This is a really stupid short lil one-shot between my Dah’lia and Solas based on a video where David Tennant and Michael Sheen show each other their art. This was sparked by the Solavellan server I’m in - where the video was posted, and it made me laugh so much because Dah’lia would react the same way as David Tennant 😂
Pineapple
Solas x Lavellan
It had been several days since the Inquisition's arrival at Skyhold and Dah’lia’s naming as the Inquisitor.
There was much to do, however, Josephine had been kind enough to prioritise the restoration of Dah’lia’s chambers so that she could continue resting after her ordeal at Haven.
She looked around at the enormous room that was hers - hers - and eyed the ornate double bed. It was luxurious and not something she’d get used to easily.
Walking over to her desk, she planted herself heavily in the nearby chair.
Her mind was reeling. An accumulation of all that had happened, all they had lost, and all that was still to come.
She had faced down a darkspawn Magister.
Corypheus.
A shiver ran down her spine as she brought his face to mind - stretched flesh over jagged red. She shook her head free of the image. No. Today was a day of rest.
But, Creators, was she bored.
She glanced at the contents of her desk and spotted a fruit basket, courtesy of some nobles who probably wanted to accrue favour from the new Inquisitor.
At the top was a medium-sized spiky fruit. It was a curious thing - Dah’lia had never seen one before. She picked it up and sniffed it - it didn't smell much of anything, so she set it on the table next to the basket to prop it up.
Leaning back, she let out a sigh before spotting a pile of blank parchments, a quill, an inkpot, and some pencils placed neatly on the left of her desk.
A thought sparked in her restless mind.
Picking up a piece of blank parchment and a pencil, she started to sketch the curious fruit.
She’d never drawn anything really - except for the scribbles she’d presented to her mother and Keeper Deshanna as a child - but she wanted to give it a go.
Anything to quell the disquiet bubbling within her.
She quickly learned, however, that although singing, music and dance came naturally to her, drawing was an entirely different beast.
She spent hours carefully trying to capture the likeness of the strange fruit, adding the spiked top last. When it was finished, she let out a satisfied hum.
Standing, sketch in hand, she descended the stairs leading to the main hall.
As soon as she opened the door, the noise of construction reached her ears along with the hustle and bustle of everyone who'd survived Haven - as well as some pilgrims and aforementioned nobles.
A few caught her eye, but she curtly nodded and continued towards the rotunda.
There was only one person she wanted to see.
She walked in slowly.
The room was spacious, with bare rounded walls - one side sporting recently installed scaffolding - and a large desk in the middle.
Solas was sitting there perusing some ancient-looking tomes.
He looked up as Dah’lia approached, smiling as she perched herself on the edge of his desk. “Good afternoon…Inquisitor.” There was a glint in his eye that she responded to with a roll of hers.
“I sketched something before. Do you want to see?” she asked excitedly.
“Ah, drawing - an art form I’m rather fond of. And, of course.” He leaned back in his chair, ready for her to present her sketch.
“Wait. You can draw?” She furrowed her brow.
“Yes. I finished a painting not long ago, in fact.”
“Ok.” She eyed him skeptically. “Well, in that case. I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”
He chuckled. “Agreed.”
She gingerly lifted her sketch of the spiky fruit. “I don't know what it is. It was in a basket on my desk.”
“I suspect it is a pineapple, typically found in Rivain. But regardless…it is a very good sketch. Well done.”
“A pineapple…huh,” she said thoughtfully. “And thank you! Now…show me yours.”
Solas stood up from his desk and walked towards the scaffolding, reaching around to pick up a large canvas. Dah’lia couldn't see what was on it, but she squinted suspiciously at its size.
He sat back down and flipped the canvas over.
Dah’lia’s eyes widened. “You did that!?”
It was a beautiful landscape painting - sky, mountains and sea. It was breathtaking.
“Yes. Just this morning,” he replied nonchalantly, looking down and gazing upon his work.
“Fuck off!”
His head snapped up. “Excuse me?”
“You did not paint that this morning!” she responded incredulously.
“Yes, I did.” He tilted his head, his eyebrows knitting together slightly as he carefully placed the canvas down to lean against his chair.
“You did NOT paint that this morning!” she said a little louder this time.
“I did!” The frown fell away, and a slight curve appeared at the corners of his mouth, obviously amused.
“I don't believe you.” She placed her sketch down on his desk and crossed her arms defiantly.
“You drew the pineapple.”
“My pineapple is SHIT!” she exclaimed, waving her hand toward her drawing.
