[ The destruction of Minrathous leaves Dorian little room for anything but triage, and no time for despair--but he feels it in every blighted corner of his city, every lost member of the Shadow Dragons, every lifeless body hanging from what seem like endless gallows. Neve Gallus spends more time in Dock Town than at the Lighthouse, and Dorian, guiltily, finds himself grateful; but it also means they are less one member of their party, and that Dorian has reneged temporarily on his offer of being an advisor to Rook, receiving an increasing stack of missives until Varric steps in with a plea that is short and to the point, for him: Sparkler, Rook needs your help.
It is, of course, about Solas, because every demon and pustule of blight and each Venatori on Minrathous's doorstep leads back to him, impossible as it sometimes seems. Neve promises to be his eyes in Minrathous, and Dorian makes a visit to the Lighthouse, where Varric explains that Rook and the others are discovering memories and regrets as they've sought to restore the Crossroads. Varric has shared what he knows of Solas, of course, but it might help Rook to hear more from someone else who knew him. As much as any of them could know him.
Yes, Dorian had responded dryly, the elven god of lies and deceit painted his self-portrait frescoes directly below me for our entire tenure in the Inquisition and I never suspected a thing. I'll be a font of insight.
In truth, Dorian wants desperately to be useful right now. The politics of Minrathous have always required patience and so, so very much work underground; and the hostile takeover has shattered progress in a way that Dorian can't quite face, even as he's putting everything he can into saving it.
So when Rook takes him into the meditation room, looking to him for the wisdom of an elder... Perhaps this is something he can do, after all. He just doesn't expect Rook to ask if he can come speak to Solas through him.
The Lighthouse itself feels like Solas laid bare, but also obscured. It's strange to see so much of a man who was always open in his distaste for Dorian; and, knowing what he knows now, Dorian can't entirely blame him. But he does not trust all of it at face value, and maybe he can help Rook take the measure of the man now trapped in a prison of his own making.
Bellara and Emmrich take the helm on securing an artifact that can utilize the link between Solas and Rook to let Dorian hitchhike, so to speak. Is it dangerous? Assuredly. But Dorian admits to curiosity amidst any trepidation.
They bring an armchair into the meditation room for Dorian, while Rook lies on the sofa, the room's watery light rippling across the artifact as it whirrs to life. And just like that, Dorian is elsewhere--but Rook is nowhere to be seen. Just Solas, somber across a rooted chasm, the world around them windswept grey.
Dorian could almost laugh. This isn't the strangest or most dangerous thing he's ever done, but it still makes the list, and all he can do is part his hands, palms upward, as he meets Solas's gaze. ]
How does it feel, to have new friends and old traipsing around your memories? Is it like having mice in the walls, chewing up the plaster?
[ Solas does not expect to see Dorian Pavus join him in his little Fade prison, locked away in the realm of Rook's dreams, unable to see much of the outside world and doing not but suffer for it.
When Rook comes to him, it is for advice, at times, or to offer commentary on what is going on in the world. To beg for any whisper of what the 'elven gods' might be doing, whatever power they have at their disposal, whatever strength that they have growing under their mantles now. Solas is not one of them, would not claim to be a god, would never wish to tie himself with them, but in strength... Had be the ability to face them, he would give all he has.
It's that distraction that means his eyes widen as he sees his old friend, gaze flickering over the other man before he tilts his head. He doesn't quite manage a smile, and doesn't think Dorian would expect to be graced with one either, but he looks somewhat glad to see him all the same. Time has changed them both, a decade spanning between now and their last meeting, and the hurt that he feels has not disappeared.
Solas did enjoy his time in the Inquisition. He did enjoy the company he found there. He had made friends, though he's not sure if he and Dorian would consider themselves that now, not as it stands.
Bowing his head, he chuckles softly. ]
It's more like having a herd of halla storm through your camp.
[ He wasn't aware of just how much Rook and their fellows had seen, but now... The discomfort is agonising. ]
I suppose you have enjoyed watching them, yes? A new sport?
[ Dorian takes the smallest token of pleasure from the momentary surprise on Solas's face: a rarity, from someone who's spent the last decade (millennia, more like) five steps ahead of everyone he knows.
Solas, once he composes himself, looks almost unchanged by the years between. Dorian wonders what it's like to watch every mortal around you wither to dust in what must seem the blink of an eye; tries not to let his mind rest too long on the fresh creases at the corners of his own eyes, and the grey streak in his hair. Honestly a wonder he didn't start to go grey sooner, between the Inquisition and Minrathous politics.
Dorian does almost wish they were back at Skyhold, in a library armchair or at Solas's desk, if only to bring the intensity of the setting down a notch. Difficult not to feel exposed when you're the only living creatures in a broken landscape, unable even to close the distance between.
He'll just have to play it like chess within a dream. ]
Enjoy is not the word I would choose. [ The painted story of Mythal is less disorienting than the lived-in, felt memories: with Solas just a breath away and not there at all. ] I am grateful you've cut your hair sometime in the last thousand years. Otherwise one of us would have to change.
[ His mind is already tracing through the magic, following the threads of it and trying to understand how they managed to bring Dorian here to begin with. There are glimpses that Solas can chase, little bits of whispered hisses that settle in his mind. He understands the Fade and the Veil better than anyone else in the world, but he still has to give effort to work through... All of this.
Eventually, he breathes out a noise, shaking the thoughts away. He can dwell on the 'how' later; at the moment, the 'why' is far more important, and he focuses on that. ]
It was not exactly a choice.
[ A sign of his old age, as it were. A loss of hair to show for his thousands of years of existence. Solas scowls at the reminder, his gaze flickering away. ]
Why have you come, Dorian? Do you seek to command me to stop in my mission? Or do you wish to know how to defeat the elven 'Gods' as much as the others do?
[ Is this borne of friendship, Solas wonders, whatever tether there was between them - or was it simply due to necessity, a means to an end? He's not certain which he would prefer. ]
[ Dorian's taken the measure of Rook since their first introduction, and while he certainly has an impulsive streak--you don't royally fuck a powerful ritual without a little impulse in you, Dorian knows--he has since been approaching Solas with an appropriate degree of wariness.
Lavellan had not had the gift of an informed introduction to Solas, all those years ago. Dorian had always quipped that he couldn't see what she saw in him, and insisted with absolute honesty that she deserved better, but it is a rotten truth that Solas is beautiful in a way that is both untouchable and deeply human. An irritating, selfish man, and one whose somber look strikes a tangled knot in Dorian's heart.
Breezily, ] I was just thinking I need to be better about catching up with old friends. Might have invited you to tea in Minrathous, for a cozier reunion, but I'm afraid my favorite shop has been reduced to little more than rubble and pustules of blight.
[ A bite creeps into his words by the end, just skirting the edge of angry in a way Dorian has forced himself to temper over the years for the sake of his seat in the Magisterium.
But this is not the Magisterium, and Dorian does not have to play the politician here. This is an old companion who pulled the wool over all of their eyes, left Lavellan more deeply wounded than the rest. So he lets the bite cut deeper, this time. ]
But human casualties never did matter much to you, did they?
They matter, Dorian. But people die. It is what they have always done.
[ The bitterness hangs heavy on his tongue, echoing the thousands of years of hurt and pain that comes hand in hand with his very existence. It is the only way he can rationalise the choices he has to make, the path that he had chosen, to undo all the damage that had been wrought because of him. The war with the Titans, the Blight, the horrors that the Evanuris have brought to the world and the creation of the Veil itself...
