#making solas shed a tear

[einaudis]

(...) Cuando Susy murió en sus brazos, Nando no pudo derramar una sola lágrima, aunque nunca en su vida experimentó una sensación tan desoladora (...) A partir de entonces, con su mundo desbaratado, Nando comprendió que debía comenzar a construirlo de nuevo. Como no había vivido los primeros días de aclimatación a la montaña, lo suyo fue súbito y fulminante: "Nadie vendrá por nosotros, estamos solos". Tambaleándose, encorvado, y arrastrando los pies, salió afuera del fuselaje. Moncho Sabella lo miró sorprendido. Nando observó las montañas insondables, con rocas grises y negras incrustadas aquí y allá: "Hay que irse", balbuceó. Moncho creyó que estaba delirando. (...) (...) Nando Parrado se focalizó en una sola idea, que ya venía elaborando desde tiempo atrás: salir caminando cuanto antes (…) sentía cada vez más intensamente una imperiosa necesidad de huir del fuselaje, para acompañar a su padre. Él lo vivía como una fuga. Sabía claramente que si pensaba en todo lo que había perdido (su madre, su hermana, sus amigos) no lo lograría. Entonces decidió abroquelarse y convertirse en un animal acorralado que quiere escapar. *** (...) When Susy died in his arms, Nando could not shed a single tear, although he had never in his life experienced such a desolate feeling (...) From then on, with his world in shambles, Nando understood that he had to start building it again. As he had not lived through the first days of acclimatization to the mountain, his decision was sudden and fulminating: "Nobody will come for us, we are alone". Staggering, hunched over, and shuffling his feet, he stepped out of the fuselage. Moncho Sabella looked at him in surprise. Nando looked at the unfathomable mountains, with gray and black rocks embedded here and there. "We have to leave", he stammered. Moncho thought he was delirious. (...) (...) Nando Parrado focused on a single idea, which he had been working on for some time: to walk away as soon as possible (…) he felt more and more intensely an imperious need to flee from the fuselage, to accompany his father. He experienced it as an escape. He knew clearly that if he thought of all that he had lost (his mother, his sister, his friends), he would not make it. So he decided to buckle up and become a cornered animal that wants to escape. LA SOCIEDAD DE LA NIEVE (2008) - PABLO VIERCI

Hay varias razones que me motivaron o me influyeron para preparar mi huida con tanta angustia y premura. Yo podía ver el guión de la película completa, y sabía que más tarde o más temprano se terminarían los cuerpos y tendríamos que usar el de mi madre y mi hermana. Imposible. Había que huir antes que eso sucediera. Después estaba mi padre, que pensó que había perdido a toda su familia en la montaña, pero como yo estaba vivo, tenía que regresar para decírselo. En una situación tan desmesurada, en lo único que podía pensar era en mi familia. No existía otro objetivo. Mi padre y mi hermana mayor eran la familia que me quedaba. *** There are several reasons that motivated or influenced me to prepare my escape with such anguish and haste. I could see the script of the completed film, and I knew that sooner or later we would run out of bodies and we would have to use my mother's and my sister's. Impossible. We had to run away before that happened. Then there was my father, who thought he had lost his whole family on the mountain, but since I was alive, I had to go back to tell him. In such an unconscionable situation, all I could think about was my family. There was no other goal. My father and my older sister were the family I had left. FERNANDO PARRADO (LA SOCIEDAD DE LA NIEVE - PABLO VIERCI (2008))

LA SOCIEDAD DE LA NIEVE | SOCIETY OF THE SNOW (2023) dir. J. A. BAYONA

#filmgifs #filmedit #moviegifs #movieedit #La Sociedad de la Nieve #Society of the Snow #Fernando Parrado #filmtvcentral #filmtvdaily #fyeahmovies #dailyflicks #worldcinemaedit #userstream #dasakuryo #mine* #mygifs #movies* #lsdln* #I thought I had spent 102983902 hours making the gifs (because subtitles) #and THEN I started working on the caption and that took me 12093843290 more hours and now I'm not even sure about posting this #because the caption is endless but that book is so interesting I feel like quoting every word #plus if you find any mistake you can tell me but be nice because I'm tired I probably won't read that caption ever again #it gave me gifmaker ptsd if that even exists #anyway #this set wouldn't leave my mind so I HAD to make it. now I can move on to the next one

[psalacanthea]

I have no reason for this.  banters.

...

Blackwall:  Solas says you cheat at cards.

Zevran:  Such things have been alleged before.  I make no claims one way or the other, but if you are dissatisfied, we can always play again.  I take great pride in providing satisfaction.

Blackwall:  I think I’d just like my coin back, if it’s all the same.

Zevran:  Now, now, now.  Your coin was won fairly.

Blackwall:  Won fairly?  Through cheating?

Zevran:  Perhaps you were simply unaware of all the rules of the game.  A common mistake.  Next time you will know better, hmm?  And perhaps have a better chance of success!

Blackwall:  Or perhaps I’d just like my coin back.

Zevran: (Sighs.) If only we could find a way to understand one another.  Truly tragic.

Blackwall:  You spent it already, didn’t you.

Zevran: Oh my yes.

...

Iron Bull: So let me get this straight.

Zevran:  If you must.  I generally prefer to avoid it, myself.

Iron Bull: You know the Arishok.

Zevran:  Yes!  Ah, he loved my jokes.  Always laughing together, him and I.  Bosom companions, one might say.

Iron Bull:  Okay, now I know you’re full of shit.

Zevran:  We traveled the lands together, fighting Darkspawn, learning about our differences, but more than that.  So much more.  We learned that in the end, we are more alike than we are different.  Ah, so touching.  I may shed a tear.

Iron Bull: (Laughs.) He hated you, didn’t he.

Zevran:  Only on the surface.  Deep down he really did like me quite a bit.

Iron Bull:  Well, you are still alive.

Zevran: And it takes some work, let me tell you!

#Dragon Age Inquisition #banter #Zevran Arainai #Blackwall #Iron Bull

[awkwardgtace]

ooo are there any widely known myths about the new gods? Like being in disguise to teach humans lessons or fighting off beasts that threaten humans' safety?

I got so busy I didn't get to answer this!! finally got time though.

Doing all of this gave me a fun new ask game. Send me myths you'd tell of my gods! (plus delphia if you want)

I would say there aren't a ton of myths about the new gods (our cast). More horror stories about the old gods. Each has at least one though.

Luna: If a child is lost alone at night, the god of the night sky will come to guard them and lead them home. Protecting all from the monsters in the darkness.

Sola: When the goddess of the morning sky is happy the clouds will show images of kindness and beauty. When she is sad the clouds will be limp and lifeless. No love shown in their care.

Ryder: The god of war works to spare those who have battled. Attending to the warriors losing their lives at the end of a long battle. The battle could be with others or their own mind. He recognizes their strength.

Felix: They say if you are struggling in life, pray to the god of prosperity. If your request is earnest he might shed tears and offer the gems to you. A gift that would keep you safe for a year.

Alessia: If the goddess of protection arrives, the guardians will flock to her. It means the world is at peace, if there is any danger she will save you. If you see a guardian you've been promised luck and safety in the coming days.

Ash: The deity of nature has almost never been seen. If you meet them, nature itself will keep you nourished for the rest of your days.

Rhys: The god of love is often glimpsed with a small being. They say the being bears the grudges the god does not act on. Beware angering either or your relationships may suffer. Offer true sincerity and you may be guided to those who truly love you.

Dabria: Lady Death is trapped in her domain by lord life. He's jealous of her kindness. If you hear her voice or glimpse her when she manages to visit the world of mortals, your end will be blissful.

Vitus: Lord Life, the leader of the gods. A monster among them who controls them. If you meet his gaze you're promised struggles and pain for all your days. Only relieved if you meet a young pale woman, with hair of ebony and eyes of emerald. She will relieve life's curse.

There is one myth shared among all the gods:

They say the gods have picked a mortal to favor. Saving them from death time after time. Life gifting them eternal youth. The sky twins catering the sky to their whims, however it would make them smile. The goddess of protection sending all her guardians to keep the mortal safe. The deity of nature following them to grow whatever the mortal wants. The god of prosperity showers them with gifts, day after day after day. Finally the god of war, starting and stopping the wars at the mortals request. They say this mortal is kind. They say they're beautiful. They say the mortal looks of death. They say they are the child of life and death, punished for crossing their domains into one. They say the mortal will always return to where they've died... Never leaving those who killed them forget. All gifts from the gods rescinded until the mortal is once more happy.

#awkwardanswers #fun idea #i should actually make like a bunch of myths #honestly if anyone has ideas for myths feel free to send them in! #seerandthegodsau

[in-arlathan]

The Rebel's Ascension, Ch. 30*

» Read on AO3 » Start from the beginning

––––

Pairing: Solas x Female Elvhen OC Rating: Explicit Tags: Angst, Drama, Intrigue, and lots of Elven Lore Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence (Abuse, Torture), Explicit Sexual Content Word count: ~8,400 (~190,000 total) Status: Work In Progress

→ Full list of tags and warnings on AO3 → NSFW chapters will be marked with *

NEW CHAPTER ALERT!

This chapter has it all: Intrigue, strategy, and some good old sugar-coated spice. Because I love Solas and Felani and they deserve some happiness. Let's go!!

––––

Chapter 30: The Change to Come*

-3,700 Ancient

Solas woke to the sound of cawing.

The sun was not yet out and only the dim light of the lanterns that hung overhead illuminated the room. He blinked, pulling his mind from the depths of the Beyond, and looked around. There wasn’t much to make out in the faint light. The morrow was at least a few hours away and a thick blanket of clouds blocked most of the moonlight outside. Beyond the arched windows, shadows moved as smoothly and as swiftly as wisps of magic. He waited for a long moment, listening to the surrounding darkness, but only heard the howling wind down in the inner courtyard of the keep and the distant chatter of the sentinels keeping the night watch on the battlements. Perhaps the sound had been part of a dream he had forgotten upon waking…

Curious…

Before he could determine what could have roused him from his dreams, Felani stirred in his arms. A quick glance told him she was still vast asleep, which was a good thing. She had been haunted by nightmares for the greater part of the night, so he was happy she had finally found some peace of mind.

They had spent much of the previous evening talking about the wrong turns their lives had taken and how they had both failed to see that the dream of Elvhenan had been twisted into a perverted version of itself by the rulings of the Evanuris. Felani had shed endless tears about her service to June and the things she had tried to do in his name and honor. Even with Solas’s assurance that she was not to blame for her master’s prerogative and that June had always enjoyed threatening and exercising full control over her mind and body, Felani wouldn’t let the matter go easily. She had practically tortured herself reliving all the painful memories that paved the path of her life.

» Keep reading on AO3

#dragon age #fanfiction #dragon age inquistion #solas #solas x oc #solas x female oc #solas x elvhen oc #elvhenan #arlathan #🍋🍋🍋 #my work

[noire-pandora]

Day 1: Arlathven

Elluin meets Abelas as she readies herself to speak the truth to the Dalish gathering at the Arlathven. Also on my Ao3. Kudos, comments and reblogs are appreciated and welcome. Thank you! For @dalish-appreciation-week​

The clearing, surrounded by trees as old as time, echoed with the voices of dozens of Dalish elves speaking at once. Some sang, some exchanged vocal greetings and some even shed tears. Elluin watched all this with a small, tired smile on her lips, while her right hand - her only hand now - clutched the hem of her dark green cloak until her knuckles turned white. She could not help but allow the warm happiness to envelop her soul, but her mind beckoned her to be vigilant and prepare for the announcement that would change their world: Fen'Harel has returned and plans to plunge her life into the merciless waves of chaos and uncertainty.

With a groan, she left the comfort of the tree she had been leaning against and slowly, with every muscle and bone in her tired legs complaining as she moved, made her way to the centre of the gathering. There, with Vallaslins marked by the wrinkles of time, the eldest Dalish waited for everyone to find their place. While the first day of the Arlathvhen was about all the clans arriving and settling , Elluin had no time to waste. Her spies, the few who had agreed to continue working for the now retired Inquisitor in her mad quest to stop a god, had warned her that Fen'Harel's people were making their way to the place where the Arlathvhen was being held. For what reason, she could only guess, but her stomach clenched every time the thought crossed her mind.

One of the elders, a woman with a bright smile and even brighter eyes, beckoned to Elluin and patted the ground invitingly, but before she had a chance to nod in agreement and join the elders she had played tricks on as a child many years ago, a bright flash of light stopped her in her tracks. From across the clearing, the sun's rays shone on the golden armour of three tall elves who watched the gathering with deep frowns. Elluin's breath caught as she recognised the garments and for a few awful, wonderful seconds she hoped that Fen'Harel himself graced them with his presence.

A bitter, barely audible snort left her lips as it became clear the three elves - two men and a woman - were not Solas. Why would he drag his almighty ass into the middle of a dusty, grassy clearing to wet the feet that supported his inflated ego?

