#young fen'harel

[an-established-butt-dent]

I'm a bald Solas lover I swear!!!!

—> Process video under the cut because of flash warning.

[reagan-the-saunders]

The Rebel Wolf

[solas-backpack-mug]

i have a headcanon that the dalish have a fun holiday called fen'vallan - wolf's dusk. the idea of this holiday is "we haven't been fucked over by the dread wolf yet! yay! also beware of him"

i like to imagine the inner circle visiting clan lavellan regarding some Important Mission and they get invited to fen'vallan

solas is nervous. really nervous. lavellan assumes he's anxious about making a good first impression on her family (with him being her lover and all)

he has to sit there while the keeper talks shit about him and warns everyone about an individual that vaguely resembles him. and he can't be that mad about it all, especially when they say stuff like "the dread wolf is deceitful and sneaky" while he's right there. being deceitful and sneaky

classic solas behavior. exquisite

[hyenamiloska]

i.... i cant................... my god................

[mscottontail-stash]

R E B E L L I O N | R E D E M P T I O N

"Do you know what the worst part is? Part of me was excited about proving myself to the Dread Wolf. This is how you do it, right? You get people so eager for those little scraps of approval they never see the knife coming."

[morgalahan]

A cropped WiP of something I started last night as a warmup. Using 'difficult' brushes to try and get interesting texture and colour variation. I used the lasso tool and some colour randomiser brushes and it worked nicely for getting some tones down quickly.

[sad-orlesian]

A young painter

Nevermind, I can draw again ! Have some young, artistic Solas to celebrate !

[underboobchloride]

I absolutely LOVE THIS TAKE. I am following you now.

Solas; the petulant child

"You have waylaid all his other plans. Now, as a petulant child, he will destroy the game board rather than admit defeat. Be ready for anything. He still believes himself a god, and gods do not fall gracefully."

We all presume (likely correctly) that Solas is referring to the Evanuris when he talks about Corytheus after you prompt him; how they acted, and how their actions would have destroyed the world.

What if he was actually referring to himself as the petulant child who destroyed the board instead of admitting defeat, not the Evanuris?

Solas himself described his 'younger self' as a hotblooded and cocky know-it-all. (And given he -presumably- got drunk and pissed magic in his past, that only adds to the not-so-great/immature former self). He wasn't really that great a person.

And then, take into account;

Elgar'nan, Falon'Din, Dirthamen, Andruil, Ghilan'nain, Sylaise, June.

7 Evanuris (the most powerful beings -at the time- in existence), all working against Fen'Harel. What chance did he really have against all 7 of them, especially after they killed Mythal?

Solas was losing the war/rebellion. And we assume he created the veil as a 'last resort' to seal the gods away to protect the world. What if he wasn't motivated by a sense of 'must protect people/the world' and it was more 'if I can't win, neither can you'? I don't think he really intended to survive severing the world's ties to the Fade.

We know from the story about Falon'Din that he spread war to garner more followers, to the point where all the other Evanuris had to step in, and 'bloodied him in his own temple' to get him to stop. It's not so far of a stretch to say they would do the same to Fen'Harel, given he's taking their slaves/giving them freedom and has been a general pain in their asses for ages.

They beat him in all of his plans, backed him into a corner. But he still had one last thing he could do; create the veil, and destroy their world (everything in the time of Arlathan ran on magic, and without that... It crumbled, it died - the board was destroyed).

And Fen'Harel was forever remembered as the god of betrayal, the reason the elves became enslaved and impoverished and mortal. The Dread Wolf fell disgracefully, remembered not for his wisdom, but for his petulance and his trickery.

And Solas had to deal with the consequences for thousands of years "in dark and dreaming sleep", unable to do anything to impact the 'real' world outside the Fade, except speak to dreamers/spirits and experience only memories of what's going on 'outside', knowing that everything he accomplished was torn down, and his people are now going extinct, all while he sleeps with nothing but whispers and his own thoughts - for thousands of years.

Imagine how much that would kill you inside, knowing that all of it was your fault, and those thousands of years of suffering and contemplation were your own doing? You can't even be mad about it, not at anybody but yourself.

But you can undo it.

[lafaiette]

Based on this post by @wendynerdwrites: Solas treating everyone at the Lighthouse except Varric like complete morons, but becoming a puppy as soon as Lavellan shows up.

Spoilers for Veilguard!

Davrin was used to facing dangerous situations - the life of a Warden was not an easy one -, but no fight against darkspawn, no exploration of dark, damp roads could compare to the horror of sharing a place with the worst enemy of his people's lore.

Solas, the Dread Wolf, was... a cold man. No unnecessarily cruel like old Dalish legends described him, but certainly ruthless, ready to make sacrifices if it could help finally defeat the Evanuris.

There was a certain distance in his eyes and tone whenever he spoke with the new guests of his old base - that, and badly hidden rage, boiling just below the surface. He was haunted by the failed ritual, by Rook's intervention, by Varric's wound, by years of regrets.

Davrin's superiors had always insisted on a particular point: don't fight battles you can't win. Giant ogre making its way through a narrow tunnel? Run, or you will die under the rubble. Too many darkspawn surrounding you and your fellow Grey Wardens? Retreat, and plan a better strategy.

The Dread Wolf haunts your dreams, turning them into nightmares? Be respectful, da'len, do not enrage him further, and avoid him.

So Davrin did just that. He greeted Solas, but didn't dare ask him questions. He wasn't scared of speaking up in his presence, but he did so with an even tone, not really wanting to attract his attention.

Unfortunately, his being a Grey Warden was something Solas simply couldn't understand - or forgive? -, for the Dread Wolf once found him in the courtyard, taking care of Assan's feathers, and spoke to him without hesitation, without mercy.

"That is a beautiful creature."

Assan chirped happily - he was one of the few ones in the Lighthouse, Varric and Manfred included, who wasn't scared of Fen'Harel.

"Ah, thank you." Davrin nodded at him, then went back to brushing the griffon's feathers. "He's growing up so fast."

A moment of silence, then Solas spoke again, a thin veil of ice in his voice:

"I could not help but notice he fights with you."

"Well... Yes?" Davrin didn't turn back, increasing his focus on the least oily feathers, the ones that needed more care. "Grey Wardens and griffons fight together. We're supposed to build a bond."

"Why would you bring your beloved companion into battle?" Solas sounded furious, now. "Among the Blight and the darkspawn?"

"Because that's what Grey Wardens must do." Davrin did turn around this time, hoping his glare directed at Solas wouldn't condemn him to a week of nightmares. "It's not like Assan fights at my side for the whole time. He flies above the battlefield, and attacks only when I call him."

"Because he is still young. But he will join you once he is older, and ready, and your bond strong." Solas shook his head, distaste clear on his face. "And then he will risk getting blighted, poison in his veins."

"It's terrible, I know," Davrin agreed, for the thought of losing his friend in battle had kept him awake many nights in a row, "but it's a risk we must run if we want to fight the darkspawn."

"Did you ask Assan if he wants to run this risk?" Solas arched an eyebrow. "Or did you decide for him?"

"What-"

Solas walked away, uttering a "tsk", and Davrin was left there, open-mouthed, shock and pain making his head buzz.

Assan let out a sad squeak, bumping his beak against his cheek.

--------

"You are doing it wrong."

"O-Oh?"

Bellara turned around, the elven device she was tinkering with falling on the ground. Solas, standing under the doorframe, looked at it, then at her, and she shrinked under his cold, almost disappointed gaze.

"What... What I was doing wrong?"

Oh, she hated how thin her voice sounded, but she couldn't help it! He was one of her gods! The deity of lies, trickery, and rebellion, the creator of the Veil, the reason why a breach in the Fade had appeared in the sky ten years prior! He scared her!

"Everything." Solas narrowed his eyes, then walked away, heading to his original destination, leaving her there, fuming and confused, angry at him and herself, angry at the device and its secrets, angry at her mind for not being able to understand them.

She picked it up from the floor, but didn't tinker with it again, leaving it on the table, like a forgotten relic.

--------

Harding gently closed the door of Varric's room, so that he wouldn't wake. The wound was getting better, but he was still weak, frail. His fever had broken just the day before.

She almost jumped out of her skin when Solas walked out from the shadows just around the corner - seriously, wasn't a lighthouse supposed to be well-lit?

"How is he?" he asked, almost whispering, dark sorrow on his face.

Harding glared at him, torn between telling him to shove it and answering in a civil way.

In the end, her polite side won, prompted by the memories of their days in the Inquisition, when Solas would accompany the Inquisitor in all her trips and explorations.

He would often narrate beautiful stories at dinner, when the Inquisitor decided to stop at the main campsites where Harding was stationed. He was always kind with the Inquisition soldiers, and once he had complimented Harding's study of a map.

But he had hurt the Inquisitor, and now Varric, and she found forgiveness hard to find in her frightened, enraged heart.

"He's alive." She shook her head. "He's sleeping now, so come visit him later."

"And the wound?"

"It's healing, but I don't like the look of the skin around it. It's getting inflamed, I think." She sighed, making a mental list of all the plants in her room. "I might have something to help him, but I'll need to check and-"

"My magic may help."

Her rude side won over the polite one. Oh, how her mother would scold her if she knew.

"Your magic? I'm sorry, but your magic is what caused all this in the first place!"

She approached him, teeth gritted, fists clenched, and he didn't move, staring down at her with that cold pain that morphed his face into a pale, ancient expanse of regret.

"Your magic almost destroyed the world ten years ago! Your magic almost destroyed it now! Your magic maimed the Inquisitor-"

Something passed over his face - more pain and sorrow -, and she realized she had gone too far, for his next words were too controlled, too calm. He was about to explode just like she had.

"Enough, child of the Stone."

"How dare you!"

All the pain, fear, and shock Harding had packed away in her heart - like many jagged rocks she wanted pick and examine in peace in the quiet of the room - erupted from her. Her eyes burned.

"How dare you call me like that, after what my people lost!"

