"You look better in your wanted posters" - felassan/solas (i just thought this is funny fnjdnd
@dadrunkwriting - maybe some slight davg spoilers? i'll tag it that way as a precaution
also thank you babe akfjsklfj this was so much fun 😂 the boys.... they're silly....
379 words
cws: none
"Wolf," Solas straightened with a groan. He knew what that tone meant.
Felassan stood in the doorway, looking nearly formal, lips in a firm line, but there was a mischievous spark in his eyes. "Yes?" There was no dissuading the man when he was this committed. He knew that much from experience.
"I noticed something yesterday…" he came closer as he spoke, arms folded behind him. The pose was unusual for Fel, and noteworthy. "It is very interesting."
"Do tell," he said dryly. Despite himself, he thrilled at the little twitch of Fel's lips, edging towards a grin he was struggling to contain. It was nice to see.
"Show," Felassan said pointedly. Distracted as he had been by the near smile, it took him a moment to parse the meaning as a correction. He did not hesitate to grin as he leaned back in his chair, folding his hands over his stomach.
"Do show, then."
With a flourish, Fel revealed what he had behind his back, letting the parchment unroll across Solas' desk to reveal…
Him.
"What is this?" He made no effort to hide his confusion, frowning down at the depiction. A curious depiction, at that. He was quite certain he was not that muscular.
"I found it in the barracks," Fel told him in a rush. "Took a bit to find the artist, but I knew you'd be mad if I didn't get their permission. So I did, don't fret. But… it…" he snorted, clearly unable to contain himself.
"I trust you were polite to the artist?" Solas asked, voice strained. Fel nodded.
"Very polite! I mean, it's very skillful. It is just…" he started laughing, face flushed with mirth. "I think they're onto something here," he managed between laughs, "post this around Arlathan, 'find the Dread Wolf,' it'd go over big—"
"Absolutely not—"
"—people would want their own private copies—"
"Felassan!" Solas' scandalized exclamation was apparently too much, pushing Fel all the way into a breathless laughing fit, bent over and clutching at his side. Solas felt his lips twitch as he looked down at this rugged, muscled version of himself, and between it and how infectious Fel's laughter was…
He couldn't remember the last time he'd cried from laughing, but they both did that day.
happy dadwc! sending you ❛ of all the idiots in the realm, i’m trapped with you. ❜ for cass and varric!
@dadrunkwriting - major veilguard spoilers!
ohhhh this is such a good one!! which i absolutely managed to make angsty af, lmao
662 words
cws: surreality
She growled, frustrated, and turned away from him. She was busy, dammit, and did not have time to entertain the dwarf. They needed to plan, to—
"Seeker?"
—figure out where to go next. What to do next. Cullen was losing troops left and right. Josephine's deals were turning to ash. Leliana's spies were dying. They needed to regroup, needed to—
"Seeker!"
"What?" She snapped, turning sharply on her heel. Varric looked disturbed, a little frantic, but she didn't think much of it. They were in over their heads, all of them.
"What's going on?"
She frowned. Felt it twist her face up. Your face will get stuck like that, old words, an old condemnation, the smell of incense and—
"Hey!"
"You know 'what's going on' perfectly well, Varric," she said coldly, turning her back on him again. The wartable was before her, maps askew.
"Yeah, I really, really don't." She heard him approach but did not turn. "Where are we?" She growled.
"I do not have time for your games, Varric! Either help or leave. I am trying to hold the Inquisition together."
"The—" he sounded shocked, "the Inquisition? Seeker— Cassandra." She jerked at the use of her name. From him, it was rare. "Listen to me. The Inquisition is over."
"I knew you'd turn tail," she spit out.
"That's not— shit. Look. It's over, it's done, it's been over for years! We're not here!"
"Varric, I told you, I don't have time for your games! Or your… fantasies, or whatever this is!"