Anger welled up in her chest, and Rage - now completely fused with her - made the fire flare in her fingers, but she pushed it back the next second before the old elves decided she was their enemies. She marched towards them, ignoring the cheerful greetings of the people she loved. Her ears rang as her heart beat wildly against her ribs, as if it wanted to leap out and fight the elves who dared to appear in their golden armour.

"Why are you here?" hissed Elluin to one of the men. Her nails dug into the flesh of her hands as she recognised the features of his face, burned into her memory months ago. Abelas.

"Inquisitor," he bowed to her, armour clanking. "It is an honour to see you again."

"Spare me the titles. Why are you here?"

Abelas glanced over her head and eyed those present with lips pressed into a thin line, eyebrows still furrowed. "He sent us here."

"Why? To kill us all before we have a chance to fight back?"

"Inquisitor, is that how you see us?" His gaze drifted back to her face, in which she recognised a hint of indignation, but she did not care for his pride. "We have come to ask for help."

"Help?" Elluin choked on the word and spittle caught in her throat as her muscles refused to work.

"Yes," he nodded and clasped his hands behind his back, a gesture that pierced Elluin's heart with the memories it evoked. "He had judged your people harshly, but now he understands their strength and courage. And he wishes to have them as allies, not enemies."

Rage stirred again, the centre of her chest growing red-hot and threatening to burn her clothes and set her on fire. She took two deep breaths, blocking out the reverberations of the days and nights she had spent with Solas in a vain attempt to change his mind about his people. And now, suddenly, he wanted to ally himself with the Dalish?

"Is that so?" she said after a few more seconds of staring at Abelas' face and counting her breaths. "And what made His Highness change his mind?

"You had."

The only sound Elluin could hear was her blood pulsing, racing through her veins, driven by a heart struggling to make peace with Abelas' words. Her heart beat against her ribs like a bird trapped in a gilded cage, with needles pricking her every move. How much more happiness was Solas going to rob her of? Was it not enough that he had stolen her heart and her hand? Did he now have to come and steal her family as well?

"Leave." Elluin whispered through her clenched teeth. Abelas frowned at the distortion in her voice, as if two beings were speaking at once.

"I am one of you, Inquisitor, why am I not allowed here?" Abelas pointed to his Vallaslin branching on his forehead. "Why are you allowed to stay when you have forsaken the marks of your gods and I have not?"

"It's not the same thing, you're here to corrupt my people and-"

"Corrupt? We are here to tell them our truth and ask them to join us if they wish." Elluin opened her mouth to protest, but Abelas continued. "Do you believe your truth is the only real truth? Do you want to decide instead of your people?

Had he struck her in the stomach, she would have felt less pain, but the bitter truth Abelas spoke took away her breath and the conviction to drive Solas' people away, for the three bore the marks of the gods she no longer believed in. Defeated, Elluin moved out of his way. She could not become the people she had fought: those who decided what was truth and what was lies.

Abelas was right. Just as she had the right to be there and speak their truth. Who was she to stop them?

Elluin smiled a bitter smile and looked back to the Dalish, who now began to sing of old times when the long lost language stood on the lips of the world. When magic and the love of the gods were still interwoven. The song changed, the lyrics changed and the people who sang it pleaded for the love of the gods to return and flood them once more.

Elluin choked on the tears she struggled to hold back, for the times they had sung about would return. Faster than they could have imagined. And she had no choice but to fight it.

#dragon age #fanfiction #elluin lavellan #abelas #the dalish #dalish week 2022

[monstersandmaw]

How is your Trevelyan inquisitor in Trespasser? Is he still with Dorian?

Oof, I have so much self-indulgent angst lined up between the end of the main game and the start of Trespasser… Also, THANK YOU for asking about him! Haha. You made a rather miserable evening 100% brighter.

Breif mention of unhealthy alcohol habits, painful breakup (temporary), mental struggles, and physical pain & acquired disability.

Adam is… not doing so well, physically or mentally at the very start of Trespasser. He supported Dorian’s choice to return to Tevinter, but they broke up before he went back, and it left Adam absolutely devastated.

He masked it by throwing himself into sealing leftover rifts and spending as much time out in the field as possible. He was very reckless with his life, but no one except Sara and Bull seemed to notice or really care.

His hand/the anchor is slowly killing him, and he’s in private agony with it. He’s isolated, frightened, and has no idea what to do about it. He wants to disband the Inquisition as soon as possible, and after speaking to Varric at the start of the council, is planning to retreat to his new estate in Kirkwall (he’d been vaguely thinking of buying somewhere in the Free Marches before that to do the same) where he plans to drink (healthy), tinker with his traps and explosives, and retire from private life until the anchor kills him. He knows it’s going to kill him, but he doesn’t like Vivienne much, and he can’t contact Dorian (doesn’t want to bother him) and Solas is nowhere to be found. (His twin sister is a mage, but he doesn’t want to worry her).

The events of Trespasser see his plans change and his life turned upside down again, but he was especially hurt that Dorian didn’t tell him he was going to be at the talks as the ambassador from Tevinter, and seeing him again stirred it all up again. After it’s all over, he and Dorian talk. Tears are shed, and the two vow never to make decisions thinking they know what’s best for the other or their relationship (that was fundamentally why they broke up - Dorian couldn’t allow himself to believe that Adam truly was devoted to him, and Adam thought Dorian was too good for him. Ugh).

After Trespasser, Adam spends a lot of time recovering from his injuries in Kirkwall before acquiring a funky prosthetic from Dagna and joining the Red Jennies, but inevitably heading to Tevinter to help Dorian (while still with the Red Jennies). There’s a lot he can’t do in Tevinter because he’s still relatively well known, but he knows he’s helping Dorian even if it’s just being a welcoming partner at the end of the day… He also might or might not be involved with smuggling slaves out of Tevinter to freedom…

In Tevinter, becomes besties with Maevaris, and the two of them lovingly gang up on Dorian whenever they can.

He almost never goes back to his family in the Free Marches, but he does visit his twin sister when he can, who is now teaching at one of the new colleges of enchanters, and his older sister, who has an estate outside of Val Royeaux.

Thanks for asking! I’ve thought about Adam a lot lately, and you made my evening.

#oof I made my heart hurt #*adam trevelyan #dragon age inquisition #dragon age inquisition trespasser #dragon age trespasser #trespasser dlc

[contreparry]

For DADWC, “Desires are already memories.” seemed like a good prompt for Solas (or whoever strikes you really)?

Sure! I don't write Solas very often, but I ought to put some practice in and work at it! So here's some Solas for @dadrunkwriting!

Solas thought he was prepared when he threw his lot in with the Inquisition. Nothing followed his carefully orchestrated plan, and now he was scrambling to find his footing and bring everything back to order. Find Corypheus. Defeat him. Restrain, then siphon off the magic running wild within that young mage's body, and then- and then. Then everything would be exactly as it should, and he could return to what he was supposed to be doing: fixing his mistakes. It was his one desire, the one thing he wanted- no, needed- to accomplish. Everything he wanted was already there, in his memories. All he had to do was... Solas grimaced and turned his attention to his patient.

The young mage on the straw stuffed mattress groaned and rolled onto her side, curling up into a small ball as the rogue magic pulsed through her arm like an infection. Solas sighed and cast another ward, driving the magic back to the palm of her hand. He couldn't excise it, not without the orb, not without a thousand other things that would make such a procedure possible. The woman's brow smoothed as she drifted into a deeper sleep after a day of feverish tossing and muttering ("Lydia, no, stay, you can't-"). His curiosity was piqued. It would be easy, so easy, to pluck at those memories and dreams and learn what this woman yearned for, but he held back.

Everyone deserved a little privacy. This woman had so little already, her entire world upended while she slept on, unaware of the chaos around her, because of her- Solas wove a minor healing spell and sat back, waiting for any change. It wouldn't matter in the end, a small, cold part of him whispered in the half-light of the shed. When all is said and done she will, in all probability, vanish, destroyed by the very magic and world from his memories that he must resurrect. But she was here now, and if he wanted to tear the Veil down completely, the first step was to keep this one mage alive.

The first step of many, Solas reminded himself when the magic flared to life again, sickly green as poison, and he hadn't even begun his walk. But if it meant returning the world to what it was- everything he desired was already there, in his memories. All he must do is have the determination to see it through to the end.

#da drunk writing circle #my writing

[drakonovisny]

Can you please do who was nervous/shy and who kisses the other awake for both of your couples??☺️

Thank you for the asks! 💝

Who was nervous and shy on the first date

Neria and Solas

During their "first official date" Neria definitely was the nervous one. It was roughly some time after their kiss on the balcony, so she was yet not quite sure of herself. She never believed she'd find a true love, but everything about this felt like it's right, like he's the one. So she was afraid of disappointing him. In return Solas seemed confident as always, hiding a turmoil of emotions bubbling underneath well. He still felt unsure this was a good idea, scared that after finding out the truth she'll push him away, cursing his name, or worse - follow him, tainting her bright gentle spirit in the process. But overall he was exited to spend more time with her, showing his affection more openly now.

Emilia and Alistair

Definetly Alistair. He barely worked up the courage to ask her out in the first place, she's quite an intimidating woman after all. During the date itself he constantly stumbled over his words and blushed. Emilia found it absolutely endearing, especially when his face turned beet-red after a chaste kiss on the cheek.

Who kisses the other awake in the morning

Neria and Solas

It depends on who wakes up first. Usually they spend their time in the Fade together, so they also wake up approximately at the same time. They turned it into a little race. When Neria wakes up first she counts freckles on his face with kisses, until he wakes up, to properly kiss him on the lips. When it's Solas he carefully gives her a few gentle kisses on the lips, before kissing the sleep off of her eyes.

Emilia and Alistair

Emilia. She's the early bird, almost every morning she wakes up first, tenderly watching him while he sleeps for some time, kissing him on the forehead and down along his face to wake him up. On the rare occasions Alistair wakes up first or doesn't sleep at all, he leaves loud smooches all over her face and jaw to hear her laugh first thing in the morning.

#'lost elf theme' came up in my playlist while i was writing the waking up portion about solas and neria and now i'm in tears T_T #and now it's 'lelianna's song' which is completely in elvhen and is about uthenera and i'm imagining neria singing it to everyone #making solas shed a tear #my heart 😭😭😭😭 #thank you for the asks! #da oc ask #da oc #neria lavellan #emilia cousland #solavellan ask #warden/alistair ask #another rogue trevelyan

[theharellan]

weekes once said solas cries at some point during the romance and i have taken that as confirmation that i can make solas cry as much as i want him to

#( ooc ) #[ after wisdom? cries. #before he talks to ian in the grove? cries. #after he talks to ian in the grove? cries. #after he leaves? cries. just. always taking a moment to weep in private before he pulls himself together ] #( headcanons ) #[ i guess. this is mostly just me admitting that i enjoy making solas shed tears ] #[ the two solas moods cryin or wishing he could cry ] #[ i'm exaggerating but let me have this ]

[nerd-elf]

Apologies might never be enough

One shot. It's 5 a.m. and I finally managed to put into words how I wanted the Solavellan ending in Trespasser. I gave up on all the explanations, all the lore about the ancient elves. It's all about closure. Lavellan deserves some closure.

I posted this on AO3 as well, click here to see it.

                                              ***************************

As I cross the eluvian, I hear them talking. In a blink, there’s another statue before me. I gasp in surprise, and that’s when he stops walking, turning to me. He looks determined, yet melancholic. There’s love in his eyes, but I’m sure he won’t falter for a second, he’s ready to sacrifice everything and go on with his plans. We don’t even have to talk. I get it. It’s just too much.

All my emotions are taking over now, there’s no turning back. I quickly come at him, and I see him getting more tense. His frown deepens as he blocks all my attacks, he doesn’t even take a step while doing it. I’m very aware he might turn me into a statue too, but I don’t care anymore. Tears run through my face while I attack with everything I have, focusing all my energy on ignoring the lancinating pain that starts in my left arm and spreads throughout my body.

All I feel is pain, and honestly, I’m tired of it. I can’t forgive him for loving me, yet leaving me alone. He never let me decide, never told me anything, so I could never choose. All I could do was fall deeply, madly in love with him, and watch him go. And after everything we’ve been through, now we’re on opposite sides.

It didn’t have to be this way; we could’ve found middle ground. Still, he wants to do everything alone. He turned his back on me without letting me have a say in the matter. And all my love turned into fury. Now I scream and grunt, coming undone while I try uselessly hit him. I can barely touch the glorious elven god I used to date.

The anchor bursts wildly around my arm, and I growl while trying to at least exploit it’s power to hit it’s creator. He grabs my arm firmly, using his magic to appease the mark. I exhale in surprise, seeing his eyes changing. I’m pretty sure that’s the end. “Please, stop. You’re going to kill yourself.”

