Sharp wind whistled through the Frostbacks, tempered by the clear blue sky of winter. Isla could feel the sun warming her cheeks.
She loved the battlements of Skyhold, and found herself there more often than not. It was a place for thinking. Today, Isla found her thoughts singular, and imagery from what was almost a dream clouded her vision as she leaned against the cool stone of the fortress.
Solas.
The Inquisition had not seen hide nor hair of him since the Spirit of Wisdom had passed on. He had been away for a fortnight, and his absence seemed only to focus her revery in his favor. Isla had found herself in the rotunda every morning, disappointment etching worry lines around pursed lips when she found it still empty.
She remembered the kiss, the way his hands had grasped at her waist, and the hungry feel of his lips. The kiss felt closer than the Fade, and closer still than the many weeks that had passed since she woke up in the dark of her tower bedroom.
Isla sighed, feeling the blush burning from her forehead to the depths of her hips. What she would do to kiss him again.
“Head dizzy. Heart dancing. The feel of his fingers. He misses you, too.”
“Cole,” Isla grimaced as she jumped, turning around to look at him, “remember when we talked about announcing your presence?”
“Yes. I’m here. I will try to remember. Josephine is worried you’ll fall.”
“Did she send you?”
“He’s come back.”
Isla froze as her heart leapt.
“Right now?”
“Yes,” Cole said, seemingly confused by the question.
Isla grinned. She patted Cole’s shoulder and dashed away.
----
Solas had just cleared the first gate onto the bridge to Skyhold when Cole appeared beside him.
“Hello, Cole.”
“You’re back. She is very happy. She’ll be waiting.”
Isla.
“I am glad to be back. You shouldn’t share those things.”
“Right,” Cole said, “I will leave. She… right. Don’t share those things. Goodbye.”
Solas shook his head as the strange spirit disappeared, clearing the gate into the yard of Skyhold.
Then he saw her.
Isla was gazing at him as she made her way down the stone steps, bright hair glowing in the sunlight. Solas had eyes only for her as they met at the foot of the stairway. How he had missed her.
“Inquisitor,” he said, resisting the urge to pull her into the tight embrace he had imagined only moments ago.
“How are you, Solas?” Isla asked, and he reveled in the sound of her voice.
“It hurts. It always does, but I will survive.”
Understanding crossed her features as she smiled sadly, green eyes boring into his.
“Thank you for coming back,” Isla said, taking a small step closer.
“You were a true friend. You did everything you could to help. I could hardly abandon you now.”
“Where did you go?” She asked, her smile widening imperceptibly.
“I found a quiet spot and went to sleep. I visited the place in the fade where my friend used to be. It’s empty, but there are stirrings of energy in the void. Someday something new may grow there.”
Isla nodded, stepping closer again. He could smell the soft musk of her skin.
“The next time you have to mourn, you don’t need to be alone,” Isla said earnestly, raising her chin as a blush crept up her cheeks.
“It’s been so long since I could trust someone,” he replied with his head down, taken aback by his sudden chagrin.
“I know.”
Solas looked up at Isla.
“I’ll work on it,” he said, voice quiet, “and thank you.”
----
From the stable, Blackwall and Varric watched the elves creep closer together.
“You’re going to be paying up soon, Tethras,” Blackwall said laughingly, gleeful at what he thought to be a certain victory. Varric only tutted in response.
When Isla and Solas made their way up the stairs without a single touch, Varric held out his palm.
“You owe me a silver.”
“How,” Blackwall grumbled as he pulled a coin from his pocket, “did you know they weren’t going to go at it as soon as he got back here?”
“Do you really think those two -- two of the most fiercely private beings that have ever graced the halls of Skyhold -- were going to announce their undying love with half of the Inquisition watching?” Varric chuckled, tucking the silver into his coin pouch.
“I guess,” Blackwall said, still looking miffed, “but they have to realize how obvious they are.”
