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rosieofcorona · 2 months

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In the Blue Morning

BELOVEDS, a soft little Solavellan fic for you. Mostly fluff this time around to soothe the eternal, unyielding hurt. Also on AO3, if you prefer. As always, thank you for reading. 💕

She cajoles him, some mornings, away from his office, from his maps and his books and his paintings and out among the newly-planted gardens, all their tight, unfurling blooms.

It’s always empty at this hour, when most of Skyhold is still asleep save for the guards in their high towers, the recruits in the practice yard. The only sound is the clang of their swords ringing through the mist like distant bells, the only light the pink and gold of the nascent sun.

They have been careful, desperately careful not to draw undue attention, not to generate rumors that could harm the Inquisition in the future. It is easier on the road to find a quiet moment alone– to steal a kiss or hold a hand or put words to their love– but the castle, however safe, is full of eyes, forever watching.

It is only in the narrow, muted hours before dawn that Solas weaves his fingers with hers as they orbit the courtyard, side by side.

He names the blossoms as they pass, first in the trade tongue and then in Elvish, the softened syllables like music on his tongue. She repeats them half as gracefully, but he smiles at every attempt, correcting her gently now and again, praising her efforts.

“Gail’lealis,” he says, pointing out an elegant bellflower, its blue-white petals bundled tightly in green sepals.

It sounds off, even to her ear, when she says, “Ga’lealis,” back.

They pause for a moment, and Solas turns and bends and plucks an early bloom from the same plant, rotating it slowly between his fingers, holding it up for examination.

“Ga-il,” he repeats softly, separating the sounds. “Meaning ‘bell,’ in the common parlance.”

“Ga-il,” she says again, correctly this time.

“Followed by lealis, meaning ‘glass.’”

“Gail’lealis.”

“Beautiful,” he murmurs, tucking the flower behind her ear, the meaning vague yet all-encompassing. It is all beautiful– the morning, the garden, how she catches the light, his ancient language in her mouth, her mouth–

Solas kisses her in the empty courtyard, parts her lips with a linguist’s tongue, and she kisses him back again and again as if each time might be the last. He wants to stay like this forever, wants the sun to forget to rise, wants the castle to sleep and sleep in an endless dream.

But the light keeps coming, every moment. The castle will wake, and they will see.

And this will cost them, in the end.

She is pink as the sky when they finally come apart, and continue their long walk around.

“I hear you were out here yesterday,” she says, breaking the silence as they turn a corner. “Cullen says you beat him soundly at chess.”

“It was a closer game than he thinks,” Solas says, but she has learned when he’s just being modest.

“Must not have been that close, because Bull says the same. As do Blackwall, and Varric, and Dorian, though he swears that you cheated.” “I did no such thing!”

When they turn again, the chessboard in question comes into full view, set and waiting on its table beneath an awning.

“He seemed very certain,” she shrugs. “Though I suppose I could find out for myself.”

They stop again before the table, and Solas looks at her intently. “Is that a challenge, dear Inquisitor?”

“That depends on your level of skill.”

She’s teasing him now, enticing him, a dynamic he’s come to enjoy. There are so few who impress him with thoughtfulness, who make him work at being clever.

“Very well, but you should know that I am merciless,” he warns, a contradiction to the chivalry of pulling out her chair. “Even to one I love.”

He takes the seat opposite her, the board and the pieces adorned in glittering dew.

“I believe the Lady Inquisitor moves first.”

**********

He sets a dozen little traps for her, a dozen clever gambits, and she evades them every time, to his astonishment. Where he moves to attack, she counters; where he baits her, she defends or retreats. By the end, with the sun fully risen overhead, they reach a deadlock, both depleted, neither victorious.

“Again?” She asks cheerfully, when they’ve finished. Already she is freeing her captives from his end of the table. “Don’t look so stunned, my love. Unless you’re trying to offend me.”

“Forgive me, vhenan,” he says, shaking his head. “You surprise me as always. It is rare to find an opponent so…discerning.”

His beloved laughs with the morning breeze, a sound like air that surrounds and envelops him.

“Rare to find one you can’t beat, you mean.”

She’s right, of course– it is rare that he loses, even rarer that he plays against someone so evenly matched. He still can’t quite puzzle through it, where he went wrong, where she figured him out.

He had gotten a lead on her early on, or so he thought– he had taken a tower, a mage, and two pawns– and left his queen open for the taking, which she had entirely ignored. She caught onto him quickly, though too late to win, and when she realized she couldn’t beat him, she had blocked him instead.

Solas leans thoughtfully back in his chair, replaying their game in his mind. No matter how he tries to beat her, he finds no way through. She sees his scheming, sees him coming, cuts him off.

“Why did you not take my queen, given the chance?”

“Because you gave me the chance,” she reasons. “You wouldn’t do that except to win.”

“It could have been a tactical error.” “It wasn’t,” she says assuredly, resetting the pieces along their battle lines. “If I had taken her, it would have left my king undefended from your mages.” “You could have moved him.” “For a turn or two. Then your knight would have circled back. Isn’t that right?” She looks up at Solas, her eyes smiling and sharp, affirmed in her answer already. “Or shall we call that a ‘tactical error?’”

“Mm,” Solas nods his approval. “You’ve become quite the strategist. Have you been spending time with our Commander?”

“I’ve been spending time with you,” she counters. “Learning all your little tricks.”

Not all, it occurs to him, but Solas smothers the thought with a laugh. “It seems to me you have a few of your own.”

“Our Keeper used to call me harellan,” she tells him. “Trickster. Though I needn’t explain that to you.”

He fights to keep the easy expression on his face, feeling suddenly caught in the snare of her gaze, as if she sees directly through him, sees him fully, all he is.

Harellan, his mind echoes. How could she know?

The wait for her judgment feels infinite, inevitable– but it does not come, and does not come, and does not come. She only moves a white pawn toward the board’s center, the leaves rustling softly around them.

No, he decides. She does not know. She only means he knows the word.

Solas mirrors her opening move, their pawns face to face on the battlefield. “And still, your Keeper named you her First.”

“I was more troublesome as a child,” she says, with a grin that implies that the mischief has never left her. “I’ve settled down a great deal since. Can’t you tell?”

This time, when Solas laughs, there is nothing else hiding beneath it. No uneasy feeling, no great fear that she will discover him, cast him out. There is only happiness for a moment, the war reduced to a board between them, as if sorrow and death are nowhere, and the end of the world is far away.

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bearlytolerant · 2 months

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Fandom: DAI | Pairing: Solavellan | Rating: Explicit (cunnilingus)

Her fingers thrum against the wooden windowsill as she gapes through glass, rain smattering against the pane. A million raindrops reflect her glazed over eyes, slipping slowly in streaks as lightning ripples across the sky and the thunder rumbles down to her toes. Sarya sighs. It’s the third day in a row for a storm and she wants to be out in it. But not really in it. There’s much to do. Not enough done.

Long fingers reach out to still her own and his other hand wraps around her waist. He kisses her neck. It’s near her chin, that sweet spot that makes her tingle and chime. And she hums a sigh of delight as those kisses, like rivulets, streak down her neck. His lips, they are the lightning under her skin. Thunder in her belly.

“You seem restless,” he says.

“I’m itching to get outside. It’s been raining this whole time and now there’s a storm. We have shit to do. And now there’s—” He’s kissing her shoulder, pushing the fabric of the tunic away with his chin as he goes. Her eyes close and she centers herself. “Oh, this—this is a welcome distraction.”

Solas’ breath leaves an invisible mark on her skin as he chuckles. It burns bright somewhere—everywhere all at once.

“I am glad I can help in some way.”

“Help? You are a gift from the gods, I'm convinced.”

A soft chuckle.

His lips trail back up her neck and she shudders as another thunderclap shakes the shack; shivers down her spine. He lingers again near her jaw. He nibbles and kisses while his hands wander her body.

“You aren’t restless?” she asks.

“Never when you are around.”

But she doesn’t believe him. He fidgets with his hems too much and his eyes glaze over in pockets of stillness, same as hers. He gets lost to her in thoughts or dreams or stories not meant for sharing except to the spirits residing in his mind. She knows when she’s left behind on one of his internal adventures but she will never subject herself to the self-titled unwelcome tagalong.

“Hmm,” she hums an acknowledgment.

His fingers glide down her arms as she watches lightning strike a nearby tree. He pauses. It cracks, real loud and is pulled to the earth, enveloped in a pool of rainwater. Whispers of awe spill from their lips.

He sweeps back her hair and returns to kissing. Then places his lips against each and every freckle he can on her shoulder. Kisses as infinite as the rain smattering against the glass. He dusts his fingers back up her arm, caresses her chest and pulls the laces free at the top of her tunic. The fabric gives way, uncovering secrets as it goes. Scars, more freckles, soft skin, and stretch marks. He kisses it all.

“What do you wish for?” he whispers as the tunic falls off her shoulder completely. It gathers at her waist, held in place by her hips.

“Right now? Well that’s you of course,” she tells him.

“In what way?”

He kisses her chest, all the way across and then down the curve of her side and up again. Feather light and soft, tempo to match the patter pat pat of the rain against the window. She swallows, the words of what she wanted to say lost somewhere in a breath caught at the back of her throat.

“Every way,” she sputters.

She means it too, not just in body but in spirit—in soul. Know him from the ins and the outs and the layers between here and there. Because she can never quite fully understand him but gods be damned if she doesn’t try. His answers come with every question she asks. Giving everything and almost nothing, a mysterious something always veils her desire of knowing and she’s unsure if the veil belongs to her or him. But even in that, she still wants all of him, secrets and unsecrets alike.

He chuckles into her skin. “Like this?” His hands slip past the laces of her trousers, tip of his finger placing just a hint of pressure on her clit.

“Mmm, and I can think of some others.”

Her hand stills his and she pulls his fingers up to her lips, kissing the tiny scars on his knuckles. He’s so willing to please in this manner. It is easy for him.

“Name them.” His voice is a challenge.

She drops his hand, skims her fingers up his arm and places her palm on his shoulder. She squeezes, firm. “I would have you kneel before me and worship me with that wonderful tongue of yours.” Because it’s not enough to have his fingers and lips caressing every inch of her skin already.

His brow flicks up. “Worship?”

She nods. “I am the Herald of Andraste after all.” Her voice drips with sarcasm.

And he lowers himself with the slightest pressure from her hand. Wears a smirk as his fingers curl around the top of the fabric of her trousers. He tugs. Shuffles them down. Stares up at her with eyes of admiration. As if she were a natural marvel, rivaling the awe of lighting striking a tree that’s pulled to earth.