Those are the first words he says to me, ever since he vanished. His tone is lower, and much sadder. He is still the polite and kind man I knew, but while to me it passed two years, it’s as if he’s been a decade away. He has completely changed, and now all his being shows the burden the Dread Wolf carries. When I catch my breath, only one thing pops into my mind. “The same.” My voice is as cold as I can make it.

That seems to hit him as if I had slapped him. Good. He’s responsible for all this. He turns his face away in guilt, and releases me. I fall to my knees, exhausted by the pain. He quickly catches me, sitting down and putting me on his lap. I don’t object, still I put myself as far from him as I can. I breathe shakily being so close again. I see his eyes conflicted, as if he’s struggling to not carry me home. Still, I don’t believe him. I can’t tell if I’ll ever believe him again.

Softly, he speaks, keeping his eyes away. “I never meant any of this to happen to you. And I’m aware apologies might never be enough. Still, know that I never lied when I told you how I felt. Your spirit is so wise, so kind, so beautiful, that no matter how hard I tried, I wasn’t able to stop myself from falling in love with you.”

He looks at me and pauses for a second. A glimpse of a grin spreads through his face, as if he is recalling the moments we’ve had. My heart skips a beat when our eyes meet, filling my mind with the thought of memories that seem to be from a thousand years ago. His semblant quickly hardens, and he continues.

“But pursuing that love just made me hurt you, you deserved better. I should have never acted on my feelings. I tried to walk away from it before I could slip and tell you everything, as I almost did so many times. Had I done that, I would have dragged you with me into my burden.”

He speaks gradually, as though he’s slowly acknowledging his actions, finally admitting his mistakes out loud. In that moment, I forgive him. He blames himself, more than I ever could, again taking responsibility for things he shouldn’t have to. We fell in love. It’s no one’s fault. Before I can think of saying anything, he goes on.

“You earned your anger, and your disappointment. But I’d rather leave you a thousand times, face your rage and sadness over and over again, than have you carrying the smallest portion of my mission. I could never do that to you.” He stares at me, filled with determination. I feel it passing through me as a dagger. He is decided to protect me, no matter what I think of that.

He finishes his speech placing sentiment in every word, and I cannot help but shed tears with the last words. “I hope you can move on, have a happy life with someone else before what is to come. You truly deserve to find joy, after all you’ve done for Thedas.” He never leaves my gaze while he speaks, carrying so much sentiment that I am completely sure he is not lying. When he sees the tears pouring down my face, I notice his jaw tensing, and his eyes going sadder. However, he doesn’t dare to move. There’s nothing to do anymore.

I keep silent for a while, processing his words. Then, I scoff with the irony, my lips trembling as I speak the bitter words. “Move on? Right. I see your point. Indeed, it’s very noble of you to say that. Still, there’s something you have to understand, you’re too far drowning in your selfish guilt to notice. The thing is, you idiot, I love you. You left me alone for two years, and I keep loving you. I learn that you are vilified by my entire people, and still, I love you. I find out you want to destroy this whole world, and, without question, I. Love. You.” I look deep into his eyes with every sentence, hoping that this time he will understand what I’m willing to do for the bastard.

For a moment, I think I see a glimpse of hope passing through his eyes, but in a blink he washes it away. He is too far gone. Still, I don’t accept it. I finish my sentence, more determined than ever. “While I still breathe, I am not giving up on you. No matter how many times you have the stupid idea of deciding something for me.”

He keeps silent, lowering his head with sorrow. I follow his gaze to my fingers, now intertwined with his. Only now I realize how I missed being this close to him. I look up again to see him watching me carefully, as if he were memorizing what I look like, afraid I could disappear at any moment. I analyze how every corner of his being is filled with sadness and guilt, as well as certainty.

His mouth parts to speak, but the anchor interrupts him. I scream in pain while my arm shines in green, and Solas swiftly grab it, while squeezing my other hand. “I’m sorry” he says, and I see his eyes changing again. I pull him to a kiss, gripping my fingers on his body, feeling the pain in my left hand fading as well as the sensation of the limb.

He puts his arms around me, and it is as if he never left. I have that familiar sensation that he is appreciating every second of it. He gently bends me on my back, firmly pulling me against him, exhaling when he feels I grasp my legs against his. His tongue slowly sways with mine, but urgently seeks my lips for more. He softly drags his fingers through my cheek, until they reach and unsettle my hair.

Too soon he pulls away, and I gasp in surprise and yearning. With the gentlest movement, he places a kiss on my  hand, the only hand I have now. He gives me one last gaze, filled with sentiment. “I will never forget you.” He whispers to me, standing up and never leaving my eyes, carrying all the words that are forever unsaid between us.

I watch him go across the eluvian, and as if I fall apart, I feel my body surrendering, my sight slowly going black, as well with all the sounds fading, my mind stops. “Is this the end?” is everything I can formulate.

I wake up back in the Winter Palace, and my eyes slowly focus on a worried Dorian sitting beside me, changing the cloth on my head. I realize I probably had a fever with everything that’s happened. I try to reach him, and I see there’s no hand near him anymore. It’s gone. Along with the mark. Along with my heart. Along with my love. I’m sobbing in Dorian’s arms before I even notice, and he is patting my head gently with the softest voice I ever heard him use. “I am sorry my dear.”

#dragon age: inquisition #dragon age (video games) #dragon age - all media types #dragon age #dragon age inquistor #dai #dragonageinquisition #Solas #dreadwolf #fanfic #fic #solavellan #solavellan HELL #solas fanfic #lavellan #inquisitor #trespasser #dorianpavus #dorian #friendship #love #heartache #heartbreak #brokenheart #kiss #lastkiss #tragedy #feels

[whumpfigure]

Request: “Say please. Say it. Say it.” :3

Timeline: Bastet's time with Michael.

CW: pet whump, dehumanization, conditioned whumpee, box boy universe, forced mutism, stress positions, veryyy vague mentions of nfsw(basically, just calling Bastet a cuss word), Michael.

"Say please," Michael says from where he's half laying on his bed, a couple of feet away from Bastet. "And I'll let you down."

In front of him, Bastet is standing on his tiptoes, on the bottleful of gravel Michael had gathered last week in the park. His wrists and elbows are tied tied tightly behind his back, by the rough ropes Michael found in the Old Guy's bedroom. More ropes connect his wrists to his waist, looping around and around the thin frame of him. Tight enough to make it hurt, if he takes in a deep enough breath. There's another piece of rope, tied to the knot on his elbows, which goes up and up to the ceiling. Securing him to the hook installed up there.

Michael can't see his arms from this angle. But he's sure if he walks around his fraile form, he'll find his hands and forearms all purple. It's been a good hour already, after all. And the ropes were tight enough to have cut off the circulation already.

All those kink websites Michael learnt the knots from suggested leaving some slack in the ropes. Saying that it was important to keep the circulation going. But really, Michael doesn't care. If anything, more pain is a step forward to get Bastet to talk. To beg Michael to stop.

But so far, he has stayed quiet. Except for the little whimpers of pain when Michael tightened the ropes around his elbows, causing the whip marks on his back to be squeezed between his upper arms.

He's gone back to silence now though. Only weeping, and letting out soundless sobs every once in a while.

Which is going on Michael's nerves, right now.

'Come on god!' Michael thinks with himself. 'I just want to hear a pet beg me. Is this too much to ask?'

"Bastet." Michael calls out his name, and Bastet's head slowly raises to look at him. Eyes teary and dazed with pain, and cheeks wet with previously-shed tears.

'At least he does beg well with eyes.' Michael thinks, and nearly snorts at the mockery of it.

"Did you hear me? I told you to say please, and I'd let you down." Michael waves his right hand in the air, as if he's explaining the most casual stuff to his little brother at home.

Bastet instead, sobs in return. A sound Michael has learnt is off-limits for him, but he can't control it when the pain gets too much. The Old Guy's told him of the multiple times he's had to punish him for that exact same sound. And really, Michael cannot understand him. Why punish the boy for making such delicious sounds? If Michael were his owner, he'd cherish all those delicate signs of vulnerability.

But now, it's a good time to use the Old Guy's methods to get Bastet to talk. Or, to beg, more specifically.

"Enough of your pitiful noises, pet. I gave you an order." Michael lowers his tone, and pushes his body off his bed. He sees Bastet try to take a step back from him, only to be stopped by the rope hanging him from the ceiling, and the gravel digging into his feet.

"Say please, pet." Michael grabs the knife - which he never uses because he can't leave any evidence on the boy's body for his owner to see - from his nightstand, and strides over to Bastet. Pressing the blade somewhere just above his collar.

He never uses the knife, but it doesn't mean he can't scare the boy with it.

"Say it," Michael leans his head in the crook of Bastet's neck, and whispers in his ear. Knife still held firmly near Bastet's pulse. "Say it, whore."

Tagging: @slaintetowhump @ashintheairlikesnow @liliability @ohmywhump @whumptywhumpdump @raigash @castielamigos-whump-side-blog @simplygrimly @whump-it @misspelledwitch @inky-whump @inaridriscoll @rivertamandspike @spookyboywhump @faewhump @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @whumpzone @sola-whumping @whumpsy-daisies @crystalrainwing @a-whump-muffin @tears-and-lilies @cupcakes-and-pain @string-of-broken-hearts

#whump #whump fic #whumpblr #captivity whump #intimate whumper #creepy whumper #controlling whumper #whumper #sadistic whumper #broken whumpee #whumpee #pet whumpee #pet whump #bbu whump #box boy whump #box boy universe #box boy multiverse #conditioned whumpee #conditioning #dehumanization #stress positions #forced mutism #bastet #austin #michael

[1000generations]

Thank you for the tag @little-lightning-lavellan and @rosella-writes!

This is from a story in which Fen'Asha Lavellan, in a desperate attempt to stop Solas from destroying Thedas as we know it, transports him to another world. Our world.

It's been a WIP for... 6 years. 😅 There is like... 200,000+ words of this self-indulgent nonsense. It needs so much reworking it's daunting. lol

This scene is from Solas and Fen'Asha exploring McDonald's...

Fen’Asha put her lips to the straw. She wanted to taste what he was tasting, wanted to partake in his world. She was bold enough to walk the Fade, confront dragons, defeat Corypheus. Plus, she was used to tea.

”Vhenan?” asked Solas, reaching out for Fen’Asha as she began coughing.

She shivered slightly, the coughs still plaguing her throat. The sweetness was shocking, as was the cold. “Shit.”

A woman from the table next to her shot her a glare.

“What is it?” asked Solas.

“It is so strange,” said Fen’Asha. “I have never had tea like this before…”

“Yes,” he said. “Most curious.”

She tinkered with her straw, raising it up and down in the lid of her cup and finding that it made an interestingly musical noise. She shook her head.

“Many things in this world are not as they seem,” said Solas. He dabbed a fry in Fen’Asha’s Sweet and Sour Sauce and pondered it.

“What do you mean?”

“Your tea is not tea,” said Solas. “The People’s Courtis not court.”

She nodded, letting go of her musical straw.

“Yet many things are real,” said Solas. “The news depicts real events, albeit with a unique point of view.”

“What do you mean?” she asked, picking up a fry.

“It appears that there is always something at the root of a viewpoint,” he said. “Some kind of interest. For the most part, this is translucent and I presume most anyone could see through the many smokescreens. And yet, I am not so sure.”

“They seem happy enough,” said Fen’Asha.

“They are being influenced,” said Solas. “To what degree they allow it is the question. It seems clear they are involved in their own manipulation to some degree, as this world does not behave in a way that would be considered sympathetic to its own survival. They ruin large swaths of their habitats, they commit horrendous crimes against one another for trivial reasons…”

“That does not sound unlike Thedas. The Blight…”

“A worthy example,” said Solas. “Many were not willing to see the Blight as a threat. Others preferred the comfort of their ignorance and concocted many alternatives to actual events. Just like here.”

She nodded.

“That is why it is important to remain vigilant,” said Solas. “With so much dishonesty, it can be easy to go astray. And it can be easy to want to go astray, especially if reality is painful.”

“I have never opted for what was comfortable,” said Fen’Asha. “Clearly.”

Solas nodded. “This is certainly true. Our path to here could not have been easy.”

“Nothing about this has been easy,” she said. “It has taken a great deal of time to come to peace with everything that happened. And even now, I’m not even close to being there.”

“You are uncertain about me?”

She nodded.

“There were – there are – reasons for my reluctance. I could not and cannot reveal the entirety of my plans because you would try to stop me," He paused, considering her. "I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

She sighed. “I am sitting here in a restaurant with you. You want to destroy Thedas, our world, and I’m sipping some silly drink like nothing’s wrong with that. We had sex, shared a bed. We make small-talk. We go for walks, make plans for a future like we’re some stupid couple. Nothing about this makes sense and no, Sloane, nothing about this has been easy. It won’t ever be easy, Sloane.”