“Maybe they don’t. We should remind them. Let’s go tease Moony about it,” Varric said, and they began making their way across the yard.
“You can take the lead on that one. I still find her more daunting than a wyvern.”
“Ha! She’ll get a kick out of that.”
----
Isla had said goodbye to Solas in the entrance hall, her self control spent after fighting the mad urge to kiss him for the duration of their conversation. She could feel his eyes on her as she walked away.
It wasn’t until she had shut the door that lead up to her chambers that she let her composure slip.
He’s back, she thought. Isla grinned as she darted up the stairwell. He came back.
This is a little schmoopy I just put together because I miss Isla. This is the beginning of a slightly longer fic where Isla and Solas have a chat but Isla is a little tipsy and then Solas flirts with her and maaaaybe Isla panics. It’s mostly internal. Will finish maybe sometime.
Isla blinked at the sound of Varric’s voice. She looked away from the window behind him, tightening her grip on the mug of mead she had been nursing for the better part of an hour.
“Sorry, daydreaming. What were you saying?”
“Hmm,” Varric hummed, narrowing his eyes at her, “Something caught your eye? Because I only see you blush like that in specific company.”
“Never you mind,” Isla replied, hiding her grin with the mead as she gulped the rest of it down.
“I’ll try not to tease you too much,” he said as she stood up to go, “Have fun with your liquid courage, Herald.”
“Ma serranas, Varric,” Isla said, gracefully imitating a curtsy.
He watched her leave, tickled by the sight of the dangerous rogue skipping on her last step out of the tavern. Varric pulled a sheaf of parchment from the bag next to him and began writing.
Not the Adamant kind. The childhood-ruiner. This one is not-so-fluffy. Sry.
Inspired by a prompt from solverne-02 drabble list number 2.
Prompt #5 - “You’re safe now.”
AO3
Also sorry I have been drinking whiskey this evening.
--
They found the child on the road to Redcliffe.
Dispatching of the bandits had already worn them out. The group they had just dealt with was notably better supplied than the others they had come across in the Hinterlands. Isla was wiping the blood off of her daggers when she turned, her face suddenly focused, listening.
She found him in the trees just off the road.
“He tol’ me to hide,” he said, small voice quaking slightly.
“Who?”
He didn’t reply.
“What’s your name?”
“Sam.”
“Sam, where is your home?”
“We was headin’ to Redcliffe, to see my aunty.”
“My name is Isla,” she said, smiling softly as she crouched next to him.
She smoothed his hair, and they set off down the road.
--
It wasn’t difficult to find the child’s aunt in the small town. The woman cried when she saw him. She bid him inside, yelling to her husband that Sam had arrived, then closed the door.
“Thank you so much for bringing him here. When we heard about his da’… my brother…”
Isla hugged her before they left, accepting the loaf of bread handed to her with a sincere smile.
--
Solas watched her as they made the hike back to camp. She hardly spoke. The trek to the Farms camp was long, and her green eyes reflected the darkening trees around them.
They arrived in camp just after nightfall, relief at finding the cradle of a smoothly sloping valley. The expanse of the sky held a half moon and the stars that met it. Isla stared upwards, somewhat apart from their tents.
Watching her from the pile of supplies, Solas frowned.
Something is wrong.
His eyes followed her as she made her way into their tent.
--
Bull and Sera, showing no signs of going to bed right away, sat at the fire and made lewd jokes. They had decided early on to share a tent, leaving Solas and Isla in their own. It had happened before, as the party typically rotated. It would almost certainly happen again.
Solas climbed into the tent, noting the blanket that had been pulled over most of her face.
“Lethallan,” he began, wondering, “Is everything alright?”
“It will be,” she said after a pause.
He finished changing and laid down, facing her back. Her hair glowed in the darkness. His fingers itched, almost reaching out to press a hand to her head. Lath’sal’in. He thought of the human child, the affection she had shown him so easily.