Solas longs for a world that is long gone, but he also knows that this one is damaged. Wounded. He is the one who can mend it, and it is as he had always said; the healer has the bloodiest hands.
Stepping forward, he hesitates. He might be able to transport himself over, to stand beside Dorian and be near his friend once more, but he also fears the consequence. He is in no mood to be hit, no more than he is prepared to be scolded as he currently. ]
Why have you come, Dorian? Speak whatever is burdening you.
[ Dorian means for the words to come out another way: To help Rook understand you. But as he balls his hands into fists at his side, his breath catches on them, voice thick. ]
To understand. [ Because Dorian has never understood Solas, much less now than when he thought he had the measure of him years ago. Lavellan and Varric had both believed they could talk him down, and Dorian has less of a hook in him than either of them had. The stakes feel just as high, all the same. ]
Was any of it real, Solas? All that time spent at Skyhold, breaking bread and playing cards with people who die? Or were we always a means to an end?
[ And that was the problem, wasn't it? Spending time with the others at Skyhold, befriending the Inquisition, the Inquisitor themselves... It had made Solas think, however briefly, that the world that he had awoken to was more real than he would ever allow himself to admit. It would mean that all he had thought about and all he had been fighting for was meaningless, and he simply could not allow it.
Solas bows his head, breathing out softly, and it seems as if all the weight he has ever felt slides down his body, unable to look Dorian in the eyes. ]
[ Eventually, maybe the Fade will stop seeming so strange to Emalien. The magical manipulation of reality's ethereal fabric has never been an ability that she possessed, warrior that she is, and relying instead on her own senses and weaponry has kept her alive all these years. But now, here with Solas for eternity, she's getting a better sense of their new home.
She quickly learns that much of the Fade seems to operate by the logic of dreams, and her whims are more easily explored here, for the simple sake of curiosity and novelty. She so often has to do little more than will something into being, and it appears before her – apparently, the same can apply to her own body. She and Solas have been apart for a while, so there's plenty of room for refamiliarizing themselves with each other, a shockingly lighthearted opportunity amongst fresh grief. (Sacrifices made, worlds shattered, atonement sought; all undercurrents that cannot be so easily banished.) But that all can take a sideline for the joy that overwhelms Emalien by being close to Solas again. No matter the disappointment or sadness or even anger that rose in the wake of his departure, the world finally feels right again, being with him settling a part of her soul that's rioted ever since he left. Now, she can finally, finally find that peace again.
Emalien's demeanor is practically mischievous when she interrupts Solas's meditative revery today. She has no idea how long they've been in the Fade, and ultimately, it doesn't matter. This is their next shade of forever, so there's no use counting the days.
Her approach is subtle at first, but as soon as she steps up behind him and winds her arms around his waist, the gust of breath against the nape of his neck is warm, affection in the kiss she leaves at the nearest available patch of skin behind his ear. ]
[ This place was once as close to home as Solas had ever felt in this new world; slipping between the Fade and the real world, sliding into the gaps between the Veil and feeling as if he could breathe for the first time. Now? It feels a touch more cloying, a touch more dangerous, his life-force itself tying them all together, keeping the world itself on its feet. It might have been enough to break him entirely, if he had been left to do it alone.
He is not alone. Emalien had chosen to come with him, to stand at his side, despite all the ills he had caused. There is no logic in that but love, he thinks, and the blessing of adoration sits heavy on his shoulders.
Slipping into whatever peace he can find, Solas is deaf to the world before she comes to him. Careful arms wrap around him, draw him back, and his low chuckle is soft and warm as he basks in the knowledge of being loved, of the fact that she chose him. She saw the good in him, even when his own sight was blinded by grief and regret; there is nothing he can do to show her the depth of his own love in return.
Turning, he captures her mouth with his own, a gentle kiss of his lips before he sighs softly. ]
Nothing more important than you. [ Their noses brush, and he smiles, all fondness and sweetness. ] My attention is yours.
[ If there's anything Emalien has had over the last decade, it's time. Time to reflect on her days with Solas, far briefer than her years spent without him, and rather than fester like an infected wound, Emalien's heart has bloomed with compassion for the path that brought them here. She can never know the weight of what he's carried, what he sacrificed and what was taken from him, but she understands a fragment of the mantle; before, when she rose as the Inquisitor and now, when she subsequently spent the past months holding the South together by her fingernails during an onslaught by the very gods Solas first defeated, she's gained perspective. She endured that for a fragment of the time that Solas led his rebellion, and that has left her exhausted.
Now, it finally feels like everything has stopped moving so brutally quick.
She's here now, with Solas.
All too happy to meet that sweet kiss, Emalien's smile mirrors Solas when they part. ]
Then I'll happily claim it. [ A light tease as she closes the gap for another kiss, an indulgence she can't resist now that the opportunity is presented to her. ]
Especially since I hope to claim more than your attention.
[ Living away from her for ten years, having only dreams and memories to keep him going, letting his heart continue to beat. It might have been easier if he had never fallen in love with her, if he had never been able to find the sweetness inside of him that was flowered because of her sweetness, but... But, he loves her. But, he will continue to love her. But... She is everything that he had ever dreamed of, everything that he had ever wanted to have.
Everything he had denied himself for so long after all his losses.
One of his hands lifts, stroking over her cheek, feeling out her cheekbones, the curve of her smile as she looks at him, and the only thing he can feel inside of himself is adoration and love. Somehow, they've come together, somehow they've found one another again, and he makes a soft, content sound, a sigh of warmth. ]
What more could you ask for, ma vhenan?
[ A coy smile as he kisses her again, arm slinking around her to hold her tight, close, warm. ]
[ It's a thing she only hears him say in her dreams – or, it used to be. Now, she has him tangibly in her arms, a gift she isn't yet convinced won't be spirited away in the blink of an eye. How can she resist?
In an ironic mirror to the hand Solas brings to Emalien's face, she drops her own from his waist to the curve of his ass. Her warm smile quirks with mischief as she squeezes the firm muscle, clearly appreciative. ]
I was thinking "all of you," to start.
[ This weird place isn't limited by such inconvenient things as "reality" or "bodies," after all. ]
[ There's a soft laugh that comes as her hand lies upon him, where his own wandering palm had gone so many times before now, and the only thing left for him to do is to lean in and kiss her gently, to tilt his head and steal more of her warmth and her affection for himself. He remains unworthy, remains foolish, but he longs for it, longs for her.
She had chosen to stay with him. It reminds him of how beautiful the world can be, because he sees it all in her features.
Breathing out softly, he closes his eyes. ]
Fewer clothes seems a most sensible suggestion.
[ Tilting his head, his mouth trails along her skin. ]
[ She's becoming more confident with the way her imagination can shape their surroundings, and it's almost seamless now how their world melts into the ethereal glow of magic, dissipating and solidifying again with a thrum of energy. When the setting returns, it looks distinctly like Skyhold, reminiscent of her old quarters in the fortress; out of the corner of her eye, she can even see a familiar bear pelt spread out across the welcoming bed. She'd never known accommodations like Skyhold until the Inquisition took up residence and not since, too accustomed to constantly moving with a bed no bigger than what she could carry on her back. Of course her old bed in Skyhold is what she naturally remembers, too full of fond memories of tumbling into it with Solas.
Standing next to the bed now, exposed skin takes the place of her habitual uniform. Clothes? A problem for later. Naked, warm and content, Emalien's strong arms curl around Solas, dragging him flush against her as she revels in the sturdiness of his form, this man that she's missed so dearly for so long. ]
I want to open you up and pull you apart, ma vhenan.