Solas made a face as a small child shrieked nearby. He turned to see the culprit racing away through a set of glass doors with an enraged adult chasing behind in a yellow coat.

“And yet what can I do?” she continued. “I’m here in this strange land, like you keep saying. I’m here with you whether I like it or not.”

“I see,” said Solas.

“You hold out hope that you’re going to get back to Thedas to finish what you started,” she said. “I hold out hope that I’ll be able to stop you from doing that. I can’t pretend that’s not happening.”

“I appreciate you speaking plainly, Vhenan.”

“I’m glad,” she said. “Because I have questions.”

“I am sure you do.”

“Why me?” she said.

“I don’t understand what you mean,” he said.

“You are older than Arlathan?”

He sighed.

“And you are thousands of years old,” she said. “So why me? Why did you love me? My life is a flash for you, an inconsequential blip. You have lived so long. I have lived for mere minutes in contrast. I am…a fly.”

“That is a crude analogy,” he said.

“And you’re Fen’Harel. My god. Why would I think you would love me? Knowing everything…”

“I was never a god,” said Solas. “But that was what you wanted, what you expected. Your heart was always destined to break if it became entangled with mine.”

“So?”

“So I had already broken your heart once as Solas,” he said. “I had no desire to do so again.”

“But that is my burden, my pain. The choice is not yours.”

“My duty would always tear us apart, Fen’Asha,” he said. “It was because of me that you could not hold the gift of immortality. If there is a Maker in this world or the others, surely the Maker is laughing at me.”

“I think the Maker is laughing at both of us,” she said.

“At least as Fen’Harel, I could be near you,” he said.

“But you could have said…”

“We are moving in circles,” Solas said. “I tried to reduce my feelings. I knew what we had would only lead to lathbora viran, but you called for me and I answered. Like I always will.”

“You can’t keep…”

“I was selfish then. I am selfish now,” he said. “As Solas, as Fen’Harel, as Sloane.”

She sighed.

“I had hoped to assuage any temptation,” he said. “But reality crashed through. Our reality. When I learned of the Qunari plot at the Exalted Council, I had to act. And now, my mistakes must be rectified. There is no other way.”

“There always is another way,” she said.

“There should never have been a Veil. My life…much of it…seems to be a series of mistakes.”

“You would take so much to fix your error? You would insist the rest of us pay the price for your compensation?”

“There are other things at stake,” said Solas. “It is not so simple. The lyrium. The Blight. It matters little now I am here.”

“Thank the Maker for small mercies.”

He looked at her and for a moment irritation seemed to flicker across his face. He amended it into a tentative grin, then looked away as his eyebrows lowered.

“I will always try to stop you,” she said.

“I know,” said Solas. “But Thedas must be left behind for the time being.”

She nodded.

“And my desire for you…”

“You will leave that behind, too,” she said.

“No,” he said. He reached across the table for her hands. “No.”

“It’s not a good idea,” she said.

“You have doubts?”

“Of course,” she said.

“Then I wish to rectify that,” he said.

“Do you have doubts about me?”

“Not for a moment.”

“You haven’t made this easy,” she said. “Little of this makes sense.” She looked at a fry.

“I know,” he said. “But love defies explanation.”

“My mother said it was a gift…”

“Yes,” said Solas. “A choice. The reasons I choose to love you are…I simply want to. As you wanted to love me at one time. It is desire.”

“Love is more than desire,” she said deliberately.

“But desire is at the core. You can remove the love from desire, but you cannot remove the desire from love.”

“You are wise, Sloane,” she said after a pause.

“Even wisdom has limits,” said Solas.

Fen’Asha agreed, sipped her iced tea. She was getting used to the awful sweetness, to the way the drink cut into the corners of her mouth and made her tongue feel rough.

“For all the desire I felt for you,” continued Solas, “I subjected you to cruelty because of my selfishness. I never should have persisted in my desires. I should have fled sooner.”

“That’s one thing you do not understand,” she said. “I wouldn’t have traded in any of my moments with you. Even the painful ones. Because they were moments with you.”

“You could’ve been with someone, grown old with someone, had a family…” he said.

“I do not share the same wishes,” said Fen’Asha. “My family was you. Sera. Dagna. The Inquisition.”

“You did not desire children?”

She shook her head.

“But Hightown…?”

“You saw me in Kirkwall?”

Solas nodded. “I saw you through the eyes of the children, saw your kindness at the orphanage. Saw your insurrection in the faces of the nobles as they cursed you for bringing such a place to Hightown in the first place.”

Fen’Asha felt a chill. She had used Varric’s gift to her in Kirkwall, a mansion in the grandiloquent neighbourhood of Hightown, as an orphanage for the disadvantaged. She’d hired staff and enticed the right nobles, but that didn’t mean everyone took to the idea well. She thought back to the children in Thedas, wondered how they were doing.

“Some of the children saw it as a palace, a fairytale unwinding beneath their feet,” continued Solas. “Others saw dark corners and sinister hallways, not yet able to shed the horrors of their pasts. But in all of them, you were beautiful, an angel, bright as the sun.”

“More members of my family.”

Solas smiled warmly. “You would make a wonderful mother.”

“In the minds of many,” she said. “But it is not my choice in this life.”

He looked down.

“I am happy, Solas,” she said. “I do not wish for the same things as others, that’s all. I don’t want to be pitied because I don’t desire a family of my own. I am a Red Jenny. I was the Inquisitor. I was…yours. I served my clan. For a young elf from nowhere, for a nomad…it has been an incredible life.”

“It has.”

“And you were a huge part of that,” said Fen’Asha. Her fries were cold. “You still are.”

“You may be but a shooting star in my universe, a fleeting moment,” said Solas. “But you have made a permanent impression.”

She warmed. She wanted to touch him, feel him near. She wanted to reach across the table, wanted to kiss him with the mothers and fathers and children of this Edmonton watching. She didn’t care where she was as long as she was with him. She knew he would be the end of her. She knew she would be the end of him. She knew it hardly mattered now. She knew it was a horrible idea.

“I will always cherish you, Vhenan,” said Solas. “I will always love you.”

She was in his arms on his side of the table. She was sitting on his lap and he was caressing her back. She was cradling his face under his hood, under his necessary subterfuge against the misunderstandings of this world. She was breathing as he touched her hair, felt through its tresses. She closed her eyes as she kissed him.

He held her tight.

“I love you, Vhenas,” she said. “Always. Anywhere.”

I have no one in particular to tag. But I love to see what people are working on in the fandom if they care to share. 😊

#Someday might actually put aside time to work on this fic properly idk #dragon age fanfiction WIP #wip wednesday #1000generations posts #maker only knows

[emerald-amidst-gold]

The Debauchery Continues..

The next installment in the mini short story of Fane and Solas’s general angst and their devotion to one another! Now with more smutty purpose! *waggles eyebrows* These will be going up on Ao3, eventually! I’m comprising a collection of all my drabbles under Dragon Drabbles!

Beware: There is NSFW content within this section! The next installment with have full blown smut, but this is a prelude to it! Oh, and yes, Solas is a bottom in this fic, but him and Fane switch throughout their relationship.

****

It had taken Fane a total of ten minutes to get him and Solas to his quarters. Why? Well, the elven mage had made it incredibly difficult for Fane to think with the way he had been laying barely perceivable kisses along his jaw and neck, so much so that he had been able to slip from Fane’s embrace with a cheeky smirk of satisfaction before slowly guiding the two of them up the various flights of stairs that dared to exist. Fane enjoyed the height, usually, but in this situation, he cursed the layout of Skyhold. 

“Never have I wished for wings more than during that tortuous ascent.”, Fane grumbled as he and Solas arrived at his quarters, the two just outside the door that led to the - blessedly - last set of stairs. 

Solas gave him a fond smile, coming over to stand next to where Fane currently rummaging through a pouch at his hip. “Indeed. Though, it would have quite possibly been less ‘tortuous’ if you had kept your mind focused on climbing rather than stopping to enjoy the view.” The elven man’s tone was infuriating to Fane because of how knowing it was. 

Fane let out a scoff as he continued to search within the depths of his pouch. “I can’t help that you decided to take the lead. It was only natural that I’d get distracted. You have a very specific gait that makes my mind slam into a wall.”

“Is that so? Tell me; what is so distracting about how I walk?” Solas’s fond smile morphing into a playful smirk. 

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” He grumbled half heartedly before letting out a growl of annoyance. “Oh for fuck’s sake, where the hell is it?”

Solas raised an eyebrow at his words. “What are you searching for, vhenan?” The elven god came closer to him to inspect what he was doing with curious eyes. 

“My damn key.” Fane growled again as he still continued to dig. Of all times for him to not be able to locate something, it had to be now! Typical! 

Solas blinked in minor surprise. “You lock the door?” 

Fane paused in his search to look up at Solas, raising a snowy eyebrow. Was Solas seriously questioning something as mundane as a locked door? Judging by the genuine curiosity donning the mage’s face, that would be a yes. Of course it was a yes.

“I..do.”, he said slowly, confused. “Why is that so shocking?”

“I wouldn’t say it was ‘shocking’, just intriguing.” Solas said, his face slowly morphing back to the mage’s normal expression of quiet observation. “There are not many people who come up here, correct? So, I merely wish to understand the reasoning behind the act.”

Fane couldn’t help but let out a faint chuckle at Solas’s common habit of questioning everything. His sky was full of both trivial and in depth knowledge about magic, the Fade, spirits, the connection between the two, the overall correlation they each have with the waking world, but such things as another’s habits was seemingly foreign to the man. It was intoxicatingly endearing to Fane’s own questioning nature. However, he supposed Solas’s curiosity wasn’t so trivial when it came to this, since the reason behind it was..complex. Then again, everything about him was ‘complex’.

Fane let out a quiet sigh before turning his gaze downwards to resume his search for his key, far more subdued this time. “..I want privacy. That’s the simplistic answer.” He paused once more in his gestures to glance up at Solas, the elf patiently watching him. “..I just..don’t like the thought of someone coming and going as they please, rummaging through my possessions like it’s an auction. I like to have control over what’s mine. I..haven’t really been afforded that in the past..” 

Fane noticed Solas’s demeanor shift at his words as the mage came even closer to place a hand over the one hovering by his pouch. The touch had Fane relaxing his body, not even realizing it had become stiff with subconscious defense. 

“I..apologize. I should not have prodded you like that, especially since I am aware of..what occurred. That was thoughtless on my part..” Solas apologized with a sad smile, stormy eyes a deep blue as they connected with his own. 

Fane shook his head with a small smile of his own. “It’s in the past, even if it still haunts me into the present, but I’m enduring. I’ll always endure, so it’s fine.. ” He assured Solas with a soft voice before leaning in to give the mage a tender kiss to his temple, murmuring against it with a seductive smirk. “..You can prod me in a different way, though.” Attempting to ease the heavy tension born of bitter memories.

As the words tumbled from his lips, Fane felt a firm hand come up to cup his jaw, meeting Solas’s fiery, desire filled glare. Fane merely smirked at the action, letting out a satisfied purr at Solas’s fierce grip. That sparked the fire of lust again - violently so. 

“You will have to unlock the door first, ma’isenatha.” Solas purred out before releasing his jaw slowly, taking a step back to motion towards the door with a tiny smirk. “Or is that too difficult a task for you?” 

Anyone else, Fane would have taken that jab as an insult, but from the look in Solas’s eye, he could tell it was anything but that. A wolfish smirk graced Fane’s lips as he calmly, slowly closed the flap of his pouch to turn his back to the door. He watched as Solas’s gaze became calculating, predatory, the apostate putting his arms behind his back with a raised eyebrow, waiting. 

“Perhaps you should unlock the door, then.” Fane offered, leaning back against the door with his arms crossed. “Since you’re so impatient.”

“I would not wish to invade your privacy, vhenan, nor would I deign to take control from you.” A smirk slowly starting to form on Solas’s blank face. 

“Take control? Ohh, no, no, no.” Fane laughed out the statement deeply, darkly, his voice a delicious timbre before he saw gold tint the edges of his vision - signaling the rush of emotions within him having changed his eye color. “..You would be giving me control. Again, the room above is mine, so anything within it is mine.” He insinuated enticingly, tapping a finger idly against a crossed, muscled arm - the tap, tap, tap of delicate leather stimulating his senses even further.     

Keen gold eyes watched as a light shudder coursed through Solas’s body from his insinuation before the elven man carefully, calmly, closed the distance between them once more, stormy eyes blown wide with poorly restrained lust. Fane tilted his head slightly, still smirking as he gazed down at Solas. This was endlessly fun, and Fane was generally unaccustomed to ‘fun’.

“I would have you know, I do not submit easily. It may be a near fruitless battle if you do not act soon..” Solas whispered out, his own voice deep and challenging before it uttered a single word with silky seduction. “..Aterian.” 