He shoves her clothes away.

Leaning forward, a breath at her entrance and she groans under the warmth of his tongue. Just one lick then he says, “is this what you want?”

“Yes,” she says. “And more.”

“More?”

Another swipe of his tongue. Earnest yet languid and lingering. There’s doubt that she will outlast his dutiful tongue. Doubt is confirmed when he reaches under her thigh and hooks it over his shoulder. One, two, then a tantalizing third lick. A hesitant fourth swipe and his tongue stills, eliciting a whined protest. Another crack of thunder and electricity lights up her body. A shock straight to her core.

“Too much?” he asks, the magic buzzing through her limbs.

“Not enough,” she rasps, both enchanted and dizzy from his use of a spell. “It makes sense but I didn’t think. Didn’t realize—”

She stops short when his tongue dances along her clit.

That he could bring the storm inside.

Commands replace ruminations as his tongue oscillates the highs and lows of her pleasure.

More. There. Yes, good. Right there. Keep going. Don’t stop.

A zap of his magic makes her squirm. But his nails dig into her outer thighs, face obscured from her view and she grasps for his head and down to his ears then finally settles at the base of his neck. He inserts one finger. Pumps in and slides out. Repeats it again, curling just slightly while driving deeper.

“Godsfuck!” Another rumble of thunder and she whispers her next demand. “Solas. Keep it right there. Just like that.”

But his little disobedience of adding another finger and upping the tempo, just barely—maybe half a beat, has her questioning if she wants to be in charge of this at all. Closing her eyes and chin sinking to her chest, all efforts of demands become hushed, almost wordless whispers lost in the scattered silences proffered by the storm. She lets out a low moan. He murmurs something in elvhen and she understands the fragments of praise.

With proper propitiation, tongue in tandem with lightning touch, she disintegrates in undulations against his lips, his nose, his hand.

“Solas—“

The slip of his name in a chant off her tongue intermingles with the continuous downpour and she repeats it like she’s the penitent one after all and he—he is the god.

Closing her eyes, she forgets she is body and only knows her soul when he fucks her with his fingers and she loses self-control. Numb and spent and suspended between what’s real and what’s fade, Solas breathes and offers a kiss on her inner thigh.

“You are marvelous,” he murmurs, kissing down her leg. A peck on her calf and he utters more praises, fingers dancing along her skin.

“What else,” she says in a shaky breath.

“And I love you.”

“Mmm, I’ve noticed.” She slides her leg off his shoulder and rests her heel against his chest.

He snatches her ankle and kisses her toes and a giggle spills from her lips, breaking the illusion of any power she thought she held here. He plants her toes on the ground and rises so they're on equal footing. Hand against the small of her back, he tugs her in close and she stares into the depths of his clouded sky eyes before he covers her mouth with his lips.

Lighting exposes their silhouettes as he pushes her up against the wall, legs naturally clinging to his waist as his kisses fall to her neck and he seats himself inside of her. Breath on her chin and he rocks his hips and she thinks this is the closest she’ll get to understanding and knowing and adventuring with him in his internal world.

And she thinks—thinks—

A groan of thunder and rumble in his throat, she clings to his neck as he drives any thought of thinking from her mind. There’s only body—only feeling and two souls colliding in a rundown shack in the middle of a storm.

—

AO3

#bear writes #trying to see what’s salvageable in my wips #anyway here’s this #solarya #solavellan #spicy #solavellan fanfic #writing solavellan smut in 2024 wasn’t on my bingo card but here we are

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thevikingwoman · 2 months

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Saw a post on Finish your WIPs February and I was not going to do any of that, except Solas and Iwyn insisted. It was fun writing them again.

Originally started in 2021, for a kinky bingo prompt of "infidelity", here's Solas and Iwyn enjoying some art, and each other - acting on their attraction to each other after Iwyn's husband leaves.

Fandom: Dragon Age | Words: 4114 | Read on Ao3

Iwyn Lavellan x Solas | Modern AU | smut Rating: Explicit. Infidelity, smut, fluff, angst, Iwyn is lonely, her husband is a bit boring, Solas is lonely too, nothing new here though, oral, piv sex, safe sex, casual relationship

Casual Fun

There is a surprising amount of rich, beautiful people at the museum. Solas knows many donors are more interested in getting their name in the brochures – or even better, in brass on the entrance pillar –but they still attend events to mingle and make sure everyone else knows they are there.

It’s still more crowded than he anticipated. The foyer is busy, a string quartet plays, and the trays of canapes and sparkling wine are quickly refilled.

The patrons of the arts, all dressed up. It doesn’t matter why people are here – the museum is free Wednesdays and Sundays, and hands out scholarships to young artists and that matters. Solas doesn’t much care about making connections or socializing, but he does care that there is money for the arts, and this is why he donates himself, of course.

It’s the opening of the A. Brenhan exhibition – a renown Orzammar artist who rarely allows his works to be shown on the surface. Solas had hoped to see the collection relatively undisturbed, and initially the throng of people had dashed his hopes. When he makes his way to the special exhibit on the second floor, he realizes he was wrong. Very few people wander the exhibit. It seems everyone is more interested in the spectacle that is themselves.

He spends some time on the charcoal sketches. It’s mostly architecture. Forgotten Thaigs and empty corridors and old houses. The story behind them is more interesting than the sketches themselves.

Most people actively browsing the gallery are in pairs or small groups. Like himself, they might have a more serious interest in the art, or simply worry about missing out. While he appreciates the peace and quiet here, he does wish he had someone to discuss the art with.

Solas moves to the next part of the exhibit, what Brenhan is most known for. Oil paintings on large canvasses, larger than Solas is tall. The kind of work you hang in museums, or maybe in mansions of some of the very rich. No matter, the artist’s fame is well deserved. Most of the paintings feature Dwarven architecture, ancient and modern both, but above them an impossible sky. Brenhan is a traditionalist, and has never left Orzammar, and doesn’t truly know what the sky looks like. The effect is eerie and unsettling, and meant to be so.

“I can’t decide if I love it, hate it, or just find it odd.”

Solas is startled by the woman next to him. He’d not noticed her, or assumed she was part of the group that moved on.

“It’s captivating nonetheless,” he offers.

“I agree. It’s one of the more interesting exhibits recently.”

He turns to her, and she is captivating too. Her dress is a shimmery white, contrasting with her tan skin and red hair piled on top of her head. Diamonds drip from her pointed ears and her green eyes sparkle. As she moves, his eyes are drawn to the high slit in her dress and her tall heels.

He quickly looks back at her face, and she smirks at him.

“Do you often attend the openings?” he asks, and realizes this is almost as cliche as do you come here often? He wanted someone to talk to, and now he wants to sink into the floor.

“Most of them, if I can.” She smiles and holds out her hand. “I’m Iwyn.”

He takes it, and she gives a firm handshake.

“Solas.”

“So, Solas, are you familiar with Brenhan’s work?”

“Some. I have not seen such an extensive collection before. From what I understand it is the most comprehensive exhibition of his works. Outside Orzammar, of course.”

“Yes, I’ve heard so too. I did see some of his work in the Museum of Modern Art in Denerim, but it was only a few. I do find his work intriguing, and a lot more impressive in person.”

“It’s the scale of it. It doesn’t translate well to a catalogue.”

Iwyn agrees and they talk more about the paintings, moving from one room to the next in the exhibit. He learns that her interest in art is recent, and he has plenty of knowledge he can share with her. Her own insights are unique and interesting still, seeing the soul and emotion of the pictures without the baggage of art study. The conversation is invigorating and easy.

Sometime later, an elven man joins them. He’s a little shorter than Solas, with a square jaw and long dark hair gathered in a bun at his neck. He leans over and kisses Iwyn on the cheek.

“Hello, dear.”

“Solas, this is my husband Halier. Halier, Solas is an art enthusiast and he’s been sharing interesting thoughts on the exhibit.”

Solas heart drops in chest and he instinctively puts space between him and Iwyn. He’s enjoyed their conversation immensely, and working to steer the conversation away from the art and towards leaving for drinks. Like a fool, he’d ignored the large diamond ring on her finger. It went with her earrings and bracelet.

Halier grunts and thrusts out his hand, and Solas can do nothing else but take it.

“Solas. I’m sure I’ve seen you before – where do you work?”

“I’m a partner at Evanuris Wealth Management.”

“Of course. I must have seen your picture in your office. I’m a partner with Lavellan, Lavellan & Sabrae Law Firm.”

“Very nice.”

Solas isn’t here to discuss business. Most days, he doesn’t hate his job, or the family business, and he’s glad it allows him to support the arts like this, but he also doesn’t want it to consume his life. He isn’t here to discuss business.

“Are you done here?” Halier directs his question at Iwyn, but does not wait for her response. “I’d like to get out of here, I have that early flight tomorrow.”

“I wouldn’t mind staying a bit longer. Take the car, I’ll grab a cab.” Iwyn fishes a valet ticket out of her clutch, and lightly kisses Halier’s cheek. “Don’t wait up.”

“I won’t. I have to be at the airport at 6am. Goodnight, dear.” He takes the ticket, and nods at Solas. “Solas, nice to meet you. We can discuss business at some other time, perhaps. Thank you for entertaining my wife.”

“A pleasure.”

Solas watches as Halier leaves, but his attention is soon back on Iwyn.

"My husband finds these things terribly boring,” she says. “We're donors, and he likes his name on something cultured along with the tax deduction, but that's it."

"And you don’t find these things boring?"

“I like the events, and the art. Especially with interesting company.”

He doesn’t know how to interpret that, with her sly smile and sparkling eyes and husband retreating down the stairs.

“The art is certainly better with good company.”

He closes a little of the space between them, and he wants her to forget her husband existed. Fuck.

“I’d love to look at the final part of the exhibit. Do you want to join me, Solas?”

She brushes past him, her fingers skimming his arm as she gestures towards the last room they have not explored. He’s no idea if it’s deliberate, but the heat of her sears him through his jacket.

They spend another thirty minutes, at least, taking in the final room. The art is interesting, but more and more he finds himself staring at Iwyn. She catches him, at one point, causing him to quickly avert his eyes and stumble over his words.

Iwyn puts a hand on his arm.

��How about getting some drinks? It seems you’ve lost interest in the art.”

“I’m looking at a different type of art, even more interesting and beautiful.”

It slips out before he can stop himself, but she just gives him a crooked smile.

“Let’s get out of there, Solas.”