[ Solas lets her move and manipulate the Fade, lets her twist it around them, and it feels good to allow it. It feels natural to be here, in a way, something that fills his veins with warmth and a kind of certainty that is achingly novel. It warms him, makes him tilt his head as he basks in it, the tenderness of magic and the knowledge that the two of them are together once again.
Nowhere has felt like home since Arlathan, and yet here, together... It feels close enough to it for comfort.
Looking around, his fingers dance over hers, touching and holding her close, urging her back towards a wall. This, too, is familiar, and he leans in to chase the taste of her mouth, giving himself over to the urge to lose himself in her touch, her body, all that she has. ]
Whatever you wish. I want to pleasure you, please you, my love.
[ Emalien doesn't resist, as pliable as she is determined to keep touching him, to take more of him. One step back for every crowding step forward, she's all smiles when the stone meets her shoulders, cool on her bare skin. Something about the nostalgia of the moment draws a light, quiet chuckle from her before her breath is stolen away in another kiss. She planned to herd him into the bed, but he's a beat ahead of her (as per usual). The flush press of his body, his hands, feeling as much dream as it is reality – it all makes her hyperaware of the new magical manifestation of her form.
It's not the first dick that's ever been attached to her body, but this is the first one that feels distinctly real. Carved toys and cleverly-applied spells are well and good, but it feels like her own flesh when arousal stirs in her belly now. Solas's long figure is a line of heat along her body, and she instinctively rocks her hips forward, grinding the thickening length of her new cock into his thigh.
Her pleased sound is as much another lighthearted laugh, marveling at the novelty of this malleable space and her own ability to affect it. ]
You've always had a talent for that. [ Nobody before or after Solas made her feel the way that he did. ]
[ The two of them together are obsessed with each other, and Solas knows it; he leans into her, anchored to her by his adoration, by his want of more of her, and nothing she might do or say would take that from him. His love for her is the one thing that had kept the goodness inside of him alive, had kept him from wanting to drown himself in his regrets and his guilt, and being able to come to her once more, to know her as familiarly and as desperately as he had...
It is a relief, a gift, a bounty. He loves her.
Reaching, he lifts one of her legs to wrap it around him, his other hand sliding between their legs. His fingers wrap around the shape of her new cock, long fingers curling and dragging, callouses against warm skin. It feels so much better than the toys they might have enjoyed in the past, and he breathes out a little, warmed laugh as he nudges their noses together, pained by how much he wants her, needs her. ]
So I can see.
[ His mouth presses to her jaw, and he smiles, an expression filled with adoration. ]
Do you wish for my hand alone, ma vhenan, or would my mouth better suit you?
[ What a delicious conundrum for her. If she chooses his hand, she gets to continue kissing him. She gets to stay pressed up against him and hold him close, and of course that appeals to her terribly – but his mouth? Solas has always been able to make her see stars when he eats her out.
She wonders what that will be like with different anatomy.
Emalien moans her approval, marveling at the way she can feel his beautifully long fingers squeezing hot flesh. ]
Your clever tongue would be a most welcome place to start, I think.
[ She turns her face to find those lips again for another kiss, tongue sliding forward to tangle with Solas's – hot and deep and brief, closed with a graze of teeth as she leans back to look down between them. Curious, appraising, her leg tightens around him, flexing as she rocks forward, absently chasing the touch and the snug sleeve of his hand. ]
[ The urge to stay with his lips against her own is something that cannot be ignored, and he would gladly stand here and kiss her for hours upon end, would worship her with his touch and his sweetness. Solas would do anything she asked of him, as long as that meant that he was able to show her just how much he loved her, how much he adores her, how much he wanted to make up for all the things that had gone wrong.
When she moans against his mouth, all he can do is shiver, nuzzling into her. ]
Gladly.
[ Solas' mouth trails down her body as he falls to his knees, pressing kisses to her collarbone, to her neck, to the curve of her breast as his spare hand squeezes deliberately. He enjoys using his mouth on her, enjoys making sure that she feels good, and it does not stop.
Kneeling, dropped easily to bend before her, he lifts one of her legs to lift it around his shoulders. His mouth brushes along her hip, her thigh, deliberately teasing her as he nuzzles into her skin. ]
[ Emalien relishes the explorative touch. She feels alight with every brush of affection, a trail of sensation that makes her heart flutter, makes her stomach tighten and clench with anticipation. She pulls him closer with the leg hooked over his shoulder, hips tilting up to offer herself as his mouth travels tantalizingly higher. ]
Everything with you is enjoyable, my love.
[ She runs a hand over his smooth crown, squeezing the back of his neck to drag her fingernails up again. Her new cock waits in front of his face, an offering as much as temptation. ]
But I might have fantasized a time or two how you would look and feel with your lips wrapped around something more than polished wood.
[ She wonders if there might have been a moment or two to enjoy a dalliance with one of their fellow companions, someone to help her bring Solas to his knees, but their days in the Inquisition were full enough. ]
[ It is true that their coupling has always felt better than things he might have shared in the past, if only because they share a connection that goes beyond any other. It had been centuries, and Solas does not think that he had ever loved someone as sweetly as he loved Emalien.
Her fingers brush over his skin, and he sighs softly, pleased. ]
You should have said something before. You and I both know the power of dreams.
[ Another kiss to her hip, careful, and then he is angling himself, adjusting his weight on his knees so that he can take her cock into his mouth, to slide down and groan at the pleasure of it. ]
[ She should have mentioned something sooner, surely, but Emalien has had time to think and fantasize and dream, a muscle that she's built over time rather than something that came naturally to a mage. ]
Maybe so, but—
[ But whatever thoughts flittered through her mind are almost immediately banished by the hot mouth settling around her cock, the vibration of Solas's voice thrumming through her, burning hot in her belly and striking her eager need alight in an entirely new way. ]
Vhenan...
[ A throaty groan, her head falling back against stone as she basks in the subsuming heat of her lover's mouth. It's a different sensation entirely, a new way to experience her own nervous system, and Emalien can't get enough. She rocks forward, chasing, gasping at the pulsing pleasure that's nothing like being eaten out because her anatomy simply doesn't allow for this much physical touch. Solas may have a talented tongue, but experiencing it this way is a whole new world.
So this is why men like blowjobs so much. Makes sense. ]
[ It has been a long time, there's no denying that, and Solas is aware of his own thoughts now they've had so much distance between them. It was hard to not dwell on things they hadn't been able to do, all the ventures that had been kept from them because of his own choices, the nights that they might have had together stolen by his own hubris.
He had dreamed of her so often, and he knows she had seen him. She had chased him, and he had fled, the coward that he had been for so many months. Solas' desperation to see her had overridden his good sense, and all it had done was cause them more and more and more pain.
At least they had come together now: at least they had found each other now.
Even as he takes her deep, even as he lets himself sink along the cock she had made for their pleasure, his fingers stroke along her thighs, her hips, trying to keep the warm flood of his want obvious.
It has been a very long time since he has done anything like this, longer than before they had met, but it is not a skill he had forgotten in the time since his last venture. The taste is familiar, the motion of his body is familiar, the way he hums with sheer pleasure... That is an old friend.
[ Though Emalien sees no reason to admit it aloud, part of her touch remains so concrete, so solid because she's terrified that if she loosens her grip for a heartbeat, he'll disappear like fleeting moonlight as he had so many times in her dreams before. Her life is one long dream now, and if he decides to vanish again, she'll be truly alone. But she knows that if Solas wishes to leave her behind, it doesn't matter how tightly she tries to cling to his presence; he'll slip through her fingers as he had over and over and over again.