"Cassandra, we won! We saved the day! Corypheus is dead, or something like it. Sky is sealed. This isn't real." She wanted to shove him, wanted to shout, but his words teased something at the back of her mind.
"What… do you mean?" She turned to face him. She wasn't sure she'd seen him in the forge, at least not since their fight. "The Inquisition is barely managing to keep itself together! How can you think we won?"
"We did! I know you remember. You were there! This is…" he looked around, frowning, then cursed. "Shit. Shit. No wonder."
"What?"
"It's the fucking Fade." He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. He looked older. His hair was longer. Her eyes were playing tricks on her, surely. She was tired. She sat at the banquet table, adorned for a celebration. She could hear the people laughing, cheering, but it was distant, muted. As though listening through doors. "You're dreaming."
"Oh?" Her voice dripped with sarcasm. "And I dream about you? I knew you were arrogant, but—"
"No," he interrupted. It was frustrating. "You're not dreaming about me. I'm here."
"You're not making any sense," she said at last.
"Yeah." He seemed amused now, but his smile didn't reach his eyes. "Yeah, I bet. Look… forget about my shit. This?" He waved his hand, indicating their surroundings. "You're having a nightmare. This is done. The Inquisition saved the day." His smile changed, warmed a little. "Should've figured you'd even dream about work."
"If I am dreaming," she said, "then I'd like to wake up."
"You and me both." His smile remained. But not only did it fail to reach his eyes… he looked hollow. Cored. Something was wrong. Something was terribly wrong.
"Varric?"
"Don't worry, Seeker," he said, overly chipper. "You won. You deserve some nice dreams. I'll, uh, do what I can. Still figuring all this out."
"Wait, Varric!"
"Don't worry," he said nonchalantly, "wouldn't want you stuck here with me."
He walked away and she was stuck in place, looking after him. But slowly the scene around her changed, came into focus. The party. The celebration. They'd defeated Corypheus.
She smiled at Josephine, saying something about the drinks, but there was something else she had to do… she looked around, landing on each face in turn. And when she came to Varric's she stilled.
Happy Friday! Thanks to you, I'm on board the Solrook train. Maybe an argument in the Fade prison turns into a hot and heavy makeout sesh for Solas and Daw?
thank youuuu >3 so shocking everyone i'm sure, this went full smut lmao. these two.... <3
@dadrunkwriting - veilguard spoilers
1046 words
cws: none
"Hey! Asshole!"
"Hello to you, too, Rook."
Daw wasn't having any of that. None of this slippery clever subtle little bullshit. They were pissed. "Y'know what I had to deal with today?"
"Well, judging from—"
"Ghilan'nain!" They shouted, cutting him off. "Ghilan-fucking-nain!"
"Who would not have been released, had you not interrupted a delicate ritual years in the making—"
"You're blaming me? Really?"
"I sought to imprison her more thoroughly!"
"You 'sought' a bit more than that, Dread Wolf!"
He opened his mouth to counter then snapped it shut. The click was audible across the divide. "Why are you here?" He said instead, each word careful. "Surely you have better things to do with your time."
"I'm here because I'm trying to sleep but you're in my head!"
"Ah." Well. At least he had the decency to look chagrined, although it was only for a moment. Still satisfying. "Well, in that case—"
"Oh, stuff it." He blinked and they bared their teeth in a sharp grin. "Just stop talking. I'm just going to sit over here," making their point, they sat down and crossed their arms, "until I go to sleep for real. Or until you, I don't know, spontaneously combust. That'd be fun."
"You're angry, I know, but—"
"Damn right I'm angry!" Fuck it, they stood back up. There would be no resting, not until this was out. At least as out as it could be. "Do you know how hard this has been? Do you have any idea?"
"Rook, I—"
"Stop it!" Surprising them both, a flash of lightning broke across the sky, illuminating Solas in a jagged dichotomy of light and shadow. Except that this was the Fade and Daw was not a mage. "And stop that, too!"
