#laloreshot

[vhen-harel]

[vhen-harel]

Solas Appreciation Week 2025

Prompt: Skyhold and The Lighthouse

Am feeling burnt out but still wanted to participate today and no idea was sticking. Then remembered we're supposed to have fun and this was fun and brought me joy. And am feeling some doldrums so Solas and Lavellan always perk me up.

[vhen-harel]

Listening to the Lost Elf theme and staring at this.

[vhen-harel]

An erotic retelling of Red Riding Hood inspired by the end slide of Lavellan, red cloaked, in the arms of her wolf.

Lavellan seeks the Din’anshiral, to understand the path that Solas walks. Through her research she has uncovered an old spirit named the Grandmother. She seeks the spirit out in the Fade to find it, but comes across the Dread Wolf instead.

Red Riding Him

On AO3

For Solas Appreciation Week 2025

Last prompt is free day/ship day.

[vhen-harel]

Solas: How strong are those horns, vhenan? Lavellan: Strong enough to grab and hold onto later tonight.

[vhen-harel]

“I once had a thousand desires.

But in my one desire to know you,

all else melted away.”

“Lovers don’t finally meet somewhere.

They’re in each other all along.”

"This is love: to fly toward a secret sky,

To cause a hundred veils to fall each moment.

First, to let go of life.

Finally, to take a step without feet."

~Rumi

[vhen-harel]

Fade Prison - 100 Word Drabble

Solitude

The long day, with its wind-scoured travel, had worn them all down. As soon as they found a secluded rise near water, they set to work making camp. Solas helped Blackwall raise their tent, fully aware he would not sleep there, and Blackwall always pretended not to notice when he slipped away after nightfall. When darkness settled and each companion retired, Solas waited by the fire until the last companion drifted off. Then he rose and walked to the tent he had tried to avoid yet always returned to - a shared solitude where fleeting peace waited in familiar arms.

[vhen-harel]

WIP (Not) Wednesday

Tagged By: @elfyroot

Remember - WIP can be anything. Not just words!

WIP - I've been thinking on Solas and Mythal a lot lately. This is an exploration of Solas having to submit to the vallaslin as punishment.

He walks steadily onto the raised platform, unshackled - a calculated falseness meant to suggest his willingness in this farce. The silent crowd stands shoulder to shoulder to witness Mythal’s beloved, her Second, the brilliant Fen’Harel, submit to her vallaslin. Solas keeps his gaze fixed forward, his spine rigid, though every part of him thrums with fury. He will not look at Ghilan’nain and be reminded of her betrayal. He will not look at Mythal and see the falseness in her eyes. And he will not look at Elgar’nan, whose smug triumph he can already feel pulsing at the edge of his mind. “There will be no blood binding in this,” Mythal had assured him when she had visited him the day before, a prisoner in his own room. Her voice had been composed and serene. The voice she always used when she did not want anyone to argue with her. “It is symbolic only. You know what it will mean for the people to see their great Fen’Harel take the vallaslin. You will be beloved by them even more. Let that soothe you if nothing else will.” “So you say,” he answered, his voice cold and sharpened to a point. “This is the only way,” she replied, her own blade of a voice starting to slide out of it’s sheath - Solas hears her warning, he is treading on thin ice. “This is how I save you.” “How… benevolent of you.” Her composure breaks. “You brought this on yourself, Solas,” she hisses, no longer bothering with false serenity. “I’ve done what I can to save you from Elgar’nan’s wrath. They would have killed you otherwise. You should be grateful they weren’t adamant about the blood binding.” They lock eyes. Anger. Hurt. So much between them shattered and left unresolved. That is the memory he holds onto as his mind comes back to the present. Mythal steps forward, arms raised to quiet the murmurs of the assembled elves. Her voice, when it carries across the great auditorium, is filled with pride - she truly is a great performer, Solas thinks bitterly. "Today is a sacred day! Before you stands Fen’Harel, my most trusted, my Second in all things. The Dread Wolf whose name our enemies fear, and whose wisdom our people revere. Today, he kneels in devotion to you, the people, our people - whom we have sworn to protect. Today, Fen’Harel has chosen to mark himself in that devotion, to show that even the greatest among us stands not apart, but within. And know that when you look upon his face, see not the mark of Mythal, but the mark of his love for you all.” She lowers her arms. The crowd responds unevenly - cheers and applause rise from many, but not all. Beneath the celebration, there is a current of unease. Whispers of dissent have started to stir among some of the people recently, questioning the vallaslin, and now that they see the Dread Wolf is meant for it, for some, it is difficult to witness. Mythal turns to face him, her back to the crowd, her eyes instructing him. He still refuses to meet her gaze but does what’s expected of him, he kneels - radiating defiance even in this act of submission. She reaches out and takes his chin in her hand - gently, performatively - and tilts his face upward.

I'm tagging @mythedaslore @topaz-carbuncle and whoever else reads this.