Fortunately for her fears, she wouldn't have come alongside Solas if she believed he would trap her as he had Rook. She trusted her trickster enough to give up everything – even if it's not exactly the first time such a thing has been asked of her. Ever since the Conclave, Emalien has forsaken more and more of herself for others, for the world, for the greater good.
Can she be blamed now for selfishly clinging to the piece of her heart that she has left?
Rather than let herself sink into old wounds, Emalien eagerly embraces the warm worship of Solas's mouth, swept up in novel pleasure that radiates outward from her pelvis, following the trail of his tongue. Breathless, gasping as she digs her nails into the meat of his shoulder, she tips her chin forward to watch, unable to tear her eyes away from the handsome and alluring sight of her lover's lips around such a new part of her body. ]
Solas—
[ She trails her free fingertips along his temple, down his cheek, following the hinge of his stretched jaw with as much worship in her touch as in his own. ]
You... you have no idea how irresistible you look like this. Ahh— I can hardly stand it...
[ He's been chasing so long he doesn't know how to do anything else. First, it had been chasing Solas, desperate to stop him long enough to see reason. To see that there is another way out of his plan. Then the Venatori took his focus. An easy target to feel some sort of accomplishment as he and the remnants of the Inquisition aimed to push them out of Orlais and Ferelden. The fight has been going in an ebb and flow of loss and victory for the greater part of a decade. Luthien feels that if he stops for even a moment, the weight of it all will buckle him at the knees.
Then news came of Varric and Harding's hunt for Solas and he felt torn between two fights. His desperate need to fix what his friend has started, fearful of even more loss, spurns him into making contact. The eluvians help to get him from the South to the heart of Tevinter, and he can't help but be grateful for Morrigan's continued support even in the wake of great loss. There is a chasm in his gut at the loss of his friend, but his grief will get tabled for another time and place.
After the fight has finished and he allows himself the opportunity, he tells himself. He never truly mourned the loss of his clan either. There had been bigger fights and they still haven't stopped- which is why it's so important that he be given the opportunity to fix this. Rook and the others don't know Solas as he does. It's not as if he doesn't trust them, they've done more than Luthien could have possibly hoped in a fight against the Elvhenan...
But Solas isn't the same. He deserves the opportunity, the chance to explain himself. It's what he's always been good at.
It takes quite a bit of effort to slip away on his own and a great deal more to locate someone who doesn't wish to be found until it suits him. His shoulders sag in relief at the sight of that achingly familiar silhouette. He hesitates as he tries to find the words he'd like to say.
What the Inquisitor would say to his companion. He says nothing as he approaches cautiously, hands down to his side to show he hadn't come armed. Well. One of them, anyway. ]
It never used to be this difficult to seek you out.
It feels constant, but not as present as it has been in the last decade, a constant fight to rush and permit his ritual to be done before the worst comes. He knows that he must destroy the Veil, that he must transfer the 'gods' from one prison to another, to ensure that they do not come free when the world is repaired, but it had all fallen apart. Everything had gone wrong - as it so often does, each of his carefully laid planned ripped to shreds by the hand of mortals he couldn't bear to imagine as real.
His orb, broken. The Inquisitor, too real. Mythal, ripped from him. Ritual, destroyed.
Perhaps, one day, one of his plots will come to fruition, and he might find some success, some celebration despite way his steps are haunted and despite the agony he feels deep inside himself, a constant and painful reminder of every single mistake he has ever made.
He doesn't mean to make himself vulnerable, but he is tired, tired of running, of hiding, of leading. He was never meant for this, never designed for the purpose of warfare and danger, and carrying the mantle of it is something that burns him and makes his spine feel weak. He almost crumbles when he hears the familiar voice behind him, and when he turns his head it's with sadness in his eyes, a familiar, haunting grief he can't shrug off. ]
I never used to want to hide from your company, lethallin.
[ There is a bone-deep weariness in what they do because they have to, it's the role they've fallen into and they are both too stubborn to quit. Luthien had never had dreams of leadership, of having the tremendous weight of world-ending decisions upon his shoulders. He's never truly felt that the title of Inquisitor was earned, but it was still what he bore.
If his companions hadn't been such near and constant presences, he doesn't know how things would have ended up. Certainly not standing so near to Solas and unsure whether he should physically reach out. He's never wanted to oppose the other elf. He still hopes there's a way for them both to walk away from this without a chasm between them.
Luthien offers a sad smile, shaking his head gently. ]
You've never had reason to hide from me. I've never wanted to fight you- I want to understand.
[ Who better to learn from than his dear friend with his ancient knowledge of their shared heritage. How many times had Solas taught him more than he'd ever known? ]
[ Solas does not wish to be here, he thinks, not because he does not welcome the companionship of a friend long gone, but because he does not have the strength to resist the urge to give in. Once upon a time, it would have been easy to turn away from the 'mortals' of this world, to find space elsewhere and simply focus on his plans.
Things are different now. Finding friendships, in the midst of the horrors of this world, of seeing what had happened when his mistakes have borne fruition... It makes it all the harder for Solas to leave, to ignore the pang in his heart, the deep, burning ache that's inside of him as he tries to force himself to remain calm.
Simpler times, once. Simpler, and long-lost. ]
I do not know if you can.
[ How can he explain it? How can he unburden himself, express it all, in a way that made sense? ]
Years ago, you taught me about the Fade. About the misguided teachings in my clan.
[ Luthien closes the estranged distance between them. Not touching, but should either of them reach out, they would easily reach the other. He doesn't know how to help someone so entangled in the past and present, but he would forever regret not trying to help his friend.
His heart aches to think how lonely this journey must have been for Solas. Who had he been able to rely upon these past ten years?
The Inquisitor raises an eyebrow, looking up at him with only a hint of judgement. The ghost of a familiar expression, though not one normally leveled toward Solas during those most trying times. ]
So you're going to assume I won't understand instead of allowing me to try?
There are some things that are not meant to be understood.
[ Solas watches him now, and his heart aches. It burns under his skin, feels like there is some kind of tether between them demanding his attention, demanding his honesty. It is hard, to admit to all the things that have burrowed deep inside of him and make him ache, and to admit all of his sins to someone that he cared for...
Still cares for...
Shaking his head, he tries not to laugh. Luthien gives him an expression that is so achingly familiar that he cannot do anything except revel in the fondness he feels, of many months at this man's side, fighting to save the world. If only they could do so together now - if only Solas had the strength to admit that he needed help.
Instead, he steps forward, he finds a place of comfort, and he sits, motioning to the space beside him. ]
[ Despite the urge to be flippant, Luthien takes his words and mulls them over, instead. He's sure Solas believes that some things are beyond understanding, that he couldn't possibly comprehend something so ancient and malignant.. but he'd faced down Corypheus and dealt with blood magic that challenged everything he thought he knew about magic.
He follows Solas to his resting spot much as he always has- like a moth to flame. Curious about the brightness, wanting to be close despite how it will burn. One might say it's as a lamb to the slaughter, but a flame can't help its nature.
Luthien sits beside him, his knees creaking in protest. There is an anxiety pooled in his gut from the stagnation. His instinct telling him he needs to be ready to bolt, that being so close to someone so potentially dangerous is hazardous to his health, but his heart?
That treacherous, bleeding heart of his can't help but trust his friend. ]
You have my ear. [ And a great deal more that is difficult to put into words. ]
[ Solas recognises that, if nothing else. His friendship with this man has always been something dear to him, important to his heart, even if he had been unable to express it or recognise it in the past. It feels like a heavy burden to bear now, if only because he has caused so many problems, so many things gone wrong because of his own choices. The regrets are enough to slaughter him, to drag him down into a hell of his own making, and there's so little he can do to repair it.