"That wasn't me. Rook, please, you need to calm down—"
"Stop! It!" They were so frustrated. So angry. "Stop lying to me! You're fucking with me, just like you've always been fucking with me! I don't know what you think you'll get out of it, but stop! For one night, Solas. For one fucking night, just stop." Dammit. Their voice broke on the last and they didn't want this. They blinked fast, tears stinging their eyes, but they would not cry in front of him.
They were just so tired. So incredibly tired. When was the last time they'd gotten a full nights sleep? Hell, when was the last time they'd gotten more than a few hours of sleep consecutively?
"Daw, stop." The use of their name shook them. It sounded wrong, out of Solas' mouth. "Please, listen to me. Just for a moment. This place is delicate—it was built to bind the Evanuris. To do so, it was keyed to their emotions. This place, this prison, is uniquely responsive to emotions. Please, understand. This outburst is dangerous."
"'Outburst'?" Solas winced. "Outburst? Fuck you, Solas, I'm no child. I have a right to be angry! And I don't give a damn about the delicacy of your cage!" Suddenly the ground lurched and they stumbled, but habit had them righting themselves quickly. "And I don't think it's me! You're the god of lies and deceit. You really think I'm going to trust you on this? You think I'm going to trust you here?" They flung their arms wide, encompassing all of the Fade in the gesture. "Here? Really?"
"Daw—"
"No! Shut up! All you do is talk and explain and make me feel like a, like—" the ground lurched again but they just steadied themselves. It wasn't until Solas stepped forward that they realized what had happened.
They didn't think. They just jumped at him. He was stronger than they'd thought he'd be, a little sturdier than he'd looked, but they had enough momentum and weight that he did fall—with a very satisfying crash—to the dusty ground of the Fade below. "Shut up," they grit out, grasping his collar. He reached for them but they growled and used their grip to pick him up and slam him back to the ground.
Of course, it didn't do anything.
Didn't mean it wasn't still satisfying.
He grabbed their shoulders and they expected to be pushed away, but instead they felt his fingers digging in and hissed. And it wasn't…
It wasn't a protest…
Shit.
When they surged down he pushed up with the same haste, lips meeting painfully, but neither of them cared. He was pulling them tight and they wanted to grab something other than his silly little collar but couldn't think straight enough to figure it out. But they let their legs slide until they were straddling his stomach instead and they really liked the frustrated groan Solas pressed against their lips. He was too long and they were too short and they knew he wanted them grinding on his cock instead of his stomach, but it felt good to them and that was enough.
"Make me come," they pulled away just enough to bite out, "you owe me a good night's sleep." He laughed, short and sharp, but his hands drifted down to their hips to scoot them lower and this time they went, sighing contentedly as his cock pressed against their cunt through all their respective layers.
They rode him just like this. The clothing in the way didn't matter, only his hands on their hips guiding them, the way he shivered underneath them, the exposure of his soft, vulnerable throat when he tipped his head back.
They gasped as they came, dropping over the sweet edge before they'd even entirely felt its approach, but it was glorious. They kept riding him through it, soaking them both in a surge of wet through their clothing, and Solas was gasping sweetly when they finally forced their eyes open again.
Then, with a smirk, they shifted lower and out of his grip. "Rook, no—"
"Oh, yes," they told him with a grin. "This is the least you deserve." They stood shakily, staring down at the obvious wet spot they'd left on his gear. "Thanks for that, Dread Wolf."
"Rook," he began, but they just winked, feeling the pull of true sleep.
Their last sight was of Solas laid flat on the ground, panting, and reaching for his cock to finish himself off.
happy friday! how about felassan x solas with "i never gave up on you." from the deep conversations list? feel free to make it poly with mythal, andruil and/or morrigan, whatever you're feeling!
@dadrunkwriting - significant da4 spoilers!
thank you for this! honestly, it kinda went off the rails and i am :) in pain :) these two......
1378 words
cws: none
He had never been a child.
A spirit did not have a comparable period. Mortal beings were children who grew, matured, and became as the adults who had created them.
