Her wide eyed stare scared him, more than he already was. 

“He means to tear down the Veil.” 

“What?” Bull interjected. He and Cole were almost forgotten a few yards behind Dorian. 

“It’s his fault,” she said, leaning over to see them over Dorian’s shoulder, “everything that happened to my people, to the elves. It’s his fault and he wants to fix it.” 

“Fix it? It’s not a broken vase, it’s the Veil!” Dorian said. 

“What about demons? The Blight?” Bull added. 

“Or the other gods he imprisoned?” Dorian said. 

“I know,” she shook her head. “I don’t know how he plans to do it, only that many will die if he does.” 

“We have to stop him,” Dorian said. 

“I don’t know where he went,” she said, “and he controls the eluvians now. There’s no telling where he is or what exactly he’s planning.” Althima leaned against Dorian as she pushed herself to her feet. “We need to go back.”

“Maker,” Dorian muttered as he stood. “We can’t tell everyone about this. They’re angry enough with the Inquisition as it is, but if they knew this Fen’harel was manipulating us the entire time…”

“The Inquisition is already done for,” Althima said, wiping a hand across her cheeks. Her familiar confidence and resolve returned to her as her final tears dried or were wiped away. “Solas was right about that too. It’s gotten too big and too powerful and we have too many enemies. We only found the Qunari plot in time because his own spies led us to them. I know what I have to do.” She stood as straight and tall as she could. Her sleeve hung limply to her left and her right hand balled into a fist once again, no longer weak and pitiful but determined and indignant.

“You sure about this, boss?” Bull asked. 

“No,” she said, “but I won’t see all that we’ve built be corrupted. I’ll find him some other way.” 

“And you’ll stop him?” Dorian asked, skeptical. She faltered momentarily. The anger in her friends’ faces made the truth of her conversation with Solas too terrifying to share. If there was a more peaceful way to tear down the Veil, she would support it. She would follow him wherever he led. She wanted to. She tried to, but now– She couldn’t expect a human or a Qunari to understand all that fueled that desire.  

“I’ll try.” 

“You’ll try?” Dorian said. She stared up at him, her expression hard and resolute.

“I will do everything I can to stop the death that he would unleash.” It seemed to satisfy him and he nodded. 

“Then we should get back. Leliana and your advisors will need to know about this,” he said. 

“Will you give me a moment?” she asked as they began to move back towards the other eluvian. The men stopped. “I’ll meet you at the other eluvian but I just need a minute. Please.” Bull nodded and kept walking. Dorian’s eyes lingered on her a little longer but he too continued. Cole remained, unmoving as he stared at her. She watched him. You know, she thought, you know all of it. 

“Not all of it,” he said once the others were out of ear shot. “He let me see the edges, his pain, the hurt, but never the heart. He locked me out too, as he did to you.” She bit her lip and took a deep breath. She would not cry again so soon. “He loves you still. And he did not lie, not today, and never about that. You know it to be true but you don’t trust yourself now.”

“How can I,” she asked, “after everything he told me?”

“You know you better than anyone and you know him better than most. You know he spoke truth.” She wasn’t sure how much she could trust her own memories but perhaps she could trust Cole. 

“Thank you.”  But I meant it when I said I wanted a moment alone, she thought, and without a word, he followed the others. Turning, she gazed upon the eluvian again. It was still dark, little more than a large mirror now. She thought of the god she’d been warned of in folktales and their histories. The only god left in this world. Lord of Tricksters. Dread Wolf. His name was a curse. Even the mention of him was to invite danger. And now she knew the truth. She’d met the great adversary in her people’s history and she’d lived to tell the tale, except it wasn’t one that she was inclined to tell. She’d given him her heart and invited him to her bed. She’d dreamed of futures with him, each possibility more ephemeral than the next, but no less desirable. They’d laughed and spoke of love and politics and spirits and demons and saving the world. Now, he left to destroy it but still she hoped, however foolishly, that he could change, if she could find him. 

“You can’t hear me,” she spoke clearly and directly to the mirror. “I know that, but I wish you would.” She stepped forward and let her hand rest on the glass again, flat and gentle. There was anger in her but no malice. “Let this be my offering to the great Fen’harel. Ara dirthsal ma.” My promise to you. “Banal nadas. Ar lath ma, vhenan.” Nothing is certain but the love we share. “Dar’eth. Sule tael tasalal.” Go safely. Until we meet again.

She would find him again and make him hear her, even if it killed them both. 

Check out my other works on my masterlist or check them out on AO3

[kcwriter-blog]

An Argument in Favor of Solas as the Family Dog

It’s been posited, sometimes facetiously, that Solas was the “family dog” in his younger days. It’s a theory I have been kicking around for a while. If I’m right (and I’m probably not) Solas as the equivalent to the family dog makes a lot of sense – especially when it comes to what he has done in the past and what he plans to do in the future.

My theory is based on the number and positioning of the many Fen’Harel statues found throughout Thedas and in some of the places our Inquisitor travels to in Trespasser. There’s also the odd role wolves seem to play in Elven cuture. Finally, there is Solas’ personality. More under the cut.

We see statues of wolves all over the place but generally they are found in front of ancient Elvhen sites. There are statues at the Temple of Mythal, the Temple of Dirthamon and the grove in Crestwood. I also recently found one near Ghilan’nain’s grove. We see a lot of wolf statues in the Dales (we will get to the Emerald Knight companion thing, presently). Given that Fen’Harel was a rebel in ancient times and the equivalent of the Dalish devil in current day Thedas, what gives? Why all the statues? At the very least they should have been destroyed when he rebelled. It doesn’t make sense.

Let’s look at the positioning of the statues. Invariably we see a reclining wolf placed outside what we’ll call the inner sanctuary. That is, they are always at the front before you go into the place you would pray or make your offerings. It’s not a stretch to believe these statues are guarding the temples. We also see wolf statues placed all over the Vir Dirthara. That’s an even weirder place to see them because Solas implies that he isn’t called Fen’Harel until after his rebellion – so why a statue and why one in a guardian position? We do see howling wolves sometimes. They are mostly seen decorating eluvians. Again, they seem to be guarding or protecting something.