He picked it up. “It just needs a bit of shading,” he said, pointing to the areas where shading was required.
“Oh, shut up.”
“A bit of charcoal,” he continued.
“Since when did you know so much about art!? You never mentioned it before!”
“I haven't had the opportunity to do any until now. Besides…you never asked.” He put the sketch down, leaning back once more - his elbows resting on the arms of his chair and his hands coming together, fingertips touching.
She glared at him.
“Correct me if I’m wrong…but I'm sensing that you are upset with me for having a hobby?”
She pursed her lips, refusing to let the smirk now tugging at the corners of her mouth show. “Evidently, yeah.” With that, she stood up, turned and walked off, stopping abruptly halfway to the door and spinning around.
She strode back to his desk and snatched up her pineapple sketch. Meeting his eyes, she caught the glimmer of amusement in his and, despite herself, her mouth betrayed her.
Ooh for the prompts- “why don’t you ever listen to me?”, “look at me” and “swear it” <333 hope this helps!! also looking forward to them 🤌🏽
Thank you so much for the prompts!! I’ve done “look at me” and will post the others once I've completed them and tag you ❤️ (I’m sorry, I’m not the fastest of writers!)
Look At Me
Solas x Lavellan
TW - Death/mourning.
The edges of the parchment trembled in Dah’lia’s hand as she read the report, her brow furrowing. She tried to make sense of the words dancing on the page before her, rereading the same sentence repeatedly until it lost all meaning.
Please pass on our condolences to the Inquisitor.
It wasn't real. Surely, this was just a nightmare.
Wake up. Wake up. Wake up.
Her vision swam, blurring in her periphery. When she spoke, it didn't feel like her voice, as if a part of her had detached, screaming for help underwater. “What,” she began, shaking, “the fuck happened, Cullen?”
“Inquisitor…our soldiers did everything they could but - ”
She exploded in a fit of fury. “Everything they could!? If they'd done everything they could, my clan, my family, wouldn't be - ”
She couldn't finish the sentence.
A painful imagining flashed in her mind - loved ones on the ground, twisted and grotesque in their abject agony, lifeless eyes sky-bound, pleading with the gods.
Blood seeping into soil.
She screamed then, an anguished cry that echoed off the walls of Skyhold - even reaching the rookery, causing the ravens to join her grief-stricken choir.
Her legs buckled beneath her, and she collapsed, her hands instinctively reaching out for the edge of the war table but missing. She landed on her knees painfully, but no pain could have outweighed the sheer agony that assaulted her heart - like someone had lassoed it with barbed wire, pulling and tearing.
No.
No, no, no. This couldn’t be happening.
She started sobbing as her eyes sought those around her, begging someone, anyone, to save her from the tidal wave of grief that crashed into her, filling her lungs with brine.
Any minute now, one of them would say there had been a mistake or that the report was wrong.
Of course.
It was all just a terrible misunderstanding. And then everything will be as it was. She would return to her chambers and finish the letter to Keeper Deshanna she’d started the previous evening, telling her that help was well on the way and asking her to send her love to the little hunters she’d been training before she’d left for the Conclave.
But those present just stood watching her helplessly, mouths moving slightly as if trying to form words but not knowing which would help.
The truth was - none would.
What do you say to someone who’d just lost everything?
Thankfully, Josephine came to her senses and sprang into action, grabbing Cullen’s arm. “Find Solas. Tell him what has happened,” she said firmly.
Cullen nodded, grateful to have been given a task he could easily complete, and left the war room briskly.
The room fell silent once more, apart from the sound of Dah’lia’s anguish.
Josephine knelt by her, reaching out a hand to gently touch her shoulder. Dah’lia shook her off. “Don’t,” she said sharply between sobs, “touch me.”
The ambassador's attempt at comfort brought her back to her body, shattering the sorrow that consumed her like glass and transforming it into molten fury.
She crawled forward, scrambling to her feet, and grabbed the closest thing to her - one of the candles from the war table along with its metal stand - and threw it with all her might against the wall.
It clattered loudly, and the wax deformed from the impact, the metal stand coming loose, falling to the floor with a crash. She paused momentarily and looked upon the small-scale destruction she’d caused.
It wasn’t enough.
She rampaged around the room then, flipping chairs, grasping and throwing everything within reach. She kicked and punched every surface she could as she screamed, tears streaming down her face.
First Lena, then her parents and now this.
How much could one person bear? Was she being tested by the gods? To see how far a person could bend before breaking? Fractured beyond recognition, beyond repair?