He had never been a child, but there was a time that, looking back, he felt young. Wisdom had observed for so long, long enough to believe it understood. It had not wanted to take form, but never in its protests did it consider matters of personal maturity.
Freshly rendered into a new, unfamiliar form, Wisdom had stumbled like a newborn. But it was no longer only Wisdom. The confidence in its agreement, the belief that it understood what it was consenting to, the conviction that no longer would anything take it off guard… Wisdom had always been Pride in its self-assurance. And it was Pride in its folly, in its agreement, in its willingness.
Solas was born that day. Not a child, no, but not mature, either.
There was so much he did not understand. And in those early days, he thought he could have it all—morality and impact; ethics and change; love and trust—and found each lesson otherwise a deep wound, coring through not just what he had become, but what it had originally been. Each moment that Wisdom was proven naive in the face of reality and action rather than observation was another hard lesson.
Mythal had ever been primary in his eyes. Benevolence and Wisdom had existed in harmonious tandem for so long, after all. But Mythal was not alone in his regard; over time, he came to appreciate many others.
Elgar'nan had been first to take form, Mythal following to try and quell his insatiable Command. But more came after Solas. Dirthamen and Falon'Din first, a single spirit that came into the world and tried to take form but cracked in the doing, a near tragedy. He could recall Mythal's despair and Elgar'nan's rare fear as clearly as his own horror. As horrified by what this additional emergence meant as he was by how it had gone wrong.
The spirit cracked and strained and, desperate, each grabbed for the power from the earth, and in the wake of one spirit came two bodies. A price doubly paid. Others had followed, drawn forth by Elgar'nan or Mythal or their own desires, and the toll on the earth became ever higher. He regretted taking flesh so many times, too often to possibly tally, but he knew that Mythal had been right. She was necessary to keep Elgar'nan in check, and if she believed she needed Solas' support to do so, then he would not spurn her. He just wished…
Well. He wished many things were different.
However, there was one thing that he could not bring himself to wish had never come to pass. Spirits who took form were not the only beings in existence, after all; there were those who Elgar'nan sought to rule, the Elvhen. Powerful in magic, they were a race of beings who seemed to have an instinctual relationship with spirits, perhaps because their own lives were so long. Even those who passed did not die like mortal creatures did, but sank into a deep, endless slumber.
The Elvhen were something between the mortal creatures and the spirits themselves, and as such, it had seemed obvious for the altered spirits to take on a form that paid homage to this seeming intermediary. And the Elvhen themselves interested Solas.
It was rare that he left Mythal's side, but when he did, there was one Elvhen who always found him. Felassan.
It had taken Solas a long time to understand. Friendship was a familiar word but an unfamiliar feeling. Even as close as he was with Mythal, he would classify them as something else, something unique. They orbited each other eternally, equal parts bound and liberated by the presence of the other. But Felassan and Solas… this was a choice.
He chose.
They spoke of many things. Felassan asked questions, Solas answered, and Felassan teased him. It had confused Solas at first, this behavior; then for a time it had wounded him and he had withdrawn. But Felassan had found him tucked away and reached out with a big smile that only fell when Solas met his eyes. They had spoken, then. Solas had learned that not all words were meant. It was a strange concept, one he half believed to be a trick, and he asked for time.
In that time—time which Felassan granted him—he observed. It was his core nature, to observe, but this time he paid attention not just to what the Elvhen did, but to what they said. He heard this teasing among them.
So he found Felassan again. Found him preoccupied, bent over a book and frowning at it. Solas took his time, formulated the phrase, weighed it in his mind, before approaching softly. Felassan did not stir. "You seem to be struggling," he noted, smiling as Felassan jumped with a bit-off curse, "perhaps you need another pair of eyes?"
"What do you—" he turned to stare at Solas, then grinned and shoved at him. "You're terrible. How many eyes are you offering?"
"As many as are needed," he shot back dryly. He found that he enjoyed this repartee.
