#Solas and Vivienne slam the door shut and lock them in | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

emerald-amidst-gold · 3 years

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Why have I done this?

So, as per a conversation with @little-lightning-lavellan, I was blessed or maybe cursed, with this idea about Fane. As such, I had to write a short story about it that I think will be like four chapters long because...yeah. XD

Anyways, enjoy part one! (Look at what you’ve done. IT’S GLORIOUS!)

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Anatomical Observations - Chapter 1

It had happened once. Short lived, quick, and barely noticeable as many things were more pressing, the world teetering on a crumbling edge. But it was hard to ignore such small things when voices were all you could hear when one was trying to work.

Solas was highly divested in an article of research. A basic magical theory in concept, minor amplifications of lesser spells, but it still required his mind to bend, to become flexible much like his magic when he had first awoken. As such, he had not heard many people come and go through the rotunda, he had not even heard the doors leading in and out slam shut or creak open, nor a polite greeting or scurrying messenger. That was how deep he was in his bubble of concentration. However, one--no, two voices from directly above were currently making it incredibly, and he meant incredibly, difficult to remain focused.

“I do believe that is my chair you are sitting in, Inquisitor.”, a male voice with a distinct Tevinter accent floated down from above, indignation and slight amusement laced within it.

“I don’t see your name on it, do I?”, another voice, far deeper and like rolling thunder with how it always held a slight growl. It always made Solas involuntarily shiver, and the same remained true now, making his focus splinter further like cracked ice. “Anyhow, it’s Inquisition property. Got a problem, talk to Josephine. I’m off duty.” A sound like a page being harshly flipped made his ears twitch.

A gasp. “And work her harder than she already is? Absolutely not!” Solas could tell the line was meant to be a jab, but it only held the telling of a joke within its haughty vibrato.

“Then I guess you’ll just have to sit your ass on the floor until I’m finished.”, that rumbling timbre came once again, a shifting sound and a loud thud signifying someone’s boots had been slammed down onto something.

“The floor? Me?!”, another indignant squawk, actually making Solas let out a frustrated sigh as he lifted a hand to pinch at the bridge of his nose. How much longer was this going to go on for? It wasn’t unusual for this type of banter to sound, but right now, he had work to complete.

And this was not helping accomplish that.

“Yes, the floor. Yes, you.”, another harsh flick of a page ruffling through the air. “Now, can you leave me alone? I’m busy.”

“Oh, yes, you’re quite busy stuffing your face with tea cakes!”, the Tevinter accent rose a pitch, as if in disbelief at what it was saying. “The crumbs! Have you no etiquette, Inquisitor?!”

“Nope.”, the gravelly voice responded with a heavy air of indifference, actually sounding a bit muffled as if it were eating something. “If Vivienne and Josephine can’t knock the elf out of me, no one can.”, Solas could just hear the sarcasm and roll of eyes in that statement. It almost made him chuckle, but he was still too miffed to push one through.

“Most elves I’ve met are very well mannered!”

“I’m not like most elves.”

“Well, that much is apparent!”

“Thanks for noticing. I’m so happy.”, the tone voicing that statement dripping with concealed disdain. Solas knew where that bitterness originated from, and hearing it always made his heart heavy. Heavier than it already was, even.

“You are a truly stubborn man! Fine, I’ll sit on the floor! The cold, cold floor!”, a scoff following right after those words as the sound of leather and, most notably a body, plopped down onto the stone.

Solas let out a heavy, heavy sigh as silence finally followed that exchange, letting his head hang down to where his chin nearly touched his chest in defeat. It would seem his attention was severed as much as the world’s magic was. He would not be getting back into his rhythm anytime soon.

“Perhaps I should find a quieter, more secluded place to do my work..”, he mused, lifting a hand to rub at his face slowly. “One of the lower chambers maybe..”