"Your people are not the only ones who lost everything."

"Well, at least we're not the ones trying to destroy this world to bring it all back!"

She stormed away, hoping her outburst hadn't caused Varric to awaken.

--------

"He's here!"

"What?"

Lucanis looked up from the pot of soup he was preparing for lunch, and lo and behold, the Dread Wolf was indeed there.

Spite respected him and feared him in equal measure. He was the only one who could speak with the demon in a real, coherent way, and make it listen.

Sometimes Lucanis envied him.

"May I help you?" he said, stirring the pot after adding more salt. "It won't be ready for one more hour, I think."

"Spirit, how are you feeling?"

"It's not a spirit." Lucanis spat out before Spite could answer. It was standing next to him, not slouching as usual, but standing tall, almost proud. "It's a demon."

"That's a matter of debate."

"A matter of- it's possessing me!"

"It does not wish to be with you just as much as you do not want it with you." Solas glared at him, before setting his eyes on Spite again. His expression changed, turning kinder, more patient.

"How are you feeling?"

"... Constricted."

Lucanis gawked at it.

"Oh, for... Constricted by what? I bring you everywhere!"

Solas ignored him. "Have you tried shaping the world around you? We are in the Fade here, after all."

"I have, but it doesn't listen! Not as long as I am..."

Spite growled and glared at Lucanis, who glared back, stirring his minestrone with more rage the recipe requested.

"I see. I promise I will try to find a way to help you. It might be difficult, due to your particular circumstances, but..."

"You want to help it?" Lucanis dropped the spoon into the pot, staring at the tall elf with disbelief. "Do you know what this fiend did to me while we were locked away in Renata's prison? What about helping me get rid of it?"

"It tortured you because it was tortured. It still is."

Solas' eyes looked cold even under the light coming from the fireplace. Lucanis realized he would probably never convince him, nor understand him.

"Bah!" He went back to his dish. "No wonder nobody here likes you, lupo."

Solas went away, quiet, his steps the lightest Lucanis had ever heard.

--------

"You remind me of an old friend."

Taash looked up from the axe they were polishing, hoping they had heard it wrong.

Solas was checking some supplies. They hadn't exchanged a single word when he had entered, and Taash was glad of it, because they really didn't know how to act around that guy. Plus, their mood wasn't exactly the best these days, after a hard defeat against a particularly stubborn dragon that had badly burned their leg.

But now, this.

"How old, exactly? Millennia old? Decade old?"

"Decade. Do you know the Bull's Chargers?"

"I heard of 'em. Mercenary group led by the Tal-Vashoth who joined the Inquisition, yeah?"

Solas nodded, still checking the contents of an armory chest.

"So... I remind you of that guy?"

"Sometimes, yes."

Taash blinked. And waited.

"Why? Just because we're both Tal-Vashoth?"

"No." Solas barely looked at them as he closed the chest. "He also deeply admired dragons."

"Oh. Sounds like a cool guy, then." Taash grinned, dipping the cloth into a pot of oil and starting to polish a new area of their axe. "I bet he'd have enjoyed fighting that dragon from the other day."

"Oh, yes. But unlike you, he would have definitely prevailed."

"Why, you little piece of shit!"

They rose, furious and embarrassed, cheeks on fire and axe ready to be used, but he had already left.

--------

"What is that supposed to be?"

Neve almost dropped her pencil.

"A map?" She narrowed her eyes at him. She had tracked him down in Minrathous, yes, but he had still escaped her, in a certain way. She hated that.

"Of course it is a map." Solas' tone was as icy as hers. He knew it was her fault Varric and Rook had found him. "But what are you drawing on it?"

"Possible places where the Evanuris may be hiding."

"Hiding?" He snarled, letting out a disgusted noise. "They are not hiding. They are preparing, setting the stage, gathering power-"

"One more reason to find them as soon as possible, then."

"-And those are not the places they would choose for such a purpose."

Neve felt her right eye twitch.

"Well, since you know them so well," Solas' face turned into a mask of pure outrage at that, "perhaps you could kindly share your opinion so that we may find them sooner."

"How am I supposed to know? Don't you think I would have already done something, had I known where they are?"

He scoffed at her meticulous drawings and walked away. She gritted her teeth, frustrated, then looked back at the map, feeling almost embarrassed.

She refused to erase her marks, though.

--------

Emmrich believed himself to be a patient man, but oh, every time the Dread Wolf was involved he could just feel his patience run thin.

"Manfred, could you please hand me that book? Thank you."

A groan, rattling of bones, and Emmrich smiled.

"Indeed, it is quite interesting. I will give it back to you as soon as I'm done with these notes."

He heard footsteps coming from the staircase, but he ignored them, too engrossed in his research. He heard Manfred prepare more tea, sure it was one of their friends come to visit, but then...

"This is wrong."

Startled, Emmric raised his eyes. Solas was looking at Manfred, watching him choose the right leaves.

"I assure you, Manfred's tea knows no equal. Everyone in the Mourn Watch loves it!"

Solas glared at him, jaw tight, and the very air around him seemed to quiver. Emmrich realized he had said the wrong thing, and slightly bowed his head.

"I apologize if my words offended you, Solas. Is there something I can help you with?"

"You are torturing this poor spirit."

Manfred groaned, shaking his head, and Solas scoffed, shocked by his words.

"This is not your place! You are not supposed to be bound to a corpse!"

"I would let Manfred make that decision."

"How could he do that? You already did it for him."

A pang of pain, like the sting of a thorn in his heart, then Emmrich took a deep breath.

"You are mistaken. This is what Manfred wants."

Solas couldn't hide his disgust, his contempt, as he stared at him. Then he turned to Manfred, sorrow and grief replacing his ire, and he shook his head.

"This is wrong," he repeated, and Emmrich wondered whether he was still talking about Manfred or everything else, the Lighthouse filled with strangers, the Evanuris running free, the world on the brink of destruction.

"I am sorry." Emmrich said, but Solas ignored him and left the room, his steps heavy like those of the corpses that roamed the Necropolis.

--------

"Tell him to stop!"

"Tell him to leave."

"I can't do this anymore, Rook, I really can't!"

"He criticizes everything. He's always there, judging us, and nothing is ever right!"

"Doesn't he have another base he can use? Or maybe we should move."

"Varric, perhaps you may talk with him?"

"Don't worry." Varric smiled from his bed, tapping his fingers on the heavy blanket Harding had found for him. "I sent words to a certain someone just a few days ago. She will join us tomorrow."

Rook looked at him, confused.

"Who are you talking about?"

Harding gasped, not sure whether to grin like a madwoman or scold Varric for his insane idea.

"You did not!"

"I did." Varric looked extremely satisfied, his smug smile almost hiding the gauntness of his cheeks. "Wear your best outfits, guys - the Inquisitor is coming to visit us."

--------

She stepped out of the main eluvian, and the first thing she did was smile at everyone. And everyone thought she looked young, very pretty, but also sad, and a bit tired.

"Inquisitor."

"It's an honor, Inquisitor Lavellan."

"My lady, thank you for coming."

They bowed to her, except for Harding who got a hug, and she told them all those formalities were not necessary.

"I'm not Inquisitor anymore." Her smile was small, but sincere and warm. "Please just call me Scarlet."

Bellara admired her prosthetic arm, and promised her to show her the special gauntlet she used in battle. Davrin tried not to stare at her bare face, but everyone had heard the rumors - how the Inquisitor had come back to Skyhold after a trip with her beloved Solas, face free from vallaslin, her eyes filled with tears for weeks, her lover staring at her from a distance with grief in his eyes.

"How is Varric?" Worry and sorrow made her look older. "May I see him?"

"Of course. This way."

She didn't try to hide her awe and curiosity as they led her through the Lighthouse to Varric's room. She devoured everything, eyes setting on every minute detail.

She gasped when she saw the murals in the library, and it was clear she was looking for traces of Solas, too. She searched for him with her eyes, hoping to see him appear from behind a door or around the corner.

The more they walked, heading to Varric's room, the more she grew disappointed. Rook hurried to reassure her he wasn't hiding, not this time.

"Solas went to one of his old hideouts to retrieve some useful parchments. He believes they could be useful to track down the Evanuris."

"Oh." She blushed, pleased.

"He should be here soon."

"I see."

She was shaking due to excitement and anxiety. Ten years had passed since their last meeting, after all. Rook and their companions led her gently through her lover's Lighthouse, hoping she could be the change they desperately needed.

She gasped when they brought her outside, in the courtyard, and she stared at the giant wolf statue that stood at its center, right above the Caretaker's workshop, for a long time.

The spirit observed her in silence. She saw it and smiled, greeting it with a bow of her head.

"You are finally here, after all this time," it said, and her smile widened, looking almost impish.

"I never give up."

She hugged Varric with all the delicateness, love, and care of a daughter. He held her true hand as she sat next to his bed, patting it between his calloused ones, and tried to reassure her that he was fine, that he was recovering nicely.

Guilt and pain never left her face as they spoke.

"Shy, it's not your fault." Varric smiled at her, while Davrin and Rook prepared the poultice he needed to apply on his wound twice a day. Emmrich checked his temperature and pulse, and used a spell to soothe his fatigue.

The others stood around, ready to help, wanting to spend more time with that famous figure, with the woman who had stolen the Dread Wolf's heart.

"I never should have sent you and Harding on that mission."

"I would have gone regardless."

"Me too!"

Scarlet sighed, shaking her head.

"Well, then." She tried to smile again. "Tell me everything."

Neve was just about to share her theories about the Evanuris' possible locations, when the door opened.

"Why are you all here? Is Varric alright-"

Solas froze, staring at the Inquisitor, mouth slightly open. He looked on the verge of a panic attack, thought Harding and Bellara; or a heart attack, thought Davrin and Taash; or perhaps even a stroke, thought Lucanis and Neve.

Emmrich thought he looked ready to crumple on the floor and cry.