His palm found her hair. He held it there for a moment.
“On nhyda,” he said, drawing his hand back to his side.
“On nhyda, Solas.”
After a time, they both fell asleep.
--
He found her dream easily.
The dream was clouded and dark. In front of him, a young elven woman wrapped an embroidered scarf around the bright hair of a child. It was unmistakably Isla, no older than eleven.
“Da’len,” the woman whispered, her eyes wide, “you must hide. Do not make a sound. Do not move. We are being hunted. Do you understand?”
The young Isla nodded and her mother pointed to a dark bush. The sound of metal and anger -- swords and humans -- grew louder.
The three human men who found the woman were grotesque in Isla’s memory. They knocked the daggers out of her hands, killing her quickly. The hidden elven child stared with wide eyes. The men cheered, ready to celebrate the murder. Whatever they said was not heard.
Isla moved silently forward, hands shaking as she picked up her mother's daggers.
“Mamae,” she whispered.
The humans had not seen her emerge, did not hear her flanked attack coming. She slit the first one’s throat quickly. Her battle with the other two proved less certain. Solas winced when the sword cut her face, just missing her eye as it sliced through the soft skin of her forehead and cheek.
She bared her teeth and charged at them. Their deaths were quick after that.
She stood above the bodies, breathing hard as blood dripped down to her neck.
--
Solas woke. Isla was still asleep, and he could hear the distress of her breathing. She had turned towards him in the night.
“Isla, wake up,” he said, grasping her shoulder, “Isla. Satha, lethallan, wake up.”
He hesitated. Temptation.
Solas reached, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her to him, “Isla.”
Her eyes opened. Her breathing came heavier, seeing where she was.
“Solas,” she said, her voice breaking. She was crying.
“You are safe here, Isla,” he said, holding her close, her face pressed to his shoulder, “You are safe.”
--
Translations all courtesy of Fenxshiral on ao3 <3
Lath’sal’in: the act of fondling someone’s hair, especially someone you care about. Lit. “Love the house of the soul.”
hey hi hello! tagged by @faerieavalon! thank you for thinking of me!
tagging forward @dharma-writes, @im4egghead, @kita-lavellan, @lyrium-lavellan, @lunalavellan-vhenan, @kinda-nerdy, @geeky-jez, @elainewonders, @kvpowers, and anyone else who wants to tell me about your OC!
Give me your Inquisitors (I will gladly accept non-Lavellans and love them equally), your Wardens, and your Hawkes. Of if you have another game you love, tell me about your oc from that game and I might play it!!
Isla Lavellan
I have been exceedingly lucky to have Isla brought to life so beautifully by these amazing artists. From the top down:
one frame from a delightful webcomic by @the-upper-shelf, chibi-isla by @na-ruu, portrait by the dear @smuttine, and a mind blowingly perfect tarot card by @paperwick! Thank you all for your incredible work.
1. Her favourite thing to do when she has free time?
Isla is a ruminator. When she’s not busy with “chores,” like hunting for food stores, or general work for the Inquisition, she’s walking, swimming, dancing, singing, or just sitting wherever the music of her mind takes her.
She loves spending time with her friends. She spends hours playing cards with Varric and Blackwall, and drinking with Sera and Bull. Isla and Dorian will often just sit and read together, or if they’re tired of reading, chatting happily wherever they find each other. She practices melee combat with Cassandra and Cullen to hone her skills, laughing always. Vivienne likes to braid her hair and gossip tamely, and they discuss the circle and other political tidbits. Her time spent with Josephine and Leliana is almost always work-related, but they enjoy themselves nonetheless. Cole finds her from time to time and they enjoy sitting in the sunshine, or the shade.
Don’t worry, I didn’t forget our favorite apostate hobo. Solas is deeply intrigued by her, and he often joins her while she treks through woods and mountains.