The pale gold tint dispersed as Fane’s eyes morphed and solidified into solid amber before he brought a single elbow down to smash in the door’s handle - the wood cracking with a satisfying crunch before it slowly opened. His chest was heaving with overwhelming emotions and anticipation as he saw Solas barely even flinch at his display of raw strength, deep blue eyes seeming to narrow with pure want from it instead. Ohhh, the sky was vast, and how Fane wished to fly in it.

“Come now, my dragon..” Solas practically growled as he took another tentative step forward, almost bringing them chest to chest. “..you can surely show me more than that. I wish to see the force behind centuries of yearning, of desire, of love. Be not ashamed of what you feel. Show me, as only you can.” An irresistible challenge hanging between them as all encompassing gold drowned in fathomless blue. 

Fane felt himself clench and unclench his hands, digging into the material of his leather wraps as his tightly bound control began to fray at the seams. Everything that he was hearing, seeing, and feeling was making it incredibly difficult to think, to focus, but for some reason, it only made him desire more. He desired to rip and tear into pathetic cloth, shedding both him and Solas of a suffocating barrier that dared separate them further. He desired to pin and bind the god, who was looking at him with both love and lust, and make him scream in ecstasy. He desired to lose himself in what would be an undeniable frenzy of sensations and emotions, allowing himself to bask in heat and wanton bliss. He desired the touch of skin as it became soaked in sweat, as it quivered with the yearning to come undone. He desired.. He desired everything. 

Fane let his eyes slip shut as his chest heaved from both Solas’s words and his own frenzied thoughts before opening trembling lips to speak.

“I..I..cannot..” He tried to deny, his draconic nature combating his mortal wants. 

“You can, emma’lath.” Solas whispered to him encouragingly, carefully placing his hands on Fane’s now deeply flushed face to hold it tenderly like a precious keepsake. “Let us both relinquish our mantles for a night, if only to make their weight come morning a touch easier to bear.” Solas’s thumbs reverently caressing his face as an uncommon smile of pure joy graced the mage’s lips. 

Fane couldn’t help but let out a tiny, albeit shaky, chuckle as he leaned into Solas’s touch. He was losing his mind, wasn’t he?

“It’s unlike you to be so..optimistic.” He stated with a tiny smile, shuddering lightly as another wave of emotions coursed through a muscled frame. “Or will you leave me in the morning when doubt rears it ugly head again? Are pretty words just to soften the inevitable blow?” A surge of fear and worry shuffling into the mix of wayward emotions. 

Fane watched as Solas let out a saddened chuckle of his own before pulling his face down to lay a tender, chaste kiss to his lips before pulling back to gaze at him seriously. “If you were anyone else, I would say ‘yes’, albeit with great anguish. However..” The mage trailing off as he closed in again to murmuring against Fane’s lips. “..you are not ‘anyone else’, nor will you ever be. You are my dragon. You have seen me at my lowest and greatest, and never once turned your back on me. You trusted me when you could have just as easily killed me, solely on the fact of what I was, who I was. You know everything about me, as I know everything about you.” Solas pressed their lips together just a bit more. “..There is nothing to hide, so I have no need to run from you. I only hope you do not fall because of my own mistakes again. My heart would not be able to endure another crushing blow like that, so please, ma’isenatha, I want you to at least promise that you will turn your back on me if I fall too far for even your wings to follow.. Please..” 

That single, but heavy statement had the rope that was Fane’s restraint snapping like a flail as he surged forward to seal their lips together desperately, barely registering the quiet sound of shock from Solas as the force nearly sent the two of them into the frame of the partially destroyed door. He felt Solas grip his face more desperately as the two began to naturally fight for dominance, Fane lifting an arm to slam a hand into the door frame as he felt Solas’s tongue swipe beckoningly along his bottom lip. He kept his lips firmly sealed in an act of defiance, Solas merely redoubling his efforts by harshly nipping at the supple flesh before soothing it with another sweet caress. He let out a deep hum as the routine continued exactly the same - steadfast in his refusal to allow entry - before Fane tilted his head slightly to throw the mage off, the two beginning anew with more sensual, and languid movements as their lips moved in perfect unison with each other. A brush of a thigh against his own had Fane letting out a deep growl, the force behind it making his chest rumble dangerously.  

Shit, I’m losing it. I want him, I want him, I want him, I want him..! I will not leave him, I will not, I will not..! His mind frantically reiterated before the thigh that had brushed against his own shifted to touch at a far more sensitive area. Fane’s body went stiff at the sensation before he felt his entire body quiver, even as he felt Solas continue to peck at his lips softly. 

Yes--Fane wanted everything Solas had to offer, and he would claim it as only a dragon could. 

The hand that had been beginning to dig into stone and wood flew down to take Solas by the neck firmly, as Fane let an ancient instinct take hold of him, momentarily registering the shocked, but pleased gasp that Solas let out around their lips at the action. Fane could barely hear himself think as he began to lay feverish kisses along Solas’s jaw, the hand around the mage’s neck tightening for a moment before relaxing slightly. 

I desire him, I need him, I wish to claim him.. Let me have him, please, please.. Just for tonight, if nothing else. I will desire no more than this.. No more, so please.. His mind and soul begged to the ghosts of his past, as memories of brilliant eyes turning grey threatened to ruin the moment for him. 

“Aterian..” Solas whispered his name with a loving smile gracing his features, the reverent tone throwing off Fane’s depressive thoughts. “Do not allow your mind to leash you. Break those shackles for me, my dragon. Break them..”

Fane merely narrowed his eyes as the heavy double meaning of Solas’s words sank in - a feeling like someone swinging a hammer down on him causing him to surge forward once more to take advantage of Solas’s momentary weakness, shoving his tongue into the mage’s slightly agape mouth deeply.

“Ngh..!” He heard Solas let out a quiet, but surprised noise before the mage sighed through his nose pleasantly. 

Hands that had been once holding his freckled face came up to fist into his snowy hair as Solas attempted to bring him in closer, even as Fane practically had him pinned against the doorway by his neck alone. Fane brought his other arm up to wrap around Solas’s body tightly, pulling the man’s body flush against his own as their kiss became more frantic, their tongues pushing, pulling, dancing to an invisible rhythm as promises of bliss and sorrow lingered in the electrified air. He slid a leg between both of Solas’s, releasing the choke hold he had on the mage to ghost his hand upwards to tease at a sharp jawline. The gesture had Solas letting out a quiet hum before Fane pulled back slowly, the length and ferocity of the kiss nearly making him collapse from a lack of oxygen, as well as the flushed appearance of the man in front of him who looked equally as overwhelmed.

“Fuck.. Fuck..” He cursed out harshly between gasping breaths, eyes hooded with pure desire as he took in Solas’s equally as gasping appearance. “Fenedhis..” The elven slipping out without him even thinking about it as emotions began to cloud his mind from their potency. This was bad. He was slipping, but why didn’t he care?

He watched as Solas merely nodded quickly, chest heaving harshly as the elven god shut his eyes to reign in his breathing, a weakened hand coming down to rest on a broad chest. Despite the well of emotions surging through him Fane couldn’t help, but lean down a bit more to lay several tender kisses upon Solas’s neck, aiming for the mage’s rapidly fluttering pulse point without much thought. He desired more, even though he could barely breathe..

As if on cue, Solas’s hands gave his hair a firm yank as he practically arched into Fane’s body, only letting out a quiet, choked gasp in approval of the kisses despite the way his chest still heaved uncontrollably. The sound and harsh treatment only made Fane intensify the strength of his kisses as he began to nip and teasingly lick at warm flesh, relishing in the way Solas practically tensed and then melted in his arms with heated sighs.  

“Aterian.. E..Easy, v..vhenan.. I--!” Solas attempted to steady him with a light push before Fane latched onto the butterfly of a pulse, harshly sinking his teeth into the soft patch. “Aghk..!” Solas bit out around another choked sound, his body practically trembling with ruinous abandon. 

Fane firmly worried the tender flesh between his teeth before releasing it to slowly run the flat of his tongue along the abused spot, the delicate tang of blood sending a throb downwards as he slowly pulled back to inspect the damage. The sight of a forming love mark had Fane snarling in satisfaction before he gazed down tenderly at the quivering mess of his lover, one of Solas’s hands braced back against the door while the other was now tightly fisted into Fane’s tunic.

Gold eyes roamed over Solas’s form, taking in the way the mage’s body heaved and lightly shuddered before a hung head slowly rose to level Fane with a truly dangerous, but lust addled glare. Fane could only smirk wickedly at the hue of crimson adorning the elven god’s face in conjunction to the slightly bleeding mark on his neck. 

This was delightful in its wickedness. Why had he and Solas held off on this for so long again?

“Hmm..” Fane hummed, ghosting the hand that was upon Solas’s jaw downwards to stroke his thumb across the mark he had made, swiping the small pool of blood to then bring it to his lips with an even more devilish smirk. “A dragon’s stirring, my sky. Do you wish for it merely to observe you? Or..” The ideology of his kin twisting deliciously as he dragged his tongue along his thumb, narrowing his eyes as he watched Solas’s stormy eyes blow wide with want. “..do you wish for it to ruin you?” 

As the unexpected words tumbled from behind his thumb, Fane watched as Solas steadily stood himself up straight, a rough chuckle rumbling from a now lightly heaving chest. Fane raised a snowy eyebrow at the sound before his eyes went wide at the glint of indigo in Solas’s eyes, the mage’s face spreading into a wicked smirk before arms came up to wrap around his neck tightly.

Oh no, was the only thing Fane could think of as he took in the deepened hue of Solas’s eyes more closely.

Solas leaned in to him fully, boldly swiping his tongue against Fane’s lips to catch the faint remnants of blood left behind before purring against them deeply. 

“I wish for it to stop stalling with tepid attempts.” The words are a hot stab to Fane’s decaying restraint with how much challenge they held. 

“Hmph. Says the one currently rutting against my thigh like a halla in heat..” Fane growled out, the challenges from Solas making his blood boil with lust.

“It is performing where you..ngh..refuse to.” Solas attempted to bite back, but his voice faltered from the sensation of friction that was born from where he was teasingly dragging himself along Fane’s thigh - intentionally missing where Fane desired him most.

“Ohhhh, you better stop, wolf.. Or we won’t make it upstairs..” Their eyes connecting with nearly tangible fire threatening to set them ablaze before Solas closed the distance between their hips - the pure tingling surging up Fane’s body and back down to his nether regions ripping the air from his lungs harshly with a loud gasp. 

“So many words, so little action..” Solas purred, a few fingers tapping against one of Fane’s shoulders.

Fane let out a dark snarl as the words set a smouldering fire ablaze within his soul, pushing Solas away with a firm shove, and watching raptly as the elven god never once took his eyes off of him - stormy like a true monsoon as they bore piercing holes into him. They gazed into each other’s souls before Solas crossed the threshold with one. single. step. 

The silent recognition of his earlier words were not lost on Fane as he watched Solas shuffle into the opening completely, the man’s smirk softening into a warm smile before he held out a hand to him - eyes laden with sultry promise as they never once left his own.

“From this point on, I am yours, correct?”

Fane’s eyes went wide before he gave Solas a slow nod of his head, a small smile momentarily cooling him, even as his whole body sang with want. Solas..was giving him control where normally the mage would be hesitant to do. It was a sign of trust, of devotion, of vulnerability, of..love. It made Fane’s mind turn hazy as even more wayward emotions slammed into him - his labored breathing beginning anew with soft pants. 

“You..would be. You’re willing to give that to me?” He asked softly, despite his body beginning to tremble with restraint.

“I am.” Solas said without missing a beat, eyes serious despite the softness they held for him.

Fane faltered at the immediate response before hanging his head in defeat, chuckling quietly as he rested a bent arm against the ruined doorway. This elf would be the death of him. To give him everything so easily, as if it were a simple truth of the world, made Fane truly believe, for the moment, that everything he was, was a blessing after all.

With a quiet, shaky breath, Fane lifted his head slowly to level Solas with a predatory gaze, the mage faintly biting into his bottom lip at the sight. The action had Fane’s smirk returning as the roaring inferno within him blazed anew with incandescent purpose. 

“You are mine.” He snarled out deeply, pushing himself off the doorway with his arm to stalk towards the elf.

“I always have been.” Solas merely smiled at him, reaching up to touch his cheek delicately before leaning up to lay a tender kiss to his lips, quietly murmuring against them. “So, take me as you wish. Take me, my dragon..”, the Elvhen dripping off of Solas’s tongue like wicked honey. 

That was all the incentive Fane needed as he surged forward to grab Solas by an arm, the mage merely smiling as he followed Fane up the stairs without fuss, even as the door of privacy laid in splinters at the bottom.

There was no shame, no sin in what they had. That was all Fane could reiterate in his mind as they ascended the last stairway to blessed bliss.