Scarlet stared back, cheeks red, then she slowly relaxed and gently said:

"Hello, Solas."

He let out an odd sound, something between a sob and a croak. Then he ran away, and they all shared looks with each other, bewildered.

They had never seen him like that. So... vulnerable. Soft. Inoffensive.

"You really tamed him, Inquisitor." Lucanis snorted, earning himself a smack on the arm from Bellara.

"Don't worry, Shy, you will catch him soon enough." Varric said, smiling at the empty space where Solas had stood. "He can't run from you anymore."

--------

Rook gave the Inquisitor one of the best rooms of the Lighthouse. She retired there for an hour or so to recover from her long journey, and in the meantime the other guests went to the dining room to prepare dinner.

"Do you think he's visiting her right now?" Bellara asked, smiling brightly, for she found the whole situation pretty romantic. Harding sighed, shrugging.

"Who knows. Maybe? I don't think so, to be honest. He needs to recover from the shock."

"He's probably hiding in a broom closet." Lucanis snickered while cutting the vegetables for their salad. "Or rehearsing their next conversation."

"Assuming he'll be able to speak this time." Taash mumbled, making Neve chuckle.

The door opened, and Solas entered, looking almost haggard. His eyes scanned the room, and he didn't hide his disappointment when he didn't see the Inquisitor.

It was rare for him to join them at dinner. He would usually eat his food alone, either in his room or in the library.

And it was definitely rarer for him to help them set the table, but he did so this time, making sure to choose the best plates, and placing a bowl of berries and fruits at the centre.

"Don't we have any cake?" he asked, heading to the pantry and glaring at the shelves filled with cheese, bread, and ham. "Not even sweet tarts?"

"I don't think so." Lucanis said. He raised an eyebrow when Solas went back into the dining room, a storm brewing on his face. "Is it for the Inquisitor? I could bake something special next time."

"No." Solas narrowed his eyes. "I will take care of it."

Lucanis swore in Antivan under his breath, ignoring Spite's protests to shut up and let the Dread Wolf be.

The door opened again, and this time the Inquisitor entered. Solas' demeanor changed in an instant - one moment he was a surly, grumpy old elf, the next an excited, timid puppy, looking at her with big eyes, drinking every detail of her.

"Good evening." Scarlet greeted everyone with her warm smile. She blushed when she saw Solas, and repeated, softly: "Good evening."

"Good evening, vhen- Inquisitor."

Her blush deepened, and they stood there, awkward and shy, until Emmrich took pity on them and cleared his throat.

"Lady Scarlet, dinner is almost ready. Where would you like to sit?"

"Oh, I have no preference."

She walked around the table so her back would be to the fireplace and approached the first chair on her right, but Solas anticipated her: he pulled out the chair for her and gently pushed it back until she was comfortable enough.

"Thank you," she said, smiling up at him, and his face turned pink, his eyes the biggest puppy eyes the group had ever seen.

He stood next to her, probably not sure whether she wanted him to sit at her side or not, until she noticed his weird behaviour.

"Solas, are you eating with us?"

"I... Yes."

"Then you should sit." She nodded at the chair next to her, and her smile was gentle, but also a bit amused, and he hurried to do as she said.

"Of course."

He sat down, clearly happy she had given him permission to be at her side, and they were so busy dealing with each other's close proximity, that they didn't see the look Davrin and Neve shared, nor heard Taash's snort and Lucanis' "Maker, aiutaci".

"How was your journey?" Solas asked, fidgeting with the napkin and the cutlery, his tone apparently neutral, but not really.

"Long." Scarlet sighed. "I'm not used to traversing such distances anymore. And I'm not a twenty years old Inquisitor anymore."

"You are beautiful." Solas murmured, and everyone around them froze, studying Scarlet's reaction.

Her blush reached her ears, and she breathed out a soft, flattered laugh.

"Thank you."

"Oh my." Emmrich whispered to Harding as they poured the stew - her mother's original recipe - into each dish. "He is truly smitten."

"If anyone can stop him from being an absolute ass, it's her."

--------

"Aren't you a cutie?"

Scarlet laughed and giggled as Assan chirped and rubbed his body against her legs, looking for pets. She gave them to him, stroking his feathers, his head, and Davrin smiled proudly at the scene.

"I have never seen a griffon before. Are they all as beautiful as you, Assan?"

A negative chirp, the little rascal puffing out his chest, and Scarlet laughed again.

Solas was standing a few paces away, also watching them, awkward and quiet, yearning for her touch. Davrin glanced at him, and his previous fears suddenly evaporated.

"Pity Solas said he might die soon."

"What?"

"What?"

The Dread Wolf went to them, his strides long and hurried, panic on his paling face.

"I never said such a thing!"

"You said I am risking his life by taking him into battle, where the Blight is." Davrin gave him a flat, cold look. "And I know you're right. I know I'm being selfish, following centuries-old traditions that make little sense to anyone who isn't a Grey Warden. But this is part of our sacrifice, of the grief we must carry."

Solas took a deep breath, visibly torn between arguing with him and not wanting to do so in front of Scarlet. But she intervened, her voice calm and solemn, and Davrin realized she must have spoken like that during her time as Inquisitor, too.

"Once the Evanuris are finally dead and the Blight is no more, you won't have to sacrifice yourselves and your companions anymore."

She stroked Assan's head, cupping his muzzle and looking into his big eyes.

"There will be finally peace, and griffons will be able to fly alongside people without fearing any corruption. Isn't that right, Assan?"

He squeaked happily, and Davrin felt a rush of gratefulness and hope invade his heart. But what most shocked him was Solas' reaction: he stared at Lady Lavellan with big, awed eyes, his expression the most stricken and softest Davrin had ever seen.

"You are right," he said to her, and the Grey Warden blinked, not believing his ears.

"I know!" She grinned at her lover, then went back to petting the griffon, while the Dread Wolf watched her as an once blind man would watch the first sunrise of his life.

--------

"I'm sorry, lethallan, I fear I don't understand how this works yet." Bellara fidgeted with her many pouches. "But...! Let me know if you have any ideas! Two minds are better than one, after all!"

"I'm not an expert by any means." Scarlet shrugged, turning the little elven device in her hands over and over again. "I could ask Solas, if that's alright."

"Oh." Bellara's face fell. She couldn't help it. "That would be... I don't think he would agree."

"What? Why?" Scarlet looked genuinely surprised. "Nonsense, he loves sharing knowledge and helping people learn!"

Bellara felt her face shift into a grimace, the one she would make whenever she ate something sour or her research didn't proceed as smoothly as she liked.

"I'll go look for him- oh, Solas, you're here!"

Scarlet rose from her seat as he appeared from behind the open door - had he been nearby for the whole time, watching them, waiting for her to call him!?

"Could you please help us unlock this? I fear neither me or Bellara know how it works."

"Of course."

There was a warm, pleased smile on his face. Bellara shuddered, not used to such a sight. Scarlet shared some of their theories with him, and he listened, proud and patient, soft and sweet, before gently taking the device from her hands (their fingers brushed, and they both blushed) and showing her how to activate it.

"Just like that!?" Bellara spluttered, shocked by how simple it had been. "You just needed to press it like that!?"

Scarlet gasped, curious and in awe.

"Oh, it's beautiful, it opened like a flower! What does it do?"

"It's a catalogue." Solas used a bit of magic to further activate it. "A small portable archive."

Bellara bit her lips, trying to contain herself, then she acted, unable to stop herself: she snatched the archive out of his hands and stared at every minuscule detail, overjoyed and excited.

"This is incredible! I can't wait to read everything it contains!"

She beamed at the Inquisitor, admiring her even more than before.

"Thank you, lethallan! I was going crazy over this!" She turned to Solas, giving him a flat look, which he returned.

"If only someone had deigned to explain how it worked sooner."

Bellara left, but not before turning around to see Lady Scarlet fold her arms and scold Solas with a simple, but very effective look. Bellara could almost see his ears drop and his shoulders slump.

--------

Lucanis sighed, rolling his eyes.

"My lady, Spite wants you to know you're very beautiful."

Scarlet smiled. He had explained his delicate situation to her, and even though she couldn't see the demon, she acted as if she could.

"Thank you, Spite."

Lucanis frowned, then growled.

"No, you little piece of garbage, I'm not telling her that!"

He grunted when Spite hit him, making his nose bleed again. Scarlet gasped, babbling something.

"Are you alright!? What happened?" Then she turned towards the door and called out: "Solas, come quickly!"

Before he could understand what was happening, Lucanis felt the Dread Wolf's hand on his head. The pressure caused by Spite's outburst vanished, and he could finally think clearly again.

"Oh. That was..." Lucanis stretched his neck. Spite was still with him, of course, but it felt as if he were sleeping, taking a much needed nap.

Scarlet beamed at Solas.

"Thank you."

Solas blushed and returned the smile. Lucanis glared at him, and the lupo had the gall to ignore him, completely enraptured by Scarlet's smile.

"Stronzo figlio di puttana, grandissimo figlio di buona donna..." the Crow muttered for the whole evening while reading on his cot in the pantry.

-------

"Bull would have liked you."

Taash's mouth was set in a thin line.

"Because he liked dragons, too, right?"

"Not just that. He would have loved fighting with you against one. It's clear you deeply respect them, too."

Taash glared at Solas, who was pretending to check the weapons and armors, but was actually accompanying Lady Scarlet wherever she went.

"I couldn't defeat one the other day."

"Oh, that's totally normal!" Scarlet laughed. "We couldn't defeat one in Emprise du Lion the first time we tried either! It almost burned us to a crisp, and Bull and Cole had to carry me and Solas all the way back to camp."

She giggled remembering the scene.

"Do you remember that, Solas?"

He cleared his throat.

"I do."

She laughed again, the old memories of better days making her face glow, and Solas' face as he looked at her was so sickeningly sweet, Taash felt a shiver run down their spine. They had never seen the Dread Wolf act like that.

"Is that right?" they drawled, judging him hard after their last conversation - but he had eyes for Lavellan only.

