Got inspired by @lynnerdo 's side profile sketch of him, so I decided to try and free-hand my own. I'm more of an "attempted" visual artist than anything. lol
Rook glared at the being standing across from her amid the flat, gray landscape.
"Have you found a solution to the Force Lords?" Solas asked her pleasantly.
"The Sith lords, you mean?" She asked, crossing her arms.
Solas sneered at her. "Sith, Jedi, my people and I are so much older than these human terms you use. You are dealing with beings far beyond the petty Sith Lords you are familiar with."
Rook rolled her eyes. "Sure, I'm not going to argue with you over kriffing semantics. What I do know is there are two evil, ancient force users who want to suck a bunch of planets dry of life to obtain more power and conquer the galaxy. So are you going to help me or not, you karking ass?"
I'm watching the trick ending for Veilguard for the first time and just fucking screaming. HE KNEW. Solas ABSOLUTELY KNEW that the fake dagger was fake. There is no way in this godforsaken void that he didn't. The way they show his little micro-expression staring at the dagger? The slight confusion? He knew. He wanted to be stopped.
Author's Note: This is my official debut of my "Rookalike", Raven! She is an isekai transplant from our world and knows the story of Veilguard. However, her attempts at pushing the boundaries of the story result in Fate keeping her in check in some less-than-savory ways. She decides to take a less antagonistic approach with Solas. She prays it will work.
Thank you to the wonderful people of @thelighthouse-server who have encouraged me, supported my love and obsession of Raven and Solas, and been excited with and for me on this journey so far!
NOW. For this fic specifically: This is a one-shot based on a chapter in Raven's long-fic, and you all, I have done something nerdy (big shocker, there). I have embedded a hyperlink with the song that inspired this scene into the fic, and I have read the sections following and done my best to time it to the pace of the song. I know there will be discrepancies, because everyone reads at a different pace, but I did my best to accommodate slower and quicker readers! So, if you would like to have what I call the "full experience", feel free to click the link and listen to the song when you come to it!
Thank you so much, and I hope you enjoy it!
Prompt(s): The Fade
Or, read it on Ao3!
‘He's a romantic,’ she surmised one morning as she perused his private library. The shelves were interspersed with tales of epic loves, ageless yearning, and flippant dalliances—each separated by more practical volumes such as Elven Wartime Predilections and High Court Articulations—as though he were ashamed of it and required seriousness to balance out his fantasies.
Raven chuckled to herself, letting Lovelorn Prophecies flip closed on the side table next to the plush settee—handpicked by Solas, if she were to hazard a guess. The dark wood was lined with grooves that branched out into all directions, with each offshoot exploring a new corner of the settee. A light blue paint crept through the carvings, highlighting them against the oak. They reminded Raven of the wisps that congregated around Neve. The velvet on the seat matched the color, and had enough give to be cozy.
She had nearly decided that she had whiled away enough time in peaceful solitude, and was attempting to rise from her place, when her eye caught on a particularly colorful book spine, lurking between A Comprehensive History of Elvhenan and Relapses in Feudal Relations. The book was thin, and—upon removal and further inspection—looked far more worn and faded than a majority of the others. Raven flipped the book over in her hands. Alas'nira in era’vun.
‘A completely elven title,’ she mused, running her finger along the spine before gingerly separating the cover from the first page. Diagrams filled the first couple of pages, depicting an elven man and an elven woman in positions for what Raven decided was a dance. However, it was not the printed instructions that caught her eye, but the fading, elegant scrawl that lined sections of the margins. ‘Solas's writing.’ She recognized it from letters she had found in the drawers of the desk that sat in the corner, detailing correspondence with his agents during his time as a rebel leader.
But here, between the pages of an old, worn instructional piece on dance—ancient and very elven, by the looks of it—his words held no pomp or circumstance; no air of importance or prim resignation. ‘If your partner is substantially shorter, a high waist placement is preferred to maintain correct posture.’