****

That’s right! You funny bunnies have to wait even longer for the full smutty effect! *laughs manically* This is my first time writing smut, so forgive me my inexperience!

Note: Just a little insight in to why I tend to write Solas the way that I do. A lot of it is gentle conforming to slot his personality in response to Fane’s. I know that Solas is generally reserved, quiet, observing, calculated, and overall aloof and sorrowful - weighed down by duty and guilt, but if you were to place a character that knew him and bonded with him, then he would take on a softer persona. At least, that’s how I feel. I like exploring Solas’s softer sides, whereas the game explores those only minimally. I also just like to reaffirm (to myself) that Solas does have emotions, they’re simply hidden because he has to keep a lot of things hidden in Inquisition. However, with Fane and my AU, he doesn’t have to hide from him. So, when they’re alone, Solas is far more pliable and responsive to opening up, as is Fane. It’s simply a different perspective of the character, and by no means am I trying to bash Solas’s original demeanor; I’m just exploring things that I would have liked to experience with him while attempting to keep him in character. I don’t know if I’m succeeding sometimes, but it’s a learning process!

#dragon age smut #dragon age #solavellan #lavellan #male lavellan #oc: fane lavellan #solas #dragon age inquisition #my writing #i can't believe i'm getting there #i'm actually kind of proud of this #*dinosaur scream of happiness* #loooooong post #solavellan hell

[lostinthewiind]

More Time

Cullen Rutherford - Dragon Age: Inquisition

Synopsis: Takes place during the time-jump we don’t get to see in Trespasser; the in-between of the confrontation with Solas and the Inquisitor showing up at the Exalted Council with their arm and the mark gone. Cullen romance twist included.

Requested By: @dreamtheatersmetropolis2​

The pain was blinding; even worse than the jolts of agony the mark had been sending through your body for the past twenty-four hours. You had been well aware that the green, glowing identifier on your left palm was slowly killing you—you had known that ever since you had crawled out of the fade two years previous—but you always thought you had more time. Turns out, however, more time was the least of your worries.

With a cry, you threw your head back and the series of events that had led to this very moment flashed before your eyes: the Exalted Council, marrying Cullen, fighting the Qunari . . . finding Solas. 

Solas.

When you finally managed to fight through the agony and pry your eyes open, the Elven God was long gone, and with him, the mark and the lower half of your left arm. You gaped at the nub where your forearm used to be, your jaw hanging slack. There was no bleeding, no trauma—almost like you had been born and lived your entire life with one and half arms—but the pain was excruciating. 

You had no idea how long you sat crumpled on your knees on that rocky ledge, staring into the glimmering eluvian and waiting for the pain to subside. It never did.

Eventually, you pushed yourself to your feet and stumbled back the way you had come, the pain fogging your mind and making it hard to remember which way was which. Along the way, you searched for your friends, but they were nowhere to be seen. You wondered if they had looked for you. You wondered if they had heard your screams.

After what felt like hours of stumbling around a dark room, searching for the light switch, you fell through the final eluvian and was met with the cool tile of the Winter Palace against your cheek. 

“Help . . .” you managed you squeak out. It was a miracle anyone had heard you, but seconds later, the guards standing post outside the door were rushing in and coming to your aid.

You whimpered as you were lifted from the floor, realizing in that moment that the cool of the tile floor was the closest thing to any form of relief you had felt in hours. 

“Someone retrieve Commander Cullen!” You heard a familiar voice demand, but you couldn’t exactly place it. You knew it was one of your friends, but among the chaos, all the voices were blending together.

“Commander Cullen?” One of the guards replied in a questioning tone. “What should I tell him?”

“I don’t know.” The familiar voice blended with the mayhem once more. “Tell him something has happened to his wife.”

“No . . .” you choked out, but that time, your voice was too quiet to hear. The thought of Cullen seeing you like this made your stomach queasy. The thought of anyone you trusted and respected seeing you like this made you feel sick, but Cullen especially. 

This was supposed to be a happy time for the both of you. “This is technically our honeymoon,” he had told you. “At least try to take it easy a little bit.”

But of course, taking it easy hadn’t been in your vocabulary since the birth of the Inquisition. You just had to push it one step further. You just had to discover what plot the Qunari were hiding.

And discover the plot you had . . . but at what cost?

“Inquisitor.” Cullen kept up the professional facade as he burst into the room and rushed over the to table which you had been laid upon. “Are you okay? What happened?”

Before you could open your mouth to answer, the room full of companions burst into jumbled explanations, retelling the entire tale of what had taken place on the other side of the eluvian.

With the room erupting with a concoction of voices and stories told over top of other stories, you blocked out the overwhelming auditory stimulation the best you could and just stared up at Cullen. 

“I’m sorry,” you said softly to no one but him. “I really messed up this time.”

Cullen shook his head, his eyes drifting to your left arm. “What happened?”

“It was Solas,” was all you could manage to tell him right then. “I don’t know what he did exactly but . . . he took the mark.”

You felt Cullen brush the pad of his thumb over the skin under your eyes and realized he was wiping away tears that you hadn’t even known you had shed. 

Behind the two of you, Varric was ushering everyone else out of the room to give you some privacy. With the sound of the door closing, you closed your eyes and leaned your head into Cullen’s touch.

“Sometimes I wish I had never made it out of the fade.” You pushed yourself up into a sitting position on the wooden table, the pain finally beginning to subside. “Not all the the time . . . but sometimes.”

“You don’t mean that.” Cullen stepped closer to you, now standing between your legs. 

“Right now I do.” You couldn’t help but stare down at the nub that was the lower half of your left arm, the realization that you had lost half of a limb suddenly sinking in. Your chest tightened and your breathing became shallow. “Do you think we would have ended up together if we had met under different circumstances . . . if we had met before the Inquisition?”

Cullen could tell you were changing the subject, but he played along anyway. “Are you asking me if I only married you because you are the Inquisitor?”

“No, I . . . that’s not what I meant.” You ripped your gaze away from your arm and looked up at him, allowing the comfort of his brown eyes to melt the rest of your troubles away; both physically and mentally. “I just meant that . . . what if we could be happier somehow? What if I was just a woman and you were just a man?”

“I would love you just the same. Just like I love you the same whether you have two arms or not,” Cullen told you before pressing his lips to your forehead. “But you’re not just some woman. You’re the Inquisitor. You’re you.”

The corners of your mouth curled upwards ever-so-slightly. “I just wish being me was a little easier sometimes.”

“Easy?” Cullen smirked. “Changing the whole of Thedas one battle at a time will never be easy.”

“Well . . . damnit.” You huffed. “Guess I’ll just have to keep battling it out then.”

“Look at it this way.” Cullen tilted your head up with his fingers and kissed you. “The mark isn’t killing you anymore. We have more time together.”

All at once, the self-pity that had been consuming you dissipated. “You’re right. More time.”

With that, you haphazardly tied the excess fabric of your red formal jacket below the nub of your left arm with your right hand and jumped down from the table top.

“And just where do you think you’re going?” Cullen questioned.

You smiled as you reached for the doorknob. “Thedas isn’t going to fix itself, and now that I’ve got more time, I’m going to use it to the best of my abilities. I’m going to win my next battle. Exalted Council, here I come.”

#lostinthewiind #fanfiction #dragon age inquisition #dragon age #Cullen #cullen rutherford #reader insert #cullen x reader #oneshot #fanfic #bioware #cullen x inquisitor

[jawsofhakkontranscript]

Ameridan’s End: Assault the Jaws of Hakkon

(Previous quest - On Ameridan's Trail)

Main questline: Ameridan’s End: Assault the Jaws of Hakkon

This is the first part of "Ameridan's End" questline.

Characters involved: Svarah Sun-Hair, Lace Harding, Bram Kenric, Gurd Harofsen

Preparations are in place to wage assault on the Jaws of Hakkon and search for Inquisitor Ameridan.

Part 1: Speak with Svarah Sun-Hair

Svarah: When you are ready, you have our blades, Inquisitor.

Dialogue options:

Special: Hakkon connects to Ameridan. [1] (If both “Storvacker Caged” and “What Yet Lingers” have been completed.)

General: Let us begin the assault. [2]

[1] Special: Hakkon connects to Ameridan.

PC: You said that the Jaws of Hakkon first tried binding their god in mortal form hundreds of years ago?

Svarah: What of it?

PC: In our search for Inquisitor Ameridan, we learned that he came here to fight a great dragon 800 years ago… A dragon that came from the mountains with Avvar warriors to attack the lowlands.

Svarah: (Laughs.) Your last Inquisitor must have fought well to stop Hakkon himself! [3]

[3] Subsequent dialogue options:

Investigate: This is all right with you? [4]

Investigate: Does this happen often? [5]

[4] Investigate: This is all right with you?

PC: You're not bothered by the idea that our Inquisitor killed your god?

Svarah: He didn't kill him. That would have been easier. Whatever fight your Inquisitor finished, the Jaws of Hakkon started. I find no fault with a warrior defending his people. [Back to 3]

[5] Investigate: Does this happen often?

PC: Do the Avvar gods take mortal form on a regular basis?

Svarah: No. The gods belong in the land of dreams. Whether it is their wish—or some augur's—that brings them here, battle-tears will be shed. The skalds say the Lady of the Skies took mortal form when Tyrdda Bright-Ax first led the Avvar to the mountains. They say many things about Bright-Ax and the Lady. [Back to 3]

[2] General: Let us begin the assault.

PC: I'm ready to attack the Jaws of Hakkon.

Svarah: Good. They will pay the blood-price for what they have done.

(Kenric and Harding enter the Thane's hall.)

Svarah: Your skald and your scout are here. We can plan the assault.

Kenric: Oh, I like the sound of "skald." It's more dramatic than "professor."

Harding: (Coughs.)

Kenric: Yes, well. Everything we've found about Inquisitor Ameridan suggests that he never emerged from that Tevinter fortress.

Svarah: If that is where your Inquisitor defeated Hakkon, that is where the Jaws of Hakkon must perform the rite to free him. [6]

[6] Dialogue options:

General: We can stop them. [7]

General: Or hopefully not. [8]

General: We have a target. [9]

[7] General: We can stop them.

PC: Inquisitor Ameridan saved the lowlands from an Avvar invasion. We cannot do any less. [10]

[8] General: Or hopefully not.

PC: Ideally, we stop them before that. I'd rather not fight an Avvar god if we don't have to. [10]

[9] General: We have a target.

PC: Good. We know where to strike. [10]

[10] Harding: You really have no problem with us killing your god?

Svarah: Gods cannot be reborn until they die. (Laughs.) Hakkon needs a good rebirthing.

Harding: If you say so.

Svarah: With its ice-wall melted, the fortress is open to attack. We must strike soon, before our foes recover.

Harding: They're already trying. I've got most of our forces defending the shrine from Hakkonites who want to restore the wall. [11]

[11] Dialogue options:

General: We're going to take losses. [12]

General: I'm open to ideas. [13]

General: A siege seems unlikely. [14]

[12] General: We're going to take losses.

PC: The fortress was built to be defensible. It's going to cost us a lot of people to take it.

Svarah: Why? [15]

[13] General: I'm open to ideas.

PC: If anyone has suggestions, now is the time.

Svarah: What gives you fear, Inquisitor? Is this not the battle you wanted? [15]

[14] General: A siege seems unlikely.

PC: We don't have time to drag siege equipment through the forest to take down those walls.

Svarah: A siege? Bah! We have no need of rock-throwers and rams. [15]

[15] Kenric: I am no warrior, but with Lady Harding's forces defending the shrine and no way to breach the walls...?

Svarah: (Laughs.) Lowlanders. Why not climb the walls?

Harding: Your warriors can get over those walls before the Hakkonites stop them?

Svarah: This is not a war, Stone-Daughter. This is a raid. We strike at night, clad lightly. We climb the wall and open the gate from inside. [16]

[16] Dialogue options:

General: We are in your debt. [17]

General: I guess this is our plan. [18]

General: Let's move. [19]

[17] General: We are in your debt.

PC: If Stone-Bear Hold can open the gates, we would be grateful.

Svarah: The Jaws of Hakkon have been bugs in my bedroll for months, Inquisitor. We owe you thanks. [20]

[18] General: I guess this is our plan.

PC: Well, then. Unless anyone has something that sounds easier than climbing the walls...?

Svarah: I would not offer what I could not give. It will be done. Perhaps my climbers will earn themselves a legend-mark! [20]

[19] General: Let's move.

PC: Agreed. How soon can we attack?

Svarah: As soon as the sun sets, Inquisitor. This will be a good night. [20]

[20] Harding: Inquisition forces will feign weakness near the shrine. That will draw some of them away from the fortress.

Kenric: Not too many, I hope.

Svarah: Yes. Save some for us!

Harding: (Nods.)

Part 2: Assault the gate.

(The Inquisition’s soldiers and the warriors from Stone-Bear Hold gather in front of the gate of the Tevinter ruin.)