Solas sighed again before letting his hand fall back down to his desk with a light pap, eyes absently roaming over the pages of the tome before him. Maybe if he stilled his mind, found his anchor, he could try to decipher this line of text. The glyphs were a no go, however. Just trying to look at the faded lines was making his vision go blurry. Sadly, the theory he was trying to prove was reliant on those patterns, and they were far more convoluted than he remembered. Perhaps more things had adapted than he originally thought? Or did the older methods have to be reworked, seemingly forgotten like so much else? He, frankly, did not know. He couldn’t focus, but he would have to try.

“A ward..?”, Solas muttered under his breath, brows furrowing as he traced a sigil with his finger. “No..it is more akin to a summoning circle. Or perhaps a rune?”, he continued, slowly feeling how his mind began to bend and think, the lines of the glyphs becoming clearer, more defined. “Ah! The outlining symbols are for--”

His musing was immediately cut off, much like the frayed line of his focus, as a shout had him freezing and quite literally jumping in surprise.

“Fasta vas! What are you doing?!”, a squawk, the curse in Tevene elongated between the two words for more flair.

“Would you calm down?! Dammit, my ears are fucking ringing now! Ugh!”, the rolling thunder voice no longer indifferent as its volume rose to make the very stone quake. Once again, it made a light shiver run down Solas’s spine despite his tensed up form. What was going on now?

“How can I be calm when you...you do that!?”, furious shifting sounded as if someone was flailing limbs about.

“One, I don't know what the hell you’re going on about, Dorian!” The sharp snapping of a book making the ravens up above in the rookery flap in agitation. “Two, you can have your chair back because I’m not getting anything done with your needling!”

“I believe you need a needle, my friend! That looked incredibly painful!”

Solas felt his slowly relaxing body tense up at that, mind awakened, but for a completely different reason than trying to get magical research done. He lifted his gaze from where it was fixated on the pages of his book, looking upwards to search the railing that outlined the library for the source of the voices that had shattered his hour of contemplation. He knew them both, but the exclamation housed by one had him wanting to see the other.

Where..? Solas thought the question, eyes roaming every inch of the circular area before stark white had his gaze halting immediately. Ah. There we are.

He would spot that messy head from anywhere, even in snowy regions like the Emprise. Though, the body that that hair was attached to did a fine job of location as well. Occasionally, he would find his eyes lingering, or searching for less...conventional reasons. However, this wasn’t the time to be thinking of such things, especially as his mind still reeled with what the unaccounted voice had yelled.

Fane was currently along one of the bookshelves, a gloved hand firmly pushing a book back into its place with a typical scowl plastered on his otherwise smooth face, the faded green lines of his vallaslin making an already striking face look more so. Solas felt his body relax as he took in the sight of the man, or rather, the dragon.

His dragon, to be more precise, but not in a way of physical possession. It was more fond, more willing than that. It was not a bond of slavery. It was a vow. A centuries old one, to be exact.

Solas almost called out to the other, a sense of fondness and curiosity as well as mild concern invading his mind, but he clamped his mouth shut when he saw Dorian stride up to the snowy haired man with a look of wide eyed fascination. That was an interesting look, and truthfully, a worrying one. Such looks harbored questions, and he knew Fane did not entertain many inquiries.

And for good reason.

“Wait, what? You can’t be serious?”, Dorian said with an airy laugh. “You do that, and just walk it off?”, his tone rose pitch in disbelief.

Solas caught the glint of ebbing gold as Fane rolled his eyes, turning his larger frame to face the Tevinter mage more directly. His eyes zoned in on how the reluctant Inquisitor was tentatively rubbing at his jaw, working it back and forth slowly as if it were locked up. Dorian had said something about something being painful, hadn’t he? Was that what he meant?

“Again, I didn’t do anything.”, Fane growled out in denial, the hand upon his jaw shifting so he had it pinched between two fingers to where it appeared he was trying to fit it into place. “I was eating, and I bit my tongue because you pissed me off!”

