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The amazing @loquaciousquark graced me with another request for a fic illustration, and I did my best to match the magical atmosphere of her writing! This is a Solavellan post-Veilguard story, and the painting captures one of the more solemn moments between the two.
I prepared two version of the composition, one with the curtains and one without, and still can't deside, which one I like more. What do you think? :D
[Fic] The Heart Where I Have Roots [4/4] - Complete
Rating: G Characters/Pairings: Lavellan/Solas, Rook/Lucanis Fandom: Dragon Age Word Count: 6.4k this chapter, ~20k total Summary: After the end of the world, Adahla and Solas face what’s left between them—and what might now have room to grow.
—
“Well! How lovely this is! A bit smaller than I expected, actually, but quite a cozy little place all the same.” Rook’s already shed her cloak, weaponry, and gloves across various pieces of furniture in the sitting room; now she sets her bag atop the only chair left, peering with cheerful nosiness down the back hallway. The wisp, which had appeared the moment they came through the eluvian, flitters over Rook’s shoulders in delight. “And not a single monument of a lonely wolf howling at the moon.”
“Yet,” Lucanis says darkly. Still, he musters up a courteous smile as he hands a small paper box to Adahla. “A gift, Inquisitor. It should pair well with the tea.”
“Lucanis made pierogis.”
“Pignoli.”
“Thank you,” Adahla says hurriedly, lest the thunderhead of Rook’s assassin burst. “And thank you both for coming. I’d hoped to discuss our plans with you. Now that we have some, that is.”
“Maker, the Dread Wolf discussing his plans before he puts them into play? Should I check for another eclipse to mark the end of the world? Oh, hello, Solas. There you are.”
“Rook,” Solas says stiffly, standing from the table. “Lucanis. Spite.”
—
Links: FF.net, AO3
[Fic] The Heart Where I Have Roots [3/4]
Rating: G Characters/Pairings: Lavellan/Solas, Rook/Lucanis Fandom: Dragon Age Word Count: 3.6k this chapter, will be ~20k total Summary: After the end of the world, Adahla and Solas face what's left between them—and what might now have room to grow.
—
The next few days—at least, what Adahla has decided are days—pass easily. Solas continues to heal almost by the hour; by the end of the second day she feels quite ready to demand the wolf’s form from him for study. He obliges with prickly embarrassment, and she spends several hours collecting detailed notes: the range and extension of the foreleg and the heel’s placement in the hind; the length of each white fang; his speed at a sustainable pace and at a flat-out sprint. The wisp returns often, rambling around her head like a crown, vanishing at a whim.
Once, she expresses interest in exploring the cliffs above the waterfall; in a trice the wolf has nudged her to the join where his great furred neck meets his shoulder, and he carries her to the clifftop in two great bounds and a short clamber. She disembarks at the bank of the river, cool water swirling around her ankles, and kisses his great wolf’s nose in thanks. When he takes his own shape again his face is embarrassed, pleased—proud in a way she hasn’t seen in some time, and she kisses that nose too, because she can. And then his mouth, because she wishes to. Because he’s here.
They stay there a long time, walking hand in hand along the river and the rocks, and in the end she takes no notes at all.
—
Links: FF.net, AO3
[Fic] The Heart Where I Have Roots [1/4]
Rating: G Characters/Pairings: Lavellan/Solas, Rook/Lucanis Fandom: Dragon Age Word Count: 4.9k this chapter, will be ~20k total Summary: After the end of the world, Adahla and Solas face what's left between them—and what might now have room to grow.
—
Adahla opens her eyes to silent chaos.
The raw, untamed Fade churns around them. Their feet are planted on solid, bare rock, but an arm’s length away the stone ripples into a field of grass—then a scorched, barren plain—now a river with frothing white spray that stings her cheeks. The sky above them roils an angry grey, studded with bursts of lightning. An instant later it clears to the silver of pre-dawn, then a sickly sea-storm green. All sound comes muffled, as if from a great distance.
At least down seems down and up seems up. No chunks of earth floating around them—yet. Neither of them falling the wrong way. No demons or shades, save the regrets they’ve both carried here with them.
More than ten years since she was in Fade this unanchored. She’d forgotten the hard, metallic tang to the air. Beside her, Solas shudders; she can feel him stretch out with his mind, searching for—something—
There.
—
Links: FF.net, AO3
[Fic] Asterism [1/1]
Rating: M Characters/Pairings: Solas/Lavellan, minor Dorian/Bull Fandom: Dragon Age Word Count: 14k Summary: Five times Adahla Lavellan met Solas beneath the stars, and one time she didn't.
—
“I’m not surprised to find you out here.”
“Solas,” Adahla says, though she doesn’t turn around. A moment later, his hand settles on the small of her back, and she closes her eyes against the traitorous rush of warmth. The distant music picks up again, Celeste’s very expensive musicians beginning a sprightly courante; the strains of a violin float over the balcony like petals. “You didn’t have to come after me.”
“Oh? Would you rather I hadn’t?”
Such courteous curiosity, as always, though it’s never made her feel quite so small. “I didn’t say that.”
“You’re upset.”
“Yes,” she says, and his hand slides around her waist, pulling her more firmly against his side. It’s such an unbearable relief she almost wants to cry, but the image of Josephine’s horrified face is enough to stem the tide. Instead, she lets out a long, shuddering breath and leans her head against his shoulder. A petty, selfish comfort. “I’m glad you’re here.”