--------

"Thank you, Manfred. Your tea was delicious."

Manfred rattled happily, and had he been able to blush, he would have done so. Emmrich smiled at the scene.

"He thanks you in return, my lady."

"You can understand him, then?"

"Oh, yes! We hold many interesting conversations. Manfred is an excellent herbalist and alchemist."

"That's wonderful." Scarlet smiled at the skeleton, but then her expression slowly turned into something more pensive, kind of melancholy.

"Are you... happy like this, Manfred?"

He nodded, the green gems of his eyes shining brightly under the lights of Emmrich's study. Scarlet studied him for a second, then her smile returned, filled with trust.

"That's wonderful. I wish you all the best - should you need anything, just let me know, alright? Maybe I could find a way to understand you, too."

Ah, Emmrich could see why Solas loved her so much.

Manfred gurgled a "thank you, my lady", and when Emmrich raised his head to the spiral staircase, he saw Solas watching them, pining and yearning, the rage from their old conversation completely gone, replaced by wonder.

--------

"What about the High Reaches you marked here? I feel like they might be a good hiding place, too."

Neve scoffed despite herself. She wasn't angry at the Inquisitor, of course, but at her lover and his dreadful lack of tact and good manners.

"Solas said the Evanuris aren't hiding, but gathering more power. And that they wouldn't do that in places like this."

She raised an eyebrow when she spotted him on the railing above the library. Maker, he really followed Lady Scarlet everywhere, like a lost puppy.

"Oh." The Inquisitor looked back at the map, worried and deflated. "He's probably right. He knows how they think better than we do."

"That's...!"

Solas walked down the stairs - no, almost ran, cheeks red with embarrassment.

"Let me check, vhen- Inquisitor. Perhaps I was mistaken."

Neve's eyebrows reached her hairline.

"You mean here?" he asked, pointing at the range of mountains near Minrathous. His hand slightly hovered over Lady Scarlet's back, almost touching it.

"Yes. It's near Tevinter's capital, so I thought..."

"That is an excellent idea. Yes, they might be commanding their minions from there, close to their main objectives."

Neve snorted, not really angry and annoyed anymore. In fact, she was amused, and she realized she had found one more piece of evidence that proved how smitten, how sappy the Dread Wolf was when it came to Lady Scarlet.

--------

"How can you..." Harding sighed, took a deep breath, and tried again. "How can you look at him, talk with him, without feeling the urge to... to..."

She groaned, tossing a pebble into the pond in her room.

"I love him." Scarlet said, simply, softly. "I know you're very angry, Harding. I am, too. But despite all the rage, all the pain, I love him."

"I know."

Harding looked at their reflections in the shallow water. She looked grumpy, tired, a smudge of soil on her cheek. Lady Scarlet still looked a bit too pale and tired, but it was clear Solas' presence had rejuvenated her.

"If we survive all this..." Harding vaguely gestured at the air to indicate that whole mess. "What are you going to do, Inquisitor?"

"You mean...?"

"With Solas, yes."

"Oh, it's easy!" She grinned, suddenly very cheerful. "Once I save him from himself, the marriage is back on!"

She said that with so much sincerity, with so much candor and innocence, Harding couldn't help but cackle, falling backwards on the floor.

The Inquisitor laughed, too, but Harding knew she was serious, that that was indeed what she was planning to do. Always so bright and hopeful, looking for the best in every situation - one of the many reasons why people had loved her as Inquisitor.

They heard a sound just outside the door, and Scarlet sighed fondly, shaking her head.

"Eavesdropping on us? Really?" Harding said, but she was not really angry, just resigned and even amused. That stupid man couldn't stay away from Lady Lavellan for more than ten minutes, now that they were finally together again, with no more secrets between them.

"I think I'll go to sleep. Goodnight, Harding."

"Goodnight, Inquisitor." Harding gave her a lopsided, impish smile. "Sweet dreams."

--------

Someone knocked at her door, and she already knew who it was.

"Solas."

Scarlet smiled at him. Part of her wanted to drag him into the room and finally, finally hug him and kiss him after all those years, but she didn't wish to scare him. She could see and feel he still loved her, just as she still loved him, but she wasn't sure he was finally ready to let himself go.

"Vhenan." His voice was soft, a whisper carrying all his love and guilt and pain and adoration. "I missed you."

She swallowed her tears, but they spilled from her eyes all the same.

"Oh, Solas." Her real hand trembled as she reached out to cup his cheek. He leaned into her touch, sighing happily, never breaking eye contact. "I missed you, too."

"I want..." He took a deep breath. "There are memories scattered around the Lighthouse and the Crossroads. Scenes from my past. I want you to see them, all of them."

Eyes wide, she could just stare at him, at a loss for words. He rested his hand upon hers, clearly determined, fully resolved to finally share everything with her, the good and the bad, Fen'Harel included.

"I do not deserve your forgiveness nor your love." His hand on hers trembled, and a tear ran down his cheek. "But I love you, vhenan. I always will. If the world truly is going to end, if we won't survive this, I wish to die by your side."

He smiled, that sweet smile he had for her only.

"But should we survive this second catastrophe, too, I wish to walk with you wheresoever you desire, to share everything with you, to live with you. Not as Fen'Harel, not as a god of rebellion, but as Solas." His lips quivered. "Your Solas."

She sobbed, a luminous smile on her face. She nodded and a "yes" had barely left her mouth, when he stepped forward and crashed his lips against hers, holding her tightly. He peppered her face with kisses, smiling as well, their laughter and giggles filling the corridor, before scooping her up into his arms and entering the bedroom, their hearts the lightest they had ever been, soaring with hope and love.

[dragonbabes]

F*ck it, I'll do it myself...

Note | I've taken it into my own hands and am writing a short series on the weeks that Rook is stuck in the fade. This is based off my Crow!Rook playthrough. I'm posting it through AO3 as well, because why not. And buckle up my friends, this is gonna be a long ride and is very much going to be a passion project.

Words | 4,366

Pairing | Rookanis, for sure

The Thorns that Bind

Ch 1

He comes to notice the ache in his jaw first. How that dull throbbing is slowly spreading up into the base of his head, and then down into his shoulder and neck; oh, how he ached all over. The familiar burning of muscles from being pushed to their limit, and further, has him releasing a groan and a mumbled curse. His eyes crack open and drag mindlessly over the floating shelves and rings of the astrolabe that is suspended in the lighthouse…

The lighthouse? When did he get here? What happened?

A form — long hair spilling over their shoulders — leans over him, eclipsing the bright light he’s been squinting at while collecting his thoughts. They extend a hand to him.

“Rook?” He clasps onto the hand that forcefully pulls him up and then steadies him as his head spins. No, not Ise. Brown eyes stare back at his, brows slackened with uncharacteristic worry, and lips in a thin line.

“Did you have to hit him so hard?” Neve snaps over her shoulder, her gaze hardening at Taash. The young Qunari crosses their arms and shrugs, keeping their position between Lucanis and the stairwell leading down to the eluvian. He takes note of Harding, standing at the top of the other set descending steps. The assassin puts together that his lapse of memory may have as much to do with Taash’s blow as Spite’s influence.

“We don’t need him hunting down Solas and getting himself killed.” Taash confirms it with her own hard look at Neve. Lucanis rubs at his jaw and shuts his eyes at the sharp pain that jolts through it. What made Spite take over? He doesn’t recall going to sle-

“Get the dagger!” The line — one that comes with blurred images of bright red and the smell of metal — echoes in his head. He remembers being thrown back. From what? He squeeze his eyes shut and turns away from the others, so they wouldn’t see the confusion flittering across his paled skin. His heart begins pounding, his muscle tensing; Lucanis stands on the edge of a watery memory, desperately trying to get a clear view of what he was seeing or where he was.

“Lucanis?” Neve sounds like she's shouting from the other end of a tunnel.

There’s a crushing force pressing down against him, a fierce wind lashing out at him and throwing dirt and debris against his cheeks; it burned. He could only push himself to his hands and knees. He used one hand to block the blinding light trying to catch sight of-

“Rook! Get the dagger, Rook!” It’s a sudden shift that has his cheeks and arms running cold, and his heart coming to a dead stop from its hammering beat. There’s a flash of her long burgundy locks whipping in the wind, her hand latching around the hilt of the dagger – a swell of triumph in his chest because he won, he stabbed and killed the elvan god Ghilan’nain, and he smiled – and then her scream tears through his head.

“Where’s Rook?” Lucanis’ voice is drawn tight, his hand reaching out to stop Neve from stepping closer to him. He can feel and hear Spite fighting for control; bellowing that he gets her out. If he loses control again, he fears what Spite will do if they were to step between him and his goal: deny the Dreadwolf, kill Fen'Harel.  “Where is Isehari, Neve?” He pushes as the silence persists

“You don’t remember?” The mage’s voice is full of a pity that Lucanis can’t stand to hear. Why pity him? His flaring eyes dart to Neve’s, where the fire within him is immediately extinguished at the watery look she gives back. She wears a slack brow over downturned and wobbling lips. For the stoic Neve to have that look on her lovely features; Lucanis’ eyes flutter at the burn in them.

“What, Neve?” He grinds out, impatiently looks to the other for answers. Ghilan’nain is dead, Rook had the dagger. His gaze pleads with Neve to tell him what he doesn’t remember.

“After you killed Ghilan’nain and Ise grabbed the dagger, a tear occurred in the Veil… She was pulled into the fade, and – and,” Neve begins a pace, “we don’t know what went on in there, but it was the same at Solas' ritual, except this time Solas came out and…” She stops and surrenders her hands in front of herself. “And Isehari didn't.”

“So…” Lucanis blinks at the others. So, she’s trapped in the fade? Trapped in the prison that ancient mages, so powerful they were considered gods, couldn’t escape themselves for thousands of years? It digs up the suffocating feelings he thought he’d buried with Zara. Feeilngs that made him slam his fists against his cell walls, made him pace and scream and tear at his hair; feelings that he's smothered a thousand times before. He heaves in a sudden and deep breath, burying the corners of his lips into his cheeks.