Her eyes skimmed the contents in the book, then flitted back to Solas's words. ‘Do not get so caught up in the dance that you misplace your hands; it will be an embarrassing time for all.” She snickered and let herself fall back into the settee, book in hand. Breakfast could wait a little longer.
. . .
‘I wonder how often he danced in those early days. Was he good? What did he dance for?’ Her thoughts had wandered again. Raven shook her head, dispelling the image of the elf dressed in flowing regalia in the halls of Mythal’s court, gracefully circling his dance partner with amber warmth in his eyes. Belatedly, her cheeks heated at the quiet admission that her mind had slotted her into the shadowy figure dancing with Solas in the fantasy.
He missed them so—the days of his people; the days when his existence had been simpler. Perhaps it traveled even further back than that. That much, she understood, and at the reminder of the world she had lost, an ache bloomed in her chest—enough to anchor her bones with the grief of it. Had Solas ever grieved? Had he allowed himself a single moment to accept that he had lost something at all?
Evidence of her heartache gathered in the corners of her eyes at the very notion and she closed the book, fingers gently stroking the spine. Would it help him accept his actions to mourn his people? Would his fine veneer at last be riddled with spiderweb cracks that she could chip away, to reach the real him, before it was too late? Perhaps…
. . .
When she, at last, returned from Solas's quarters in the Lighthouse, it was past midday, and Lucanis was the only one left in the kitchen when she arrived. “Finally taking Bellara's advice?” He teased, upon seeing her still in her lounge clothes; robe hanging loosely around her shoulders. Bellara had insisted she take a few day's rest after her distracted mind had cost her—not only her favorite knife, but one of her last pairs of boots. Her carelessness also left her with a nasty blade wound on her leg after a run-in with the Venatori in Minrathous. She was grateful that Neve was as adept a healer as she was, or she would be sitting in the infirmary with Varric for weeks. Her chest tightened. Not Varric, she reminded herself, a little too harshly. She shook her head.
“I suppose I am, although it was not intended. Got absorbed in one of Solas’s books.” Raven chuckled, forcing a smile back onto her lips.
“Ah,” Lucanis mused, taking a sip of his coffee. “The Dread Wolf has… unexpected tastes in literature, to be sure. Bellara has been taking copies from his library for the book club. Some of the options have been… enlightening.”
“You know, somehow “enlightening” does not sound like what you wanted to say, Lucanis,” Raven teased, and Lucanis grinned into his mug.
“I will admit that I did not expect the legendary ancient elvhen rebel to enjoy bodice rippers in his free time.”
Raven snorted. “He often insists to me that he is just a man, after all.”
Lucanis raised an eyebrow as his eyes flicked to hers. “I am beginning to believe him,” he deadpanned.
“Don’t let him hear you say that,” she chuckled, swinging around the counter towards the cabinet where Lucanis kept the mugs.
“Ah, ah,” he tutted, a finger curling into the crook of her arm. She allowed the pressure to move her and turned. He gestured towards the counter and her eyes followed. Her favorite mug already sat atop the cutting board, steam tendrils curling over the sides. She glanced up at Lucanis, who was smirking.
“And how did you know I was coming?”
“The kitchen has windows, you know.”
She snorted, ignoring the jab, and produced the book from her satchel. “Lucanis,”
“Mm?” His eyebrow was raised again, his own coffee at his lips.
“Do you dance?”
A gurgle, then a cough. “Do I what?”
She feigned a cough of her own to keep from laughing, sleeve covering the lower half of her face as she recovered.
“Dance,” she repeated, holding up the book. The assassin relented to his curiosity and stepped closer, tugging it from her grasp to look it over.
“I have danced, but nothing as… elven as this. Is this what kept you from my brioche rolls at breakfast this morning?”
She grinned sheepishly and he clicked his tongue. “Very well, if this is interesting enough to keep you from one of your favorite dishes, perhaps I could peruse it. But most of this is in elven— hold on. Is this Solas’s writing?”