Were they that cruel?
Josephine watched, frozen by helplessness, but turned her head toward the door when she heard it creak open.
Cullen re-entered, with Solas following behind.
Dah’lia didn't register them.
She continued to rage and scream, fighting her surroundings, warring against her fate and the fate of her clan.
She picked up one of the figurines used to mark positions on the map and went to throw it against the wall just to the left of the door.
She caught Solas' gaze as she pulled her arm back - his face a mask of profound sorrow. His eyes showed an understanding so deep that it made her cease her destruction immediately.
She paused, gasped and then saliva flooded her mouth, bile burning her throat. “I’m going to - ” She doubled over and heaved - the contents of her stomach came rushing up, expelling itself like a demon borne of despair.
“Leave us,” Solas said firmly to Cullen and Josephine.
They both glanced sadly at Dah’lia and then nodded before leaving.
Solas rolled up his sleeves and quickly approached her as she retched between woeful moans.
He positioned himself behind her and pulled her hair back, before rubbing gentle circles between her shoulder blades.
He didn't speak, not yet, and let her gather herself.
Once she’d finished, she briefly stood upright, but her limbs felt heavy and she too weak to stay grounded. She collapsed backwards, but Solas caught her and guided her gently to the floor.
She let out a low, heartbreaking wail as he sat down next to her, his hand now in hers as she grasped it tightly.
There was a short pause before panic consumed her without warning, turning her cries into erratic breaths as she heaved in and out in quick succession.
She gripped Solas’ hand tighter, her eyes unfocused, darting around the room as if she could see the ghostly faces of all her loved ones surrounding her - screaming their accusations.
It is your fault. Your fault. You failed us.
“Dah’lia,” Solas said softly. “Look at me.”
She didn't listen, and her breathing deteriorated - ragged gasps that she couldn’t control. Her vision started to go black, and blood pulsated in her skull, thrumming in her ears.
“Look at me,” he said more firmly now, holding her face gently with his free hand and guiding it to meet his.
She looked into his eyes, still hyperventilating.
“Now, breathe. In,” he inhaled slowly, “and out.”
She mirrored him, breathing in deeply and exhaling. It was shaky at first, with every few breaths followed by a sharp intake of air, but she eventually managed it.
“Solas…” she said weakly.
“Shhh…words can come later.”
She leaned into him and pressed her forehead against his. “They're all gone…”
He stroked her cheek. “I know, vhenan…I am sorry for what you must endure. But I am here. And I understand what you are going through…more than you realise.”
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Veilguard didn't happen in my version of Thedas! So, I’m writing my own take on a sequel to DAI/Trespasser ❤️ there are 5 chapters so far, and it follows my Inquisitor Dah’lia Lavellan (who, of course, romanced the egg). Here’s the link if you want to check it out -
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Here’s Chapter 1 (most under the cut).
All That Remained
Skyhold was unusually still, as if the fortress itself was holding its breath.
Everyone had returned from the Exalted Council, and the echoes of Dah’lia’s outburst resounded across all of Thedas, causing a tremor. The call to disband the Inquisition had left many stunned, and her final words as the Inquisitor burned in her mind.
“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a world to save. Again.”
At the time, she had felt strong, confident - adrenaline coursing through her veins. But now, standing alone in the war room, she felt powerless. Her stomach bubbled, doubt mixing with bile, making her feel nauseous.
Her fingers traced lines on the map of Thedas on the table in front of her, and the numerous lit candles nearby illuminated strands of her red hair. It now hung loose, framing her face - she’d not bothered keeping it in the usual elegant style she'd reluctantly adopted to suit her former title.
She took a slow, deep breath to gather herself, attempting to summon the strength she needed. From where, she did not know.
The past two weeks travelling back from the Winter Palace had been nothing short of a nightmare, draining her almost completely. The days all seemed to roll into a singular, never-ending one. She’d spent much of it in a daze, fighting an internal battle - both the sharp, searing discomfort of her newly missing left arm and the deeper, more insidious grief of Solas’ betrayal.
Even though so much had happened, no one had dared to speak about it on the open road - the risk had been too great. But it wasn’t just the threat of wandering spies that kept the conversation at bay. There was an unspoken agreement - an understanding that Dah’lia needed time.
Time to grieve the loss of her arm. Time to steady herself after the chaos of the Exalted Council. Time to begin piecing herself back together before facing the enormity of Solas’ plans.
His words. His truth.