“She’s imprisoned in the fade.” Taash does him the favor of saying it for him. He swallows thickly and focuses to keep his legs under himself. Lucanis reminds himself to count his breaths, deep and slow, until the pounding in his ears subsides.

“Thank you, Taash.” Lucanis nods to them. “Can we get her out?” Taash’s eyes flick to Neve, piercing into the mage.

“The question of the hour.” Lucanis raises his brow at Taash’s words and then takes in the closed off stance they hold toward Neve. The tucked chin, arms crossed over their chest, feet a shoulders width apart. He could cut the air between them like butter; the hard stares he’s finally taking note of making his feet shift.

“Am I missing something?” The assassin asks. Neve hums at him and holds her hand out to Taash.

“Oh, yes indeed!" Neve motions towards the dragon hunter, "Taash was enlightening me on how I don’t care about Isehari.” Neve’s voice is hard, and a tight-lipped smile returns to her face. Taash rolls their eyes.

“Neve…” Harding’s voice is shaking with nerves. Lucanis can see it on her round face, in the flush of her cheeks and her darting eyes, the way she holds her hands out in front of her as if she’s trying to calm a wolf. He imagines she feels that she is, somewhat, sandwiched between the towering form of Taash and the cool look Neve is giving. He’d be on edge too. “I don’t think Taash means it that way.”

“I do.” They don’t waste a beat.

“How can you say that?” Neve scoffs. Lucanis’ trained ear picks up the strain in the investigators tone. He looks back to Taash.

“Not really sure how ‘let’s leave Rook to rot in the fade’ exactly says you care about her.” Taash narrows their gaze. Neve throws her hands out and shakes her head. Lucanis holds his hand up and shakes his head.

“Wait – we’re considering leaving her?” Taash shrugs.

“I’m not.”

“I didn’t say that Taash!” Neve’s voice is raising. She takes a step closer to Taash, and Lucanis moves forward instinctively. He joins Harding in standing between the two and watching their every movement. What the pair would do — with Taash being triple the size of both of them, and Neve a force to be reckoned with — he isn’t sure. “I’m just saying that Elgar’nan is still out there. We need to deal with him.”

“Not without Rook.” Taash stands their ground. Lucanis is inclined to agree with them, too.

“Taash, not even Solas – an ancient elven god — could escape that prison. What makes you think we can get Rook out?” Neve’s voice comes out softer this time, almost as if she’s pleading with Taash.

“If we can’t, then Rook will.”

“Rook is just Rook, Taash. She’s not even a mage. What can she do?” Lucanis flinches at her words; he can see Neve recoiling at them herself. The dragon hunter’s hands find purchase in their hair as they begin pace around. “What do you expect her to do?”

“I don’t know!” Taash cries, tearing their hands from their hair and turning back to Neve. The tears reddening their eyes makes the mage draw back and swallow the other words she was poised to spew. “I don’t know, Neve. But Rook finds a way. She always finds a way.”

“And if we take the time to get her out? Elgar’nan will decimate everything in the meantime. Rook won’t have a home to even come back to.” Neve stops. As do the rest.

“If she can come back.” Harding’s head falls.

“You too?” Taash’s expression falls. “You’d turn your back on her?” Harding looks to her hands, head falling a little, and shoulders slumping forward. “No! I-“ Harding’s lip wobbles, but she steels herself against the judgement pouring from Taash with a deep and quick breath, “People are dying, Taash. We can't ignore that.” They only grunt back to Harding and then turn away, putting distance between themselves and the rest. “Varric brought us together to stop the world from falling apart. That’s what I intend to do.” Harding’s voice is soft. Lucanis’ heart pounds in his head. He sees where Neve and Harding are coming from… But…

“I can’t…” Lucanis’ voice breaks as soon as he starts. His head falls. Heaving in deep breaths, he tries to find the right words.

Does he want the world to burn? No. Of course not! But… He almost doesn’t care, with Isehari gone. The last time he fought a god with something weighing on his mind like this, he failed. He doesn’t get to fail twice. Not this late in the game, not with Elgar’nan on the cusp of breaking this world entirely…

“I can’t do this without Rook.” Lucanis’ words are rushed, and he’s positive he’ll never be able to get them out so evenly again. “It’ll be Weisshaupt all over again. I cannot do this, knowing she is trapped in there.”

“I don’t like it either, Lucanis, but what other choice do we have?” Neve reasons. “We don’t have the dagger, we don’t know anything about the rituals to open the prison, or where to look for rook, or how to find her; if she’s even still alive.” He takes in a sharp breath.

“She’s alive.” His words are hard, but his eyes are pleading. Eyes begging Neve to never utter those words again, or he may wither away to nothing. Her rich, chocolate eyes keep locked with his, steadily, before she sighs and turns away from him with a shake in her head.

“If I might…” Emmrich’s quiet and smooth voice, and the only person in the room who still seems to have a grip on even a thread of reason, finally breaks the silence he’s been keeping, “Rook has been gone for approximately four hours… We have done nothing but argue in the meantime.”

Lucanis didn’t realize it’s been so long since everything happened. It’s been a blink of an eye between now and when he saw Rook grab the dagger. Part of him deflates and he repeats those words to himself; it’s only been four hours, and Lucanis feels he’s already at death’s door…

“Yeah. All over bullshit, too.” Taash snorts over their shoulder at them. “We shouldn’t even have to argue this.”

“It’s not-“ Harding comes to an abrupt halt at Emmrich’s raising hand, the jewelry adorning him clanking together.

“Come now. We’ve been making circular arguments.”

“Because Taash won’t listen!” Neve cries. “Everyone else can see reason.”

“This isn’t about seeing reason! This is about being there for a friend that’s never let us down.”

“Oh?” Neve tilts her head toward them. Lucanis can already guess what she means — they’ve talked it over again and again — before it comes out of Neve’s mouth in a cool tone, “What was Minrathous?”

“Minrathous wasn’t just Rook’s responsibility.” There’s a glean in Taash’s eye, one that has Lucanis moving closer to them.

“Taash is right on this, Neve.” Lucanis pitches into the conversation. “I thought we worked past that…”

“I know that Rook made a hard call… But…” Neve crosses her arms over herself. “Lucanis you’ve seen my home now. You all have. I fully believed that Isehari would come through for me that day… So, forgive me if I don't feel the same about it.”

“Four hours and eight minutes we’ve been arguing.” Emmrich sighs. “Rook would have this cleared up in no time, wouldn’t she?” There’s a distant look in his eye when he says it, and a melancholy smile taking up his lips. Isehari does have a nose for trouble; she somehow shows up as soon as words started getting tense. She came with a smile and disarming green-blue eyes curved and sparkling. It’s like she sucked all their anger directly out of them. Then, she’d play peacekeeper.

“She did have a knack for peace keeping, didn’t she?” Harding gives a light laugh…

There’s a long silence after that. One that’s needed after the last twenty-four hours. He takes that time to sit down; the others soon follow. Every inch of Lucanis’ body runs numb with fatigue, his heads spinning, and his stomach twists. When’s the last time any of them have eaten? He’s still got blood dried on his gloves, and a cut on his arm he really should patch up. The others don’t fare much better than him. All disheveled, covered in blood, bruises, and dirt.

“Listen…” Lucanis leans forward. “We’re all exhausted. We need to clean ourselves up and eat something.”

“That’s an excellent idea!” Emmrich says. The assassin stands quickly and nods to the others before darting out of the lighthouse doors.

~*~

Dull eyes stare back at him. Shallow pools of earthy brown; pupils blown a little wide, the whites irritated, and the skin beneath them reddened and purple. They reflect nothing. He looks into them, and he sees nothing; feels nothing; can read nothing.

Gaze turns back down to the basin in front of him. He watches his hands turn through the cold water, barely feeling it shift against his calloused palms, and then considers how the firelight flickers off the ripples in the bowl, or the water dipping off his hands. His hands. They turn in front of him, and he examines the scarred knuckles on his right hand, the hardened skin on his palm; these are the hands that have taken a thousand lives, hands that he cooks with, the hands he used to brush Rook’s hair back from her eyes and tuck it behind her ear.

The hard and blank expression he’s practiced in the mirror falls off, his brow pinches, and his downturned eyes crest with unshed tears. He reached out to her that day without thinking – on instinct, because he couldn’t see her eyes – and took up the soft tresses that had fallen over her shoulder; her wide eyes had shot up to him and frozen him in place, hand stopping at the corner of her jaw before he quickly yanked it away. His heart was pounding, every inch of his body thrummed, he was on fire; he felt alive.

His heart beats the pace of a dirge now. His limbs are numb, and he is cold. Muscles aching at every movement, the assassin splashes water over his face and rubs at his quaking expression, until the sob swelling in his chest subsides and he can iron his expression out once more. The icy water on his face puts his feet a little flatter on the ground. He lets his head hang.

Rook is gone… She… Isehari is missing.

“Find. Rook.” Those words have been Spite’s mantra since Lucanis has come to. “She was torn away. Get her back!” Mierda, Spite knows no rest. It’s exhausting, ignoring the same thing being screamed and grunted every so often. “Ripped and torn from us!” Lucanis’ eyes flick up to the brown ones before him, and he meet’s the purple flash just behind the pupils with a wave of fresh determination hardening in his heart and setting in a frown on his lips:

He will get Rook back. At the very least, Solas will answer for his transgressions against Ise.

Lucanis steps back into the dining hall and pulls the tray holding the coffee he brewed along with cups, sugar, a small pitcher of sweetened milk, and a small jar of cinnamon off the counter… No one but Ise puts cinnamon in their coffee; he gave her a strange look the first time she followed him to the market one day to purchase a small jar of cinnamon and sweetened milk... He’s kept it stocked since.