Moving along, we learn about the wolf companions the Emerald Knights have. This is also odd. Why wolves? Fen’Harel is theoretically a Trickster God and responsible for locking up the other gods. Usually, when a culture equates a god with negative attributes, people are wary around the animal representing it. Not in this case. These are guardian wolves and there are statues of them all over the Dales. I don’t think all the statues are of wolf companions. Many of the wolf statues are carved into mountainsides and they are gigantic. It would take a long time to create those without magic. And let’s not forget the statues we see underneath waterfalls in Watcher’s Reach and the Exalted Plains. They should be worn away by the water but aren’t. Watcher’s Reach is an old Elven ruin. Magic presumably keeps them from being worn down. Why? Because Fen’Harel is guarding the Dales.

Fen’Harel as guardian can also be seen in Dalish practice. A statue of Fen’Harel is always placed outside the camp to guard against demons. Given that he is thought of as practically a demon himself, this is again, weird behavior.

The stories we hear about him in Masked Empire are also interesting, particularly the Slow Arrow. In it, a village is beset by a monster. The other gods refuse to help so they turn to Fen’Harel. He answers their prayers by showing up. He realizes he can’t defeat the monster. He is then presented with a hard choice. He can attempt to kill it, even though he knows he will probably die and if that happens so will everyone in the village, or he can do something clever and save some of them. So, he launches the slow arrow. The monster comes, kills the adults but dies before it can kill the children. This is in keeping with Solas’ fairly pragmatic personality. It also illustrates that Fen’Harel, out of all the gods, even Mythal is always willing to come to the aid of the People.

So, what can we make of this? I believe Fen’Harel was and still is tasked with protecting the People. In a sense he fulfills the position of an Aavar hold beast. How did this happen? I’m not sure. Mythal could have called him out of the Fade with the purpose of protecting the People during the war with the Titans. His spirit could have been bound to a giant wolf. In the Deep Roads there is a codex that indicates depictions of Mythal were found alongside those of Fen’Harel. We know spirits can be reborn. If the giant wolf fell in battle, it might have been reborn and placed in an Elvhen body. Was it a body of it’s own or did it share a body in a similar fashion to Anders and Justice?

Solas as guardian of the People fits in other ways. If he wasn’t one of the Evanuris, he would have been part of the inner circle. He has some very nice castles and talks about missing court intrigue. He had status. If he wasn’t one of the Evanuris, serving as their guard dog would give him that status

Also, in the library, the spirits replay the final days of the elves when the Veil goes up. They are shocked that Fen’Harel would do something like this. Why? He’s been rebelling for a while so why the surprise? Maybe because he’s supposed to protect The People, not hurt them.

What could have happened? As the Evanuris became more corrupt they began hurting the People. They enslaved them, used them for experiments, hunted them and sacrificed them. If your purpose is to protect the People, what do you as a spirit do?

We see how Cole is diverted from his purpose as a spirit of Compassion into a spirit who performs mercy killings. He’s not the exact opposite of Compassion but he isn’t fulfilling his purpose either. A spirit with a body seems to be more complex. It’s not so binary. If Solas was a bound spirit, the only way to protect his charges might be to do what he did.

Fast-forward to the present day. He wakes up, sees how his people are treated and feels duty-bound to do what he can to save them. In this case by tearing down the Veil. It could be seen as a compulsion.

I’ve probably missed a ton of other evidence but in my opinion, all signs point to Solas at one time being the Protector of the People whose purpose was then twisted. I’d be interested in knowing what other people think. 

[cal-daisies-and-briars]

getting my own writing done feels easier when I can take breaks to distract myself with yours 😅

☣️☣️

🩸🩸

☣️☣️

👩🏼‍🚒👩🏼‍🚒

☣️☣️

🔍🔍

☣️☣️

🎁🎁

Haha happy to help!

6 for ☣️:

---

Buck’s phone chimes. 

Should we keep going or stop to help you? 

It’s Karen. 

“Karen wants to know if they should come to us,” Buck says. “I think they should keep going. Look for signs of Bobby.”

---

6 for🩸:

---

Athena is parked in the shade on a narrow, residential road in Crestwood Hills. If she was in an LAPD cruiser, she couldn’t just do this. She couldn’t just park here and wait. Well, legally, she could. But it would be too suspicious. Too obvious.

---

6 for☣️:

---

“I agree,” Hen says. “I don’t want Karen around this.”

Eddie nods. “Okay. Tell ‘em to keep going. Not like Ravi can teleport them anyway.”

Buck nods and does as instructed.

---

6 for👩🏼‍🚒:

---

“So what did you do?” Frank asks. 

“I yelled at him some more,” Harry admits. 

Frank raises an eyebrow. “And that helped?”

“Actually, it did.”

---

6 for ☣️:

---

He’d rather Maddie be somewhere on the I-10, out of the direct path of whatever’s about to happen. He’ll bring Chim back to her. They can meet up at a fucking Love’s or something. Where it’s safe and no one will shoot at her.

“Okay, what do we want to do?” Eddie asks. 

---

6 for🔍:

---

The conversation lasts a few minutes, and then Athena re-enters the vehicle.

“Alright,” she says. “They don’t have any checked bags. They’ll be out soon.”

“They’re okay?” Maddie asks.

---

6 for ☣️:

---

“I should take you or Hen down first,” Ravi says to Eddie.

Buck turns to look at him. “What?”

“Hen can drop them pretty effectively,” Ravi says. Then he nods at Eddie’s new purchase. “So can Eddie.

---

For 🎁🎁 - 6 for 🔼:

---

But Buck can’t say he’s entirely placated. There’s still this strange pit in his chest; one that apparently has no medical explanation. 

After the appointment, he doesn’t leave the hospital. He has one more thing to do. 

He takes the elevator a few floors down and meets Shannon in a much happier looking waiting room than Doctor Salazar’s. Understandably, babies are a bit more exciting than heart problems. 

---

[mythalsknickers]

the religious prompts and solavellan tho....

❝ i begged for a miracle. instead, i got you. ❞

screaming. anyway, happy friday!

Title: A Faded Crestwood Pairing: Solas x Fen'aslan Lavellan Rating: T Word Count: 1146 Author Note: Thank you so much for your prompt, I hope you enjoy this, I have been toying around with my own variation of Crestwood for awhile now. @dadrunkwriting

Adamant Fortress laid in ruins, yet the fade was a comforting embrace on days that took too much from her. Something deep inside her had turned her blood to ice and twisted like a knife between her ribs. Yet, in the fade she was under trees older than the world, and darker than the night sky. Wolves howled in the distance begging for her to hunt. As she focused on the deeper currents of the fade, she could feel him, a certain elven apostate.