Iwyn takes Solas to a nearby bar. There’s a risk someone would know her and her husband, of course, but she’s willing to take it. Halier already knows she was talking with him, and they’re just here to talk a little more. Maybe, she admits, she wants to more than talk. She likes his eyes on her, the intensity in them when he looks at her. She likes his voice, and the way he called her beautiful just earlier. Brazen and rebellious.

The bar is nice enough, a regular upscale bar matching the surrounding office buildings, galleries, art museum, restaurants, and symphony hall. She thinks it was featured recently in the nightlife section of the local newspaper, but she isn’t sure. Iwyn orders the featured drink, The Divine’s Night Off, with crystal grace infused gin, brown sugar syrup and Navarran orange liqueur. Solas orders a fruity pink grapefruit vodka concoction.

They make careful small talk, at first. About art, and the museum and the ballet (Solas is a fan, Iwyn isn’t) and other arts that the city offers. They carefully avoid talking about work or what Solas does for a living. It’s clear that his company and her husband’s do some business, and she doesn’t want to think about that.

“I don’t think I’ve seen you at the donor evenings before. We – I try to go to most of them.”

“I have been a donor for a while now, but the last two years I’ve been in Kirkwall. For work.”

Solas makes a face, and she grins. No one really likes Kirkwall, not even the people from there.

“Happy to be back in Wycome?”

“Most certainly. Kirkland is boring at best, and polluted and prejudiced at its worst. It is a relief to be back. Though I must say that I did not expect the event to be that enticing.”

His voice sends shivers down her spine.

“I’m very glad you’re here, Solas. It made my evening a lot more exciting so far.”

“So far?”

“It could become more exciting.”

“How so?”

“I’m sure you can figure it out.”

She’s bored and lonely most of the time, if she’s honest, and Solas offers something new and different. She wants his hands all over her. She wants to fuck him. There are many reasons she’s still married to Halier, but mediocre sex isn’t one of them. She never thought of meeting someone like this, flirting like this. The thrill of it is lightning in her veins, and the fact that Solas knows about her husband intensifies it.

Solas takes a sip of his drink, and traces the edge of his glass. His fingers are long and elegant.

“I would very much like to. Figure it out, I mean.”

She’s made up her mind, and she doesn’t want to wait anymore. Iwyn is out of her comfort zone, but there is something about Solas that draws her to him. She needs to know if he feels the same, and she’s no reason to hide her intentions.

“Sweet talker.”

“Iwyn, I…” He pauses, and looks serious. “Tell me if you want me to stop.”

“Solas,” she says, as she reaches across the table and places her hand on top of his. “I know a hotel, nearby.”

“Yes,” he replies, to the question she didn’t ask.

They pay for their drinks and slip out into the cool night. It has rained while they were at the bar, the wet sidewalk reflecting the lights from the street. Boldly, Iwyn pulls Solas close and kisses him, soft and quick. He freezes, and she’s about to apologize when he pulls her close again and kisses her back. This time there is nothing soft or gentle about it.

“We should probably find that hotel,” she mumbles when they pull apart. As much as she wants to keep him close, she also wants him naked. Solas seems to agree, nodding and taking her hand. It’s only two blocks to the hotel, and they manage without too many stops for kisses. The entrance is well lit, gold handles in the glass doors.

She hesitates in the lobby, but only briefly. She is certain. Solas hand is at the small of her back, as if it belongs there. As if they’d checked into a hotel together a million times before.

“Can I help you?”

The human behind the counter looks very bored. It’s quite late, and the lobby is empty.

“We need a room for a night. We don’t have a reservation.”

Solas is close and she draws on the confidence in his presence. He wants to be here. She wants to be here. What they’re doing is no one else’s business.

“Sure.” The girl taps on her computer. “Nightly rate 399. Credit card and Id, please?”

“Let me,” Solas says smoothly, and she supposes he right. It’s not that she can’t pay, but it’s better it’s not her name. Some part of her doesn’t care, craves the danger of it. But she’s not quite ready to self-destruct her life.

Solas hands over his cards, and the girl dutifully enters his information into her system. She hands them two keycards. She looks too tired and underpaid to ask about their lack of luggage.

“Room 906, elevators are down and on your right. Checkout is at 11am tomorrow.”

Solas thanks her, hands Iwyn one card, and starts down the hallway. Iwyn grabs his hand.

“One moment.”

She heads to the hotel convenience store, determined and casual all at once. She looks at the little stand of toiletries – deodorants, cotton buds, razors.

“Do you have any condoms?”

The dwarf behind counter grunts, and pulls out a silver cardboard box from a cabinet behind the counter.

“19.99.”

She hands him her credit card, and puts the box in the purse when the transaction is complete. The dwarf grunts again, and fiddles with his phone.

Iwyn hurries after Solas, and puts her hand in his when she catches up.

They slip inside the room, and the door closes with a soft thud behind them. Iwyn pushes him against the wall, and catches his lips in an eager kiss. He slips his hand through the tall slit in her dress, caressing her skin, like he’d been wanting to all night. He kisses her neck, she gasps.

“You’re so beautiful,” he says. He pulls back and really looks at her. A thought occurs to him. “Does your husband know you’re here?”

He isn’t really certain why a beautiful woman wants with him, and her husband is certainly handsome enough. If he’s part of someone’s kink he’d like to know.

“No. Does that bother you?”

He shakes his head.

“Good.”

Iwyn walks to the bed, and drops her dress on the floor. It pools around her feet, leaving her nude except her lace panties and tall heels. She twists off her diamond ring and drops it on the bedside table.

“He won’t know anything,” she states.

She is breathtaking. He tentatively touches her arm, her shoulder. Runs his fingers across her collar bone, and down her chest. She gasps when he cups her breast briefly, before skimming over her ribs, resting his hand on her hip. He follows with kisses, all the way down the body until he kneels before her. He frees her legs from the dress, folds it, and toss it on a chair.

“If he did know – your husband – would you be in danger?”

She laughs at this, and cuts herself off. She looks at him earnestly.

“Thank you, Solas, for asking. I wouldn’t be. He would be severely disappointed, I suppose. Just like he severely disappoints me.”

He kisses her knee.

“I will endeavor not to, in that case.”

“Very good.”

The way her voice drops when she praises him sends a bolt of arousal straight to his dick. So does the fact that she’s here, with him, while her husband has gone home alone.

He runs his hands up her legs, and kisses her lace covered sex. She gasps, a low involuntary sound, completely lovely.

“Sit down, please?”

She does, sitting herself on the bed behind her. Before he can lean in closer, she lifts one foot, pressing her heel against his chest.

“You’re overdressed, Solas.”

“Of course.”

He takes off his jacket, and unbuttons his shirt. Iwyn crosses her legs, and follows every move with hooded eyes. He hopes he measures up. With his chest bared he leans over her and kisses her, deep and hungry.

“Everything, Solas,” she says.

He complies, taking off his shoes and dresspants and socks and boxers. There’s no elegant way to go about it, but Iwyn is just sitting on the bed, leaning back on her elbows with a small smile on her face. She smiles wider when he’s finally naked, and he’d happily suffer a little awkwardness to put such a smile on face.

Iwyn uncrosses her legs.

“Now where were you?”

Solas slides down in front of her. “Right here, I believe.” He slides his hands up her calves, past her knees. She yields to his gentle pressure, and lets her legs fall open. He kisses the inside of her thigh, and again, his lips caressing her silken skin all the way up to her lace clad mound. He kisses the lace, and she moans deliciously when he breathes hot air against her. He draws his head back to look at her, glorious above him, and caresses her with his fingers. He slips two inside her panties, touching her slick heat. Iwyn bucks against him, his other hand firmly holding her left leg.

“More,” she growls, and he draws her panties aside, leaving her clit exposed, pink and swollen. He teases it, and rubs against the sides of it, and then he presses down on it.

“Like this? Softer? Harder?”

“Harder, softer. Alternate.”

He smiles, and does as she asks, causing her to gasp and writhe. She is alluring, her half-covered sex arousing, her wet cunt inviting. He wants to taste her, to make her scream. He keeps working his fingers, and kisses the inside of her thigh. When he reaches the top, he licks up her cunt, reveling in her taste. She moans, a deep throaty sound and he groans too. He looks up at her, her shiny red lips parted, her cheeks flushed with desire.

“More?” he asks.

“Yes, please. Now.”

“I think I’ll get rid of these first.”. He smirks at her, moving his hands across her panties. They’re pretty, but in the way. He pulls the fabric a little up, making the lace rub against her clit, and then down. She lifts her hips easily, allowing him to slide them all the way down her legs. He carefully pulls the panties over the heels of her shoes, leaving them on her feet.

He doesn’t tease this time, no matter how inviting the soft skin of thighs is, but sits right up between her legs and spreads his palms over her hips. Her legs part wide for him, and he lowers his mouth to taste her again. He licks and sucks her sensitive folds and her swollen clit. He’s rewarded with a low moan, her head thrown back. He adds his hand, his fingers teasing her opening. Iwyn takes the opportunity to throw her leg over his shoulder. She’s wet and soft, clenching around his fingers, her juices coating his chin. Her heel digs into his back, pressing him closer to her, a beautiful counterpoint to her sweet taste.

She is all his, right here, even if it isn’t so outside this room. Not that she belongs to anyone but herself, not truly.

Solas keeps working his fingers, his tongue until she shudders around him, moaning and trashing against him. He lets her come down carefully, gently easing her out of her climax. Her leg slips to the floor and she relaxes into the bed.

“That was – very good.”

“Yes?”

“You did good,” she says again, firmer this time. His already hard cock jumps at it. He wants her and he wants her approval more. He wants to be good enough for her. He’s here with her, and her husband isn’t. He’s the one who slides his hands all the way down her legs, and gently takes off her shoes, kissing her ankles. He’s the one who crawls into bed after her when she swings legs up to stretch out on it.

He’s the one who asks her, “what can I do next?”

“Touch me,” she says. “Like you care.”

Solas is suddenly furiously angry, overcome with a need to punch Iwyn’s husband in the face the next time he meets him. He won’t, of course, and refocuses his attention on Iwyn. He just met her tonight, but he does care. He wants to touch her, to please her, right here in this downtown hotel. He also wants to talk art with her again, to get to know her better. He shoves that thought to the back of his brain. Being the one the satisfy her will have to be enough.

“I do care, Iwyn.”

She looks stunned at his earnestness, perhaps like she regrets her vulnerability. He patiently lets his fingers wander up her torso, feather-light. Iwyn recovers and smirks.

“Get on with it, then.”