Solas smirked faintly at his dragon’s typical usage of foul language despite the way he watched his odd movements like a hawk. Fane was incredibly eloquent, cryptic, even, but when irritation or just general boredom took hold, the dual being was a sailor. It always fascinated him rather than disgusted him. For a dragon, an ancient dragon, to latch onto common parlance as if it were the most natural thing to their being was intriguing. Then again, Fane had lived in this world for twenty-four years without knowing he was a dragon. That, would perhaps, be a more justifiable reason, but it still piqued Solas’s interest. Everything about the dragon turned elf was a point of interest. Especially now, with the way he was still nursing his sharp jaw and glowering at Dorian as if he was trying to work something out in his head.

“I’m sorry, but that was not you biting your tongue!”, Dorian exclaimed, shaking his head with that same look of disbelief before it morphed into a thoughtful look, hand coming up to absently stroke his mustache. “Though...if what I saw was..well, actually what I saw, then I have questions and curiosities regarding it.”

Fane’s expression went deadpan as he stared at the other, the golden light in his eyes all but extinguished as he turned on his heel to go the other way. Solas blinked a bit, even as his eyes followed the dragon’s retreating form.

He disengaged. Solas thought with certainty and familiarity. Unsurprising, but still worrying. He only resorts to that level of disregard when he is hiding something.

His eyes never left Fane’s stalking form, noticing how his brows were furrowed deeply, but could see one of them twitching with nervous energy. Broad shoulders were raised much like a shield, narrow nostrils flared with attempts at dispelling whatever heat had invaded a snowy disposition, partially gloved hands flexed, tendons underneath leather bindings apparent from how much force was behind its pull.

And golden emerald eyes were now fighting for dominance - dancing and bashing against each other as abilities that had laid dormant for too long began to try and enable themselves in an attempt to mitigate the, no doubt, myriad of emotions coursing through a draconic mind.

Solas felt his concern towards the ancient man mount at all those observations, but also, he felt slightly exasperated. The latter was only because he knew this strategy of deflection that Fane always used as his Queen upon the chessboard of his mental battles. He bounced, side stepped, and outright threw a verbal wall up when he did not wish to cross a specific square. It wasn’t that Fane was lying out of malicious means; he was doing it to protect himself and others. But Solas knew it only caused more harm, more warped perceptions.

It hurt Fane, and he knew all too well how much it hurt to keep the truth hidden, even if it was necessary for the long run.

That is the secondary explanation for this flight. Solas mused silently, eyes never leaving the dragon’s form despite his long strides. Whatever has happened puts his mask in jeopardy.

So lost in his own thoughts and the duel of veridium, Solas didn’t notice how Dorian broke out of his look of repose as he noticed the other striding away with purposeful steps.

“Where are you going?”, Dorian called after the white hair elf, but not making an effort to chase after him with how far the other had already gotten from him.

“To beat the shit out of a dummy before I beat you.”, Solas heard Fane growl out lowly, dangerously, and for a moment, he easily caught the flickering of his eyes as they met with his own. He met that gaze with ease, reading them as no other could. The message they conveyed had him instantly seeking more as the shifting of deep emerald had his eyes narrowing in concern.

“What happened?”, Solas mouthed to Fane as he was unable to communicate precisely how the other did without it being perceived incorrectly. He noticed how the man had slowed to keep their gazes longer. There was such volume in them that Solas nearly wanted to tear his own away, but also delve deeper like he thristed for their color bound words, their fathomless depths amid a thin world.

Fane’s eyes flitted to the door that led to the balcony the Enchanter always occupied, and then down, to signify he was taking the adjacent stairwell from there to bypass the Great Hall before he disappeared from the edge of the railing, the sound of door slamming issuing his complete departure.

Solas let out a quiet sigh before nodding, pushing himself up with his arms to stand straight. Well, it would appear he was most certainly not getting an ounce of work done today, and oddly, he was okay with that since concern was overriding his need for magical answers.

There were other, more pressing, questions that needed attending to.