The fade rippled but she did not take the plunge to join him, her little corner was warm, it reminded her of something but she could not fully recall it. Vhenan the fade around her shuddered as the word reached her dreams. Opening her eyes she came face to face with the pale blue eyes of Solas. "Vhenan?" she murmured, the fade had changed around them. It had grown colder, a mist had covered the ground and a pair of great harts overlooked the glade, the water she laid in was unnaturally blue. Taking his hand, she rose from the water slowly. "Ma serannas, I did not mean to intrude." A finger found her lips briefly replaced with a slow and tender kiss.

"You are welcome here, Vhenan." His eyes held a tenderness to them she had not seen from him yet, their fingers lacing together as he lead her to the banks. "I called you here to tell you the truth..." Her eyes met his again and her brows knitted as he seemed to be stumbling over the words. "T-the Vallaslin, in ancient times they were used to mark the slaves of nobles and the gods." His lips pursed and she felt his hands tighten, but he was no longer looking at her. Her eyes narrowed for a moment and the temperature around them dipped, ice starting to form on the grass.

"What aren't you telling me Solas, aside from another thing the dalish got wrong?" His grip on her hands tightened and there was a subtle shift in his eyes to the purple that happened when she challenged him. "The dalish did get one thing right, they made you Vhenan..." Her lips thinned as she took a breath, creators or ancestors she needed some strength to deal with this man.

Creators, Sileal was so stubborn. He could never tell her the plans. Her eyes widened as the memory drifted forward, gauze-like curtains and a warm breeze, someone playing a lute in the background as she and Solas stared down eachother. But that couldn't be possible, she born in the Tirashan and Solas was from the north, sure he was older than her but he could not be that old.

"I know a spell that can remove them, Vhenan if you wish." Her eyes focused back on Solas, the gauze-like curtains were gone, and they were back in the misty glade, had he not seen it? Her shoulders dropping. He was not going to tell her, but perhaps..if she agreed to what he wanted he would relent and tell her what he truly had wanted to. "I--" he breath caught as she took a breath. The Eyes of Fen'harel, that was what her Keeper's mentor had called them. They had been responsible for her isolation from her clan, and ultimately sending her to the conclave where she met her Vhenan.

You should not have left Las, we are in the middle of a war. Smoke filled her nose, but hope it burned bright in her chest, shining in her eyes. Her hand reached up to touch a soot and ash covered cheek, trailing into blood matted hair. "You are my Vhenan, Sileal. Just as Sulevin is your second. I go were you both go. I will not let you not feel my light because you fear what will happen!"

"I--I will agree, if you tell me what is really going on Solas." His eyes too had seemed distant for a moment before they refocused on her. For a moment they were knitted in confusion as if he was puzzling out what he just saw, was it something about her or had he like her witnessed a memory of the fade. Something was untangling deep in her. "Very well Vhenan." He sighed reluctantly taking her down to the ground pulling her into a slow and deliberate kiss.

His hands glowed a dim blue, coolness washed over her face, for a moment he looked as if tears where forming. "Ar lasa mala revas..." As the magic faded her head began to pound. Her face bare as her eyes wanted.

Three wolf pelts, blood spilling across a golden dais, chaos cutting celebration short, a pair of hands pulling her from the two she needed to be with. Las! he had screamed for her. Da'len you must sacrifice for the good of the people. The voice she had heard in her mind thousands of times as she was put into an uthenera chamber, fighting and struggling, tears streaming from her eyes. You will be bound to the wolf, and when the time is right you will know all.

"Vh--Fen'aslan!" Her eyes focused on him, raw and full of tears as she cradled her head. "Vhenan?" His voice softer as he gently removed her hands. "You must harden yourself--"

"NO SILEAL!" The words left her lips and Solas stumbled back, his eyes widening, tears forming in his eyes as they shifted more towards the true blue. "The Evanuris asked for a miracle!" The temperature plummeted as the lake began to freeze her screams turning to howls. "Instead they got us! They tortured us!" Sobs wracked her body, tears freezing to her cheeks.

"Vhenan..." there was a pause as he stood slowly creeping into the field of ice around her. "Las... Vhenan is it truly?" his voice sounded like a prayer, another sob tore through the clearing. His chest tightened as he reached out to touch her face. What had they done to her. Despair had long sank claws into her during the war but for it to have twisted. The wind and ice stilled as his fingers brushed away icy tears. "Las..." he murmured again. He pulled on the memory, hope filling scared and tired voices, the burning hope of seeing a fortress in the middle of the mountains. "You are hope, Vhenan."

The ice began to melt from the grass, the sobs continued, her body collapsing into the damp grass. "Sileal why?" His throat tightened as he pulled her into his arms, a millennia of her being gone that faithful night the best of them was taken. True names left their lips, the binding to say the names given to them by their friend gone. "They killed her Las...and I b--broke the world." Her head buried into his shoulder as the both cried.

[someoneintheshadow456]

A lot has happened since WEWH so I'll try to recall to the best of my ability:

Answered "our dance was the highlight" for the post-ball dialogue with Josie because it literally was (ain't going back to that viper's den again).

Blackwall, or should I say Rainer, has been exposed and judged (he's free and given a chance to atone). I feel so bad for him that I forgot he used to be a threat.

Vivienne wants that wyvern heart thing for Bastien and I'm debating whether to give her a fake one or not because I cannot STAND her bitch ass and Bastien is going to die anyway.

I REALLY should have stopped Leliana from killing that dude back at Haven. I was so depressed on seeing the Hardened cutscene that I didn't touch the game for a while until I found a mod that could Soften her. When she said that dialogue about how Josie would gloat about her not killing Natalie and started imitating her I deadass giggled out loud. I REALLY have it bad, don't I...

Crestwood is no longer Zombie Hell. Was lowkey shook when I came out of the well and the sun was shining. Forced the mayor to join the Grey Wardens because even though what he did was awful, I still feel bad for him.

Emprise du Lion unlocked... too bad that place is full of overlevelled dudes and I have to watch my back 90% of the time.