He does, his hands wandering across her chest, teasing her nipples as he dips his head to kiss her. He learns what makes her moan, what makes her arch her back. Her hands are not idle either, sliding up his body, digging into his shoulders. He groans when she traces one finger up his cock, and wraps her whole hand around it. She pumps it slowly and all thoughts flee his mind, his hands randomly touching her, needing to feel her skin beneath his hands in any way he can. Iwyn sits half up, and kisses him.

“Lay back, Solas,” she says, extracting herself from under him.

He does, laying back and lets her continue to do as she pleases. Her hand is back on his cock as she grins, her other hand holding him firmly down when his hips jerk. He’s so hard it aches, and he almost can’t hold it together when moves faster, twisting her hand a little.

“I’m going to fuck you.”

“Please, please, Iwyn.” He’s ready to beg for anything, has been since he first laid his eyes on her.

She lets go of him, and finds the packet of condoms, opening one. Her nails are expertly manicured, a deep green color. The diamond bracelet glints against her wrist. She rolls the condom over his cock.

Seated above him, she drags her nails across his chest, her cunt hovering out of reach. He wants. He needs, he needs her now.

“Please,” he says again. “I need – “

She lowers herself on him, heat surrounding him, perfect and far too slow. When he moves, thrusting his hips up impatiently, she puts a hand on his chest.

“Stay still.”

Her eyes are burning, and it’s not a question. A demand. A test. He complies and grows impossible harder. Iwyn moves with agonizing slowness. His hands find their way to her waist, supporting, but not changing her pace, letting her stay in control. They’re both panting, eyes caught in each other.

Finally, Iwyn moves faster, leaning more on her weight on his chest as she collapses a little forward. He grips her hips tighter, and she nods. Now he moves with her, into her. It’s tight and hot and wonderful, and he moans her name as he throws his head back. Iwyn brings her own hand between her legs, and they both move faster, erratically. She trembles above him, glorious and beautiful, and his own orgasm takes him by surprise, intensity coursing through him.

Iwyn collapses fully on his chest, and he wraps his arms around her. She sighs and kiss his neck, as she slides off him, then tucks herself into him. Solas deals with the condom, and lets himself enjoy her warmth next to him.

"I don't normally do this," she says.

"Neither do I."

"Fucking a married woman, or engaging in one-night stands in general?"

Both. Either. He just nods, and kisses her brow. She idly caresses his shoulder. It feels far too comfortable.

“I’m glad I did,” she says.

“As I am I.”

They lay intwined, and he holds her. A minute. An hour. A moment. Long enough to pretend this belongs to him.

She slips away well before dawn. Home, he supposes, to her husband, or an empty bed he has left. Back to her real life.

She kisses his cheek.

"Thanks, Solas. I had a good time."

He squeezes her hand.

"Me too," he says, and he smiles, as wide and genuine as he can.

Casual fun, another man's wife.

The door clicks shut after her.

#dragon age #dragon age fanfic #solavellan #solavellan fanfic #iwyn x solas #writing about Iwyn #AHH it was so nice to write them again #they are happy and married in almost every timeline #here they get to be messy #just a bit #had 3000 words of this just lingering in my wips #very happy to throw it out there #finish your wips #viking writes #published 2/29/2024 #leap day seems apt for leaping back to solavellan #solavellan hell is eternal

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teamdilf · 11 days

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Someone commented on one of my recent fics that they enjoyed my characterization of Solas and it was a real confidence booster for me. Part of why I took so long to start writing Dragon Age fanfiction is because I’m a diehard Solavellan shipper but I didn’t think I could write him. It’s something I had to build myself up to by writing other characters in other fandoms before tackling him in my first Dragon Age longfic. More than once I’ve told myself I’m done writing him, but inevitably get pulled back into the whirlpool because this sad elf man has a hold on me that no other character has ever had. My BG3/Dragon Age crossover is my most ambitious Dragon Age work yet and I really hope the few people who fit this very specific niche enjoy how I write him in it.

#j's fics #solavellan fanfic #solavellan #solas #solas dragon age #About Writing

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an-established-butt-dent · 2 months

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To sleep, to dream, to forget

AO3

Author: DazeChroma (that is me)

Cover art: an-established-butt-dent (also me)

Fandom: Dragon Age, Pairing: Solas x Lavellan, Words: 4,841, Tags: Post Trespasser, Angst, Lavellan deals with the emotional aftermath.

Notes: see end for notes!

There are a million ways to say goodbye, but they have yet to learn of a way that is final. After the Crossroads, Allana leaves everything behind and travels. She is alone, but for a wolf that keeps visiting her dreams.

To sleep, to dream, to forget

Lavellan knew the wolf haunting her dreams.

Perhaps she should fear the shadow lurking on the edge of her peripheral vision, but this was the Fade and she was in control of her dreams. She wore an enchanted amulet, beautiful, with the added benefit of preventing others from intruding on her dreamscape. A parting gift from Dorian.

Even one as skilled and powerful as the Dreadwolf would not be able to reach her, unless she let him.

But that was precisely it. She would never admit it out loud, but somehow had yet to force his presence away. To banish him from her subconscious. Instead, she had left a window open at a crack.

Maybe it was confusion after their confrontation in the Crossroads. Maybe it was her anger, demanding more explanations from him.

Maybe she missed him.

Solas.

Mentally she scolded herself. She shouldn't use that name. The quiet apostate she had come to know, come to love, was not the same man planning the downfall of the world. Her heart was broken and Solas was dead, as much as he could be for having never truly existed.

But the Dreadwolf, Fen'harel, lived.

Ancient trickster god indeed.

Sometimes she tried to think of the elf from her memories as someone different altogether. A quiet mage lost in dreams who perhaps had planned to return to her. To explain why he left without goodbye after Corypheus' defeat. To bring reason to the many questions left unanswered and wounds left unmended.

The Solas in this imagined life might have helped her shed the Inquisitor’s cloak. Might have held her in comfort throughout the emotional aftermath.

Somehow it made the feeling of betrayal slightly easier to bear.

'-What we had was real'

The words left a bitter taste in her mouth still.

Perhaps it had all been real to him. But to her it was an illusion.

The wolf in sheeps’ clothing had not been the lover in her arms. The Dread Wolf had not been her companion, her advisor, mentor, friend, Vhenan-

Denial was not a good look on her, but it gave her peace and quiet.

And this chasm in her chest, this aching void pumping blood through numb limbs… It propelled her forward. Yet, she felt devoid of the passion and perseverance that moved her before.

Well.

You can't break what's already broken. Can't lose what you don't have.

After the Inquisition disbanded, she had felt lost. Alone.

She needed time to process everything: the loss of her arm, the long years fighting to end Corypheus and then building the world back up again only to be followed by the upheaval of the exalted council, the pain in her chest. Again there was a moment where the world spun on its axis, throwing everything she knew off-balance. Again.

She had come undone, the only thing keeping her together was the feeling of Revas’ long strides over the open plains.

Only a Dalish would pick that name for a hart, but he earned his name, spirited and wild as he was before he accepted Allana as his rider. He was her only companion.

Her eyes scanned the horizon, but there was no silhouette following her. No shadow in the waking world.

She stayed clear of civilization, only stopping for provisions. She kept to herself, used her voice so little she almost forgot what it sounded like.

She traveled for weeks like this, a strong pace forward. Needing to get away. Always away. Every moment spent in one place too long and her chest would constrict, a panic building that could only be relieved by the comfort of changing landscapes.

'You lied to me!'

She wanted to escape. To forget.

She wanted to be wild like her hart. Wanted to be free.

Revas: her freedom.

Revas, revas, revas!

She drifted weightlessly through the fade. Time seemed to stand still as she floated through the pleasant warmth of her early memories.

No terror haunted her. No fear demon pulled threads of horrible memories across her vision. Nothing clawed at her. She was safe.

Only one shadow she could not shake.

She could admit it, now. When the storms of her doubts and fears had quieted down, and she was not drowning, on the brink of being pulled under-

No.

Not now.

She breathed in, and out. At peace, you're safe, she told herself.

The storm calmed down.

He never truly showed himself at first. But she expected him to know that she could sense him.

It had been him, chasing the despair demons away in the nights before she had Dorian’s amulet. She had seen the flash of teeth and six red eyes prowling on the edge of her peripheral vision. Hungry, angry, but not for her. A lonely howl, a loud screech and a wolf had dragged the dark shadows away until she was alone once again.

The terror had melted away with the echo of the wolf's cry.

Curious spirits were discouraged from approaching her afterwards, and she could finally breathe with relief, knowing to expect a night of rest without waking in cold sweat from nightmares.

She scoffed, wondering what keeper Deshanna would say if she knew the presence of the Dreadwolf gave her some measure of comfort.

She would probably call upon all the ancient gods for guidance. To protect her lonely runaway Da'len from the Dreadwolf’s treachery.

But he has your scent.

And you have his heart.

She was almost at the coast now, where she would book passage for a ship to Starkhaven. She planned to cross the waking sea at Jader and travel to Antiva after a short stop in Kirkwall. Other than that she hadn’t decided on her plans for the future.

She had set up camp at a clearing near an old ruin. Then, she took her time to make dinner, enjoying her quiet surroundings and knowing this might be her last night sleeping peacefully under the stars for the coming week.

Revas would surely not be happy on a ship.

She looked regretfully at her hart, wishing there was another way to cross safely, without needing a ship or an Eluvian.

As she only had access to one of those options, her choice was made swiftly.

She climbed into her sleeping roll, twisting and turning until she lay comfortably on her side. Listening to her hart grazing nearby, she drifted off to sleep.

He had become bolder after she started wearing the amulet.

Perhaps he wondered how she had found peace in her dreams? Perhaps her aura, pleasantly free of fear and despair, had pulled him in?

Could he sense the enchantment? Could he see she now had more control over the Fade?

He had tried to teach her many times, but never had she managed this level of lucidity.

Did he observe curiously what strings she pulled, and which memories she traversed?

She always made sure not to dive into memories of their time as lovers. Those memories were locked away deeply, only to be revealed during waking moments of weakness where she allowed herself the time to wallow in her misery.

A slight change in the air alerted her to his presence.

Soundlessly, a shadow big as a hill moved over the horizon until she made out the shape of four clawed paws slowly treading over the grass-covered plane.

He held his head close to the ground, curiously following the invisible line of energy that lingered in her wake. Tracing her scent which was as recognizable and personal as a fingerprint in the land of dreams. Wisps of black smoke trailed his fur, distorting the landscape.

Sensing her, he slowly lifted his massive head as six red glowing eyes fixed themselves on her.