Perhaps this, a confession of sorts, would ease some of that weight. Perhaps.
Leaning back, Solas breathes out a soft sigh, letting his eyes slip close. ]
Tell me, Luthien. What do you know of Mythal, and her relationship with the others? With me? What have you learned in your travels?
[ They wouldn't be sitting here without Solas and his wisdom when Luthien had been stumbling about trying to do everything and feeling as though all he was succeeding in was treading water. He owes a great deal to his ancient friend and would do just about anything if only he asked. All of them have made mistakes, some of which caused consequences spanning further than they could have imagined. To err is to be alive.
Luthien tips his head back, taking in the sky as he considers how to answer. He'd certainly learned a great deal from a variety of sources. One of those was Lady Morrigan as they discovered more about the scattered Eluvians. She has been a wealth of knowledge he's been happy to have on their side. ]
According to the Dalish legends, Mythal was born of the sea. Elgar'nan threw the sun out of the sky in vengeance for burning the earth to ashes and she was the one to calm him. She made him realize his anger had betrayed him and convinced him to free the sun. It was that night she created the moon. In most stories, she rights wrongs and is a motherly figure; in others, she is dark and vengeful.
[ He shrugs a shoulder. ]
As I've seen countless times since meeting you, legend and fact don't always agree. I know of the war with the Titans, the enslavement of our people, and of Mythal's murder. The true cause, not the stories of the Dread Wolf being her downfall. After drinking from the Well of Sorrows, there was much I couldn't understand. Perhaps much I wasn't prepared to know in the beginning. As the pieces fit together, the picture becomes that much clearer.
[ Did he ever mention that he did that? No? Well. Hindsight. ]
[ Legend and legend and legend again. None of it is good enough, and none of it is correct, and it burns inside Solas. He tried to share the truth, tried to share reality with the rest of the world, and he was scorned and rejected. It aches inside of him even now, a burning sensation that rips apart the shreds of himself, and all he can do is cling to what remains and try to make a better world for it.
No one cares. No one cared, and it sickens him, the wisdom in his heart that shines so brightly as his true nature making him weak to being so painfully ignored. ]
If only it were so simple.
[ Solas sighs softly. ]
There is more to it, as there always is. I was Solas first, after all, and the moniker 'wolf' came during my rebellion. The depth of what has been lost to time, even as we tried to kept it to ourselves...
[ Glancing over, he watches, careful. ]
They were not always elves. We were not always elves.
It's never as simple as we would like it to be. As much as I would wish it so.
[ There is always more to it, and he wishes Solas didn't have to fight so hard for the truth to surface. It's a much longer fight than simply stopping Elgar'nan and Ghilan'nain. Centuries of mistruth can't possibly be undone overnight, and the Dalish may not be receptive to relearning generations of tradition.
His eyebrows raise in surprise, though from what Rook has told him, this falls in line with the ancient elves being mages as opposed to gods. ]
Tell me. [ Luthien reaches out, placing his hand on Solas' with a squeeze of reassurance. ]
[ The touch is grounding, soft, and Solas takes a deep breath in and then permit it to slip from his mouth with a sigh. ]
The People were spirits, first. The magic of Thedas was used in poor spirit to grant us physical form, and thus we were able to walk the earth as others might.
[ His head bows, and his eyes close. ]
It is not so simple to call us one nor the other. We became bastardisations of our purpose.
[ Solas speaks the truth of their people and he can't help but believe him. It's a revelation that fits into place with everything he'd learned. It makes sense that their history became so lost, so twisted and warped. ]
The lyrium? If the Titans were at odds with how you came to physical form, that would explain much.
[ He knows it must be hard to articulate an entire history, especially one as complicated as this. There are many moving parts and how can one put the events of life in a list of importance? ]
[ The words come out cool, a little darker than he might have intended - but it's an old ache, an old wound, something he can't quite shove aside or ignore. Solas is hurt by this, as he was at the time, and reliving it...
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
taking au / magic liberties, lmk if you'd like me to change anything! also sorry this is a novel omg
It is, of course, about Solas, because every demon and pustule of blight and each Venatori on Minrathous's doorstep leads back to him, impossible as it sometimes seems. Neve promises to be his eyes in Minrathous, and Dorian makes a visit to the Lighthouse, where Varric explains that Rook and the others are discovering memories and regrets as they've sought to restore the Crossroads. Varric has shared what he knows of Solas, of course, but it might help Rook to hear more from someone else who knew him. As much as any of them could know him.
Yes, Dorian had responded dryly, the elven god of lies and deceit painted his self-portrait frescoes directly below me for our entire tenure in the Inquisition and I never suspected a thing. I'll be a font of insight.
In truth, Dorian wants desperately to be useful right now. The politics of Minrathous have always required patience and so, so very much work underground; and the hostile takeover has shattered progress in a way that Dorian can't quite face, even as he's putting everything he can into saving it.
So when Rook takes him into the meditation room, looking to him for the wisdom of an elder... Perhaps this is something he can do, after all. He just doesn't expect Rook to ask if he can come speak to Solas through him.
The Lighthouse itself feels like Solas laid bare, but also obscured. It's strange to see so much of a man who was always open in his distaste for Dorian; and, knowing what he knows now, Dorian can't entirely blame him. But he does not trust all of it at face value, and maybe he can help Rook take the measure of the man now trapped in a prison of his own making.
Bellara and Emmrich take the helm on securing an artifact that can utilize the link between Solas and Rook to let Dorian hitchhike, so to speak. Is it dangerous? Assuredly. But Dorian admits to curiosity amidst any trepidation.
They bring an armchair into the meditation room for Dorian, while Rook lies on the sofa, the room's watery light rippling across the artifact as it whirrs to life. And just like that, Dorian is elsewhere--but Rook is nowhere to be seen. Just Solas, somber across a rooted chasm, the world around them windswept grey.
Dorian could almost laugh. This isn't the strangest or most dangerous thing he's ever done, but it still makes the list, and all he can do is part his hands, palms upward, as he meets Solas's gaze. ]
How does it feel, to have new friends and old traipsing around your memories? Is it like having mice in the walls, chewing up the plaster?
this is BEAUTIFUL
When Rook comes to him, it is for advice, at times, or to offer commentary on what is going on in the world. To beg for any whisper of what the 'elven gods' might be doing, whatever power they have at their disposal, whatever strength that they have growing under their mantles now. Solas is not one of them, would not claim to be a god, would never wish to tie himself with them, but in strength... Had be the ability to face them, he would give all he has.
It's that distraction that means his eyes widen as he sees his old friend, gaze flickering over the other man before he tilts his head. He doesn't quite manage a smile, and doesn't think Dorian would expect to be graced with one either, but he looks somewhat glad to see him all the same. Time has changed them both, a decade spanning between now and their last meeting, and the hurt that he feels has not disappeared.
Solas did enjoy his time in the Inquisition. He did enjoy the company he found there. He had made friends, though he's not sure if he and Dorian would consider themselves that now, not as it stands.
Bowing his head, he chuckles softly. ]
It's more like having a herd of halla storm through your camp.
[ He wasn't aware of just how much Rook and their fellows had seen, but now... The discomfort is agonising. ]
I suppose you have enjoyed watching them, yes? A new sport?
♥!
Solas, once he composes himself, looks almost unchanged by the years between. Dorian wonders what it's like to watch every mortal around you wither to dust in what must seem the blink of an eye; tries not to let his mind rest too long on the fresh creases at the corners of his own eyes, and the grey streak in his hair. Honestly a wonder he didn't start to go grey sooner, between the Inquisition and Minrathous politics.