He found he enjoyed much about Felassan.
No longer was it Wisdom and Felassan. Nor was it Pride. It was specifically Solas, the being that he was becoming, with Felassan, the being who already knew himself. This was the closest Solas came to having a childhood, learning the ways of something that was not a spirit. And he learned much from Felassan.
He grew to trust him. He knew himself trusted in turn. And as years turned into decades, as the Evanuris gathered power, as those he had once known grew twisted with might and the seeking of more, he found himself relying on Felassan in ways he had never expected to. And always the man was there. He was Solas' friend.
He was so much more.
This, too, Solas was learning. Mythal called him love. He knew the word, knew its meaning, knew what followed when it was said. Knew the way flesh met flesh, knew the way hands were held, knew the way that people chose to twine their lives together. Some of this he could find with her, but not all, parts denied them both courtesy of their roles, for she was bound to Elgar'nan—not out of love, but out of necessity.
What he did not expect was to find the same with Felassan.
The first time he reached out and held the other man's hand, Felassan had been surprised. Then he had blushed and drawn closer, leaning his head on Solas' shoulder. As Solas' protests crystallized into an emergent rebellion, Felassan was always at his side. Solas grew to rely on him more and more.
Wisdom learned, though. Wisdom learned his lessons well. And when Wisdom learned that reliance could be a weakness, that what was right could be waylaid by what one felt about another, that choice could become compromise when it needed to stand on its own, he realized that what they had was unsustainable.
It was beautiful. It was impossible.
He withdrew once more, and this time, it was not because he was wounded. Instead, he was wounding. Felassan became his second in command rather than his everything. They had their roles to play.
Solas betrayed his best friend, his love, so as to not betray his rebellion. And in the end, he could never feel as though he had not betrayed them both.
The lyrium dagger, the Titans. Mythal's death—his fault—and his imprisonment of the Evanuris. His wounded slumber, impossible to deny but cruel beyond words, abandoning in full the one who had always stood at his side. And when he returned at last to waking, when he witnessed the world that his actions had forged, and when he eventually found his way back to the lighthouse that had served his rebellion for so long, he found in his den a scrap of paper.
oh, thank you for this! what a fun prompt for a beloved ship ❤️ post-trespasser!
@dadrunkwriting
564 words
cws: none
She was rebuilding the Seekers. He was journeying to find Solas. This was the way of things, she told herself.
She wouldn't miss him, she told herself.
She did not make a good liar.
The work was demanding, and that provided a real distraction. Some of the rebuilding was literal, as they repaired dilapidated buildings, and Cassandra learned the heft of a hammer instead of the lean weight of a sword. Labor made the days pass quickly, without too many opportunities to miss anything. Or anyone.
It was not as if Varric was the only person she missed. The entire Inquisition had become important to her. Even those she felt she'd never learn to trust — Cole, Sera, Vivienne to a lesser degree — she had found herself missing. Part of it, she knew, was how straightforward everything had been. As great of a challenge as it had all been, their goals were clear, their action necessary. Now, here, it was all about figuring out a new path. Not just for herself, but for the Seekers.
She missed the clarity of the Inquisition.
The Inquisition would never return. Nor should it. As much as she had been driven to form it, she did not want a world where it was necessary. Their Inquisitor had chosen to dissolve the formal organization, and although she had been surprised and disturbed at the time, Cassandra had grown to understand the other woman's decision.
She would never have her role back. Her clear responsibilities. But that was not to say all from that time was gone forever.
She visited Cullen often. Wrote to Josephine. She suspected she'd have seen more of Leliana, were she not the Divine, but as it was they still spoke when they could and wrote when they could not, and Leliana continued to welcome her advice, even if she did not often take it.
It had been a long time since she'd seen Varric, though. Things had only just begun with them when he left. They'd argued, but she understood… she just hadn't wanted to lose him, too.