His name was on the tip of her tongue. She quickly swallowed it down, her throat suddenly dry. This was the first time he didn’t disappear as soon as they made eye contact. She was rooted on the spot, not moving an inch, afraid that any change would break the spell. The sudden wave of longing that washed over her came as a surprise. The sharp ache that quickly followed didn’t.

Then there was anger.

He took one more step towards her and tilted his head to the side, giving the impression of being unsure if he was looking at threat or prey.

Hoping she was neither, she stood still. She could feel her heart beating in her throat, uncomfortably aware of the tension building in the air. It was like the climate changed and became hotter, the air sticky and suffocating, shaped by the emotions of her inner turmoil.

He took a step toward her, and then she felt the Fade shift.

It was her own doing.

Suddenly she was alone again, overlooking the same mountains where Skyhold stood proudly in the distance. Her home.

She felt relieved that she could breathe again. The air was lighter, the sky brighter, although everything in the fade had a disorienting, ghostlike quality to it. Colors were more intense and subdued at the same time, clouded by a mist you could see only when you focused on it intensely.

Her racing pulse calmed down as she kept her attention on the familiar mountains. Two falcons slowly circled the sky, its colors giving the impression of a setting sun.

‘He is only a stranger. A stranger you once knew’, she told herself over and over.

Yet, he did not scare her. At least not for the reasons one should be afraid of a massive ghostly wolf-shadow trailing their subconscious.

Perhaps she should have confided in Lelliana, Cullen or Josephine about his presence in her dreams. But the Inquisition was no more, so sharing these developments felt... too personal, too intimate. She didn't want to think about it. Nor, for that matter, did she want anyone else to.

The Dreadwolf has your scent.

Why was he still keeping his tabs on her, even after their goodbyes?

'I will never forget you.'

No of course not, idiot, if he kept following her like this!

She could feel her anger shaping the Fade around her, the soft, wispy clouds and sharp mountain peaks crumbling. She was taken to a place darker. Deep down, deep roads, stone, damp air, echoes of fighting. A darkspawns’ screech bounced around on the slick walls of the chasm. Still far in the distance but growing louder with each panicked breath she took. The high pitch surrounded her. Darkness enveloped her like a suffocating blanket. The screams of the dead in her memories ringing like white noise in her ear, drowning out her thoughts except; ’Can’t breath!’.

Panicked, she started to run.

Feet thump, thump, thumping on the slippery stones. The echoes grew louder, a horde of demon’s awakened by the steady rhythm of her long strides. She was a hunter being hunted. The echoes of the past not brought forth by demon’s of anger or fear, but by her own traumatized subconscious. Looking for a way out.

Abruptly she skipped to a halt. Reaching for the amulet.

There were no demons. They can’t reach her.

All of a sudden she could hear a voice breaking through the clouds of her panic.

“Allana, breathe like we practiced, you are in control.” a strange voice resonated from the walls, seeming to come from all sides at once and yet far away. A voice she could recognize everywhere.

The revelation shocked her, but grounded her mind. The demons were drawing near. Memories, which could do no more physical harm unless she let them. Remembering what part would come next she needed to end it here. Right now.

She closed her eyes, taking a breath.

In through the nose-

-one, two, three, four.

Hold for five seconds, let go for six.

She opened her eyes and was again back looking at the sharp outlines of the Frostback Mountains.

The image shifted and the air smelled of spring. Warmth.

Soft winds blowing across open planes. A body of water flowing like a silver snake across the landscape, casting crystallized reflections on billowing trees. A group white halla taking off, startled by her sudden appearance. She watched them for a moment as they darted across the grass in a dance; a playful homage to freedom. They slowly disappeared along the soft edges of her dream, carrying memories of her life with the Dalish. Of an old home, and a life before the world was ending.

Safe.

On the horizon she could just see the tilt of the head of a wolf, watching from afar. Waiting.

She remembered the voice.

She could not suppress the shiver running along her spine. She wondered what would happen if she called out to him.

She never did.

She missed her friends.

Somehow her shadow in the Fade made her feel more lonesome.

It almost became a routine. Push and pull. Following and being followed. It was like a game. She realized with some humor the parallel between their dynamic during the early inquisition years and now. Some things never change.

She would like to talk about her confusing feelings with someone that would understand. But who would? Who could sympathize with a woman, the herald, falling for the affections of the enemy in disguise?

When would she be strong enough to break the chains of their entanglement?

Did she not deserve some peace and quiet? To find out who she was without the responsibilities and expectations resting on her shoulders?

But her work was not over.

She had considered stepping away, and letting things unfold without interfering. But she couldn’t. Tired as she was, she didn't know how not to be Inquisitor Lavellan.

All she needed now was a plan.

How to stop your ex-lover from destroying the world? Your ex-lover, who was, by the way, also an ancient Elvhen God and probably the most powerful Mage to walk the planet?

That did not sound impossible at all.

Damn, she really just kept handing out new book ideas to Varric, didn't she?

Whenever the desire to reach out came up, she swallowed it down.

She didn’t want comforting words from her friends, nor their pitied looks and gentle skirting around certain subjects.

'Are you sure you're alright? If you need anyone to talk to...'

After the Exalted Council she had turned down all invitations to her friends’ new lives for the time being. She promised to visit once she was ready, and that was enough for them to accept her evasion. For now.

Except Dorian was not having any of it.

He had cornered her the day before she was scheduled to leave. She hadn't wanted a goodbye but he had convinced her he was planning no such thing.

"Only a present for my dearest friend. Looking as glum as you do I would almost fear sadness is contagious," he had said with a pout.

She had fixed him with a glare, but there had been no true malice behind it. Dorian was perhaps the only one not treating her as if she was made from glass. She appreciated that about him.

"You know a present is not going to convince me to join you in Tevinter, darling dearest," she patted his cheek patronizingly, batting her eyelashes for extra effect.

"Of course not! I wouldn't dare to manipulate you with something so banal as a gift. Who do you think I am? I would at least try to seduce you with my good looks first." He gave her an exaggerated wink and she couldn't stop something that almost resembled an honest smile. She raised her eyebrows at his flirtations. He was laying it on a little bit thick, even for Dorian's standards.

Perhaps humor was the only thing guarding the show of real concern from his face.

"Without further ado, then. Come on, hands out."

He revealed a small package wrapped in cloth and tied closed with a string of leather.

She hesitantly held out her hand as Dorian sandwiched it between his own, the package a comforting shape in the palm of her hand.

She stared at their joined hands for a moment, swallowing whatever words she would have used to deflect his show of care.

He squeezed her hand once and let go.

"It's not going to unwrap itself, Allana."

She sighed, glad that his sarcasm broke through the tender moment. He knew she appreciated his friendship. She is also aware he's worried about her, like they all are. She was just bad at accepting any kind of support, afraid that leveling the slightest bit of weight from her shoulders would cause it all to come crashing down, burying her fully.

She needed to be Inquisitor for only one day longer, to keep up the pretense of strength and composure. She could deal with whatever might come crashing down after she left. But not now. Not yet.

"Yes, yes," she huffed at his impatience. Maker, give a girl a moment to compose herself!

She unwrapped the bundle and found an amulet, the telltale pulse of enchantment around it. She looked up at him, waiting for the explanation that would no doubt come.

"This will give us an opportunity to communicate directly, no matter how far away you are. I know you will be miserable without my voice pestering you over the coming months," He pulled out a similar-looking amulet from under his collar and tucked it back, giving her a gentle smile.

She blinked at the wetness threatening to spill over.

He grasped her shoulders and gently pulled her into a hug. She was glad for the excuse to avert her eyes.

Dorian never mentioned her not-so-subtle lack of grip on her emotions. He knew when she needed the space.

He continued, "It also helps you block out unwanted attention in the fade. No terror demons will find you when you sleep at night and no other spirit will be able to communicate if you don't wish for it. It keeps you bound to your own head, in a sense." She was not sure how Dorian knew about the kind of attention she’s received in the fade, but she’s touched nonetheless.

"Thank you, Dorian," Ellana mumbles into the fabric of his tunic. "Don't expect me to talk every day though."

"No need, darling. It just makes me happy to know you ignoring me is a conscious choice, and doesn’t mean you are lying in a ditch somewhere."

She snorts, a very undignified sound. "After all I've been through, that ditch doesn't know what's coming for them."

"As long as that fighter spirit never leaves you, my friend," She chuckles wordlessly into his shoulder. She doesn't feel much like a fighter at the moment, although her rogue skills are a second instinct.

She is tired. But she’s looking for something more comfortable than a ditch just yet.

"Thank you, Dorian."

"Don't get all emotional on me, darling."

She will miss him, but she has to go.

The nightmares that had plagued her for weeks vanished after she started to wear the amulet. It was truly Dorian to know the source of the bags under her eyes without her needing to say a word.

'Bad night?' was all he had to ask, and the look she gave him was enough to know.

Years ago, about a month after he had joined the Inquisition, it had only taken one evening of getting drunk together in a cozy corner of the library to share all the secrets that haunted them at night. While the candles burned low, she learned how their experience of the future at Redcliffe had left a deep impression on them both. The red, terrible future of Corypheus’ would-be victory. Thankfully it was not a future she would have to experience again. That was at least one thing she got right.

He was her closest friend after that evening, their shared pain forming a bond like no other. Ha! Who would have thought. A Tevinter Magister and a Dalish elf? Well, she was never fond of living an ordinary life anyway. It takes one to know one.

The only thing haunting her now was a nightmare of her own creation. Made of pain, self loathing and longing, twisting uncomfortably in the hollow of her chest.

That is one thing the amulet will not help her with: the ghost of a broken heart.

She had yet to find a way to live with it, but time heals all wounds. Or so they say.

But then, why, after revealing his plans, did he tell her that he would like to be proven wrong once again? Why taunt her into resuming their game of evade and catch?

Except if you're called Fen'Harel. Too pridefull to accept your failure, somehow incapable of letting go of your evil plans to restore the glory of the ancient Elvhes and simultaneously doom the lives of all other living beings and the world as we know it.

Damn it all and damn his insufferable pride.

For someone refusing to call himself a god, he sure does like to play with the faiths of mortals.

And why did she believe the sincerity in his eyes when he said it? The pain in the tilt of his brow and the clench of his jaw, the way his voice broke when he said goodbye?

He had called her Vhenan, and walked away. Did she imagine the tremble in his hands, just before he stepped through the Eluvian?

Why had he kept himself hidden from her, lied to her, for years?

What makes a cause worth it, if you have to destroy so much on the way?

Why, Solas?

No, not Solas. Not anymore.

Fen'Harel.

She is going after him.