Parve: Right, Inquisitor. Hask and I will climb over.

Hask: I'll be there to catch Parve when he slips.

Parve: 'Course you will. You'll be behind me, after all.

(These two are the same Avvar men who participated in the Test of the Lady - the climbing contest used for settling disputes - that took place when the Inquisition first arrived in Stone-Bear Hold - see “Avvar Allies” main quest.)

Hask (to Parve): 'Ware the guard.

Parve: I've got him.

(The Avvar sneak ahead and start climbing over the walls of the fortress. Meanwhile, the Inquisition leads the assault from the front to distract the Hakkonites.)

Male Hakkonite: There! It's the lowlanders!

Female Hakkonite: Kill the Inquisitor! Death to her/his hold, for Hakkon's glory!

(Storvacker joins the fight.)

Party comments:

Varric: Storvacker, good to see you again!

Dorian: And we have a bear. Hooray!

Sera: Eat them, not us! Got it?

Cole: I'm happy to see you, too!

Svarah Sun-Hair: Greetings from Stone-Bear Hold, you shit-eating goat-lovers!

(The climbers continue scaling the walls.)

Parve: Watch your grip. It slips a bit.

Hask: Bah, you can't grip anything more challenging than your mother's teat.

Parve: (Grunts.) I was aiming for his throat. We'd best hurry.

Hask: Nicely done.

Parve: Be ready, Inquisitor!

(The gate is opened from the inside by the climbers from Stone-Bear Hold.)

Hask: Lady take you, goat-lovers!

Parve (to the Inquisitor): As you please, Inquisitor.

Hask: I'd not tarry. More will be coming.

(Walk through the gate and defeat the Hakkonites defending the battlements.)

Party comments:

Cassandra: The Avvar were true to their word!

Iron Bull: Nice work, Stone-Bear Hold!

Blackwall: Your Avvar friends pulled it off!

Varric: Our Avvar friends came through!

Svarah Sun-Hair: We have your back, Inquisitor! Fight well!

Part 3: Find Inquisitor Ameridan’s resting place.

(Walk towards the Tevinter ruin.)

Party comments:

Cassandra: No sign of the dragon. It must be in there.

Cole: She doesn't want to be him. He doesn't want to be chained. Tied together, wracked and raging.

Solas: The ritual must be underway. There is a great deal of magical energy coming from the bottom of the crater.

(There are ice wards in the field between the gate and the main building. If destroyed, they freeze everyone in the vicinity.)

Party comments:

Dorian: Watch the wards! We can't afford to be slowed down!

Vivienne: Watch out for the ice wards! We cannot let them slow us!

Sera: Pissing freezing magic!

Solas: Beware the wards! They will sap your strength!

(An ice ward is destroyed.)

Party comments:

Cassandra: The ward is destroyed!

Iron Bull: How do you like that, frosty?

Blackwall: That should end the wards!

Cole: You can't freeze us!

(Enter the Old Temple. The interior is covered in frost.)

Party comments:

Vivienne: This frost is magical in nature. If we do not make haste, we will freeze to death.

Cassandra: This cold is magical in origin. It will kill us if we do not hurry.

Sera: We stay here, our bits will snap off. Get moving.

Solas: The cold is magical. It will kill us if we do not hurry.

Cole: This isn't real, but it still hurts. We have to be fast.

Dorian: Even colder than usual. This is magical. We need to keep moving.

Varric: This isn't natural. We'd better hurry, unless you like freezing to death.

(Stay by the fire to warm up.)

Party comments:

Sera: Better, right? Might even keep our toes.

Iron Bull: (Grunts.) Cold's not so bad here.

Varric: The cold isn't so bad here.

Cole: Yes. False cold, but the real fire keeps it away.

(Gurd Harofsen begins the ritual.)

Party comments:

Varric: We should probably hurry. There's no good kind of crazy ritual chanting.

Vivienne: They are performing the ritual. I suggest we hurry.

Solas: We must hurry. The ritual to free the spirit of Hakkon is underway.

Dorian: Sounds like they've already started the ritual. Best hurry, then.

(Gurd chants the Song of savage Hakkon.)

Sing the song of savage Hakkon, born in battle, bloody bladed.

Wintersbreath to wrack the lowlands, cold to cut and kill the hated.

Meet the might of Mountain-Father, crush the creed of Korth the callow.

Leave the Lady lost and lonely, scour the skies of spirits sallow!

Gurd Harofsen, called the Cutter, wyvern-slayer, lowland-bane

Begs of Hakkon, bring his body bloody blessings, cold and pain!

(The chant ends.)

Party comments:

Vivienne: The barbarian is allowing himself to be possessed by Hakkon!

Solas: The Hakkonite leader is calling the spirit of Hakkon into his own body!

Varric: Harofsen's summoning Hakkon into himself!

Dorian: He's summoning Hakkon into his own body!

Cassandra: Is he insane?

Iron Bull: Who does that? That's a terrible idea!

Blackwall: He's mad!

Sera: Don't care. Stupid gets arrows.

(A dragon can be seen in the distance.)

Party comments:

Sera: There's the dragon! It's... frozen or something?

Cole: The dragon. She's stuck, still, a statue. Hakkon is angry inside her.

Varric: There's the Hakkon dragon! At least it's not moving yet.

Iron Bull: There's the dragon! Long as it holds still like that, we should be all right.

(The fight begins. Gurd continues the ritual while being protected by Hakkonites.)

Party comments:

Vivienne: Hakkon is invulnerable until we disrupt those around him!

Solas: We cannot harm Hakkon until the ritual is disrupted!

Cassandra: We must disrupt the ritual first! Then Hakkon can be harmed!

Dorian: We have to take out the others! We can't hurt Hakkon until they're out!

(Gurd summons the spirit of Hakkon into himself and transforms into a revenant.)

Gurd: Face me and die, Inquisitor! Your predecessor could not stand against me. You shall fall as well! I am the cold bite of winter! I am Hakkon reborn! Death to the lowlanders!

(The revenant casts powerful ice spells.)

Party comments:

Sera: Ranged, right? Too cold up close!

Cassandra: The cold is worse near the creature!

Blackwall: The cold gets worse the closer you are!

Iron Bull: Careful! Cold's worse up close!

(During the fight, the revenant freezes the braziers as he loses health.)

Party comments:

Vivienne: He's putting out the fires!

Varric: Watch yourself! He's putting out the fires!

Dorian: The damn thing's dousing the fires!

Solas: Be careful! He's dousing the fires!

(Next quest - Ameridan's End: Talk to Ameridan)

#dragon age #dragon age inquisition #jaws of hakkon #dragon age transcript #main questline #ameridan's end #assault the jaws of hakkon #old temple #svarah #svarah sun hair #thane svarah sun hair #bram kenric #professor bram kenric #lace harding #scout harding #gurd harofsen #song of savage hakkon #summoning hakkon #avvar climbers #hask #parve

[5lazarus]

There Is No Ithaca, Ch. 2

from the wonderful promptlist @brightoncemore created, answering a prompt @because-im-hap-hap​ sent me. There Is No Ithaca: Solas wrecks his revolution on the altar of Mythal. Ch. 2: there is a traitor within you whose time for punishment will come Summary: Solas returns from war to find Ghilan’nain incubating the Blight within their own home. Content Warnings: Psychological Horror, Body Horror, Abusive Relationships. Remember the codex of Ghilan’nain’s ascension? The hunter blinds her, and Andruil revives her and makes her a god. This is the story behind the myth, or at least one version of it. Read on AO3 here. Find Ch. 1: if one of us has sinned it must be God here.

The shiver of her flesh as he steps into her arms and she pulls him down intoxicates him. They enjoy working together, and they enjoy lounging in her rooms afterward. Ghilan’nain is the First amongst the People, occupying a similar place of honor he had left, and she has enough political support from the Evanuris to step forward and become one of them. He likes the sharpness of her mind and the purity of her aesthete. Their partnership is useful to both of them, and he enjoys the side-benefits.

Mythal has them marry, as a precursor to declaring her new title. Neither of them have any reason to object, and Fen’Harel loves her. He craves her on the field, returning to the barracks to mop the gore up. He can imagine her cool smile regarding him. She does like the smell of blood. Whose? His, perhaps: and the danger quickens his pulse. Solas well knows there are others. He has never claimed anyone’s full loyalty, and would not ask that of her. He does not want it. Ghilan’nain’s devotion is terrible, and he is glad to weaken her hold. He loves her, so he is happy to let her go. “So you tell yourself,” Felassan says. “Yet you haven’t been home twice since you’ve married. While Andruil has stayed there for the entirety of our last campaign.” Solas makes a face. “She leaves when I return, and that is all I ask. That we dispel the rumors that we are in any entwined. Ghilan’nain may do what she likes, as I may do what I like--as long as Andruil does not make my home hers.” “And people find it titillating,” Felassan says. “The idea your wife is fucking your half-sister.” “Now, that’s unconfirmed,” Solas says, amused. “That she is my half-sister. I know they are engaged in a passionate affair, reaching heights equalling my own. The household attendants say they are not particularly discrete. But you know I have never confirmed who my mother may be.” “Because the uncertainty works better,” Felassan says. “Sure. So you say. But what will you do when you have to commit?” “No comment,” Solas says, and Felassan throws back his head and laughs. They have married and perhaps they have grown bored but they have used the marriage-gifts from Mythal to build a laboratory to study the vallaslin and undo its binding. Ghilan’nain is an expert at blood magic, he walks the Fade like none but Wisdom have, and with the two together they can feel the lease lessening. With him at war, she has the freedom to call for volunteers amongst her own people, and it keeps them both safer. They can pretend it is the other’s fault, they can pretend they never knew, if one is caught--and the work will continue, because the work must be done. The Pillars of the Earth have slowed their shaking since he closed the corrupted mine. The corruption seems to have stagnated within the Stone’s own children, and a dwarven general with whom he has occasion to parley tells him that for now, the poison seems to be isolated in that one lyrium vein Mythal had seized. Solas looks hopefully to the near future: peace is almost upon them. Quietly his aides have drawn up terms. Once they break the vallaslin, they will have enough popular support to force the Evanuris to convene, and he is determined they will have a treaty for the dwarves’ grandchildren, at the very least. He returns from war with a swagger in his step, and Felassan leaves him at the gate. “I find her eyes unsettling,” Felassan says, waving off the invitation to stay. “She’s constantly taking my measure and seeing where I’ll fit.” Solas laughs. “I quite like it.” He clasps him on his back. “She makes me--useful. But take care, my friend. If you shall not visit me, I shall visit you.” He turns and walks the monumental marble entrance, smiling at the magnificent halla he had carved to mark this as their place. He can feel Felassan watching his back as he goes, and appreciates his concern, though he himself does not deem it necessary. Nothing would dare strike the Dread Wolf within his own home. The household ranges in front of him--the staff that followed him from Arlathan, Ghilan’nain’s own aides, all paid. His wife stands at the center. She radiates an almost underwater heat, reminding him of the laboratory she created in the caldera of the Sundered Mountain, to the North. There is a tension in the air; he schools his posture to look unaffected. His lead attendant, Marella, looks at him pleadingly. Ghilan’nain steps forward. She wears a new diadem, inlaid with red stones that whisper like the Fade. He can almost hear it, the song sounds familiar, but he tears his eyes from her jewelry and meets her gaze steadily. “Yet another triumphant return,” she says. “The avenging hero comes home.” He takes her hand and kisses it. Her skin is cold. Arm-in-arm, they enter the hall, and their attendants fall in silently behind him. The whispers nudge at his mind. The stones must be Fade-touched, and she cannot hear it because of her blood magic. They do not bother him, but it is almost comprehensible, they want his attention, and it is hard to focus and see if she has made any changes in his absence because they hiss like shaken-up snakes. He can’t help but wonder how they were so stirred. She leads him to their baths, shedding attendants on their way. He had chosen this plot of land from Mythal’s munificence precisely for the natural sulphuric springs and proximity to the sea, and Ghilan’nain’s engineers have made good use of the hydrothermal energy. Finally, they are alone, and she turns to him and regards him coolly, those seaglass eyes measuring him, checking for any flick of the eye or uncertainty. Solas stares steadily back. She is smug about something, she cannot hide the slight smirk to her lips. He caresses her face and she smiles back up at him. Mythal’s vallaslin is as terrible on them as ever, but underneath the mark of their own fate is seething. She has done something, Solas realizes. She wants to celebrate it. He carefully lifts the diadem from her brow, careful to make sure the arms do not snag in her hair, and places it on the marble bench already waiting for them. The pool is before them, steaming gently. “You’ve done it,” he says, “haven’t you?” “In part,” she says. “Why don’t I show you?” She traces a hand up his chest and begins unstrapping him from his armor. When she has his breastplate off, leaving him in a relatively unremarkable silk shirt, he grabs her hands and kisses her. She tastes like smoke and lyrium, right into his veins, and he gasps as she strips him bare and takes him into the water. He has been a long time from the comforts of home. She pins him to the side of the pool, marble cool against his skin, and fucks him. In a less desperate mood, he would call it making love, but with Ghilan’nain it seems too quaint. And when she is satisfied with him, he sinks deeper in the water, tired but glowing, and closes his eyes as she traces the lines of his vallaslin. Her hand at the lines drawn onto his neck, Ghilan’nain speaks. “My exhausted soldier,” she says, amused, “always eager to perform in the line of duty, no matter how exhausted, how recent the battlefield, how tired from the road.” He wraps his arms around her and pulls her in tighter. Truthfully he wishes to rest, even fall asleep in the bath, and then retire to his offices and find out what has his staff so anxious. “I wouldn’t call it a duty,” he says. “Not nearly so rote as that.” Ghilan’nain tosses her hair back. “I should hope not.” She pushes herself up slightly in his lap, hands on his shoulders, and Solas rocks back. Her eyes glitter. “Now, my heart, where no one can see us, where all assume we are celebrating your return home.” “Yes, we do have a reputation to keep,” Solas says. He places his hands on her hips to keep her steady. Ghilan’nain arches her back, and he notices a slight bruise right at the edge of her right breast, and wonders if he left it. He resolves to leave a match on the left one: it is not jealousy, but he has always been competitive. He traces the edge of her breast like she likes, and she shivers. She genuinely shares this passion with him, he knows it. The alternative is too humiliating to bear. “The vallaslin,” she says. “Though it cost me thirty percent of my sample size, I’ve reverse-engineered the geass Mythal laid upon us. It’s not blood magic, not like we thought it was. She’s been using lyrium, my love. Lyrium and Fade-touched stormheart in the ink.” Solas leans back into the wall, and Ghilan’nain slips slightly in the water and wraps her legs around his waist. She searches his face. “How large was the sample?” Solas says repressively. She pulls back. “Large enough to get the results,” she says sharply. “You may read my report yourself.” “My heart,” he says, by way of an apology. Their limbs are entangled now, and Solas worries she will trip. Carefully he extricates himself and rises, dripping, from the pool. He towels himself off and turns back to Ghilan’nain, who watches him. Her face is unreadable. It mirrors his. Solas reaches for the clothes an embarrassed servant must have placed, while they were otherwise occupied, on the bench where Ghilan’nain had left her robes. A red tunic with gold embroidery about the collar, soft doeskin trousers, and a new wolfskin: Solas turns back to her, smiling. “These are lovely,” he says, fingering the embroidery. He can taste the sigils sewn into the shirt: to keep it from tearing, to wick away sweat, to keep it clean. He catches a particularly strong shielding spell, powerful enough to glance away a blade going for the neck. Ghilan’nain rises from the pool. “You never buy new clothes,” she says. “And what we are about to do will not make us popular at court. Try them. They’ll adjust to fit. I’ve been working the weave to adjust to your body heat.” She takes up the diadem and hands it to him expectantly. It sears his hands, and Solas drops it in surprise. It clatters to the floor. Ghilan’nain bends to pick it up, his eyes travel the length of her back, and she straightens, placing it back into her hand. He takes her hands. They are untouched. “Too sensitive,” she says, “Fadewalker.” She takes his face and kisses him. Her tongue is cold, her skin is cool, and he cannot summon back the fire he found in the pool. She has not answered how large the sample size was. She knows he disapproves. He breaks the kiss and picks up her robe. Disappointed, she steps forward, but he drapes it around her. “Perhaps later,” he says, trying to smile. “The dispatches…” “Of course,” she says. “And do read my report.”