2. How did she get her name?
Isla was named by her father, an elven merchant who grew up in Antiva. She has vague memories of him visiting her when she was very young, but he all but disappeared and she hasn’t seen him since her 6th name day.
Isla, “eye-la,” means Island. She was independent even as a baby, stoic and calm, and her father saw her as an island on her own.
While pretty, it’s not necessarily representative of her disposition. Independent she may be, but she always wished for real affection from her father.
3. How would she react if there was an impromptu bout of mud wrestling at Skyhold?
Is the bout organized, and two people wrestle at a time? Or are all the hooligans of the Inquisition just playing in the mud?
Either way, she would win all of the wrestling one-on-one’s, and she would love the general play of a whole group thing but at the same time she would be concerned about people getting hurt. Because of this concern, she asks Solas to stand by to assist with any injuries. He might scoff at first, but of course he can’t say no to her and it is a logical request. Plus then he gets to watch her roll around in the mud and he wont admit it but he finds it attractive in a Dalish sort of way.
4. Would she rather travel or stay at home?
Isla has always been a nomad. She loves traveling and seeing the world. To her, home is where she hangs her scarf.
Isla didn’t want to open her eyes just yet; they were heavy and the blanket wrapped around her felt warm. The dream she’d woken up from was the kind she wanted to dip back into, a soft kind of rumination meant to be explored.
She felt a breath on her face.
What?
Her eyes snapped open. Solas was holding her, pressed close like they had been tied together. The arm under her neck reached up to cradle her shoulder, the other tucked around her waist. She felt her eyes go wide. Solas?
A memory of the night before came back to her. The child on the road to Redcliffe, the nightmare, waking up to Solas holding her like he was now. The way he rubbed her back, whispering comforting words until she fell asleep again. She had been crying. Mamae.
And now he held her. Her heart thrummed. She inhaled, savoring the musk that she had scarcely had the opportunity to experience before this.
She used the arm available to her to prod his arm.
“Solas?”
He mumbled incoherently, shifting slightly. Still sleeping, he pressed his lips to her forehead and sighed.
Dread Wolf take me, Isla thought, compelling herself not to laugh aloud at the ease of his intimacy in sleep.
“Solas,” she tried again, “Solas, wake up.”
He did. He looked down at her.
“On dhea, da’mis,” he murmured, turning slightly away from her as he gained consciousness, “Did you sleep well?”
“Yes, ma serranas, hahren,” she said.
“Ma nuvenin. It was no trouble.”
Lips pursed slightly, he raised a hand to touch the scar on her face, letting his index finger graze it for a moment before he pulled away.
They rose and readied for the day with the others. Solas helped one of the scouts make coffee while Isla and Sera caught and skinned a hare for their morning meal. Bull sharpened his greataxe methodically as the sun peaked above the hills.
Leaving camp, a genuine grin spread across Isla’s face.
“What’re you smilin’ about, Elfy?” Sera asked, eyes narrowed, “Get some elven glory?”
“I would have told you,” Isla replied, turning to raise an eyebrow at her friend.
“Alright, alright. Why the grinnin' then, eh?”
Isla hopped and punched Sera in the arm before darting off ahead.
“Just enjoying the morning!” She called behind her.
Sera ran to catch her, cursing Isla up the hill.
--
Behind them, Bull and Solas kept a steady pace.
“Boss is feeling better,” Bull said, his tone matter-of-fact.
“Indeed.”
“You had a hand in that?”
“Yes,” Solas said, his expression solemn, “The Inquisitor was deeply affected by the child we met yesterday.”
Bull considered him.
“Still the Inquisitor, eh?”
“She is our leader. She has earned the title, and the respect that comes with it.”
“Uh huh.”
The morning air felt crisp, dew still dripping on the grass around them.
Solas watched her run the path. The scar on her face, a wound still healing. He could feel it on his fingertips. Following her onward, he flexed his hand.
Isla.
--
Translations courtesy of Fenxshiral on ao3!