There must be a reason he can’t let her go. If he haunts her dreams, does that mean he still thinks of her when he’s awake? It must mean that there is something still there, pulling her to him. Perhaps only a side effect of the magic from the anchor, but could it be something more?

He said once things were easier for him in the fade. All she knows right now is that he tried to reach out to her in a dream before she boarded the ship.

He even spoke her name when she got lost in a nightmare. He helped her escape her darkest thoughts. Why?

But was it really him in the dreams? Was this wolf form his true identity? Why doesn’t he show the face that she had come to know? Are the greys of his eyes even his true color? Or are they red and multiplied by three?

In the dream she stepped away out of fear and that fear fuelled her subconscious mind. Afraid of confrontation. Scared to find a fresh tear in her threadbare composure, with the wounds still raw from his betrayal and abandonment.

To fall apart before him while she had slowly tried to mend the pieces back together, that was not something she was ready for.

She wasn’t strong enough.

How much has he kept hidden from her and how much of what he shared had been real?

Ugh, now there’s a terrifying thought.

Is it possible that he can be at more places at the same time. Dreaming while awake?

Being an immensely powerful immortal mage and all, she really has no exact idea of the extent of his power.

She looked out over the open expanse of the sea. Rippling waves and cutting winds shaping the world around her like a smudged painting of greys and muted pthalo greens. The salt had chapped her lips, and the strands of hair that had escaped her braid whip her face and wipe at her tears like feathered fingers.

She hadn't seen him in her dreams for the last three days, since setting sail on the open ocean. What did it mean? Did he ignore her perhaps? Were there not enough spirits to whisper of her location?

She was not going to admit to missing her grey shadow welcoming her to sleep for the last couple of months.

Somehow being by herself for a few days, truly by herself, made it easier to recover her focus. She was not going to run away anymore. She could not abandon the world she once vowed to save.

She made him doubt his perspective once before. She can do it again.

Right?

She is Inquisitor Ellana Lavellan, first of her clan. She has been many things in her short life; Herald, Dalish, knife-ear, a beacon of hope. Lover, friend, enemy. An anchor to the world behind the veil.

She had united nations and destroyed treacherous plots. She had traveled through time and back again. She had fought nightmares, ancient darkspawn, dragons and demons. She has walked physically through the Fade, damn it!

She had fallen in love with a god. Had been betrayed by her lover. He saved her life and then took her arm.

She had promised she would not give up on him. He had said he would never forget her.

None of those experiences managed to destroy her, although they came close a few times. None of those titles made her forget who she was and what she believed in, and they will not be her undoing now.

She was Elana Lavellan. They say heroes are not destined for a long life, but could she linger long enough to beat the Dreadwolf at his own game?

Did she even have a chance? Or would she end up petrified, a grey and decaying sculpture in the garden of his pride? Would they sing songs of the Dreadwolf’s lover? Would they say that if you listen closely to her chest you can still hear the beating of his heart?

The only reason she was still alive is because he willed it.

That didn’t really sound like the equal and emancipated relationship she envisioned when she dreamed of the future long ago, now does it?

But the look in his eyes. The pain she glimpsed when he left her in crestwood. And then, the times where his body betrayed what the heart wanted. He had tried to hide it, but there was no doubt in her mind that he had desired her. The desperation in his kiss on the balcony at Skyhold. 'Ar lath ma', whispered like a confession, 'vhenan' a prayer on his lips. And then in the crossroads the gentleness in the movement of gold-plated fingers, grazing her ear and softening the pulsating pain of the anchor ripping her apart. His lips pressing to hers like it was the sweetest honeyed lie he told her yet. Like it wasn’t a goodbye.

She is going to chase that last sliver of hope. It is all she has.

She must create a thread, to pull him from his web of plotting and lies. There must be some way to keep his focus on the value of this world. To show him it was worth saving. An anchor of some kind.

The journey at sea would take one more day at most. The best course of action would be to visit the alienage of Kirkwall. She had heard of the elves leaving the city, answering a call. She must be able to uncover one of his agent’s to dig for more information. Could she disguise herself? Without her arm she would always stand out like a sore thumb. Everybody knew the stories of the knife eared Inquisitor and her stolen arm. The Dreadwolf’s agent must know of her importance in the game. Knowing that she had been close to their leader once, she could turn out to be a potential weakness.

Okay, so first she would find a smith and fabricate herself an arm substitute. Oh how she missed Dagna. The dwarven woman must have had a million ideas for hidden daggers in a fake arm! She could meet with Varric in secret, and use his contacts in the city. She hadn’t planned to stay in Kirkwall for more than a day, but she’s sure her friend wouldn’t mind the surprise. He shouldn’t have given her the city's key if he hadn’t anticipated her showing up unannounced.

Okay, step one, disguise her arm. Step two, disguise her identity. Step tree: find more information.

What is Fen’Harel gathering the Elves for? Promises of a better world? Are they joining of their free will or is it some kind of death cult compulsion? No he wouldn't go that far… or would he? She has to find out. The more gaps in her knowledge about him, the wilder her imagination is going to get.

The ocean calms her mind. The harsh winds wipe away the doubt and leave her mind clear and focused.

She has a purpose, a plan.

On the horizon she can slowly spot the soft outlines of Starkhaven forming in the distance. They are nearing land.

The wolf hunts alone, but she is lonely too.

And she is coming for him.

------------------

Notes:

My second try at writing a Solavellan piece, but the first one I ever uploaded on AO3! Hope you liked it. :)

Big thanks to my sister @colorandvigor for being my beta and having an amazing grasp of gramar. Note, english is not my first language.

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kcwriter-blog · 2 days

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#solas #dragon age inquisition #dragon age #solavellan #dai #solasmance #fen'harel #solas dragon age #solas dread wolf #dai solas #varric and lavellan #varric tethras #dai varric #ao3 #ao3 fanfic #solavellan fanfic

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little-lightning-lavellan · 1 year

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NEW CHAPTER! KISSING???

Between getting Covid and this chapter ending up twice as long as originally intended (I had very important things I needed to make sure were communicated, okay?), this took a hot minute to get out. But, I hope it was worth the wait, because after 128197 words... it happens. 👀 Here be a snippet right before it all goes down:

“You know that I’ve got a good memory, ma fen, you know that. I don’t forget things easily,” She was back to nicknames, it would seem. “Well, do you know what Garrett Hawke told me when he first arrived?”

Had she scooted closer? No, that was just the way the shadows cast across them from over the wall. Surely, there was no other explanation.

“Tell me.”

“He told me,” A snort. A snort! Mellan covered her nose with one hand and squeezed Solas’ with the other, eyes closed and face cast to the ground. “He told me, that my symptoms - oh, you won’t believe a word of this - that they mean, that I’m smitten with you!”

Solas’ eyes felt wobbly.

Ah, well--that was a new sensation. He wasn’t altogether sure he’d felt that before; not in a context like this, at any rate.

Give him the credit of maintaining his composure, the world within him shook with greater violence than a Titan fighting against the bonds of--

Is this how adolescents felt? Real, true, young people? Was it always so stifling hot?

“Oh, and Solas? Solas, the best part. You’ll find this funny,” Did she even realize he wasn’t laughing? Of course not, ragged hand covered giggling mouth and she hadn’t looked up to him once since she’d started. Was he to stop her? Let her continue? Did this manner of ‘announcement’ count towards that finish line he had promised he would meet her at one day? Was this the correct path?

Ironically, she was a balter from his own path, but an enrapturing one that left him dumbstruck with each new revelation of hers. Like an impatient reader he wanted to skip ahead just a few of her pages. Have her spoil the story and tell him what lay ahead.

“He said that,”

‘What comes next?’

“That you were a ‘lucky guy;’ that we were more than dear friends.” Another giggle and their shared fate was sealed. “As if, oh, my goodness, as if you were smitten with me as well!”

Mellan shook her head for a final time, before, at last, she raised it up to meet Solas’ eyes.

“But, that would be silly, wouldn’t it?”

She hadn’t actually thought much on what she expected to see when she opened her eyes. Perhaps a smile, a shared laugh, but not a stare. Not a look from her friend that held something deep and lurking just beneath the surface of murky waters.

Not something that made her wonder if the petname she’d given him of ‘fen’ was a bit too apt, and that if she moved too quickly, some emotion would snap; and oh, dear, Mellan was nowhere near ready for whatever that emotion might be.

“W-Wouldn’t it?” Had she actually spoke aloud, or simply thought the words? Mellan supposed she might have mouthed them, let them fan across her teeth. It took a real gulp of purest bravery for her to truly speak heartily again. “S-So, um, academically. Academically… my symptoms.”

‘Spirits, even my nose feels like it's on fire; I probably look like a tomato to him. Why couldn’t I just keep my mouth shut? Why couldn’t I just learn the blasted dance and be done with it all?!’

“Thought? Your thoughts?”

Peculiar, even by their standards, Solas held a single chuckle in his chest. Barely hiding his lip, he rested fingers upon it to shield the smallest smile as he turned to think.

“My thoughts,” he began, a twinge of well-measured mirth to his tone. “Are that Ser Hawke is far more attentive than I gave him credit for.” And that he could now confirm that he had been a right prick to the man, but that was neither here nor there at this point.

Out of the corner of his eye he could see Mellan take a gulp for air, most likely absorbing the information he had technically-not-confirmed - and, therefore, was still following his own personal set of rules - but, also not at all denied. The blessing was that he knew she was smart, and that she knew precisely what he was getting at, all with his plausible deniability still perfectly intact.

He still was just as much of a prick, wasn’t he?

“A--hm,” She nodded, readjusting herself yet again, back straightening. Solas could see how her shoulders rolled back beneath her braids like branches beneath leafy willows, how her chest rose and fell across the skin exposed above her ill-fitting tunic. “I see. So, then, I suppose you are suggesting that Garrett’s observation was, ah, correct?”

“No, I am declaring it.” To him it was not a subject for debate.

Read the rest here on Ao3!

I hope you guys are excited and enjoy because holy moly I’ve been fucking amped for this jerhbuerbgueibguearburbygber I really hope it was worth the wait and this chapter is enjoyable D’x Love y’all!!