They do not sleep apart, though each has their own rooms where they entertain other guests. Solas hurries to his private quarters, uneasy in his marble halls. The house is too quiet. Where are his young scholars, his petitioners, his angry priests? He was expecting, at the very least, a dinner party, perhaps with Imshael and Geldauron in attendance. In his office his in-tray is already filled. He groans. Mythal’s business never ends. He slides into his chair and begins sorting his mail. His staff would have already prioritized what must be answered today, but he prefers to pick the order in which he writes. He sets aside a letter from Falon’Din, complaining about a group of partying swineherds, to be answered last. His swineherds may party on, and encroach on whomever’s borders as they like, as long as they keep their brawling to a minimum. He makes a mental note to send Felassan that way, to make sure this does not escalate. At the very bottom of the pile is a curious little letter, written on fishskin. Solas wrinkles his nose at the smell. Carefully he tugs the almost translucent paper from its scaled envelope. The words are inscribed with Veilfire. The message is short, written in bold block letters: HAIL THE EXALTED ONE THE WILL THEY CALL PRIDE MYTHAL’S OWN, THE DREAD WOLF WE CRY YOU MERCY MERCY MERCY MERCY WE REPENT MERCY Solas places the letter on his desk and sighs. He closes his eyes, palm flat over the words, and enters the Fade. The room melts into the Waking World, Veilfire bringing him into the message, and in the Dreaming he floats in an underwater chamber, gorgeously ornamented in gold and green glass. They show Ghilan’nain taking tribute, which is her right. Solas glances around him and sees that he is flanked suddenly by whispers, elves with their faces splitting raw with scales, throats bleeding as gills emerge, and their vallaslin ripping suddenly from their bodies in as they erupt, screaming muted in the underwater temple, and horrified Solas opens his eyes to his simple office with the words in his ears: “Mercy. Mercy. Mercy.” “Those were her people,” Solas says aloud. “I knew she was taking volunteers, but I didn’t know--the vallaslin was ripped from the body in their transformation, how can anyone survive that without aid? How many died? How many died after the experiment was deemed a success?” He waits until she is sleeping to investigate. The report lies heavily on his mind. One thousand elves, given willing sacrifice: only seven hundred have survived, and they have changed. They are creatures of mottled flesh and ripping pain, minds shattered by blood-bond Ghilan’nain pulled apart. She treats skeins of flesh like yarn that she can knit--but her subjects feel. His staff has kept track of how many have survived since the vallaslin was removed: only fifty-five percent. Of one thousand loyal attendants, seeking their freedom, only three hundred and eighty-five have survived. The kill rate is equal to Falon’Din in one of his worshipful moods. Solas is seething. She promised him they would do better. He would not have bound his heart to hers, if he knew she would end like this. He changes his clothes to a more simple homespun, and leaves off the wolfskin. He has been a servant and is still a slave to Mythal, whatever his manumission papers say. He can still pass as one today. He walks through his staffers’ paths through the wing he calls his own towards Ghilan’nain’s private laboratory. He is realizing why Mythal encouraged the match, and how both he and Andruil can find something compelling. Ghilan’nain has always been chilling. He mistook the shivering for passion, not frozen sadism. They both would do anything for their freedom, he has always known that--but this beggars belief, this crosses beyond what he thought possible. He presses a hand to her office door, and it swings open. She trusts him, and has left it unlocked. He has never done that for his wing of the house. Slightly ashamed, he wonders how she could have so misunderstood him. Then he remembers: six hundred and fifteen dead. Solas groans aloud, then slaps a hand over his own mouth. Mercy, mercy, he thinks: I repent. Her space is as clean and shining as possible. She has a sketch of her first halla that he made her framed on her desk. Solas resists the urge to take it. Above her desk, she has a set of antlers mounted on the wall. Andruil must have hunted it for her. It must be her fault, she was so reckless, Andruil must have egged her on: no. Solas waves the thought away. Whatever Ghilan’nain has does, it is her choice and hers alone. Andruil has never been capable of this calculating cruelty. Ghilan’nain chose to press ahead with the trials, even as her people began to mutate. Solas thinks again: thirty-eight point five percent. He says it aloud, to make it real. The glowstones activate at the sound of his voice. Lyrium is so responsive, especially to those who walk the Fade like he does. He walks away from her desk and begins examining the tanks that line the walls. Most of the creatures are asleep. Some of their faces are burnt blank. Solas’ heart sinks. These were people, once. These were Ghilan’nain’s people, so his people too. The vallaslin must be removed, but not at a cost such as this. He investigates, growing more and more disgusted. One creature is still recognizably elvhen, but bowed by massive horns erupting at odd angles from its face. Another has half its body melting into a dragon’s tail, but speckled with sores angry with inflammation. Solas stares at it, removed from itself. He wonders how it removes waste. He notices its hands are bound. Scales litter the bottom of the tank. He moves on. Hidden in a recess at the back of the room, furthest from the door, is a small pool, stinking of brine. The room grows hotter as he approaches it, and he hears strange whispers, the same from that odd diadem Ghilan’nain wears. Again, they feel familiar, but even if they are imbued with Veilfire, it is not the same kind that the petitioners wrote into the letter that brought him here. He casts his mind back, trying to place the odd sense of familiarity. The whispers have a sense of sluggish rhythm, and he finds himself moving in time towards the pool. It glows red rather than green, so it cannot be Fade magic, though he knows color signifiers are arbitrary, and Ghilan’nain’s senses are different from hers, ground by her blood magic. She would not be able to hear the whispers. They come at him through the Fade. Solas crouches by the pool. His hand reaches out to touch the water and he stops himself. Shaken slightly, he takes a step back. Grounding himself firmly, he closes his eyes and listens. “We are here, we have waited,” the red waters whisper. “We have slept, we are sundered. We are crippled, we are polluted. We endure. We wait. We have found the dreams again. We will awaken--” Solas rips himself away, foot hovering above the pool. He scrambles, stumbling over himself, clattering to the ground, but mercifully on dry ground. He knows those evil whispers, he knows that red glow. It is the corruption in the Titan’s blood that festered when he and Mythal dealt it a mortal wound. It is a pollution he thought he had culled. It is a poison he broke from Mythal to cure. The Children of the Stone with whom he has drawn peace terms call it a blight. Ghilan’nain has cultivated it in their own home. Rage grips him and he surrenders to it. Dead whispers poison the air he breathes, the pollution is in his lungs now, synthesizing in his bloodstream, and red he storms calling fury electric down the halls of his silent home. The door to their bedroom swings open before he even shapes the ask in the Fade. Ghilan’nain is sitting before a mirror, combing her long hair. She turns, and for a moment they simply stare at each other. Finally, Ghilan’nain breaks the silence. “I take it you read the report,” she says. Solas throws the papers at her feet. “Ah,” she says. “I should have anticipated you would react that way. Did you make it to the conclusion, at least?” “The lyrium,” he says. “The pollution I found in the Deep Roads. That was not used. It was supposed to remain forgotten!” Ghilan’nain twists her mouth. “Is this what this is about? Really? You are angry because I explored and expanded our options--the corrupted lyrium broke the geass of the vallaslin, Solas.” “And how many died for you to find that?” Solas snarls. “I saw the corpses, Ghilan’nain. They were our people! They came to us for aid! They volunteered only because they trusted that we would make it worth it, and now--” His voice breaks. “We are no better than Sylaise in her vanity. Or Falon’Din.” “Perish the thought,” she says mildly. “Surely I’m no worse than Mythal--she has asked the same of her people, and more.” He is disgusted, and he is disgusted with himself, because he has thrown his lot with her. He was to petition Mythal formally to raise Ghilan’nain to Evanuris--and she deserves it. She is just like the lot of them, happy to drown in blood. “No,” he says. “No. No. You are worse. Mythal has asked too much of me, that is true. But she has never let her people die in vain. She has spared us what agony she could. And even when she has been cruel, she--” He stops. “This is no justice, Ghilan’nain. You are nothing like Mythal.” “Oh, for fuck’s sake, Solas,” she says exasperated. “You want your freedom--I found it. And I did not even use up the whole stock. I was merciful. And for the dead?” She shrugs. “Well, they died for a good cause--your cause. Their sacrifice must be nobly borne. No more of these histrionics, my love. You have been too long away in war. You are home now, and we are so close to unravelling the bindings. I can break the geass, but you can hear what the lyrium says. Together we can--” “Shut up,” Solas growls. “Shut up.” Ghilan’nain’s face sharpens, and he sees her reaching for her staff. He throws his arm out, reaching into the Fade to shove her away. The force of the blast shatters the mirror of her vanity, and quickly he throws up a barrier. Ghilan’nain screams, her face dripping with blood. The glass has cut into her eyes. “I can’t see,” she sobs. “Mythal’enaste, I can’t see. You bastard, you fucking son-of-a-wolf, I can’t see!” Her voice rises to a wail. “Solas! Help me! My love, help me!” Solas hurriedly picks up the papers he had scattered so carelessly on the ground. Stepping around the shattered mirror, Solas leaves. Ghilan’nain weeps blood and mucus behind him. He hears her calling behind him: “Andruil, avenge me.”

#solas/ghilan'nain #solas #ghilan'nain #arlathan #body horror #psychological horror #cw: blinding #fanfic #dragon age fanfic #dai #solas pov