AND WHY ISN'T ADORIBULL TRIGGERING?!

[el-bellanaris]

Ive gone to play Origins after doing Inquisition and then Veilguard and it's so nice and refreshing to see the blight be treated properly in this game.

Spoilers for origins and veilguard

I just got to the scene where I meet Tamlen, my character's friend who I believed died at the start of the game and now hes sick with the Taint. The same sickness that is like watching your body slowly rot away while you are alive. He talked about hearing a song that's calling him, his body is breaking down and he's going mad with the sickness and my character had to kill him out of mercy. Me, his friend who he's likely known his entire life and vice versa. And you know what happens after, Alistair of all people tells me it was for the best. That Tamlen is better off dying by mercy from a friend then living through this ordeal. Alistair, one of the nicest people in this game who was happy that I went out of my way to save one single person when plenty more are dying because at least his actions contributed to saving someone in this awful war. And helping one person means more then not doing anything. That Alistair.

Now coming back to Veilguard I can't help but forever be so pissed at the reactions of Rook and the companions to Solas giving a mercy kill to his ally in the memory. Like I know I already made a post talking about it but I don't think I'll ever be over how we are fighting the blight in Veilguard but at the same time have a conversation expecting Solas to somehow be above the blight and him not being able to fix everything is somehow a flaw that we should criticise. And I come back to Davrins reply, him just offhandedly saying "If I really thought I could stop the blight for good… wonder what I would’ve done." It's a good sentiment but if I'm being honest, he should have been angry at Rook, at me here. If my character is going to act obtuse, the resident grey warden should be telling me how this is the blight we can't change facts and Solas understood that better then most. Better then me it seems. But instead we get him saying something seemingly wistful of a world that doesn't exist. And a topic of conversation that is barely reacting to what's in front of him right now. It's definitely a bigger problem within the game, that it feels like we are putting Solas on trial but we aren't allowed to have that criticism bounce around our group. It doesn't even have to be mean, it needs to be grounded.

It also makes me angry thinking about my HOF existing in Veilguard, are they going to condemn her for killing her friend because he contracted the taint if they came across her memories. Or is that only reserved to Solas because he is a "god." How would Morrigan react, who at this point is my HoF's closest friend. Or the Inquisitor, someone who knows about the heavy choices a leader must make to save the many even if it means sacrificing the few. The Inquisitor walked through the drowned ruins of Crestwood, they are not blind to this world. So why is Rook blind, why is my character suddenly not expected to really experience the hardships of this world more deeply and learn from it. Why are we fighting the blight with a group of people who don't seem to actually understand what it is we are trying to stop the spread of. This isn't an anti Rook post either, this is more so me crying into the void that I want my character to be competent, to grow and learn if they are going to be obtuse. I want my character to feel like they exist in the world their game exists in and really react to it naturally.

This post also isn't me acting like the only good dragon age game was from 15 years ago, origins has it's fair share of problems (one glaringly big one that annoys me frequently) but it's just insane to me seeing the 4th game in the series clearly mirror aspects that other games have brought up only to criticise and condemn this one character.

[faded-mage]

Solas

Thirteen days. It had been thirteen days since he brought Avise to Crestwood. Where he forced himself to untangle his heart from hers. It didn’t work. He ached each time he saw her face. She rarely spoke to him but he did not blame her. What he felt mirrored her own feelings, so he knew she was breaking inside with each moment and he felt guilt overwhelm him. He never should have allowed himself to dream of a happy ending. It was not fair to her. Avise tried once, about a week ago to talk to him about what happened. Solas had to keep his gaze away from her, staring at the tome she dropped on his desk with the tunic he left in her chambers on top. She sounded strong when they spoke but there was a waver in her voice and he knew she was pushing it down like he was, “You really don’t let anybody see under that polite mask you wear, do you?” Solas frowned and his chest hurt, “You saw more than most.” And it was true. He showed her a hidden part of himself that never was fully free. It was only drawn out by her light and now it was back in the shadows where it belonged. He didn’t deserve to stand in the light anyway.

Since then she rarely took him in the field. However she did allow him to come on a trip to the desert. He was confident the invitation was her punishing him in some way but he wanted her to grieve as she needed to. Solas had been at camp that day hiding in his tent due to the scalding sun. It allowed him little time to keep his mind busy so sitting with his thoughts was excruciating. But that was his punishment right? The apostate could not help but look at her longingly anytime she turned away from him, his heart shattering to pieces with each passing moment. All he wanted to do was rush to her, apologize and tell the truth about everything. How could he explain? She was his nas’falon, the other half to his broken and shattered spirit. He couldn’t drag her along his path that only ended in suffering and pain. It tore him up inside but he had to push through it.

Night had just fallen and there was panicked shouting from outside the tents, the elf poking his head out once he heard them. The shouts sounded distinctly like Bull’s rumbling voice and Solas was not sure he ever heard the qunari sound so distraught. Silhouetted by the moon he saw Bull running towards the camp with someone thrown over his shoulder, Varric and Dorian running behind him in the sand. It took only moments for Solas to realize it was Avise on Bull’s shoulder and she was not moving. A flurry of activity hit the campsite as the party reached the fire. The qunari gently placing Avise on a bedroll. The Inquisitor’s armor on her right arm was torn to shreds, some sort of claw or teeth marks from what Solas could tell by the dim firelight. His stomach tightened as he realized her armor was not normally black. That the black mark down her right side was her blood soaking the cloth and leather. There was so much of it. She was unconscious. Bull lightly tapped her cheek, “Boss! Boss!” Trying to get the elf to move, to groan to do something. Varric began to pace behind them, “Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit” only swearing over and over until his arms flared upwards and he yelled at the qunari, “Why did you convince her to go after the dragon?”

Solas felt his blood run cold, “You went after a dragon? I thought you were supposed to be doing reconnaissance?” His voice tight as he spoke, the longer Avise didn’t move the more fear settled in his stomach. Dorian glared at the mage, redirecting his fear into anger towards the elf. “You of all people do not get to worry about her.” Varric narrowly grabbing Dorian’s arm and pulling him back from stepping closer towards the apostate. Solas raised his own voice, unable to control himself, “Of course I worry about her. Just because we are no longer together does not mean I do not lo… care for her!” He almost slipped but it was enough that Dorian’s anger flared again, the Tevinter frowning at him, “You have a funny way of showing love, elf.” If it weren’t for Varric stepping between the two mages, Solas was relatively convinced it would have come to blows between the two mages. He may have regretted it… eventually. Solas did love her, truly and in a way he could never describe to another soul but life was never that simple, not for him.