But she would face it all now. She had no other choice.
Her gaze became unfocused as she turned inward. She had seen Solas’ conviction in every word he’d spoken during their brief reunion - his anguish carved into every movement. Yet all she could see when she closed her eyes was the man she had come to love.
The man who had stolen her heart with his quiet strength, his surprising tenderness, his sharp wit. The man who had stayed up with her into the dead of night, speaking of philosophy, his reverence for magic, and her love of music and dance.
They had also shared the mundane joys, laughing at the absurdity of Orlesian fashion and his particular fondness for frilly cakes - amongst other sillier things.
She could still see the way he’d looked at her - as though in a world of chaos, she was the only thing that made sense. She could still feel the way he’d held her, his hands lingering as though afraid to let go, whispering her name like a prayer.
But he had lied to her. About everything.
Her breath caught, and her hand clenched into a fist. No. He hadn’t lied about everything - not about what mattered.
She had always sensed the burden he carried - the storm that raged behind his beautifully crafted, polite mask. But she hadn’t understood its scale until that moment in the Crossroads, when he’d bared his truth like a blade. And it had cut her to the core.
She still loved him. That was the worst of it. Despite the destruction he planned, despite the countless lives that would be lost and despite his two-year absence...she loved him.
She understood his reasons.
The world was broken. It did need shaking. Her people still suffered under oppression despite everything she had done to change it. Even after placing Briala as the true power behind the Orlesian throne, alienages remained - cramped and crumbling. Dalish clans were still hunted and killed - like her own had been - their culture reduced to nothing but dying whimpers.
Magic and all things tied to the Fade were vilified - not with reason but with fear. They burned what they did not understand and chained those they could not control. The world was too often blind to its own beauty, too quick to destroy what it refused to comprehend.
And those she loved had suffered from it, including Lena. Her sweet, bright little sister. It still hurt to think of her.
But there had to be another way. Destruction was not the answer - it couldn’t be. She refused to believe the only solution was one paved with ashes.
The door creaked open, the sound piercing through her thoughts, and one by one, her companions entered the room.
They looked exhausted, their faces etched with the marks of battles fought and sacrifices made. But they came. They always came. These were not just Dah’lia’s allies or colleagues - they were her family, forged in flames, bound by an unbreakable will to fight for Thedas.
As the last of the group filed in, she turned to Varric, who had chosen to come to Skyhold rather than return to Kirkwall - for now. She gave him a brief nod, signalling for him to check the hallway. He peered out, then closed the door with a firm hand before leaning against the wall - arms crossed.
When the room quieted, Dah’lia straightened - her tall, muscular frame cast a shadow over the map table as her hazel eyes swept across the room. “You all know why we’re here,” she began, her voice steady. “I can only imagine how shaken you are after the recent revelations. But we have to act. What Solas is planning…well, we can’t allow it to happen.” Her words hung in the air as she looked into the tired eyes of people who had already given everything. And here she was, asking for more. “I know this is huge,” she continued, her voice softening. “I know it’s going to be hard. And ugly. I wouldn’t blame you if you walked away now - if you’ve had enough. But I cannot do this alone.”
Cassandra spoke first, her voice as firm as ever - though there was a slight tremor of disbelief. “It all just seems so…impossible. Your gods exist. Solas is one of them. I will fight by your side once more, but…how do we stand against such a threat?”
“They’re not gods, Cassandra,” Dah’lia replied, her words tinged with bitterness. She hadn’t fully come to terms with that fact and preferred to push it down. “They never were. Solas said as much himself.”
“Yeah, because after everything that’s happened, we should definitely trust what Solas tells us,” Varric interjected, his voice carrying his signature sarcasm.
“Why would he lie about that?” Dah’lia countered, meeting his eyes. “If anything, letting us believe they’re gods - letting us believe he’s a god - would make him seem untouchable. It would stop people from standing against him or at least give them pause. They’d be too afraid. He was telling the truth.”
Varric raised an eyebrow but didn’t press further.
Iron Bull shifted in his chair, his brow furrowed as he leaned forward, arms resting on his knees. “Solas said there were spies within the Inquisition - his and the Qunari’s. Shit. I can’t believe I didn’t see it.” He exhaled sharply, frustration flickering across his face. “I’ve gotten sloppy.”
“No one saw it, Bull,” Dah’lia said gently. “Not you, not me. None of us. The Inquisition was growing too big, too fast, without a clear purpose. Corruption spread without anyone noticing. That’s why I disbanded it.” Her voice softened, almost apologetic. “I know that decision shocked some of you, but we need to keep this operation tight-knit. Underground. Solas cannot know what we’re planning.”