—
Links: FF.net, AO3
[Fic] Lavellan, A., Pavus, D. [1/1]
Rating: G Characters/Pairings: Solas/Lavellan, minor Dorian/Bull Fandom: Dragon Age Word Count: 6.2k Summary: Dorian and Adahla exchange letters and write an academic paper. Set post-game, pre-Trespasser.
—
Dear Dorian,
I’m glad to hear you’ve arrived safely in Minrathous. Leliana’s scouts informed us some of the caravans north had been waylaid by bandits, but I should have known with Bull and the Chargers along, nothing could delay you. Everyone sends their love except Sera, who’s instead defaced every page in this sheaf and then run laughing up to the roof. The rude gesture in the corner is from her.
Varric has asked twice now in his offhanded way if the Inquisition might be traveling along the Imperial Highway in the next few weeks. He’s eager to return to Kirkwall, even if he’s allergic to saying it straight out, and Vivienne has wished to speak with a band of Aequitarian mages in Val Royeaux for some time, so I expect we’ll bivouac our own way north shortly. Please post your next reply to Halamshiral and we’ll pick it up on the way.
As regards your last letter: I appreciate your concern, but I’m quite all right. I know I was unlike myself on our recent adventure into the Deep Roads, but your forbearance with me (and my uncharacteristic impetuousness) was very generous. I’m fully recovered now, I assure you, and have put all distractions behind me. My solemn oath to stop jumping off ledges without looking is inscribed here for your approval.
Speaking of approval, please look over the changes I’ve made to the Ameridan paper (enclosed). The green ink is addition, the red revision, and the blue strikethroughs have been cut. In particular, please review the section on Ameridan’s known—and most incontrovertible—history, especially the citations from Renaures and Bescond. There’s a Genitivi monograph I’m trying to track down which would do a great deal to preempt Chantry objections, but I’m having difficulty laying hands on an unaltered original. I have high hopes one might be hiding in a University of Orlais library, but until I can coax the librarian to pack it in goosedown and ship it east, Renaures is our strongest advocate.
—
Links: FF.net, AO3
[Fic] Keep Me From a Thief [1/1]
Rating: T Characters/Pairings: Astarion/Tav, Gale, Lae'zel Fandom: Baldur's Gate 3 Word Count: 6k Notes: The last of the prompt fills from Tumblr, combining a number of suggestions. From @compels, Tav getting stuck in Chult alone; from @athousandotherfaces, "love lies bleeding" for hopelessness; and from @cheesiestart-redux, "Queen of the Meadows" for uselessness. Summary: After foiling the djinni's plan to cheat them at the circus, Tav is whisked away to parts unknown. Astarion, as always, manages the worry with perfect grace and aplomb—right up until he starts bleeding. An exploration of the Warding Bond rings when worn by two people with completely unhealthy relationships to pain.
—
“You absolute wanker,” Tav said, incensed, and with a sudden sound like a joint popping, she disappeared in a puff of violet smoke.
For a moment Astarion could hardly understand what had happened. Mere seconds ago he’d been happily watching Tav lift every item not nailed down from the shelves, the tent, and the djinn’s own silken pockets. Now, with a snap of the djinn’s oversized purple fingers, Tav was simply gone. More than gone. Vanished as if she’d never existed, Lae’zel and Gale staring back at him across the empty space, violet smoke dissipating between them with a smell of rain. Automatically he reached for Tav with the worm, only to find a yawning void where her mind had been. The sounds of the circus floated over them: laughter, cheers, strains of music, all undisturbed by this feat of hocus-pocus from a sideshow djinn and his cursed, rigged wheel.
A djinn, Astarion realized, who was looking smug as a cat in the cream.
—
Links: FF.net, AO3
[Fic] Let You and I Be Festive [1/1]
Rating: G Characters/Pairings: Astarion/Tav, Gale/Elarwyn Fandom: Baldur's Gate 3 Word Count: 5.7k Notes: Elarwyn generously borrowed from @jadesabre301. Summary: All Gale wants is to enjoy his perfectly prepared Midwinter dinner with the woman he loves. Unfortunately, the portal to Avernus abruptly ripping open in the middle of his library has a different idea.
Set a little over two months post-game.
—
Professor Gale Dekarios of Waterdeep, foremost expert in illusory magic at the prestigious Blackstaff Academy, former Chosen of the Mother of Magic, and a publicly—if recently—lauded Savior of Baldur’s Gate, was, at the moment, delighted at the progress of his cherry crumble.
His double oven had been specially ordered from a Gondian workshop contracted to the High House of Wonders. It had cost a fortune in both commission and installation; he vividly remembered a gnome with a voice like a whipcrack threatening to void the purchase entirely if he made one more suggestion as to its maneuvering. But here it was at last, centerpiece of his modest—if well-appointed—kitchen, enchantments glowing steadily around every brass knob and dial, the magical glass on its door affording him a perfect view of his impeccably rolled crust just ever-so-slightly beginning to brown.
The crumble: superb. The tower: festooned with garland and dancing lights, filled floorboard to rafter with the smells of Midwinter feasting. His timing—he leaned out of the door to glance at the grandfather clock in the foyer—immaculate.
—
Links: FF.net, AO3