Avise’s voice filtered through the campsite, a groan escaping her lips. “Shut up. Both of you. Dorian can you heal me?” Her teeth gritting through the pain in her shoulder, trying to remove herself from Bull’s hovering grasp. Solas moved forward, he was a far better healer than Dorian but he soon realized she hadn’t let him touch her since Crestwood. She would rather be in pain and get healing from the necromancer. Dorian stared at Avise with similar thoughts drifting over his face as her words registered. He knelt next to her and Solas heard the man trying to convince her to allow him to heal her. In a hushed whisper, “I know you are mad at him, Avi. I truly understand and he deserves nothing but your anger but he is the best one to heal you. I cannot watch you in pain like this.” He watched as Avise grabbed Dorian by the shoulder to help pull herself up so she could sit up, “Fine” her tone biting. With her left hand she unbuckled the leather armor, it dropping onto the bedroll behind her. Avise refused to look at him, Dorian reaching out to unbutton the cloth under the leather armor and strip the tattered and bloodstained fabric from her skin. He removed enough fabric and leather that she was now in her breast band so Solas had room to work.

She turned her head away from Solas as healing spells crept from his palms. He did his best not to touch her directly, trying to at least listen to her unspoken request. Being that close was difficult. He could still smell cinnamon through the overwhelming scent of blood and ash. Avise’s magic rolled over her skin and he could taste it with his own magic and it felt like home. Her body shook visibly, Dorian moved his hands to hold her up so she could wipe her eyes with her free hand. She was crying, trying to hold back the tears was what caused her body to shake. Dorian rested his forehead against Avise’s as they spoke amongst themselves, the mage trying to distract her. Solas could hear their words, her voice quiet and shaking, “Why couldn’t you just let me die?” Her whisper holding an incredible amount of pain in her words. “I am so tired Dorian. So fucking tired every little thing.” Avise’s head bowed, her hair falling in her face. It took every ounce of restraint Solas had not to say something, to try and comfort her. He knew it was not just him, not just them that caused the ache in her. Everything that happened to her since the Breach had been a catastrophic event. Even one of those moments being more than any single person could handle in a lifetime but she took them all, shouldering it all at once. It seemed like her fire, the one he had seen when she awoke in Haven started to flicker and fade out.

Dorian grabbed her by the face, turning her towards him. Solas could see he wiped away her tears, just as Solas wished he could do. “Never say that, Avi. You are the only true friend I have ever had in my life. You are the strongest person I know. I will stand beside you no matter what happens.” The mage kissed Avise on the forehead, her shaking began to slow and Solas was almost done. The rips in her shoulder and the burns were clean enough that the skin stitched together quickly, there would barely be any scars. Dorian’s tone turned joking, “If only you were a man, my dear. But I love you in every other way except for that one.” A soft chuckle came from Avise, through her tears, “Ar lath ma, Dorian. You have never let me down.” Solas’ heart only ached.

- - -

The night grew quiet after Avise was healed properly and Solas found himself once again in the tent alone. Dorian and Varric used the excuse that they wanted to keep an eye on Avise after her tussle with the dragon. Solas knew better. Dorian only looked at him with disdain for the past two weeks, Varric was pleasant enough but after losing Hawke the dwarf was particularly protective over Avise now. So for Solas to be the one to break her heart as he did, the dwarf was professional at best. He hadn’t heard the nickname Chuckles since. Bull at least was unabashedly honest with him. Once Avise was settled in her tent with Varric and Dorian pretending to be caretakers, Bull looked at the elf solemnly. “I can see it in your face, Solas. There’s something about her in that head of yours but you’re hiding something big. I didn’t care really, not before. You made the boss happy and I thought hey, whatever we all got shit to hide. But now that you fucked it up on yourself, I’m gonna work with you but I’m probably not gonna like you.” It was fair and Solas nodded, “I do not like myself either these days. I understand.”

Without anything else to do but lay in his guilt, it caused his stomach to knot. He was so angry. Mostly with himself. There were so many points in his history, that if he had said no then he would not be there today. If he told Mythal no in taking a physical body. If he told Mythal no to sundering the Titans from their dreams. He tried to tell her no by sparking a rebellion against the Evanuris, even though she stood against him. All of that cumulated in the murder of Mythal, the creation of the Veil and the destruction of the elves. It could have been avoided if he just knew how to say no.

Resentment built up the longer he considered his own actions in the past and how they all seemed to revolve around one person - Mythal. He simultaneously loved her and hated her. He was bound to her even still and the fact only created more resentment. She could have released him long before any of it happened and he could have been happy. Not tied to duty.

The other part of his mind settled on one fact he knew. If none of that happened, he never would have met Avise Lavellan. Even with the pain he felt in his own heart now, he would rather feel this pain then to have never known her at all. Their time together was worth every fleeting second but he wished more than anything that his selfishness didn’t have to cause her the same pain. He couldn’t allow himself to hope for an after to everything. Solas allowed himself to sink into his guilt, his regret and remind himself that if he had to give her up then he better complete his task because if he could not have her beside him then it all needed to mean something.

[shivunin]

Petal-Crowned

Borrowing the lovely @greypetrel's Aisling for this piece! I adore Arja and Aisling both and I also think they would be good friends and good for each other. When I saw her absolutely gorgeous piece of Elowen and Aisling, I couldn't help but want to write a piece to fit it. So---here is my contribution. Thank you, as always, for your friendship and for letting me borrow your baby!

(Recommended listening)

(Elowen & Aisling Lavellan | 874 Words | No Warnings)

"yet here’s eglantine, Here’s ivy!— take them, as I used to do Thy flowers, and keep them where they shall not pine. Instruct thine eyes to keep their colours true, And tell thy soul, their roots are left in mine." ---Elizabeth Barrett Browning, "Sonnets from the Portuguese 44..."

The sun was warm, the air was sweet, and half the meadow’s flowers clung to Elowen’s hair. She felt as if she was half-dreaming here amongst the soft grasses and bright colors of this glade, but she knew that she was not. Perhaps the beauty of this place only felt dream-like because things had been so miserable for so long that beautiful and nice things must feel, by some token, somewhat dream-like.