He leaves the cinnamon on the tray and turns to Manfred, who stands close at his side, hissing his eagerness to help.

“Take this to the others, please.” The spirit takes up the tray – Lucanis imagines if Manfred could smile, his lips would be stretching from ear to ear, the way he bounces about – and scuttles toward the door. The assassin returns his attention to the assortment of foods he’s prepared, counting the plates and utensils twice, before taking up the dishes and realizing he’ll have to make two trips; the plate of fruits and the puff pastries that Harding always takes two of.

“Here… I’ll help.” Harding’s voice is quiet and sudden; he almost didn’t hear her approaching.

“Thank you.”

“I’m happy to… I’m not much help in there right now anyways.” Lucanis hums his agreement; he understands. This, he casts his eyes down to the snacking meats, cheese, and sliced bread in his hand, is the best he can do. Isehari is trapped in a lonely desolate place, and all he can do is prepare a decent spread.

Lucanis cannot poison the sky; he cannot stab the veil and force his way into the fade to find her; he doesn’t understand any of that. What he does know is that no one has eaten much of anything in at least eleven hours. No one here has any appetite to eat a meal, but a snack and drink is less daunting.

The others have cleaned themselves up and taken seats in the time that Lucanis has been preparing the food. He sees that the adrenaline has finally left the others systems, just as it’s left him an exhausted mess. Their eyes have fallen lidded, shoulders are slumped forward, defeated. The loud and passionate voices from before have become withdrawn and staggered between drawn out silences.

Emmrich is hunched forward with his forehead pressed to his hands, clasped atop his walking stick; the charcoal gray hair on his head is freshly washed, but unusually displaced. Neve holds her cup out as Manfred pours the coffee with a fascinated hiss at the rising steam. Taash has resumed the same pose as before: leaned back in their chair, arms crossed over their chest, furrowed brow, a frown, a tucked chin, and a withering glare locked on the table. Lucanis sits the snacks in front them, hoping it’ll redirect their attention for at least a minute. He takes up a cup from the coffee tray, and Manfred hops over to him.

“Thanks.” Lucanis’ eye is drawn to the coffee tray as Harding pours a bit of sweetened milk in her coffee. The three cups remaining on the tray catches his attention, and it remains there. One for Davrin, another for Bellara, and the last for Rook.

“Hey…” Neve’s soft voice calls him back. He shakes his head at her questioning gaze.

“Have we gotten anywhere?” Emmrich’s head is shaking before Taash or Neve could fire another back handed word or start up another argument that bordered more on word vomit than actual reasoning.

“We’re just circling the drain, my friend.” The necromancer leans back in his chair. “We can’t come to an agreement.” Lucanis can’t help the twinge of annoyance in his chest. He swallows it into his endless pool of patience and nods instead of snaps at the two stubborn parties glaring at each other.

“Right…” Lucanis grinds out quietly. “We’re not doing anybody any favors while standing here arguing. Not for the people dying by Elgar’nan’s hand,” he levels Neve with a look before turning it onto Taash, “and not Rook. We need to do something.”

“Like Emmrich said before,” Taash begins in a surprisingly civil tone, taking up some of the cheese from the tray, “Rook would’ve had this figured out asap. We need Rook to make the decisions, whether we like it or not. If we go up against Elgar’nan without her, and we can’t come up with a plan on the fly, we’re all dead. And everything was for nothing.”

“Taash, there is so much we don’t know, and not enough time to understand it. Believe me, I want to get Isehari out; I do! But this is so much more than stabbing at the sky and pulling her out.”

“Well, duh. But, if I’m right, didn’t Rook just spend the past few months recruiting fade experts, famous investigators, and assassins? If there’s anyone that stands a chance of helping Rook, it’s us.” Lucanis nods.

“They’re right. It’s not like we have to chose one or the other, right?” Harding sits up on the sofa, and then sits her glass down as her face lightens. “Emmrich, Taash, and Lucanis, you can look into what we’ll need to do to get Rook back, if you can… Neve and I can keep tabs on Elgar’nan. Loosing Ghilan’nain must be somewhat of a setback for him.”

“Or it’s just pissed him off a little more.” Neve mumbles. Harding nods, acknowledging that that could be very true as well. The mage sighs. “You tear open the Veil, and there are going to be consequences.”

“As there always are.” Lucanis finally takes a seat.

“The consequences are something to consider.” Neve reasons. “What we could do by breaking into that prison? It could be catastrophic; we could release more blight, release more demons, or get ourselves killed in the process.” Taash scoffs.

“Rook wouldn’t let any of that stop her if it was any of us in there.” Lucanis is inclined to agree with them. “Rook would find a way. We need to do the same.”

“You’re right. Rook does things that no one expects, and she rarely considers the consequences when the stakes are high. But that’s also the whole reason any of us are here.” Neve cooly says back.

“Neve…” Lucanis shakes his head. “I don’t think it’s fair to blame all of this on Isehari.” The Shadow Dragon blinks and shakes her head.

“Oh! I’m not pointing a finger at her. I haven’t forgotten that I was pushing that beam right next to her. But that doesn’t change that we were reckless… And we released two blighted gods on the world.” Neve’s voice trails off, until she is silent again. Everyone is. Lucanis sighs and begins to run his hand over the fabric of the chair beneath him. Ise always sits here when the team gathers. She was here, in this chair, less than a day ago, and her scent is still fresh. It’s wrapping around him much like a hug. The thought places heavy weight into chest; a feeling that makes his body tense, and ache.

“I…” Lucanis’ voice comes out tight and gravelly, “I will kill as many blighted gods as I need to. Once Rook is safe.” Neve stares at him with an unreadable expression, until she takes her eyes away when she takes another drink of her coffee.

“I know.” They’re all quiet for a bit. “Bell would be far better for this than I am… I want to help Rook,” Neve’s eyes are pointed at Taash, who purses their lips and looks away, ”but I can’t ignore the threat that Elgar’nan poses.” Emmrich’s head falls as he gives a somber nod. 

“Solas has the lyrium dagger.” Harding suddenly announces, bringing the rare burst of momentum they’d found to an abrupt halt. They sit in silence, occasionally taking a drink, occasionally plucking a bite from the assortment of food on the table, and occasionally sighing.

“Elgar’nan and Ghilan’nain made their own dagger. We can do the same, right?” Lucanis suggests. Both Emmrich and Neve stare at the assassin, before they look at each other, considering.

“We could, technically… But the power we would require to make that…” Emmrich looks to Neve and shakes his head, and she only responds with a shrug of her own. “I’m not sure how we would come across that.”

“When the Inquisitor closed the Breach ten years ago, she had to siphon enough mana into the mark to do it… She recruited the rebel mages from Redcliffe… Could we do something similar to that?” Harding asks.

“It could work… I’m not sure where we’d find that many mages."

“We all know a few.” Harding says. “We have connections; let's use them. I should reach out the Inquisitor Lavellan and let her know how things have turned out… She might be able to help with the dagger and recruiting enough mages to help.”

"We should get in contact with Morrigan again… I imagine she’d have some good counsel right now.” Neve adds.

“I agree.” Emmrich has straightened considerably, like a flower that had been without sun for too long, and there's a new brightness in his eye. “In the meantime, I will reach out to Vorgoth and some other associates. I’m hoping I will be able to gather more insight into the fade prison itself.”

“And I’ll see if Isabela can get started on tracking down the materials we’ll need to craft the dagger. If one of you could give me a list, that is.” Taash looks between Neve and Emmrich.

“Of course.” Neve nods to her.

“Any expenses, the Crows will cover. Spare no expense.” Lucanis says to Taash. They grin in turn.

“Well, ‘course I won’t.” Lucanis nods and swirls the coffee in his cup.

"I'll check in with with the Shadow Dragons, see what sort of movement the Venatori have been making. Bellara said she kept notes. I’ll take a look through her things to see if she kept any on the dagger.” Neve sighs, a new sense of calm masking over her features again.

“She and I looked at the dagger extensively together. I have a very basic understanding of it, but Bellara truly is the expert of it all… Her notes will be invaluable” Taash stands slowly and excuses themself to go and clean up. Dread sags into Lucanis’ shoulders, and he rests his head against the back of the chair.

“You’re not doing anything.” Spite’s voice crawls into his head. “Do. Something. Find Rook!” Lucanis rubs at his temple. He’s going to do something alright… He nearly dreads this more than he dreaded taking his first shot at Ghilan’nain.

He must tell Viago.

[rackartyg]

“Flowers? For the Dread Wolf?” Dorian said. “I’d imagine he'd demand blood. A good marrow bone, perhaps?”

Sulahnmi scoffed, but was gentle as she laid the flowers between the front paws of the statue. “According to shemlen tales, the Dalish make a human sacrifice to wake up in the morning and two to go to sleep at night.”

She got to her feet, took a step back, and bowed. Her voice turned wistful. “My clan also makes offerings of jerky, but I don’t have any to hand. We say the tough meat and fragrant spices keep his mouth busy and nose full, so he won’t come after us. But….

The same kind of spiced jerky is brought along by the hunters on long trips away from camp. They often leave some for the Dread Wolf’s statue as the last thing they do before they set off. Is that simply convenience, since we put up his statue at the very edge of camp, or is there something more to it? Sometimes I wonder. We place him there to not have him among us, but also because he keeps away evil spirits, we say.”

She looked up at the underside of Fen'Harel's stone muzzle, staring out over the valley. In tapestries, newer pieces, he was mangy and skinny, cackling or snarling, so twisted he hardly resembled a wolf at all—in stone, older pieces, he was fluffy and well-conditioned, like a hound that curled up each night in his master's lap to be brushed and plied with treats.

“The Emerald Knights fought alongside a wolf companion,” she mused. An impulse to lay a hand on Fen'Harel's shoulder flitted past, but she didn't dare. “And have you noticed how his statues here often flank doorways and such? Like a guardian, almost.”