Dorian does almost wish they were back at Skyhold, in a library armchair or at Solas's desk, if only to bring the intensity of the setting down a notch. Difficult not to feel exposed when you're the only living creatures in a broken landscape, unable even to close the distance between.
He'll just have to play it like chess within a dream. ]
Enjoy is not the word I would choose. [ The painted story of Mythal is less disorienting than the lived-in, felt memories: with Solas just a breath away and not there at all. ] I am grateful you've cut your hair sometime in the last thousand years. Otherwise one of us would have to change.
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Eventually, he breathes out a noise, shaking the thoughts away. He can dwell on the 'how' later; at the moment, the 'why' is far more important, and he focuses on that. ]
It was not exactly a choice.
[ A sign of his old age, as it were. A loss of hair to show for his thousands of years of existence. Solas scowls at the reminder, his gaze flickering away. ]
Why have you come, Dorian? Do you seek to command me to stop in my mission? Or do you wish to know how to defeat the elven 'Gods' as much as the others do?
[ Is this borne of friendship, Solas wonders, whatever tether there was between them - or was it simply due to necessity, a means to an end? He's not certain which he would prefer. ]
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Lavellan had not had the gift of an informed introduction to Solas, all those years ago. Dorian had always quipped that he couldn't see what she saw in him, and insisted with absolute honesty that she deserved better, but it is a rotten truth that Solas is beautiful in a way that is both untouchable and deeply human. An irritating, selfish man, and one whose somber look strikes a tangled knot in Dorian's heart.
Breezily, ] I was just thinking I need to be better about catching up with old friends. Might have invited you to tea in Minrathous, for a cozier reunion, but I'm afraid my favorite shop has been reduced to little more than rubble and pustules of blight.
[ A bite creeps into his words by the end, just skirting the edge of angry in a way Dorian has forced himself to temper over the years for the sake of his seat in the Magisterium.
But this is not the Magisterium, and Dorian does not have to play the politician here. This is an old companion who pulled the wool over all of their eyes, left Lavellan more deeply wounded than the rest. So he lets the bite cut deeper, this time. ]
But human casualties never did matter much to you, did they?
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[ The bitterness hangs heavy on his tongue, echoing the thousands of years of hurt and pain that comes hand in hand with his very existence. It is the only way he can rationalise the choices he has to make, the path that he had chosen, to undo all the damage that had been wrought because of him. The war with the Titans, the Blight, the horrors that the Evanuris have brought to the world and the creation of the Veil itself...
Solas longs for a world that is long gone, but he also knows that this one is damaged. Wounded. He is the one who can mend it, and it is as he had always said; the healer has the bloodiest hands.
Stepping forward, he hesitates. He might be able to transport himself over, to stand beside Dorian and be near his friend once more, but he also fears the consequence. He is in no mood to be hit, no more than he is prepared to be scolded as he currently. ]
Why have you come, Dorian? Speak whatever is burdening you.
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To understand. [ Because Dorian has never understood Solas, much less now than when he thought he had the measure of him years ago. Lavellan and Varric had both believed they could talk him down, and Dorian has less of a hook in him than either of them had. The stakes feel just as high, all the same. ]
Was any of it real, Solas? All that time spent at Skyhold, breaking bread and playing cards with people who die? Or were we always a means to an end?
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[ And that was the problem, wasn't it? Spending time with the others at Skyhold, befriending the Inquisition, the Inquisitor themselves... It had made Solas think, however briefly, that the world that he had awoken to was more real than he would ever allow himself to admit. It would mean that all he had thought about and all he had been fighting for was meaningless, and he simply could not allow it.
Solas bows his head, breathing out softly, and it seems as if all the weight he has ever felt slides down his body, unable to look Dorian in the eyes. ]
That was always the problem, my friend.
veilguard endgame spoilers all the way down
She quickly learns that much of the Fade seems to operate by the logic of dreams, and her whims are more easily explored here, for the simple sake of curiosity and novelty. She so often has to do little more than will something into being, and it appears before her – apparently, the same can apply to her own body. She and Solas have been apart for a while, so there's plenty of room for refamiliarizing themselves with each other, a shockingly lighthearted opportunity amongst fresh grief. (Sacrifices made, worlds shattered, atonement sought; all undercurrents that cannot be so easily banished.) But that all can take a sideline for the joy that overwhelms Emalien by being close to Solas again. No matter the disappointment or sadness or even anger that rose in the wake of his departure, the world finally feels right again, being with him settling a part of her soul that's rioted ever since he left. Now, she can finally, finally find that peace again.
Emalien's demeanor is practically mischievous when she interrupts Solas's meditative revery today. She has no idea how long they've been in the Fade, and ultimately, it doesn't matter. This is their next shade of forever, so there's no use counting the days.
Her approach is subtle at first, but as soon as she steps up behind him and winds her arms around his waist, the gust of breath against the nape of his neck is warm, affection in the kiss she leaves at the nearest available patch of skin behind his ear. ]
Am I interrupting anything, vhenan?
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He is not alone. Emalien had chosen to come with him, to stand at his side, despite all the ills he had caused. There is no logic in that but love, he thinks, and the blessing of adoration sits heavy on his shoulders.
Slipping into whatever peace he can find, Solas is deaf to the world before she comes to him. Careful arms wrap around him, draw him back, and his low chuckle is soft and warm as he basks in the knowledge of being loved, of the fact that she chose him. She saw the good in him, even when his own sight was blinded by grief and regret; there is nothing he can do to show her the depth of his own love in return.
Turning, he captures her mouth with his own, a gentle kiss of his lips before he sighs softly. ]
Nothing more important than you. [ Their noses brush, and he smiles, all fondness and sweetness. ] My attention is yours.
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Now, it finally feels like everything has stopped moving so brutally quick.
She's here now, with Solas.
All too happy to meet that sweet kiss, Emalien's smile mirrors Solas when they part. ]
Then I'll happily claim it. [ A light tease as she closes the gap for another kiss, an indulgence she can't resist now that the opportunity is presented to her. ]
Especially since I hope to claim more than your attention.
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Everything he had denied himself for so long after all his losses.
One of his hands lifts, stroking over her cheek, feeling out her cheekbones, the curve of her smile as she looks at him, and the only thing he can feel inside of himself is adoration and love. Somehow, they've come together, somehow they've found one another again, and he makes a soft, content sound, a sigh of warmth. ]
What more could you ask for, ma vhenan?
[ A coy smile as he kisses her again, arm slinking around her to hold her tight, close, warm. ]
I am yours to command.
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In an ironic mirror to the hand Solas brings to Emalien's face, she drops her own from his waist to the curve of his ass. Her warm smile quirks with mischief as she squeezes the firm muscle, clearly appreciative. ]
I was thinking "all of you," to start.
[ This weird place isn't limited by such inconvenient things as "reality" or "bodies," after all. ]
But perhaps with fewer clothes.
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She had chosen to stay with him. It reminds him of how beautiful the world can be, because he sees it all in her features.
Breathing out softly, he closes his eyes. ]
Fewer clothes seems a most sensible suggestion.
[ Tilting his head, his mouth trails along her skin. ]
Perhaps you would lead the way.