***

#i'll probably put these up on ao3 eventually #but what did fane dooooo?#what doesn't fane do #also it was fun writing dorian! X3 #and solas as always i like writing him #my writing #solavellan #solas #oc: fane lavellan #dorian pavus #dragon age #this idea has been living rent free in my head because SOMEONE put it there!#*glares with threatening thanks* thank you

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roguelioness · 7 years

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Wow, I love your poetry prompts! #1 for Solavellan! For DWC

Thank you for the prompt [and the compliment!] @katalyna-rose! [I can’t seem to tag you for some reason :/]

For @dadrunkwriting!

Because I could not stop for Death / He kindly stopped for me; / The carriage held but ourselves / And Immortality [Because I could not stop for Death, Emily Dickinson]

In Your Heart Shall Burn

The dungeon was dark and damp, the air stale and musty; but it kept them hidden, and for that blessing they would take every inconvenience that the rickety old building threw at them.

Neria detached her prosthetic arm in one fluid, practiced motion, and placed it onto the table. She was tired; every bone in her body was filled with a deep exhaustion, and no matter how hard she fought, how much she tried, she knew - as they all did - that they would fail.

They would not be able to stop the Dread Wolf.

But they would not stop trying.

Even now, at the final hour, she did not give up hope that he would see the good in this world.

She had to.

Because if she didn’t… it would mean accepting that the man she loved truly was the monster her people had made him out to be.

She tried not to think of all the lives lost, the cities razed. She didn’t think of the chaos he’d orchestrated. She ignored the voice in her head that whispered about the strings he pulled, that warned her of the puppetmaster he’d become.

At the very core of her was his heart, and she knew, even as hers beat within her chest, that he was good, that he was just misguided and desperate, the poor wolf who sullied his hands with blood and his name with curses.

“Rough day, huh?” Dagna asked as she examined the artificial limb.

“Yes,” Neria replied.

“Any good news?”

She shrugged. “We know where his main base is, but we lost Brynnlaw.”

Dagna was matter-of-fact. “Knew it was just a matter of time. We’re spread too thin.”

Neria knew what the dwarf meant was there are too few of us now.

“Anyway,” she continued, “we leave at dawn. Morrigan’s discovered that there’s an eluvian nearby. We can use hers to get there. Hopefully,” she added.

The arcanist snorted. “Isn’t it a little too late for hope?”

“It’s all we have,” she replied grimly.

Dagna fiddled with the limb, then handed it back to the once-Inquisitor. “I used the last of the lyrium,” she stated. “It should have enough firepower for what you want.”

She picked up the prosthetic, feeling its weight in her hand. It seemed heavier than usual, as though it carried the weight of the world within it.

Which, in a way, it did.

With a sigh, she re-attached it to her elbow, flexing her arm to test the mobility. The lyrium glowed blue along the runes carefully engraved along the length of it. “Thanks, Dagna,” she said. “Listen, about tomorrow…”

“I’ll make my way to Orzammar,” the dwarf replied stoically. “Don’t worry about me.”

“Right. Good. Just…” she hesitated. “Be careful, okay?”

The arcanist’s features softened. “And you too, Neria.”

She didn’t want to sully the moment with goodbyes. Not verbally, anyway. For the past few weeks, they’d lived day-to-day with the knowledge that any day could be the end.

As she drifted off into sleep that night, she wondered why Solas hadn’t acted yet. He had all the advantage; he’d activated all the elven artifacts - and some of that was her fault, she thought uncomfortably - he had the ability to enter the Fade, he could’ve torn open the Veil by now.

And yet… he hadn’t.

It seemed… uncharacteristic.

What are you planning, old wolf?

She wasn’t sure if she wanted to know or not.

Dawn broke with an ominous red sky, not a cloud in sight as their group made their way towards the eluvian that would lead them straight into the heart of the Dread Wolf’s camp. Their plan was madness, but they had little choice. The world was as close to insanity as it could get, and perhaps madness was the answer to healing it.

Not a word was spoken as they passed through the first mirror, and out of the second. Every step they took was measured and planned, the inhale and exhale of their breath as controlled as possible.