Tags below:

@pikapeppa @because-im-hap-hap @rosella-writes @emerald-amidst-gold @oxygenforthewicked @varric-tethras-editor @fade-touched-shenanigans @the-dreadful-canine @smashingpigeons @bluecadash @drunken-drengr @reonerra @dungeons-and-dragon-age @dreadfutures @darethshirl @fiadhaisteach @bogunicorn @ashalle-art @kantrips @shift-shaping @noire-pandora @palepinkycat @debgall @malewifezevran @1000generations @drag-on-age @siennamain @dalish-spectre @raflesia65 @thevikingwoman @kumaronoa @midorimaddie @sassyseeker @musetta3 @rivainisomniari @in-arlathan @melisusthewee @jellydishes @effelants @potatowitch @dismalzelenka @bluewren

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bdafic · 1 year

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Aphrodisia: Chapter 6

Rating: Explicit Summary: A mystery summons the Inquisitor to Suledin Keep, but on the way disaster strikes, leaving Solas and Ellana separated from the rest of their group. As they search for a way back to the surface, they find the greatest obstacle to escape isn't enemy or injury, but something stranger... Things grow complicated as they draw nearer to the source of their compulsion, and struggle to keep clear heads long enough to make it to safety.

They cycled in and out of consciousness for hours.

It could not be called ‘rest’ when no strength was restored. They drew from empty wells, losing a little more each time they reached for one another. Thrall had stolen the boundaries of fatigue, pain, and caution. They would give of themselves until nothing remained. Worn down to the bone in search of satisfaction that would never come.

This compulsion did not sleep.

So neither did they.

At its peak, they were wild; stripped of sentience, and the nuance of thought and speech. They became slow and stupid, and spilled their passion carelessly. Echoes of it rippled through the Fade, stirring still waters where old Dreams lie. Memories shook themselves from ancient beds and pressed, curious, into the new and vibrant Dreaming. Eager to play amid the flood of rapture; languishing in eddies of a savage, violent, love.

But ancient things were not long-satisfied, and soon curiosity became demand.

***

[ Re-read the last chapter so you remember what’s happening ]

Read the rest on [ AO3 ] or [ FF.net ] - Sex, horror, and humour - oh my.

Since late March I’ve been bed-bound recovering from an injury, so progress on this was unfortunately reeeeeeeally slow. As apology (and also for tone) I’ve opted to split the last last bit into a separate chapter -- which I aim to finish in a much timelier manner -- and post the rest now. :) Happy pride.

#writing #solavellan #solavellan fan fiction #solavellan fanfic #dragon age #dragon age inquisition #solas #solas x lavellan #dragon age fanfic #this tumblr post was getting unruly so I just edited the original for the reblog #with thanks to nerdanel for the idea

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psalacanthea · 1 year

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Chapters: 16/16 Fandom: Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Female Inquisitor/Solas (Dragon Age), Female Lavellan/Solas (Dragon Age) Characters: Anders (Dragon Age), Velanna (Dragon Age), Cole (Dragon Age), Dorian Pavus, Varric Tethras, Leliana (Dragon Age), Vivienne (Dragon Age), Cremisius "Krem" Aclassi, Dagna (Dragon Age), Feynriel (Dragon Age), Ser Pounce-a-Lot (Dragon Age), Josephine Montilyet Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Dreamsharing, Mental Health Issues, Angst with a Happy Ending, Dream Sex, Fade Sex, Fade Dreams Summary:

A love that exists only in dreams and a lifetime lived in sleep- is it real, or only a delusion?

Nehn Lavellan is a ballerina, or at least it's what she's always wanted to be. Several injuries have her instead teaching children and dancing background in musical theater, both warped versions of the dreams she's always had. She knows she should be grateful, but...it's difficult.

All sentiments that seem to echo her other life- a life of dreams. At six years old, she met a friend in sleep who rescued her from a nightmare. They've been together every night since. Saving each other, comforting each other, building a home made out of dreams, and eventually falling in love.

But living in sleep has consequences in the heart and mind, and rejecting reality doesn't just make it hard to wake up, it makes it hard to really live.

Sometimes love means knowing when to let go.

...

Somnium is now complete! Thanks to everyone, especially @oxygenforthewicked , whose kindness encouraged me to go back and look at this fic again and remember why it was important to me. Thanks to people reading it for the first time, people reading it for the second time, and all those who can’t find the spoons to read, but would like to share it with others regardless.

#Somnium #Solavellan fanfic #Solas x Lavellan #Modern AU #Dreamsharing

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altoclefgirl · 1 year

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Endlessly in Deep Solavellan Feels 💗

Read my Solavellan long fic here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23937004

Set Post-Trespasser as a precursor to Dragon Age 4

#dragon age fanfic #Solavellan #solavellanhell #dragon age 4 #solas #Lavellan #dragon age inquisition #dragon age #dragon age dreadwolf #solavellan fanfic #solavellan feels #solavellan writer #fen’harel

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rosieofcorona · 1 month

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WIP Tag Game!

thank youuu to the absolutely wonderful @freesidexjunkie for the tag!! 💕 so many of my beloved mutuals and/ or faves have been tagged in this already, so i’m gonna let this one be a free for all.

what a surprise, here’s a snippet from my heavily outlined but STILL incomplete solavellan longfic, which has consumed me almost entirely:

“What does your mother tell you?”

“Nothing,” the boy sighs before correcting himself. “Or almost nothing. She says he loved us, but then he left to help the elves with their rebellion. And that he’s good, even though we fight with them. And that I look like him sometimes…”

He trails off as if caught on that thought, trying to conjure an image of the father he’s never seen, his own features sharpened, matured.

But Cullen’s voice drifts to his ear, and guides him back.

“Your mother tells you all she can, I’m certain of that. She wouldn’t keep anything from you unless it meant you would be safe.”

Fenhala thinks on this a moment, fiddling absently with his saddle. There is a piece of leather peeling at the center of the horn and he digs at it with his fingernails, pulls it over and over in rhythm with their horses’ plodding hooves.

“Did you know my father?” The boy doesn’t look up.

“We all did,” Cullen nods. “Though none as well as your mother.”

“Is it true?”

“Is what true?”

“Do I look like him?”

#this MIGHT be one of those fics that just never gets finished but fam i’m trying #have a little heartbreak anyway #solavellan fanfic #solavellan hell #solasmance #writing WIP #solas posting

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thevikingwoman · 2 years

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47. Crave for the micro stories?

Thank you! 100 word challenge for @dadrunkwriting.

Iwyn Lavellan x Solas | rating: T

Crave

Iwyn Lavellan’s outfit is perfectly suitable. She has not donned her armor, yet her authority is undeniable, Inquisition pin on her breast. That is not what draws Solas’ attention.

There’s a place where her neck meets her shoulder, just above her collar bone. He wants to touch. Trace a finger down the side of her neck, soft skin underneath. Dip two into the notch above her collarbone. Slide his whole hand beneath her blouse.

Solas’ fingers twitch.

His focus should not be on her. Not now. Not in this time. He cannot afford to jeopardize his mission.

Yet he craves.

#iwyn x solas #solavellan #solavellan fanfic #dragon age fanfic #100 word challenge #viking writes #Solas being Solas #published 5/28/2022

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teamdilf · 9 days

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I love writing Dorian and this bit here is dialogue I remain remarkably pleased with myself for writing:

She wakes in the bedroll Dorian so kindly packed for her, to find Dorian cooking breakfast over a magical flame. “Do we need to do the healer thing and stuff pre-chewed food down his throat?”

If Dorian thinks that’s what healers do, she’s grateful he’s never shown an inclination for it.

“No, he is subsiding off the power of the Fade itself,” she says.

“Good! Because I have my limits, and baby birding a god is a pretty fair line in the sand, I think.”

From The Wolf’s Flower.

#j's fics #dorian dragon age #dorian pavus #solavellan fanfic #solavellan #solas x female lavellan #solas

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dreadfutures · 4 months

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Dead Pasts and Dread Futures

by youworeblue

This is my Dragon Age series following Inquisitor Ixchel Lavellan and her battle to find hope for herself, and hope for Thedas. As the world ends, Ixchel is resurrected under mysterious circumstances and is sent back in time to the Conclave. Ixchel is furious, convinced of her own futility, and yet she cannot give up again. These are the stories of how she gets better.

More info here and on AO3.

Below the cut: the symbolism, and the cover on my Kindle, and in the Archivist bot.

Symbolism:

I previously made some "tarot" cards for Ixchel. In them I feature a motif of eyes/eye shaped leaves, and the number 7. These represent the Old Gods/Evanuris that threaten Thedas.

Kindle e-book Cover:

The cempasúchil are Ixchel's Ardent Blossom later in the fic. They have layers and layers of meaning for her and her story, beyond her being Mexican. In my headcanons, an ancient tradition passed down from Elvhenan, a noble would give their Champion a crown of flowers, an “ardent blossom” of their own, to honor the promise and dedication their Champion gives to them. In Elvhenan, marigolds play a big role in bonding ceremonies of all kinds, symbolizing a promise that will last through an end–whether that end be the end of a corporeal form through death, or through voluntary uthenera, or some other pre-agreed upon ending of a partnership.

Gingko leaves (bottom orb) come to symbolize hope in the story, and remembrance. She teaches Solas and those around her how to take lessons from the past to build a better future, with the world they're given; in turn, her companions give her the strength to survive anything and to see that future come to pass.

I made this specifically to be a cover on my Kindle, where I've started downloading fics! I used calibre and this tutorial (view on desktop) to edit the metadata for the epub and add the cover to my Kindle. It's a little hard to see in the picture but the values turned out really well and legible IMO!

Archivist Bot Embeds:

Also, the Archivist discord bot automatically sweeps the first chapter of your fic and uses any art in it as a thumbnail for its informational embed when you post an AO3 link. Immensely satisfying :)

#dragon age fanfic #dragon age #dragon age inquisition #dragon age fanart #lavellan #inquisitor lavellan #dragon age oc #my art #solas #solavellan #dread wolf #i'm so proud of this!#i've really upgraded and leveled up my art so much in the last year

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an-established-butt-dent · 4 months

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“Solas?“

“Yes, Vhenan."

“What are you drawing?“

He still has his eyes on the piece of parchment in front of him, but slows down the repetetive movements of his hand tracing the shapes on paper, as if that might offer him more time to find his answer. "Oh, just some practice. It helps me sort my thoughts," he says with the casual air of somebody trying to evade a question.

“Can I see, then?“

He glances up briefly and notices she has stopped reading her book on the early history of Neromanian magic. She has one elbow propped up on the table and rests her chin on her hand. She is looking at him expectantly, her book clearly forgotten.

He pauses the scratchy movements of his pencil and says rather hesitantly.

"It's not finished."

She leans forward a bit more, trying to catch a glimpse at his paper. He subtly angles it away from her. She might have barely noticed, had she not noted his newfound secrecy regarding his recent drawings. She has become increasingly curious over the past few weeks, and his forced casual demeanor after her question only fills her with more anticipation.