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[ She's becoming more confident with the way her imagination can shape their surroundings, and it's almost seamless now how their world melts into the ethereal glow of magic, dissipating and solidifying again with a thrum of energy. When the setting returns, it looks distinctly like Skyhold, reminiscent of her old quarters in the fortress; out of the corner of her eye, she can even see a familiar bear pelt spread out across the welcoming bed. She'd never known accommodations like Skyhold until the Inquisition took up residence and not since, too accustomed to constantly moving with a bed no bigger than what she could carry on her back. Of course her old bed in Skyhold is what she naturally remembers, too full of fond memories of tumbling into it with Solas.
Standing next to the bed now, exposed skin takes the place of her habitual uniform. Clothes? A problem for later. Naked, warm and content, Emalien's strong arms curl around Solas, dragging him flush against her as she revels in the sturdiness of his form, this man that she's missed so dearly for so long. ]
I want to open you up and pull you apart, ma vhenan.
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Nowhere has felt like home since Arlathan, and yet here, together... It feels close enough to it for comfort.
Looking around, his fingers dance over hers, touching and holding her close, urging her back towards a wall. This, too, is familiar, and he leans in to chase the taste of her mouth, giving himself over to the urge to lose himself in her touch, her body, all that she has. ]
Whatever you wish. I want to pleasure you, please you, my love.
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It's not the first dick that's ever been attached to her body, but this is the first one that feels distinctly real. Carved toys and cleverly-applied spells are well and good, but it feels like her own flesh when arousal stirs in her belly now. Solas's long figure is a line of heat along her body, and she instinctively rocks her hips forward, grinding the thickening length of her new cock into his thigh.
Her pleased sound is as much another lighthearted laugh, marveling at the novelty of this malleable space and her own ability to affect it. ]
You've always had a talent for that. [ Nobody before or after Solas made her feel the way that he did. ]
But I had a few new ideas.
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It is a relief, a gift, a bounty. He loves her.
Reaching, he lifts one of her legs to wrap it around him, his other hand sliding between their legs. His fingers wrap around the shape of her new cock, long fingers curling and dragging, callouses against warm skin. It feels so much better than the toys they might have enjoyed in the past, and he breathes out a little, warmed laugh as he nudges their noses together, pained by how much he wants her, needs her. ]
So I can see.
[ His mouth presses to her jaw, and he smiles, an expression filled with adoration. ]
Do you wish for my hand alone, ma vhenan, or would my mouth better suit you?
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She wonders what that will be like with different anatomy.
Emalien moans her approval, marveling at the way she can feel his beautifully long fingers squeezing hot flesh. ]
Your clever tongue would be a most welcome place to start, I think.
[ She turns her face to find those lips again for another kiss, tongue sliding forward to tangle with Solas's – hot and deep and brief, closed with a graze of teeth as she leans back to look down between them. Curious, appraising, her leg tightens around him, flexing as she rocks forward, absently chasing the touch and the snug sleeve of his hand. ]
Well, that's new.
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When she moans against his mouth, all he can do is shiver, nuzzling into her. ]
Gladly.
[ Solas' mouth trails down her body as he falls to his knees, pressing kisses to her collarbone, to her neck, to the curve of her breast as his spare hand squeezes deliberately. He enjoys using his mouth on her, enjoys making sure that she feels good, and it does not stop.
Kneeling, dropped easily to bend before her, he lifts one of her legs to lift it around his shoulders. His mouth brushes along her hip, her thigh, deliberately teasing her as he nuzzles into her skin. ]
An enjoyable feeling, yes?
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Everything with you is enjoyable, my love.
[ She runs a hand over his smooth crown, squeezing the back of his neck to drag her fingernails up again. Her new cock waits in front of his face, an offering as much as temptation. ]
But I might have fantasized a time or two how you would look and feel with your lips wrapped around something more than polished wood.
[ She wonders if there might have been a moment or two to enjoy a dalliance with one of their fellow companions, someone to help her bring Solas to his knees, but their days in the Inquisition were full enough. ]
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[ It is true that their coupling has always felt better than things he might have shared in the past, if only because they share a connection that goes beyond any other. It had been centuries, and Solas does not think that he had ever loved someone as sweetly as he loved Emalien.
Her fingers brush over his skin, and he sighs softly, pleased. ]
You should have said something before. You and I both know the power of dreams.
[ Another kiss to her hip, careful, and then he is angling himself, adjusting his weight on his knees so that he can take her cock into his mouth, to slide down and groan at the pleasure of it. ]
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[ She should have mentioned something sooner, surely, but Emalien has had time to think and fantasize and dream, a muscle that she's built over time rather than something that came naturally to a mage. ]
Maybe so, but—
[ But whatever thoughts flittered through her mind are almost immediately banished by the hot mouth settling around her cock, the vibration of Solas's voice thrumming through her, burning hot in her belly and striking her eager need alight in an entirely new way. ]
Vhenan...
[ A throaty groan, her head falling back against stone as she basks in the subsuming heat of her lover's mouth. It's a different sensation entirely, a new way to experience her own nervous system, and Emalien can't get enough. She rocks forward, chasing, gasping at the pulsing pleasure that's nothing like being eaten out because her anatomy simply doesn't allow for this much physical touch. Solas may have a talented tongue, but experiencing it this way is a whole new world.
So this is why men like blowjobs so much. Makes sense. ]
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He had dreamed of her so often, and he knows she had seen him. She had chased him, and he had fled, the coward that he had been for so many months. Solas' desperation to see her had overridden his good sense, and all it had done was cause them more and more and more pain.
At least they had come together now: at least they had found each other now.
Even as he takes her deep, even as he lets himself sink along the cock she had made for their pleasure, his fingers stroke along her thighs, her hips, trying to keep the warm flood of his want obvious.
It has been a very long time since he has done anything like this, longer than before they had met, but it is not a skill he had forgotten in the time since his last venture. The taste is familiar, the motion of his body is familiar, the way he hums with sheer pleasure... That is an old friend.
His devotion to her is obvious in this, too. ]
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Fortunately for her fears, she wouldn't have come alongside Solas if she believed he would trap her as he had Rook. She trusted her trickster enough to give up everything – even if it's not exactly the first time such a thing has been asked of her. Ever since the Conclave, Emalien has forsaken more and more of herself for others, for the world, for the greater good.
Can she be blamed now for selfishly clinging to the piece of her heart that she has left?
Rather than let herself sink into old wounds, Emalien eagerly embraces the warm worship of Solas's mouth, swept up in novel pleasure that radiates outward from her pelvis, following the trail of his tongue. Breathless, gasping as she digs her nails into the meat of his shoulder, she tips her chin forward to watch, unable to tear her eyes away from the handsome and alluring sight of her lover's lips around such a new part of her body. ]
Solas—
[ She trails her free fingertips along his temple, down his cheek, following the hinge of his stretched jaw with as much worship in her touch as in his own. ]
You... you have no idea how irresistible you look like this. Ahh— I can hardly stand it...
somewhere vaguely in act 2;
Then news came of Varric and Harding's hunt for Solas and he felt torn between two fights. His desperate need to fix what his friend has started, fearful of even more loss, spurns him into making contact. The eluvians help to get him from the South to the heart of Tevinter, and he can't help but be grateful for Morrigan's continued support even in the wake of great loss. There is a chasm in his gut at the loss of his friend, but his grief will get tabled for another time and place.
After the fight has finished and he allows himself the opportunity, he tells himself. He never truly mourned the loss of his clan either. There had been bigger fights and they still haven't stopped- which is why it's so important that he be given the opportunity to fix this. Rook and the others don't know Solas as he does. It's not as if he doesn't trust them, they've done more than Luthien could have possibly hoped in a fight against the Elvhenan...
But Solas isn't the same. He deserves the opportunity, the chance to explain himself. It's what he's always been good at.