Thoughts better not to dwell on, she supposed.

“When do you think the others are coming back?” she called to Aisling, who was wandering some distance away, judging by the rustling of her feet through the flowers. 

“Hmmm,” Aisling said. “I’m not sure. But look!”

Elowen looked, fingers still busy on the twined flowers in her lap. Triumphant, Aisling held an elfroot plant in the air, dark earth still clinging to its roots. 

“I’m going to bring it back to Skyhold,” she announced, beaming at the slender stalk. “I know just where to plant it.”

“It’s perfect,” Elowen agreed, taking in the slight woodiness of the stem, the healthy green of the leaves. It was easy to plant elfroot seeds, but much more difficult to transplant an existing specimen. For all that it seemed to grow all over Thedas, the plant did not take well to being uprooted. 

If anyone could coax it to take to a new home, Elowen was certain it would be Aisling. 

“Do you want any more of this or should I put it away?” she asked while her friend carefully bundled the plant away. 

Aisling glanced at the saddle blanket they sat on, which also held the open pack and the scattered remnants of their lunch. The cheese was nestled under an active ice spell (Aisling’s contribution; Elowen had never been good with frost magic) and the bread had been set neatly aside where it could avoid any potential dampness. The remaining fruit, purchased from the nearby and very grateful residents of Crestwood, was nestled in an open satchel. 

“Hmm,” Elowen’s friend said. “We can leave it. There’s time to have more later.”

Elowen made a soft noise of assent and turned back to the half-made chain of flowers in her lap. It took a little deftness to do this without losing anything crucial. Petals wanted badly to fall off once the flower had been plucked, and if she was not careful she would wind up with fingers stained green and a chain of battered stems. 

After a time, Aisling sat behind her, back pressed to Elowen’s. Elowen made little progress, half-dozing in the dappled sunlight, and for once she did not blame herself for it. It would have felt silly to hold herself to such deadlines and pressures here. This place was far too comfortable to bring herself to care. 

“Elowen?” 

“Hm?” she roused slightly, eyes heavy, and almost fell backward when Aisling moved away from her. 

“Here!” Aisling said while Elowen steadied herself, “I picked the ones that seemed to fit. See—the green of the leaves here match your vallaslin precisely.”

It took her a moment to comprehend what was happening, fingers still tangled in the chain she’d begun to weave, the sunlight almost too bright now that she’d opened her eyes again. But—while she had rested, her friend had made something beautiful and bright. It hung from her pale fingers now as Aisling held it out: purple and yellow and white against green leaves that—yes, actually would match Elowen’s vallaslin when they weren’t in direct sunlight. The petals of the pansies looked unimaginably soft, velvet-sheened in the sunlight. Aisling grinned at her, smile just as bright as the sunshine in the meadow.

“I think it suits you,” she said. Elowen smiled as the little crown settled over her head and Aisling leaned forward to kiss her cheek. 

What a gift this was. A gift—to have the easy company of a good friend, to sit in the sunlight and smell the flowers. A gift, to be safe and full and cared for

“Thank you,” she murmured when Aisling rocked back onto her heels. Aisling clapped her hands together, eyes fixed on the ring of flowers atop Elowen’s head. 

“It’s perfect!” she said, grinning. 

Elowen leaned forward and pressed her lips to her friend’s cheek in turn, sun-warm and soft as it was. 

“It is,” she agreed, and turned her attention back to her lap. “Perfect. It’s beautiful work, truly.”

Forget-me-nots still clung softly to her fingers as she wove a lily into its place near the center. What a pleasure it would be to give her friend the joy she’d been given. How remarkable, to offer something simple and good to someone she cared for. 

Behind her, Aisling began to speak again, describing a mishap with her dear horse and a thorny bush. Her voice had a pleasant cadence, rising and falling like a friendly and familiar tune. The bees hummed nearby, drifting from flower to flower. Soft breezes brushed past stems and leaves and bobbing blossoms. Sparse clouds drifted between them and the sun, never obscuring the light for too long. 

Elowen listened and found herself glad beyond measuring to simply be herself at this precise place and time. Smiling faintly at the sound of her friend’s voice, she lifted her fingers and wove on.

[jjbulletjmw]

Ai story

The Unscripted Playbook

In the sun-baked stadium of Crestwood High, where Friday night lights turned ordinary boys into legends, Jake Thornton was the undisputed king. At 18, he stood 6'2" with shoulders broad enough to block out the sun and a jawline that could cut through the cheers of a packed crowd. He was the quarterback, the one who led the Spartans to state finals last year, and the guy every girl whispered about in the hallways. But beneath the varsity jacket and the cocky grin, Jake was a pressure cooker. College scouts were circling, his dad—a former pro—rode him harder than the coaches, and the weight of expectations felt like a fullback tackling him from behind.

Practice was sacred, a ritual that started at 4 PM sharp. The field was a battlefield of sweat and strategy, where Jake's calls echoed like thunder. That Tuesday, though, something was off. He'd skipped lunch, too busy cramming for a calc test he hadn't studied for, and his stomach had been churning all afternoon. As the team ran drills under the relentless August heat, Jake felt a familiar rumble���nothing unusual, he thought, just the price of pushing his body to its limits.

They were in the middle of a scrimmage when it happened. Jake dropped back for a pass, scanning the field for his receiver. His muscles tensed, his focus razor-sharp, but then—without warning—a warm, uncontrollable surge hit him. Time slowed as he realized what was happening. His heart hammered in his chest, not from exertion, but from sheer panic. He managed to throw the ball—a perfect spiral that landed in his teammate's hands—but as he jogged forward, he felt the mess in his pants. It was done. In the middle of the field, in front of his team, Jake Thornton had pooped himself.

The immediate aftermath was a blur of humiliation. He mumbled an excuse about a stomach bug and bolted to the locker room, his face burning hotter than the asphalt outside. Coach yelled something about "toughening up," but Jake didn't hear it. In the privacy of the showers, he cleaned up as best he could, the steam masking his tears. He was 18, for God's sake—captain of the team, prom king material—and he'd just had an accident like a toddler. It should have been the end of the world. But as he sat on the bench, staring at his reflection in the foggy mirror, a strange curiosity bubbled up inside him.