“But what are we planning? Where do we even begin?” Cassandra frowned deeply, her eyes locking onto Dah’lia - searching for answers.
“First, we need to leave. We can’t stay at Skyhold. I suggest that, for now, we stay on the move as much as possible. Wherever we set up, we can’t stay long. And it will need to be concealed and well-defended. Protected…by wards, maybe? My Keeper used to do that to help keep our clan hidden.” She paused, her gaze falling on Dagna, who perked up as she realised her talents were being called upon. “Dagna, do you think you could help with that? If you’re willing, of course.”
The arcanist’s eyes lit up. “Oh, absolutely! I’ve never worked on wards exactly, but I’ve studied plenty of theories. The elven ones your Keeper would have used are fascinating - layers of protective barriers, some tied to the Fade, others to physical ru - oh, I’m rambling. Sorry.” She flushed slightly, wringing her hands.
“No, no, Dagna. Please, carry on,” Dah’lia said, grateful for her passion.
She didn’t need much encouragement. “Ok! If we’re moving around, I could rig up something portable, something that obscures us from view. We could also anchor them to specific points to trigger an effect when stepped on.” She tapped her chin thoughtfully. “Imagine if they triggered illusions instead of explosions! They’d think they’ve found us, but nope - just a big ol’ projection of Bull breaking eggs with his biceps or something.”
Iron Bull snorted, leaning back. “Eggs!? More like rocks. But…I like it. Explosions are good too, though.”
“Mayhem!” Lace chimed in from the edge of the room, a big grin on her face even though her eyes looked tired.
Dah’lia allowed herself a small smile. “Thank you, Dagna. I knew I could count on you.”
Cullen finally spoke, his voice weary. “If we’re staying on the move, we’ll need mounts, supplies, camping equipment - but not so much that it slows us down. We may have to rely on what we can find or trade for along the way. I also suggest working in cells. Smaller groups won’t draw as much attention, and we can cover more ground.”
Dah’lia nodded. “Good idea. Second, we’ll need allies - people Solas doesn’t know, people we can trust. Think of any connections you have that might be useful…but make absolutely certain that they’re reliable. We can’t afford to make any more mistakes.”
Lace straightened, her arms crossed as she spoke. “I know a few good people who had nothing to do with Solas and were loyal to the Inquisition. Charter’s still around, and Sutherland and his crew? They’d follow you into the Void itself.”
“That’s great. Fill them in when you get the chance,” Dah’lia said, offering Lace a grateful nod.
Leliana’s voice cut through the room - she had come to Skyhold to help with the Inquisition’s closure before returning to her divine duties. “I will help where I can. I can have the Chantry’s forces pursue Solas directly, keeping the heat on him while you work in the shadows. If nothing else, it may divide his focus.”
“That would be helpful,” Dah’lia replied, though the idea left a bitter taste in her mouth. She despised the Chantry and everything it represented, even with Leliana as the Divine. “If he feels the pressure, it could make him reckless - force him to act before he’s ready. But we need to be careful. If he grows desperate, he could become even more dangerous. Apply just enough to keep his attention divided.” She turned to Cullen. “Redirect any soldiers who returned with us from the Winter Palace. If they’re willing to join Leliana’s efforts, send them to bolster her forces. If not…thank them for their service. Make sure they receive enough severance pay to return home with dignity.”
Cullen bowed his head. “Of course. I’ll see it done.”
Finally, Dah’lia addressed them all. “Thank you - each of you. Your loyalty and strength mean more to me than I can say. I know I am asking a lot from you, so take tonight to prepare. Think carefully about the path ahead and whether you wish to walk it. If you decide to part ways, there will be no judgment. You’ve already given so much. I’ll be in my chambers if any of you would prefer to speak with me in private.”
The room began to empty - her companions filing out. Some exchanged quiet words, while others merely nodded before slipping away.
Only Varric remained, resting casually against the map table. “I’m never going to get that nice retirement, am I, Wildfire?” he asked, his voice tinged with wry humour.