It takes quite a bit of effort to slip away on his own and a great deal more to locate someone who doesn't wish to be found until it suits him. His shoulders sag in relief at the sight of that achingly familiar silhouette. He hesitates as he tries to find the words he'd like to say.
What the Inquisitor would say to his companion. He says nothing as he approaches cautiously, hands down to his side to show he hadn't come armed. Well. One of them, anyway. ]
It never used to be this difficult to seek you out.
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It feels constant, but not as present as it has been in the last decade, a constant fight to rush and permit his ritual to be done before the worst comes. He knows that he must destroy the Veil, that he must transfer the 'gods' from one prison to another, to ensure that they do not come free when the world is repaired, but it had all fallen apart. Everything had gone wrong - as it so often does, each of his carefully laid planned ripped to shreds by the hand of mortals he couldn't bear to imagine as real.
His orb, broken. The Inquisitor, too real. Mythal, ripped from him. Ritual, destroyed.
Perhaps, one day, one of his plots will come to fruition, and he might find some success, some celebration despite way his steps are haunted and despite the agony he feels deep inside himself, a constant and painful reminder of every single mistake he has ever made.
He doesn't mean to make himself vulnerable, but he is tired, tired of running, of hiding, of leading. He was never meant for this, never designed for the purpose of warfare and danger, and carrying the mantle of it is something that burns him and makes his spine feel weak. He almost crumbles when he hears the familiar voice behind him, and when he turns his head it's with sadness in his eyes, a familiar, haunting grief he can't shrug off. ]
I never used to want to hide from your company, lethallin.
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If his companions hadn't been such near and constant presences, he doesn't know how things would have ended up. Certainly not standing so near to Solas and unsure whether he should physically reach out. He's never wanted to oppose the other elf. He still hopes there's a way for them both to walk away from this without a chasm between them.
Luthien offers a sad smile, shaking his head gently. ]
You've never had reason to hide from me. I've never wanted to fight you- I want to understand.
[ Who better to learn from than his dear friend with his ancient knowledge of their shared heritage. How many times had Solas taught him more than he'd ever known? ]
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Things are different now. Finding friendships, in the midst of the horrors of this world, of seeing what had happened when his mistakes have borne fruition... It makes it all the harder for Solas to leave, to ignore the pang in his heart, the deep, burning ache that's inside of him as he tries to force himself to remain calm.
Simpler times, once. Simpler, and long-lost. ]
I do not know if you can.
[ How can he explain it? How can he unburden himself, express it all, in a way that made sense? ]
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[ Luthien closes the estranged distance between them. Not touching, but should either of them reach out, they would easily reach the other. He doesn't know how to help someone so entangled in the past and present, but he would forever regret not trying to help his friend.
His heart aches to think how lonely this journey must have been for Solas. Who had he been able to rely upon these past ten years?
The Inquisitor raises an eyebrow, looking up at him with only a hint of judgement. The ghost of a familiar expression, though not one normally leveled toward Solas during those most trying times. ]
So you're going to assume I won't understand instead of allowing me to try?
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[ Solas watches him now, and his heart aches. It burns under his skin, feels like there is some kind of tether between them demanding his attention, demanding his honesty. It is hard, to admit to all the things that have burrowed deep inside of him and make him ache, and to admit all of his sins to someone that he cared for...
Still cares for...
Shaking his head, he tries not to laugh. Luthien gives him an expression that is so achingly familiar that he cannot do anything except revel in the fondness he feels, of many months at this man's side, fighting to save the world. If only they could do so together now - if only Solas had the strength to admit that he needed help.
Instead, he steps forward, he finds a place of comfort, and he sits, motioning to the space beside him. ]
Come. Join me, and I will tell you.
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He follows Solas to his resting spot much as he always has- like a moth to flame. Curious about the brightness, wanting to be close despite how it will burn. One might say it's as a lamb to the slaughter, but a flame can't help its nature.
Luthien sits beside him, his knees creaking in protest. There is an anxiety pooled in his gut from the stagnation. His instinct telling him he needs to be ready to bolt, that being so close to someone so potentially dangerous is hazardous to his health, but his heart?
That treacherous, bleeding heart of his can't help but trust his friend. ]
You have my ear. [ And a great deal more that is difficult to put into words. ]
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[ Solas recognises that, if nothing else. His friendship with this man has always been something dear to him, important to his heart, even if he had been unable to express it or recognise it in the past. It feels like a heavy burden to bear now, if only because he has caused so many problems, so many things gone wrong because of his own choices. The regrets are enough to slaughter him, to drag him down into a hell of his own making, and there's so little he can do to repair it.
Perhaps this, a confession of sorts, would ease some of that weight. Perhaps.
Leaning back, Solas breathes out a soft sigh, letting his eyes slip close. ]
Tell me, Luthien. What do you know of Mythal, and her relationship with the others? With me? What have you learned in your travels?
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Luthien tips his head back, taking in the sky as he considers how to answer. He'd certainly learned a great deal from a variety of sources. One of those was Lady Morrigan as they discovered more about the scattered Eluvians. She has been a wealth of knowledge he's been happy to have on their side. ]
According to the Dalish legends, Mythal was born of the sea. Elgar'nan threw the sun out of the sky in vengeance for burning the earth to ashes and she was the one to calm him. She made him realize his anger had betrayed him and convinced him to free the sun. It was that night she created the moon. In most stories, she rights wrongs and is a motherly figure; in others, she is dark and vengeful.
[ He shrugs a shoulder. ]
As I've seen countless times since meeting you, legend and fact don't always agree. I know of the war with the Titans, the enslavement of our people, and of Mythal's murder. The true cause, not the stories of the Dread Wolf being her downfall. After drinking from the Well of Sorrows, there was much I couldn't understand. Perhaps much I wasn't prepared to know in the beginning. As the pieces fit together, the picture becomes that much clearer.
[ Did he ever mention that he did that? No? Well. Hindsight. ]
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No one cares. No one cared, and it sickens him, the wisdom in his heart that shines so brightly as his true nature making him weak to being so painfully ignored. ]
If only it were so simple.
[ Solas sighs softly. ]
There is more to it, as there always is. I was Solas first, after all, and the moniker 'wolf' came during my rebellion. The depth of what has been lost to time, even as we tried to kept it to ourselves...
[ Glancing over, he watches, careful. ]
They were not always elves. We were not always elves.
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[ There is always more to it, and he wishes Solas didn't have to fight so hard for the truth to surface. It's a much longer fight than simply stopping Elgar'nan and Ghilan'nain. Centuries of mistruth can't possibly be undone overnight, and the Dalish may not be receptive to relearning generations of tradition.
His eyebrows raise in surprise, though from what Rook has told him, this falls in line with the ancient elves being mages as opposed to gods. ]
Tell me. [ Luthien reaches out, placing his hand on Solas' with a squeeze of reassurance. ]
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The People were spirits, first. The magic of Thedas was used in poor spirit to grant us physical form, and thus we were able to walk the earth as others might.
[ His head bows, and his eyes close. ]
It is not so simple to call us one nor the other. We became bastardisations of our purpose.
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The lyrium? If the Titans were at odds with how you came to physical form, that would explain much.
[ He knows it must be hard to articulate an entire history, especially one as complicated as this. There are many moving parts and how can one put the events of life in a list of importance? ]
Did everyone want this change?
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[ The words come out cool, a little darker than he might have intended - but it's an old ache, an old wound, something he can't quite shove aside or ignore. Solas is hurt by this, as he was at the time, and reliving it...
That is painful. ]
Mythal convinced me of its merits.