They didn't write. She'd like to, as would he, but the work he was doing did not exactly come with a fixed location. Leliana sent her reports with the quiet care of a friend, sometimes adding a few words in her own hand. He'll be fine, she had noted in the last one.
Cassandra knew the risks he took. She knew. There was no guarantee.
Still, she appreciated the gesture.
She was returning to the small room she had taken as her own. It was plain and comfortable, spare enough that it took only moments to clean, and never reminded her of the delicate wealth of her childhood. It was plain and functional. Just the way she liked it.
It was also, she realized as she opened the door, occupied.
"Seeker," he said with a grin, "I didn't know things were so grim. Next time I'm in Minrathous, I'll pick up a nice rug for you or something—"
Sense came only after surprise faded, and action followed fast on its heels. His grin widened as she rushed forward, a knee up on the bed as she bent down to kiss him.
She had many questions, but they could wait. Right now, she needed this. Needed to feel him, to kiss him, to taste his sweet smile once more.
heya! thinking "calling each other petnames they wouldn't use in public" from the soft intimacy prompt list could be really fun with any ship, but maybe morrigan/leliana? happy writing!
ooooh this one was fun! got a lot sillier than i expected when i started but i have 0 regrets lmao
@dadrunkwriting
264 words
cws: none
“My little nug,” Leliana crooned in her ear and she snorted, twisting away.
“Absolutely not.”
“Oh, come now. You’re blushing!”
“Because it’s humiliating. I am not a nug.”
“They’re cute,” she pointed out firmly, “and so are you.”
“Ugh.”
“Fine then. Maybe... my dragon?”
“Why do you insist on these strange monikers?”
“You can be a dragon!”
“If I wished, yes. I do not wish it right now.”
“My great dragon,” Leliana purred this time and Morrigan scoffed.
“Additional adjectives will not sway me, Leliana,” she retorted, pointedly using the other woman’s name.
“My pretty raven,” she offered and Morrigan just sighed.
“How charming. Shall you put me in a cage overnight, send me to carry messages to your little spies?”
“I could put you in a cage overnight, if you’d like—”
“You are a most foolhardy woman,” she interrupted.
“Oh, I am sure you can do better than ‘foolhardy woman,’” she said, looping an arm lazily around Morrigan’s waist.
“Pest, perhaps?” Leliana stuck her lip out in an exaggerated pout, although she didn’t manage to maintain it, a giggle slipping out. Morrigan couldn’t help the small smile that crept across her own face. “Miscreant,” was her next suggestion and this time Leliana didn’t even bother with the faux-pout, just giggling and leaning in to press a series of little kisses against Morrigan’s neck. “Rake,” she concluded even as she tilted her head to allow for better access.
“And you’re still my little nug,” she murmured against her skin, Morrigan groaning.
“Silence, bard,” she said without any heat, weaving a hand through Leliana’s hair.
Happy DADWC day :D How about 'kenopsia [ the eerie atmosphere of a place that is usually bustling with people but now abandoned ]' with Solas or fragment!Mythal (or both)
@dadrunkwriting - veilguard spoilers!
also for @wickedwitchofthewilds who also requested kenopsia 💖
ough tho. my feels. ended up going with both of them and some past solythal references 😭
487 words
cw: none, but a little nsfw in one part
"Should I thank you, Fen'Harel?" She was turned away, her brittle, cold voice a dagger twisting in his gut. "Should I be honored that you finally deigned to visit me?"
"Mythal—"
"No," she snapped, swirling around to lock eyes with him. "You have lost the right to address me so intimately." Under her sharp edged anger, he saw a shudder of something far more raw. A frisson of fear under the fury, of grief under the control.
He cast his eyes downward. A moment later he knelt. "I am so sorry," he told her without looking up. "You listened to me, and it cost you everything. I found a way to restore you, and abandoned you here." His contrition was insufficient. He lowered himself further, forehead pressed against the ground.
He did not deserve to use her name. Did not deserve to meet her eyes. Not after all he had done to her.