That night, Jake lay in bed, replaying the incident. He'd expected to feel nothing but shame, but instead, there was this... intrigue. It was bizarre. The moment itself had been mortifying, sure, but there was something liberating about it too. For once, he hadn't been in control. No playbook, no expectations—just his body doing what it wanted. In a life scripted by football drills and parental pressure, that loss of control felt almost rebellious. He chuckled to himself in the dark, the sound echoing in his empty room. What if he did it again? On purpose? The thought was ridiculous, but it lingered, like an unturned page in a forbidden book.

Over the next few days, Jake couldn't shake it. He was a psychology buff—had taken an AP class on it junior year—and he started reading up on stuff online. Forums about "accidents" and bodily autonomy popped up in his browser history, hidden behind incognito tabs. Was it a fetish? A stress response? He remembered how, during the incident, his mind had gone blank, free from the noise of scouts' emails and his dad's disappointed sighs. It was a reset button, a way to escape the relentless drive for perfection. By Thursday, the intrigue had turned into a plan. He'd test it—once, just to see.

The opportunity came during a late-night run. Jake had always been a lone wolf after dark, pounding the pavement to clear his head. He ate a heavy dinner—pasta, exactly what he knew would stir things up—and set out. As he jogged through the quiet suburban streets, the familiar pressure built. His heart raced, but not from exertion. This time, he welcomed it. When it happened, he didn't stop; he kept running, the cool air brushing against his skin. The sensation was... exhilarating. No one saw, no one knew, but Jake felt alive in a way he never had on the field. It was his secret, a private rebellion against the golden boy image he wore like armor.

As weeks turned into months, the experiments became intentional. Not every day—Jake wasn't reckless—but enough to feed the curiosity. He'd pick moments when he was alone: in the woods after school, during long drives to away games. Each time, it was a rush, a blend of embarrassment and empowerment. He'd analyze it afterward, jotting notes in a hidden journal like some amateur therapist. "Why does this feel good?" he'd write. "Is it the taboo? The vulnerability?" It wasn't about the act itself; it was about breaking free from the expectations. Jake Thornton, the invincible jock, was discovering that even heroes had hidden flaws.

But secrets have a way of seeping out. One Friday night, after a brutal game win, the team hit their usual spot—a dingy bar on the outskirts of town where they could sneak in with fake IDs. Jake was riding high on adrenaline, but his mind was elsewhere. He'd planned it for that night, thinking the chaos of celebration would cover it. As the group laughed and clinked bottles, he excused himself to the bathroom, letting it happen. The bar was crowded, the music loud, and when he returned, no one noticed the slight discomfort in his step.

His best friend, Tyler, did, though. Tyler was the quiet type, the team's wide receiver and Jake's confidant since middle school. They'd shared everything from stolen beers to heartbreak stories, but this? As they walked back to the car, Tyler shot him a sideways glance. "Dude, you okay? You seem... off."

Jake brushed it off with a laugh. "Just tired, man. Big game next week."

But Tyler wasn't buying it. The next day, during a casual hangout at Jake's house, he pressed. They were in the basement, playing video games, when Tyler said, "Look, if there's something going on, you can tell me. I'm not just your teammate; I'm your friend."

Jake hesitated, the words tumbling out before he could stop them. He didn't spill everything—just enough. "It's weird, Ty. Remember that practice a while back? When I had that accident? I... I kinda liked it. Not in a gross way, but like... it made me feel free. So I've been doing it on purpose sometimes."

Tyler stared, his expression a mix of shock and concern. "Wait, you're serious? Like, as in... intentionally?"

Jake nodded, his face flushing. "Yeah. It's my thing. Helps with the stress, I guess. Don't judge me, man."

There was a long silence, the game paused on the screen. Tyler didn't laugh or walk out; instead, he asked questions. Real ones. About why Jake thought it started, how it made him feel. For the first time, Jake didn't feel alone in it. Tyler, ever the pragmatist, suggested talking to someone—a counselor, maybe. "This could be more than just a phase," he said. "What if it's tied to all the pressure you're under?"

Jake knew he was right. The intrigue had been fun at first, a secret thrill, but it was starting to unravel him. He'd skipped a few practices, claiming injuries, and his grades were slipping. His dad had noticed, barking about "focus" and "legacy." One night, alone in his room, Jake stared at his journal. The entries had evolved from curiosity to confession: "I'm not just the jock. I'm more. But who?"

The turning point came during the homecoming game. The stadium was electric, packed with alumni and cheerleaders, and Jake was back in the spotlight. As he lined up for the final play, the old pressure surged. He could feel it building, the familiar urge, but this time, he fought it. For the first time in months, he didn't give in. The Spartans won, and Jake's pass sealed the victory, but as he lifted the trophy, he realized something profound: he didn't need the escape anymore. The intrigue had served its purpose, forcing him to confront the parts of himself he'd ignored.

In the weeks that followed, Jake tapered off. He didn't stop cold turkey—that would be too easy—but he started replacing it with healthier outlets. Long talks with Tyler turned into therapy sessions, where he unpacked the weight of his father's shadow and the facade of invincibility. He joined a campus running club at the local community college, where the freedom came from the wind in his face, not hidden acts. And slowly, the secret lost its hold.

By graduation, Jake was different. He still wore the varsity ring, still threw the perfect spiral in pickup games, but he carried a new confidence. The intrigue that had started as a bizarre accident had become a catalyst for growth. He'd learned that vulnerability wasn't weakness; it was human. As he packed for college—somewhere far from Crestwood, where he could reinvent himself—Jake smiled at the irony. The jock who pooped his pants had ended up saving himself.

In the end, it wasn't about the act; it was about the story it told. Life wasn't a scripted playbook; it was messy, unpredictable, and sometimes, a little embarrassing. And that, Jake realized, was perfectly okay.

[deusexlachina]

STEMquisition Part 6: Aveline continues to not be a Grey Warden

In which I meet a blast from the past!

Seeing that our enemy is a darkspawn, the Grey Wardens would be the obvious choice to help out...but they're missing. Something has happened to every single Grey Warden. And we don't know what, because the Grey Wardens are a secretive order. We'd need someone affiliated with the Grey Wardens who is absolutely not a Grey Warden. But where could we possibly find someone like that? Suddenly, Varric has an idea.