She and Dorian disarmed the first set of wards, painstakingly going over the area once, twice, then again to make sure they hadn’t missed anything. The shadow of the forest eventually gave way to an open field, in the middle of which was a rather inconspicuous looking building.

But she wasn’t fooled by its simple looks, because the magic that hung in the air was heavy and strong.

“Alright,” she whispered. “Vivienne, Dorian, Morrigan, we lead. Take down any wards you see. Varric, you and Hawke follow behind us closely; don’t let us walk into any trigger traps, will you? Cass, Blackwall, Bull, Krem - if we get into any shit, give us some cover. We need to get into that building no matter what.”

Terse nods all around.

They moved slowly, testing every inch for trouble before pressing forward, and they were close, oh so close to the door now, and she reached out a hand and touched the handle…

And a flood of magic practically exploded, blasting outwards, sending everyone reeling backwards. In seconds, they were surrounded by elves - not her kind, but his, the ancient ones who had yet lingered despite the creation of the Veil - and the weapons they held she knew they could not match, but dammit they were going to, and she was going to get inside, they needed to get the amulet to the center before they could activate it, and she wasn’t going to give in, not now…

“Vivienne, Morrigan!” she called out urgently, and they understood, barriers instantly dropping over their party, the warriors letting out aggressive cries, and now she was terrified, what if something happened to them, what if-

“Come on!” Dorian shouted over the melee, dragging her through the doorway and shutting it behind him. “We need to keep going! It’s our only hope!”

They ran down the passageway, Neria using her lyrium-charged arm to blast through the Sentinels who opposed them. With each hit, she felt the power drain away from the limb, and by the time they had made their way through the maze of corridors, passageways and stairwells up to the tower, she had run out of power completely.

But their destination was within reach now. They stood before the final door, breathing heavily, sweat coating their foreheads and dripping down the sides of their faces.

“Let’s do this,” she urged, and flung open the door.

And despaired.

By the window stood Solas, his arms clasped behind his back as he observed the battle that raged outside.

“Fen’harel,” she whispered, backing away slowly.

An unseen force pulled her into the room, another slamming the door shut. She could hear Dorian shouting from the other side, hammering wildly at the door that did not budge. Nor did she expect it to, for it was held close by ancient magicks.

Her heart thundering away in her chest, she pulled the amulet out from under her armor, wrapping her fingers tightly around it.

“I will have that, please,” he spoke, his back still turned towards her.

“You can’t,” she retorted vehemently, and began the spell that would turn back time.

Three strides, long and quick, were all it took for him to stand before her, his hand gently - but inexorably - prying her fingers apart, taking away her last hope - their last hope. She fought him, clawed at him like a wild beast, but it was a futile effort. She sank to her knees, defeated, as she watched him shatter the amulet into pieces so fine she could not tell them apart from the dust that covered the floor.

“Are you going to kill me now?” she asked in a low voice.

She heard his footsteps get louder the closer he got to her, but she did not look up, not even when she saw his boots from the corner of her eye.

He sighed.

“By rights, I should,” he muttered brokenly. “You and your group have caused me a great deal of trouble.”

She looked up at him then, eyes blazing. “Don’t you dare do anything to them!” she hissed.

Solas shrugged. “Are you certain? Would not a quick, painless death be better than facing the raging inferno of tomorrow?”

“What do you mean?” she asked, her stomach a lump of sheer, unadulterated fear.

He crouched before her, his fingertips gently brushing across her face. “I would have taken down the Veil,” he said softly, his eyes locked onto hers. “But I found myself lacking one final object.”

“What?” she whispered, though she knew what the answer would be.

“You.” He stood, pulling her up with him. “And now that you have come to me, now that I have you… I can proceed.” He drew her through the eluvian well hidden away, ignoring her struggles and pleas.

The world outside would be rubble when she was finally let out of her cage.

#roguelioness writes #dadrunkwriting #dwc #solas #lavellan #solavellan #the end of the world?#katalyna-rose

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