He did not move as he heard her light steps drawing near. "I remember the Wolf who would never back down." Her voice was different now, a thoughtful quality to it that puzzled him. "Have you been so thoroughly transformed? Are you a dog now, to kneel at my feet?"
"I—"
"I deserve to look upon your face," she interrupted. "I deserve to see whether you still care."
He exhaled shakily before lifting himself. He still knelt, but he looked up at her. Her eyes widened to see his tears, but he could not stop them once begun.
"I— do not—" it was rare to hear her stammer, but as she took a step away he realized she was shaking. "How dare you shed tears? Here? Now?" The questions came out in a rushed hiss, desperate and blurring together. "How dare you weep for me? I live! I am strong, I am—" she shook her head. "You are a sentimental fool."
"As I have always been," he said without thought, and was rewarded with the bare edge of a smile. A warm flicker of memory.
Arlathan. Her chambers. She called him many things, and always he had a rejoinder, a coy reply, with a bright, sharp grin. It had been their way.
"I remember," he said of the floating rush of her memory. "Do you?"
His supplanted hers, gently. A bolder moment still, another time he had knelt for her, with nothing but a column between them and the court. He had drank deeply of her core, head buried under her skirts.
They exchanged moments. Bursts of color, stolen tenderness, laughter and meals and sex.
But sentiment slowly gave way to their inevitable, shared grief. His memories strained towards the ruins of Arlathan. To the hollow emptiness of his slumber. To the fractured, foreign world he had awoken in.
They did not speak now. But he knelt, and she stood, and they did not look away. They shared something profound in this malleable space.
@dadrunkwriting - veilguard spoilers
oooh, thank you! i love this one for them 🥺 such a lovely prompt and what do i do? make it bittersweet af 😂
477 words
cws: mentions of slavery
efflorescence - a blooming or flowering, often used to describe a period of creativity or prosperity
There had been a time of wonder, of beauty, of potential. It hurt now to remember, but there were days that she welcomed that pain.
Solas had joined her, and they worked together. The future had seemed so bright with him by her side. Her efforts to calm Elgar'nan had felt increasingly inadequate, his core nature as immutable as her own, but with Solas—with Wisdom, with Pride—it had felt like a new dawn. He was devoted to her, not as her slaves were, but as a lover was. He wore her marks with fitting pride, and bore the inevitable condemnation of his position with equanimity and grace.
He honored her by choice, but they saw only an uplifted slave, a creature humbled and seated by her feet. It was always more than that, so much more. They were more than that.
Solas was eventually given a title of sorts, known as her Chosen. And he was chosen, just not in the way they meant. She chose him time and again, and when she was lost and desperate, when she had only terrible solutions to terrible problems, she chose to go to him. She chose to ask for his aid.
If he was her chosen, then she was his.
She knew herself to be flawed. There was not one among the Evanuris who was spared such things. Solas, too, was flawed. Benevolence had been unable to sit by and watch the Elvhen corralled and bound by another spirit, but Wisdom was content to simply observe.
And, in time, she was willing to hold the course in a vain attempt to reduce suffering, while Pride chose a bold and risky path.
There were times that she wished she had followed him. He was so bold, almost unrecognizable compared to the gentle spirit who had been content to observe and learn. But she was angry, too. She had been angry when he had rejected her, turned against her. And after all this time, she was still so angry with him.
She loved him. There were times that she hated him, but she always loved him.
For a beautiful, glorious moment, they had been perfectly aligned. They had found a deep peace together, strengthening one another for the onerous tasks ahead. They had come together in a way that felt profound, almost fated, but in time she had learned that love was never fated. It was felt, yes, but it was also chosen, also built.
She never stopped loving him. And even if it would be easier to feel it no longer, she did not wish it gone.
It was a warm ache in the core of her, an ember she wound herself around. Never to forget.
She would remember him, and she would remember that time of peace, for the rest of her life. However long that was.