She smiled slightly, but it didn't reach her eyes. “I’m sorry, Varric. But what else can I do? I can’t just stand by and let him destroy the world. I love him and…I believe I can reach him. I have to reach him. And if I can’t…” She choked on those last words and inhaled sharply, her gaze dropping to the floor. Everyone knew what Solas meant to her, how much she loved him. But she didn't want anyone to think loving him would sway her from what needed to be done. She didn't say it out loud to anyone and could barely even say it to herself in her own mind, but…she would kill him if it came down to it - if there was no other option. Even if it killed her to do so. “You don’t have to follow me on this path. I’ll understand…”
Varric studied her for a moment, his expression softening. “Nah. You know me, kid. Even I can’t walk away and just leave that to sort itself out.” He straightened, adjusting the cuffs of his sleeves. “Count me in. Bianca and I? We’re ready…for whatever happens.”
He left the room, leaving Dah’lia alone with her thoughts. She looked down at all that remained of her left arm and caressed the still-aching stump - a constant reminder of all she had endured and the battles still yet to come.
My contributions to Fade Prison’s weekly writing and art challenges!
This week's prompt word was “magic”.
First up is my 100-word drabble!
Sound of Magic
Solas x Lavellan
The fire glowed low as Dah’lia strummed gently on her lyre, singing quietly as she played. A small group gathered, huddled together under the stars.
Solas watched her from his cabin.
He could sense another audience observing from behind the Veil, spirits pressing ever so slightly against its barrier to bask in her song.
She didn't know it, but there was magic in the chords she struck, the notes she held, even if none coursed through her veins.
He started walking towards her - another soul pulled in by her melody - and caught her eye as he approached with a smile.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Second up is the 30-min sketch I did to go with it. There should be more people watching her, but I spent too long on Dah’lia, so I could only fit in the one kid looool 30-mins goes by SO quickly!! I actually think I’ll tidy this up and finish it at some point as a proper piece, it has potential!
I’m late sharing these on here (and Ao3)! I’m also behind with the art prompts, but I’ve given my head a wobble today and reminded myself that these are for fun and to stop putting unnecessary pressure on myself. My brain likes to suck the fun out of things booooo
Here are two 100-word drabbles.
Quiet Acceptance
Solas x Lavellan
The prompt word was “acceptance”.
The journey back to the Free Marches was arduous. But nothing could have prepared Dah’lia for the sight of her former home - lines of unmarked mounds where Inquisition soldiers had haphazardly buried her clan.
Her hand brushed the soil as hot tears mixed with the dirt.
Which one was Keeper Deshanna? Or the little hunters she’d been training before she’d left them behind?
Solas watched as she prayed to the Creators for each of her loved ones' souls. He knew her prayers were falling on unlistening ears, but accepted that she needed this and remained quietly supportive by her side.
Buried Worth
Solas x Lavellan
The prompt word was “worthy”.
Haven’s chill cut deep, and Dah’lia’s shawl slipped.
Solas instinctively reached to pull it closed, but as his fingers brushed her skin, she flinched, stepping back.
He froze. “I’m sorry…I didn't mean…” He had forgotten her aversion to touch.
She adjusted it herself, eyes downcast. “It’s ok. It’s just…everything I touch…I ruin.”
The conversations between them had deepened over the past few weeks - niceties turning into curiosities.
He looked at her sadly, a familiar feeling sinking in his chest at her confession.
One lost soul observing another - both drowning in a sea of their own self-perceived unworthiness.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
I haven't posted the last couple of Fade Prison 100-word writing prompts, so here they are! I still need to catch up on the sketches!
Protector of Freedom
Solas x Lavellan
For the prompt word “Freedom”.
The word echoed in Dah’lia’s mind as she sat on the bed in her chambers, clutching Solas’ hand.
Shalasha’revas. Protector of Freedom.
The title bestowed upon her by Keeper Deshanna all those years ago. And now all she could imagine when she thought of home was blood seeping into soil, mixing and entwining with her failure - a dark waltz.
She dreamed that night of lifeless eyes - sky-bound at first and then snapping to meet her gaze.
Pleading. Accusing.
She was no Protector of Freedom. Not of her own or anyone elses. All those she had sworn to protect were gone.
Touching Pride
Solas x Lavellan
For the prompt word “Pride”.
The colour drained from Dah’lia’s face as the battle ended. She released her blade, her right arm hanging painfully at her side. She grasped her shoulder with her left hand.
“Are you injured?” Solas asked breathlessly as he approached.
“I’m fine,” she responded through gritted teeth as she tried to place her obviously dislocated shoulder back in its socket.
“You’re quite clearly not fine, vhenan,” Solas said, her pride reminding him a bit too much of himself.
He went to touch her shoulder, and she flinched but sighed and allowed him.
His was the only touch she'd grown comfortable with.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