Da'mis: little blade. Term of endearment used by an elder to a hunter who is stubborn, and acts regardless of consequence.
On dhea: good morning
Ma serranas: thank you
Ma nuvenin: you're welcome / of course
school has been kicking my butt thus the silence from le me
I might try to fit this into my canon Solavellan fics because I luuuurrve this premise and the tension
delightful tension
this took me four five hours to write. I love this ship so much.
This takes place after the fall of Haven while they are camped in the Frostbacks on the journey to skyhold!
--
The fall of Haven was still fresh in the minds of its refugees as they made the journey through the Frostbacks. Despite the devastating losses -- homes, friends, comfort -- the people were full of hope as the Herald led them deeper into the mountains.
“We will reach our destination soon,” Solas said to her.
They stood by a fire as the camp bustled and readied for rest as darkness fell around them.
“How soon?”
“On the morrow. Perhaps the day after.”
“Good,” Isla replied, warming her hands.
“How is your wound?”
“It…” she paused, palming her side, “it is not as bad.”
He frowned, turning to face her.
“Come,” he said.
--
In the medic tent, Isla sat down on the bedroll, clenching her jaw.
“You should tell me when it pains you,” he said as he sat cross legged beside her on the ground.
Isla nodded absently as she began pulling at the ties of her armor. Solas helped her remove each piece until only her tunic remained. She lifted it above her head, grimacing.
“Quit frowning at me,” she said, laying down.
Solas said nothing as he removed the wrapping around her ribcage. The wound, terrible as it was, looked better. He used a warm washcloth to clean the dried blood. She cried out. He reached for her clenched fist with his left hand, and she held it tightly.
In his mind's eye, Solas saw the metal that had impaled the tender skin of her abdomen. He remembered her scream as it was pulled out. The memory of her blood, her exposed rib. The healing process had been slow.
“You will have another scar,” he commented. Magic coursed through his fingers, glowing as he worked.
When he finished, she let out a sigh of relief. She felt a smile pull at her lips, holding his hand to her chest before she remembered that she lay before him wearing only a breast band to cover her torso. The smile flitted away as a blush overcame her. Solas pretended not to notice.
He helped her sit up and began wrapping a clean cloth around her. The ridges of her spine cast small shadows down her back.
Then, “Thank you.”
“Think nothing of it,” he replied, gently securing the wrap.
“No,” she said, eyes burning with pained emotion, “They do not know how much they owe you. You have saved us. And you... you have saved me... more than once.”
She reached for his hands and he allowed her to hold them. Her bare shoulders heaved with words unsaid. He could not look away from her.
“I am more than happy to help,” he said quietly, “You are our surest salvation.”
“And you are mine,” she said fiercely, her hands tightening around his, “I cannot tell you how much… how much that means to me.”
He blinked at her, his eyes dark in the tent.
“Careful, da’len. If you persist in this, I might just kiss you.”
Isla’s lips parted in shock before the blush deepened across her face. Outside the tent, voices called, the sounds of dinner carried past them as they stared at each other.
“Solas, I-”
“There you are, Herald,” Leliana said, popping her head into the medic tent. “When you are finished, we have matters to discuss.”
“Of course. I’ll just be a moment,” Isla said, wincing slightly as she stood too quickly.
Leliana hid her smirk at the blush on the young elf. Solas, typically stoic, had begun disposing of the used medical supplies around them. The spymaster left them in their unbridled tension.
Solas helped her dress in silence, careful not to let his fingers linger on Isla’s exposed skin. It was only after her parka was secure that he allowed himself to look into her face again, his expression unreadable. She wanted to say it, to tell him-
He lifted a finger to touch the old scar on her face, a now familiar gesture between them.
“There is work to be done, da’len. We will have time to speak later.”
She nodded. She took a breath as he stepped away and through the flap of the tent, looking over his shoulder at her with the smallest of smiles. Isla followed him into the cold night air of the mountains.