Still looking up at him, tracing the soft curve of his cheek that someone once had shaped with such care, she said, “Wolves don’t want to be alone. Their packs are their families. In nature, a lone wolf is only on his own because he’s searching for a mate, a new family. Either he finds one, or he succumbs.”

The expression on the statue's face—the long stare out into nothing, over the ruins the shemlen had made of Dirthavaren—struck her as sad, suddenly. She stepped forward and ran a hand down the side of his neck. The stone had been sanded smooth, once, but was rough from lichen, wind, and rain now. Pulse quickening, she pressed her palm flat against his chest, imagining the beat of a mighty heart there.

She took a breath and shook her head, turning away from the statue. She didn't look either of her hangers-on in the face, though. “Ir abelas. The last time I was in the Dales, it was with my clan, as a young child. I only saw the wonder. As an adult, it’s… making me melancholy.”

“A forgivable offence,” Solas offered quietly.

She glanced at him; he had both hands wrapped around his staff, leaning on it a little, and a carefully blank expression on his face. But he refused to be grateful for his lack of argumentation—she had not made him witness this. She picked up her staff from the ground and began to walk back to camp.

“You realise the flowers will simply wilt, and jerky be carried off by actual wolves?” Dorian said dryly, following after.

As she picked her way down the hill, she considered telling him that most sacrifices were like feasts: prayers would be spoken over the cooking by the Keeper, the meal dedicated to the gods, but eaten by the clan. The Creators were locked away, after all—the point was the sentiment. The Dread Wolf was free to come collect his offerings for himself if he wanted, but if his sacred animals got to it first, what was the difference?

But she didn't have it in her to defend herself right now. All she'd wanted was to take one measly little moment to herself, one measly little ritual, without unsympathetic voyeurs. It was too much to ask for, it seemed.

“What a poor god yours is,” she said, “and how miserly his worshippers, to give him only words.”

“We do build some excellent cathedrals for him,” Dorian said wistfully. “You should see the Argent Spire in Minrathous. More gilt than the Golden City in its prime, I'd bet.”

“How ironic, for a building called the Argent Spire,” Solas opined mildly.

“The outside is silver. The heart of it is gold, which, yes, you're absolutely right, over the centuries has been used in far too much, intolerably sycophantic poetry about the Divine.”

“Most of that silver,” Solas said, still mild, “was originally stripped from elven temples after the conquest of Arlathan.”

“Oh,” said Dorian.

Sulahnmi sighed.

[galadrieljones]

Veilguard spoilers ahead!

After seeing images of Solas when he was young, with his full head of hair, I wonder if there will be Samson parallels. Samson was blessed by God with enormous power. When the Angel of the Lord came to Samson's mother to tell her that she was pregnant, he gave her specific rules, as Samson would be born a Nazirite, aka: a person with a special loyalty and connection to God. Most importantly, she was never to cut his hair. He was going to be the one to deliver the Israelites from the hand of the Philistines.

Samson had supernatural strength and power, though he was a man. There are stories of Samson vanquishing a lion, and one where he brandished the jaw bone of a donkey, which he used to slay 1,000 men. Samson was famously betrayed by the prostitute Delilah. He had a playful nature, and his interactions with Delilah communicate a "tricky" and arrogant sensibility. But one night, she seduced him into revealing his power source to her: his hair. Having been compromised by the Philistines, she had her servants remove it as he slept.

While he was nearly sacrificed to Dagon, Samson's hair began to miraculously grow again, as he was so eternally blessed, and he died bringing down the temple upon both himself and his captors. Samson was a judge for the Israelites, one of the last ones in the Book of Judges, and this basically means that he was a major military leader in a time of war and crisis. While we don't know exactly what Solas did yet, back in the days of Elvhenan, there is the suggestion that he was essentially brought into "being" by Mythal, because she needed him to lead. These Samson examples do remind me of Solas, especially because Mythal was the Goddess of Justice, and because Solas, in creating the Veil, did seem to do so as an act of "judgment." Fen'Harel was also the spiritual and military leader of a rebellion.

The story of Samson and the lion is especially interesting. It chronicles the time he slayed a lion with his bare hands in a vineyard, a testament to enormous, supernatural strength. When he came back upon the lion at a later time, it had been colonized by bees, who were making honey. This informed a bizarre riddle, which he coined on his wedding day: "Out of the eater, something to eat; out of the strong, something sweet." Bees do play a role in Inquisition. There is something about bees and Sera, and her strange connection to Solas and the Veil. People used to wonder if Sera had some sort of ancient power inside her, without her knowledge, particularly that of Andruil, the huntress. While I have no theories about that, it's clear that she does have some sort of connection to Solas, even if it's just thematic, to show that all elves are sort of gifted in this way, and all elves are connected to Solas.

In Inquisition, Sera has a War Table mission that revolves around getting special "grenades" which are essentially jars of bees. The mission comes with a little poem:

Know what ruins a party? Bees. I know a man who teaches how to jar them safe but angry. Stingy, no good for honey, but great for throwing! He’s somewhere south.

The "bee" thing is totally random. There's no obvious connotations related to Sera that would suggest a connection to bees. So where did they get that? Of course it could just be for silliness, as Sera is a silly character, but it could also be meaningful. It could be both.

Anyway, the comparison is not perfect, but it's interesting. I don't necessarily think there is a definitive reason Solas lost his hair, and it may just be a thing where they handwave it somehow, but the question is there, and they definitely could use it to characterize his journey. When he lost his hair, was that a part of how he lost his power? Like was he betrayed in some way? Or did he have to make a bargain? Did he lose his hair as he slept in Uthenara? If he did, then why aren't Abelas and the other Sentinels at the Well of Sorrows also bald? Maybe this is just me overanalyzing lol but I find it interesting

[reagan-the-saunders]

"I am so sorry I failed you. There is only one way I can help you now."

[seeker-ophelia]

Nothing in any lore connects my people to the Old God Dragons who became Archdemons.

Spoilers below, you've been warned, heads up, #Long Post

In the rotunda with Solas, you have the options to ask him some questions about Corypheus.

Inky: Tell me about his orb. I would like to know more about the orb he carries. As I said, that must be the means by which he created the breach. I suspect the blast that destroyed the conclave was more accident than anything. The result of unlocking power that had sought release for ages. What I cannot understand is how he managed to survive such an explosion. Inky: (Is the orb Elvhen) You said you believed that the orb is Elvhen? *Solas in the most snooty, condescending tone: I never would have believed a Tevinter mage could unlock such a powerful Relic. It clearly enhances his abilities, giving him access to power he should never have known. Inky: Like the power to control the archdemon? Indirectly, one assumes. Nothing in any lore connects my people (Ancient Elvhen) to the Old God Dragons who became Archdemons.

What? Why wouldn’t it? You got 7 Evanuris (+ Mythal), 7 Old Gods. People wernt stupid. Why wouldn’t you make a connection? THEY ALREADY MADE THE CONENCITON IN THE ASTRARIUMS.

And he doesn't say THERE ISNT or THERES NO CONNECTION… he says NOTHING IN ANY LORE… Did he scrub the lore?

Why would he? To prevent others from trying to ascend to godhood like he had?

Nothing in any lore connects my people (Ancient Elvhen) to the Old God Dragons who became Archdemons.

Sidebar: Im super mad at how a Dalish Inky DOESN’T question him more about this. Who are HIS people? We know at this point Solas does not consider himself Dalish. But he’s not a city elf. So what is he? WHY doesn’t the Inquisitor, especially a DALISH Inquisitor, ask him more about this? It makes me big mad.

And as of the leak today,

We absolutely 100% know that, if the Old Gods were not 100% The Evanuris, they are at last a third the Evanuris.

(OP why you making me do math, why a third? Why not half?)

Lets rewind.

Long ago, when time itself was young, the only things in existence were the sun and the land. The sun, curious about the land, bowed his head close to her body, and Elgar'nan was born in the place where they touched. As a gift to Elgar'nan, the land brought forth great birds and beasts of sky and forest, and all manner of wonderful green things. —From Codex entry: Elgar'nan: God of Vengeance

Lets take this to mean, not the literal birth of the man, but the creation of a God. The Sun bowed his neck (like a dragon neck), to touch the land (like a titan), and the first God was born.

Interesting Thing 1) He just called his clan leader a keeper. But a Keeper is the mage leader of a Dalish clan. We assume this is a dwarf because we find it in the Deep Roads, but this might be an elf. An elf who's whole clan was decimated and is going to join the Qun.

Codex entry: Torn Notebook in the Deep Roads, Section 2 Many of these pages are filled with sketches of elven statues matching the ones found in the area, along with notes and what look like attempts to practice Qunlat: They say the agents of Fen'Harel caused trouble in the Crossroads. I wish I knew. I wish whoever fights in the name of the old wolf was around to fight when the darkspawn took my clan. Mine is not to question. I have chosen the Qun. The Qun will protect me. Rethost: You all protect Rethadim: They all protect Rethsaam: We all protect These statues are older than anything I saw in my days with the clan. The area's dwarven, though. What were the ancient elves doing down here? Mining? Where were the dwarves? Easier to have them mine it. Not a trading post. You don't go into a friend's home, knock over their gods, and put up your own. War? I don't remember any legends about our people fighting the dwarves. Though I remember my Keeper telling a story about how the dwarves fear the sun because of Elgar'nan's fire. A metaphor for the elves of Arlathan driving the dwarves underground? The Qunari like metaphors. I should share that.

Interesting Thing 2) the dwarves fear the sun because of Elgar'nan's fire.

Codex entry: Dwarven Inscriptions: Hissing Wastes Fairel, Paragon, fled from the strife his brilliance created, the strife that destroyed thaigs, sundered houses, from weapons that clan used against clan. His own clan and his two sons followed Fairel to the pitiless surface, the surface where they would hide from the war that took their home.

"Oh yeah, I remember that. Fuck I hated the Hissing Wastes."

