Okay, it’s not Friday anymore, but I got tagged by a bunch of lovely people yesterday and I really wanted to do this one. Thank you @musetta3, @juliafied, @faerieavalon, @cartadwarfwithaheartofgold and @noire-pandora
Take an older fic (or art for our artist friends) from about a year ago or older even and talk about it, show it off and hype it up.
I dug up my very first Dragon Age fic that I posted on October 12, 2019 over on AO3. It was the first piece of fiction I had written in English in a good long while, so this holds a special place in my heart.
It’s a predecessor of sorts to “The Rebel’s Ascension” since this oneshot is also placed in the time of the elven empire. It’s also a take on Solas’s relationship with Mythal and dark and angsty AF (as usual). I gave Solas a completely different backstory in this one, though, because I had about a myriad of different hot takes and headcanons on the matter at the time and couldn’t decide which one I liked best.
So here’s the thing. Enjoy! <3
Fandom: Dragon Age
Characters: Solas/Fen’Harel, Mythal
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence (Blood, Death/Murder)
“He did not want a body. But she asked him to come.
He left a scar when he burned her off his face.”
Her blood pooled around his feet, thick and dark as the night. He shuddered and stepped back, away from the dead woman who’s blood he’d spilled across the ancient marble floor. Her arms and legs lay twisted as if they belonged to a puppet rather than a living being. He dropped his hands and the spell faded away, leaving nothing behind but a gaping hole in his heart.
His mistress was dead and he had killed her.
“Well, that is that, I presume,” Mythal mused.
Sitting on her golden throne, the All-Mother had watched the fight in absolute silence. If she felt disgust or horror upon the murder, he could not tell. Her face was still, her breaths long and steady.
She is justice incarnate, he thought.
Is that why she had allowed him to kill his mistress? Because she thought it was just? He wanted to believe it so very badly. Maybe it would keep the darkness at bay that grew within him with every passing moment.
“Are you proud of yourself?” Mythal asked. Her voice was soft and candid. It was a gift he did not deserve.
“I… I don’t know,” he said, wiping away droplets of sweat that had gathered on his forehead. The fight had been much more exhausting than he had expected.
Slowly, the All-Mother rose from her throne and came towards him. Her rich green robes rustled softly as she descended from the dais, her steps echoing from the high stone walls of her Throne chamber.
“I remember the day she presented you before my court,” she said with her eyes fixed on the dead body on the floor in front of her. “She all but burst with pride while she told the tale of your summoning. A spirit of wisdom, eager to share his knowledge with The People, yet too kind to recognize an enemy on sight.”
He swallowed, hard. He, too, remember this tale. Remembered it all too well. It had become a part of his being, just like the body he inhabited.
“She learned everything she could from you,” Mythal continued, “and when you had finally shared all of your knowledge of the Beyond, she lured you into a body, binding you to the Waking World.”
Mythal lifted her hand ever so slightly. Still, he could feel the wave of energy flaring up around her as she drew power from the Beyond to cast her spell. Blazing fire erupted from the corpse, cloaking the body of his former mistress in flames. The air wavered and filled with the smell of burnt flesh.
Another wave of Mythal’s hand and the blood began flowing towards the tiny fissures in the marble floor and sank into the stone. He breathed a sigh a of relief as the dark fluid vanished.