He introduces me to his old friend "Hawke," insisting on using the surname. It's...it's awkward. Having failed to slay Corypheus before despite mangling him with an axe, Hawke knows we'll need help. She sets me up with another guy, Stroud, who's like her sister's Grey Warden dad. It's awkward. Wait, didn't we establish that all Grey Wardens were MIA? Well...not this guy. He's special or something.

To help with my search for Stroud, I finally recruit Blackwall, having minimized quest completion in order to reach Skyhold at level 5. He knows the Grey Wardens had nothing to do with Corypheus (who is a darkspawn who was kept in a Grey Warden prison and who successfully mind-controlled Grey Wardens), but MAYBE THEY SHOULD.

Hawke reveals that Stroud is all the way in Crestwood, which was previously inaccessible because nobody would ever travel to Crestwood unless the fate of the world depended on it. The other Grey Wardens are looking for Stroud, but they can't find him because he's...in a cave? Okay. I guess they didn't look very hard. He tells me about dark research into a ritual to stop Blights forever.

He explains that the Wardens are desperate enough to turn to demon science because they all hear the Calling at once, i.e. they think they're all going to die very soon. He hears it too, but resists it I guess. Thankfully, this thing that affects all Grey Wardens doesn't affect Blackwall at all. He does not fear the Calling. Skill issue.

We hurry to the Western Approach to stop this ritual, but arrive too late, because the Western Approach is on THE OTHER SIDE OF THE FUCKING CONTINENT. The Wardens' eyelashes are already possessed by demons.

The villain behind this, Magister Erimond of Tevinter (because it's always Tevinter, the fuckers), has a special magical attack to deal with me. I don't really know what it was meant to be because I immediately zap him with my hand, ragdolling him. "Cries out in surprise." Even the closed captioning is embarrassing.

Erimond decides He Will Not Fall Here, so I have to chase him all the way down to Adamant Fortress.

[inquisimer]

there's a fire in my heart, darling (but I'm not burning for you)

For @febuwhump day 16 (i'm still on track let's gooooooo), an alternate prompt of "last words". Some solavellan angst immediately after the final battle with Corypheus.

read it on ao3 here

Female Lavellan/Solas | Rated G | 779 words | CW: abandonment, hurt no comfort, unresolved emotional tension

-

Adrenaline still shook her arms as she stared down at the broken pieces of the orb. It no longer glowed or hummed with energy; as much a husk as the crumbling, Blighted corpse of Corypheus now floating in the Fade.

Her ears rang with the echoes of battle that raged on beyond this strange place of stasis. Somewhere out there her soldiers continued the fight, the resistance, not knowing the field was won. The day, the hour of victory, belonged to the Inquisition.

It felt completely hollow.

The orb clattered as it fell from Irosyl’s hands. She staggered, looking for Varric, or Cassandra, or—

Solas.

He knelt, mindless of the bleeding wound on his temple, and retrieved the shattered orb. Its wreckage was mirrored in his face.

“The orb,” he whispered.

“Solas?” Her voice was smoke-rough and cracked and it bounced off the shroud of his devastation. Against her better judgment, she drew closer and knelt beside him. When she laid her hand on his shoulder, he went incredibly, precisely still.

“Vhenan, ir abelas.” The endearment slid back onto her tongue as if it had never left. As if he’d never taken it from her. “I know you wanted the orb saved. But Corypheus…”

“It is not your fault.”

She winced. Her hand fell back to her side as he stood, leaving the shattered orb on the ground. Irosyl stared down at it so she would not have to see his disappointment or feel it press into her mind.

“Shouldn’t we…bring the pieces? Dagna might be able to…”

“That would not recover what has been lost.”

No, it wouldn’t. But nothing would—he’d made that abundantly clear. Her teeth tore into her tongue as she killed a scream in her throat. The past mattered, yes. Their People mattered yes. But they were here. They were now.

She was now. And he refused to just…see her.

With the steely will that had seen her through the shemlen chaos of the past year, Irosyl opened her eyes. Solas’ gaze pierced her, whatever sorrow he felt already masked behind that infuriating neutrality. Not even a micro-expression for her to gauge.

“Well? What now?”

Solas clasped his hands at the small of his back. Infuriating, Irosyl thought again. Corypheus was dead, they should be celebrating, shouting their joyous relief to the sky. She wanted to kiss that pensive twist out of his lips. Instead, a frown crumpled his brow. “It was…not supposed to happen this way.”

“You don’t say.”

“You are right to be angry.”

“I’m not angry.” Not quite a lie, but she could hear the catch in her voice. Not quite the truth, either.

“You should be. Inquisitor, I—“

“Don’t—please, don’t.” She could no longer hold herself back and she grasped his shoulders, begging. “I have a name. You knew how to use it, once.”

“Inquisitor,” he repeated. Icy resignation crept back over her, a dead, wet thing that had followed her since Crestwood. She dropped her hands and stepped back.

“My apologies,” she said stiffly. “You were saying?”

He huffed. “It will ring hollow, now, but it is no less true. Remember that, someday.”

He looked at her like an expectant hahren until she jerked a single, stiff nod. When he continued, the sudden earnestness in his voice caught her off guard.

“No matter what comes—I want you to know what we had was real.”

Creators’ audacity—she couldn’t believe him! She blinked once, twice—and slapped him across the face.

“Dread Wolf take you,” she hissed. “How fucking dare you—“

The effects of the battle caught up with her as emotion surged, made her heart pound and her vision narrow on his stupid, dreadful, beautiful face. Irosyl staggered forward, unsure of her intent. But Solas caught her. He easily gripped her wrists in one hand and brought the other to cup her face with a tenderness he was no longer allowed.

She bared her teeth at him, the anger she denied rearing its ugly head.

“Remember, someday,” he repeated. As she strained against his hold, his lips formed the words: ar lath ma. But he did not speak them and, whatever he said, she knew there was no way he meant them.

He placed a feather light kiss to her forehead, then smoothed the furrowed skin with his thumb.

“You bastard—“

A bolt of arcane energy zapped into her mind and as she fought the futile battle for consciousness, she knew: when she woke, he would be gone. For good, this time.

The darkness consumed her, and she let go. Of him, of them, of whatever chance they had.

She let it all go.