Codex entry: A Journal on Dwarven Ruins (Excerpt) … The statues here were chiseled thousands of years ago, I'm sure of it. … The writing talks about "the sad parting from the Stone." … … It's a Paragon. The man who lead the people here, who built this city, was master smith Paragon Fairel…. ... I was tracing heraldry etched on a wall when I noticed pictures of weapons with winged lizards worked into the decoration. I spent the rest of the day translating the inscriptions. This verse was apparently passed down through Fairel's house, through his father to his father's father and so on for hundred of generations: "From the Stone, have no fear of anything, but the stone-less sky betrays with wings of flame. If the surface must be breached, if there is no other way, bring weapons against the urtok, and heed their screams." "Urtok" means "dragon." Why was it part of an ancient crest? Why were these dwarves so worried about a monster they'd never see that they worked it into their weapons? This place becomes more impossible each day.

Lets Assume then, that the Elgar’nan’s fire, is Urtok fire. Dragon fire. That’s the Sun. It’s the Sun in dwarven legend, AND, it’s the sun in Elgar’dad’s story.

OK. We got Dragon and Titan.

Sun and Stone.

Sun + Stone + Elf/Mage = God?

Blue and Yellow?

Remember the Flemyth/Kieran Scene. (In my headcannon, these are called Navi-bitches)

We KNOW with 100% certainty that Urthemiel is a blue navi-bitch.

I think it is safe to say that all of the Dragon Navi’s are blue because of the last Flemythal scene in DA:I. A blue wisp goes through the mirror (Urthemiel we assume?) and another blue navi-bitch goes from Flemyth to Solas, effectively killing Flemyth.

So let’s assume ALL dragon Navi-souls are blue.

Blue and Gold waves (probably magic). – with the 8 pointed star (right elf) in light green, and the "sun" in red (center).

(I think its safe to assume now the center red sun is either a red lyrium grove or blighted lyrium)

The Gold Titan heart, with Anruils spear.

Only thing I cant figure is why the 8 pointed star in the gold elfs arms is green.

Its not blue, its not gold anymore.

And Corypheus’s orb is red:  (maybe because it got infected with red lyrium/the blight?)

OUR Mark (The Inquisitors Hand) is Green… so maybe when a Titan heart is taken out of the mountain it turns green?

Looks like Corypheus tried to overpower the orb and that’s why it fucked him in the face?

See green and green? And Corypiss is red.

“Dumat! Ancient Ones! I beseech you! If you exist, if you ever truly existed, aid me now!”

And the orb smack-fucks Corypants in the FACE. Get fucked scrub we don’t like your tainted power.

And the orb is green again.

Are ALL orbs green? Or only THIS one?

I mean, basic colour theory tells us that blue and yellow make green, but we already know the old gods were separated from their orbs because of Kierans blue Navi-bitch.

What happened to the rest of them? What happened to the rest of the Blue Dragon Navi’s? Does putting them into a warden and then killing the warden actually kill the blue spirit?

This is a screenshot from Varrics voiceover (Spoiler Alert).

Looks like an orb to me.

And she’s gold. Maybe slightly green.

SO, where does all of this lead.

Five Gold semicircles missing - 5 Blights. 5 Archdemons. 5 Old Gods. 5 of the Evanuris. But we KNOW their Navi's were blue. Why use Gold? [To erase the Elf-Dragon aspect, Solas you sly fox?]

And where are they now?

We can assume Morrigan has a Dragon-Navi. Solas has a Dragon-Navi. That still leaves 3 or 4 (if Solas has Mythals Navi or a different Old God Navi).

... It really really bothers me that the star outside of the titan is green.

“Emerald water of the Fade”? Is it because the fade itself whenever we’ve gone in it is green-ish? Is the Fade just green? Is magic green?

Fuck it lets go full circle.

Nothing in any lore connects my people to the Old God Dragons who became Archdemons.

Ok Solas. Why?

Solas painted the Trespasser Frescos. He catalogued the evidence of the Evanuris Sundering Titans.

WHY?

Why “remember” the killing of the Titans and NOT that the Old Gods were the Evanuris?

He wanted the Evanuris gone because he wanted to free the elves from the tyranny of the Evanuris (I’m assuming they were using slaves for blood magic-that’s another lore rant). He was angry that they “killed” Mythal.

Solas wants Him freeing slaves, and Him removing vallaslin, remembered. He wants his creation of the veil to be remembered, but he doesn’t want anyone to know the Old Gods = Locked up Evanuris Navi’s.

WHY?

Why show people essentially how to become gods, sundering titans, but ignore the dragon part?

Honestly I don’t know at this point my brain hurts. And I have so many questions now.

Where are the rest of the Evanuris?

Where my Shadow Twins at?

Looking way more likely now that Ghilly is actually Anduil-Ghilly Hybrid, w/ a bit of parasitic-twin-syndrome going on.

Sylaise and June? I have so many questions for you, we didn’t even get to meet you.

WHERE ARE YOU?

Yavana is an infamous Antivan (biiitch we're going there in DATV) Witch of the Wilds known as the "Beast of the Tellari swamps".

Yavana Quotes:

"The blood of dragons is the blood of the world."

(to Alistair) Your heart beats with the old blood, as well. Where do you think it comes from? It sings of a time when dragons ruled the skies. A time before the Veil, before the mysteries were forgotten. Can you hear it?"

Alistair: "You and Morrigan and Flemeth...all you do is manipulate and lie."

Yavana: "That is our craft, but not our purpose. Mankind destroys without understanding, yet I preserve."

Yavana, my girl. Hunny. Girlboss. What are you preserving sweetie? And WHERE ARE THEY NOW THAT ALISTAIR KILLED YOU? WHO HAS THE NAVI’S, YAVANA??

And WHY is it so damn important for SOLAS Mythal to stop the rest of the world from figuring it out?

[theodosiani]

Ghilan'nain, abundantly aware of her own mortality in the face of her archdemon's death, decides to endeavor into an experiment. She and Elgar'nan have their eyes upon Rook and the others, have witnessed the fragment of Mythal within the crossroads. Heard of Solas' actions in absorbing the one gamboling about Thedas, playing with mortals. It was an idea, of course she didn't want to die to accomplish it, but she is more creative than Mythal in such ways.

She experiments briefly on prisoners and followers, learning how to rip a soul apart but keep the body alive, then the mind, the power couldn't quite be salvaged. Yes, a fraction exists and can be strengthened to a degree but never to it's former glory. At least not working on the shortened timeframe with which she is faced.

Had she more time she is convinced she could do it, split herself in twain and stay glorious. Had she the resources of their golden age perhaps she could even do so on her accelerated timescale. Alas, instead she has the blight and her da'fen. Not the perfect vessel, she would have preferred to create one from scratch, but time is of the essence. Besides, if she dies this way it means in some small way she will enjoy seeing the sorrow stretch across Fen'harel's face when he is reunited with sweet little Sulhan'harel and senses her lurking in the girl's very marrow.

She's already grafted a bit of her own flesh into the girl, isolated carefully with her magic within the fine limb. It will make for a smoother latch, Ghilan'nain hypothesizes this is the reason for the witch of the wilds' many daughters. Perfect donors, so to speak their flesh ready to absorb the power and their lives molded to make them worthy.

She cannot make little Sulhan'harel worthy, but she has thought all along that the child shows promise. She could have made a fine evanuris of the arts, no match for June and his creations or Sylaise and her architecture but they had always lacked a creature of music. Perhaps she was insufficient for the role now, but Ghilan'nain firmly believes she could have molded her, guided her to a place alongside herself and Elgar'nan. Lesser of course, but still beside them, a family.

Ghilan'nain removes a splinter of herself, she is not so arrogant as to believe she can get away with finishing rebuilding their new empire at half strength. No, not with sweet Razikale so violently taken from her, the time to enthrall another dragon, to raise an archdemon is not possible. So instead she takes the smallest fraction of her power, or herself and slips it into Sulhan'harel.

The girl barely fights her, knowing her place and succumbing so well. It is a shame that Solas got to her first, she would have made a fine priestess. So loyal and full of devotion wasted on shemlen lost beyond the wretched veil and Fen'harel. She does not question when Ghilan'nain pushes the idol into her hands, a fragment of her own creativity and love. It will take well to Sulhan'harel's demeanor, she thinks that giving the girl much else will crack her mind and she'll be useless then.

Sweet, gentle Suhlan'harel now her little locket, no matter how the dread wolf leads his merry band of fools he will not be rid of her. Not unless he has the drive to murder his own daughter--She has not quite decided whether she believes he won't but the pain it will bring him if he does? Well, she will watch it through young, green eyes.

[dreadful-sunflowers]

Thinking about a Veilguard playthrough where Rook is the child of Lavellan who wasn't supposed to join her with the Inquisition but snuck out and tagged along anyway because ~*~teenage rebellion~*~ (and also that's his mom of course he's going to follow). So he gets a front row seat to the unfolding of the events of Inquisition and Solavellan and hey! Yeah! He's all for it. And he gets along with, even looks up to Solas. What kind of young mage wouldn't look up to someone so in tune with the Fade and Spirits and who had so many stories to share? And then Crestwood happens and he can't understand why Solas would throw away something that looked like it was going so well. Rook is angry, feels let down, abandoned. And when the truth comes out and he finds out Solas is Fen'Harel, he's even more angry. But mostly he's hurt, and sad. And he sees that his mother is, too. So he decides to do what he can, both to find Solas and to stop him from tearing down the Veil. So he goes to Arlathan, the one place he can think of that might have some answers that no one else can give him. He joins the Veil Jumpers, makes some friends, tries to find anything he can that will help. And then here comes Varric! And Lace! And they have Solas' trail. Varric doesn't want him to come, not at first. It's dangerous, and Lavellan would skin him alive if he let anything happen to her kid, but Rook won't stay back, regardless of what anyone says. And when the group finds Solas? When Solas looks down the stairs and sees not only a friend, but a young man who looks so like his mother and who Solas once allowed himself the daydream of raising properly?

Oh, yeah. The angst is gonna angst.