It makes her think of the first time he showed her his artwork. …

The first time she had walked into the rotunda in Skyhold and found Solas high up on the scaffolding with a paint brush in his hands and a concentrated look on his face, she was surprised to learn of his motivation.

"History needs to be documented," he had said when she asked him what he was working on.

After climbing down the scaffolding and taking a step back to admire the process of his work, he continued, "Not by the words of diplomats, but through the eyes of those skilled in artistry. Words will be forgotten, but images? Those will hold significance across time."

She had been moved then. By the bold lines in the fresco and the fierce look in his eyes as he regarded her as he spoke. Like she was someone worthy of admiration. Like he truly saw her. It reminded her of his words before their first kiss.

'You change everything.' He had said.

She didn't really believe him then. She didn't want to be put on a pedestal, far removed from the world and the simple and nomadic lifestyle of her clan that she was accustomed to. She missed roaming mountains and hills, not fighting blighted Templars and navigating treacherous games of power with nobles. That life had seemed like such a long time ago, even though it had barely been a year.

But perhaps she didn't need to suffer though all of this alone. She had her friends. Dorian with his jokes. Varric with his stories. Cassandra with her quiet support and camaderie. Iron Bull helping her with her fighting stances and teaching her new drinking games with Cullen. Even Cole, though he was still figuring out what the word friend even meant. She would help him with that, she had decided then. Friends; they made the aching pull of homesickness more bearable.

But Solas.

Who was he to her? She could call him her friend the supposed. She had the feeling they were becoming closer and yet there was an undeniable distance. Always leaving space for interpretation and mystery while never backing away from any of her questions. So much knowledge he shared, and still she had the feeling she barely knew him at all. He had slowly and unknowingly developed a talent for surprising her with new insights and he did so later again that same evening.

The next hour passed quickly while they were still talking about art and the different depictions of elven lore. He had stared at her intently for a moment, considering her.

"I want to show you something." he had said.

She never passed up an opportunity to learn more so she had indulged him, following him to a plain-looking crate to the side of the room. He removed the protective wards with a wave of his hand. He then uncovered some, by the looks of it, handbound books. He observed them one by one carefully, with a nod of acceptance when he seemingly found what he was looking for and handed her one of the books.

As she opened the first few pages she discovered they were sketchbooks filled with rough outlines in preparation for the next installment of the mural.

Excitedly he pointed to notes in the margin and spoke of where he learned the techniques for collecting and grinding his own pigments. There was a red ocre in the Western Approach that he had recently discovered on one of their missions which was apparently incredibly well suited for his purpose. At her encouragement he had shown her more of of his other drawings too. First of symbolism and color studies, but then more personal ones: of the views of the mountains from Skyhold, running Halla, drying herbs and even of some of the members of the inquisition she recognized.

In turn she told him about how she used to carve wood, especially when winters were rough and her clan was stuck in the same place for long waiting out the biting cold and punishing snow. To keep her fingers from freezing and her mind from wandering to dark places, she had started to carve.

"I haven't had the time since, well you know, this whole mess." she waved the fingers of her marked hand which flashed a sliver of green. Solas had looked thoughtful after her comment, almost like there was a tinge of regret behind his eyes.

The conversation steered in a different direction afterwards, like the seriousness of their predicament weighted more heavily on their shoulders than before. The mysterious books disappeared back into the chest and not long after she had excused herself and called it a night. Somehow she couldn't shake the feeling she had overstepped.

A few days later she returned from a short scouting mission. She climbed the steps to her sleeping quarters, exhausted. She hardly noticed there was an odd-shaped package leaning against her bedroom door until she almost stumbled over it. Her tiredness trading itself for curiosity, she moved to pick it up.

There was no note attached but once she unwrapped the bundle she discovered a beautiful and distinctive elven carving knife and a solid piece of oak wood.

She couldn't help the warm feeling that spread though her body, feeling the comforting weight of the wood and the cool metal of the knife in her hands.

….

She shakes her head as she's brought back to the present. That same rotunda they have since spend so much of their time together. Researching, reading and talking. There had been barely an evening where she didn't end up in the rotunda with Solas. At least when she wasn't away from Skyhold, trying to save the world on missions throughout Thedas.

She looks at Solas from her spot at the table with a mischievous glint in her eyes.

It takes a lot of effort to hide her smile.

Whith an amused tilt to the corner of her lips she says, "You know, Dorian told me he found some sketchbooks laying around, depicting a rather familiar elf. Anything you would know about that?"

Is he… Is he blushing?

"Um, Well you see." he cleares his throat trying to school his expression. "Those were private… And hidden for a reason."

She can't contain a smile. Solas flustered, that's a rare sight.

"You've seen them?" he askes quietly. She notices he has started fumbling with the edges of the paper. She didn't believe his ears could turn a brighter shade of pink.

"Maybe," she says while averting her eyes to the ceiling. She glances back to him out of the corner of her eyes.

Solas looks at her like she has grown an extra pair of ears.

She leans back in her chair and stretches out her legs comfortably under the table. Knowing she has him she doesn't want to push more and decides to spare him some of her teasing. She turns to look at him and softens her expression.

"I rather liked them."

Knowing that is probably not enough to explain why she had looked at his private belongings without permission and seeing the dumbfounded expression on his face slowly making space for embarrassment she decides to tell the whole story.

"I know shouldn't have overstepped, but Dorian said he had something urgent to discuss and before I was even halfway up the stairs he assaulted me with flying books, shouting about discovering my secret admirer. Either I would have stumbled to death or caught them. And, well… Once I started looking I couldn't look away… " she trails off with a slight tinge of shame in her voice.

"You liked them?“

She lookes at him, surprised by the hopefulness in his voice.

A wave of understanding washes over her.

He hid the drawings from her, not because he didn't want her to see them but because he was afraid of her rejection. Even though they had spent the last few months becoming more and more tangled up with each other, stealing fleeting glances and sometimes passionate kisses, they still hadn't really taken a moment to talk about what there was between them.

When she saw the drawings he made of her she had finally understood his interest in her was genuine and went beyond anything resembling a casual dalliance - something she can now confess to have been rather afraid of, because she had developed deeper feelings for him from the moment he started sharing detailed stories dreamt in the fade and his perspective on magic intertwined with life. And then there had been that first kiss… Wel let's just say she's in way too deep to turn back now.

And for all the effort he put into keeping emotional distance between them, he had apparently failed from the moment he had started putting her likeless on paper. For she could see the passion and emotion in the lines, soft shadows and hidden meanings. It made them stand out from all the other drawings she had seen by his hand.

What he couldn't yet put into words, he had found a different way of showing.

"Yes I-" suddenly feeling unsure she pauses for a moment and crosses her arms looking for the right words. "The drawings, they reminded me of who I could be." She takes a deep breath finds her courage and continues. "Someone who people will tell stories about. Not stories about Divine intervention, but of an elven woman's fight for justice. For a kinder world. Somehow I never really managed to see myself that way when I look in the mirror. But those drawings… I guess it's easier to understand who I've become by seeing myself through your eyes. To see the change I'm part of, but most of all to remind myself of where I came from."

She had uncrossed her arms and angled her body towards him over the table. A determined expression rests on her face. He hadn't taken his eyes of her from the moment she started talking.

He looks at her thoughtfully for a moment, considering his reply.

"Very well" he says while some of the tension visibly drains away from his body. She raises her eyebrows in question. "Then it's only time you started showing me your carvings in return. Some good blocks of wood have gone missing. I overheard Blackwall complaining about recently." He shares the accusations with a bemused smile on his lips.

Now it was her turn to blush.

"I was planning on showing you, but first I wanted to practice… " she trailed off her sentence, knowing she doesn't actually have a valid excuse for hiding it from him. And it was not like she hadn't backed him into a corner first.

Feeling relieved he wasn't pulling away at her recent discovery she changes her mind with newfound courage and stands up abruptly while extending her hand in invitation. The purpose of their late night reading session forgotten.

"You're right. And I'm willing to offer you a tour of my recent carving exploits, but only if you can refrain from commenting over the woodchips carpeting the floor." He starts to move as if to get up but she makes him pause as she isn't done yet. "But in turn I will pose for your next drawing." Solas looks at her confused for a moment, as if considering her question.

She pauzes for a moment and adds without hesitation.

"Naked."

"What?"

"That's right."

From a balcony upstairs they could hear some muffled movement followed by a familiar voice echoing down "You know Solas, if you're looking for nude models you only need to ask!"

"Dorian!" they say in unison, horrified.

Solas quickly tucks the sketches under his arm and stands up to grasp her hand, surprising her by pulling her close so fast she has to steady herself with her other hand landing on his chest.

Only a breath away from her ear he says softly so only she can hear.

"It seems like you found yourself a deal, ma Vhenan."

She squeezes his hand in response and when she looks at him there isn't a hint of his previous embarrassment. Instead there is a look of hunger and challenge in his eyes. It's so easy then, to lean over and kiss him, her lips a promise and Dorian's earlier interuption temporarily forgotten. Before she can get lost in the soft press of his lips she pulls back and feels a delighted thrill in the way he slightly chases them as she takes a step back. With a teasing smile on her lips she tugs on his hand bringing him back to reality and encouraging him to follow. As they make their way quietly towards the door she throws a judgemental look over her shoulder towards where she imagines Dorian to be hiding.

She is just able to make out a muffled conversation on the first floor "… These lovesick fools seem to keep forgetting this is a public space, if they don't want an audience they should find a room!"

Not sure if she should be terribly embarrassed or slightly thankful for Dorians intervention she doesn't manage to hide her smile.

"Let's get out of here then." she says as they start to make their way through Skyhold.

He squeezes her hand.

"Gladly."

#solavellan #solavellan hell #solas x female lavellan #solavellen hell #solavellen fanfiction #dragon age inquisition #No one can convince me otherwise that this scene hasnt happened #bioware robbed us from this being a real cutscene in the game #I mean dont you just love the idea of Solas sharing his passion for art and history with lavellan?#and all this time at skyhold #for sure she has run into him a few times covered in paint #and i just love the headcannon that solas ans lavellan forget they have an audiance of Leliana #Dorian and Fiona sharing popcorn and betting on who will make the first move #and you just know the frustration Dorian has felt #seeing the fools in love while they barely make a move at each other aside from fleeting glances #he had to get involved somehow #imagine dorian spending weeks on tearing down the magical wards on that chest #just to findout it filled with portraits of lavellan #LOL #dragon age inquisition fanfic #the dread egg #solas #solasmance #inquisitor lavellan #writing and artwork by me #acrylic ink and finelines on bamboo paper

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