He squinted down at the page, bringing the book closer to his face. “‘Do not lock your elbows. It is unbecoming.’ Oh, this is rich. Now I understand.” Lucanis chuckled, his eyebrow somehow crawling even higher up his forehead before he paused and glanced back up at Raven. “But why did you want to know if I danced?”
“Just wondering if maybe you’d want to learn it with me,” she shrugged and Lucanis’s mouth opened, then closed again.
“I— I think maybe Bellara would be better at this. She is the one with all the ancient elven… stuff.” He blinked a few times, a blank surprise behind his eyes.
“Not a bad idea, Lucanis,” she chuckled, disappointed but unsurprised at the assassin’s answer, then grabbed her mug and the book from his fingers. She readjusted her satchel and dropped the book back in, heading for the door. “Thanks for the coffee!” She looked over her shoulder before rounding the corner. Lucanis had not moved.
. . .
“A dance instructional!” Bellara squealed happily, nearly prying the book from Raven’s grasp before she let it go. “I can’t believe I’m holding an elven text this old in my hands right now! You said you found it in Solas’s office?”
Raven nodded. “In the two bookcases next to his desk.”
“Wow, and he’s even annotated it!” She flipped through the pages, eyes wide and glimmering with excitement.
“I was hoping to learn it,” Raven proffered, somewhat shyly.
Bellara’s head snapped up, her face glowing. “Really?!”
Raven giggled, the tension from Lucanis’s previous refusal dissipating immediately. Of course Bellara would be excited. She shouldn’t have been concerned to begin with. “Really. But, since it requires a partner, I was hoping I could get someone here to help me.”
The elf gasped and clutched the book to her chest. “C-Could I help? I would love to learn more about the social and cultural aspects of ancient elvhen culture! The mechanics of ancient artifacts is still largely unknown, of course, but it’s so much easier to learn about due to all the fragments that have been left behind! But it’s unheard of to find cultural pieces this intact! I’ve run across a few cookbooks in the main library and I’ve been dying to try some of the recipes. Next week, when it’s my turn to cook again, I plan to make a meal that would make even Solas smile.”
Raven’s smile widened. Bellara’s excitement always seemed to rub off on her. “Of course you can! I’d be honored, really. Our very own elven history expert helping me to learn more about it— it’s kind of perfect.”
“Thank you! Thank you so much!” Bellara clapped her hands together, book tucked in the crook of her arm. “When do you want to start?”
Raven shrugged. “Whenever you want. I’m free today.”
“You took my advice.” Bellara’s eyes softened. “I’m glad. You’ve been really tired.”
Raven nodded, stuffing her hands in the pockets of her robe. “I have,” she admitted gently. It was no longer easy for her to force herself into resting. With blighted dragons, darkspawn, and two evil-incarnate Evanuris looming menacingly over their heads at all times—her being the only one who truly knew what they were up against each time they left the sanctity of the Lighthouse—she was restless; anxious; over-eager to push herself to ensure nothing went too horribly wrong. She had been fading recently. She felt it, but refused to admit it. Even Solas had been more persistent in her mind, questioning even the smallest of her decisions and prodding her to be sure she had thought them out before execution. He saw it; perhaps he even felt it himself through their connection. She hoped, belatedly, that he had not heard or seen her discovery of the book. It felt sacred, and she wanted to be fully prepared before taking her offer to him.
“Alright!” Bellara clapped her hands together, startling Raven from her thoughts. “I can read bits and pieces of this, but the diagrams and Solas’s notes should be enough to go off of!”
“Fantastic.” Raven grinned.
“Shall we dance, my lady?” the elf smiled, holding out her hand. A laugh bubbled out of Raven and she took it, standing.
“We shall.”
. . .
A week and a half had passed since Raven’s discovery of the instructional, and each day brought her new determination to find confidence and balance in each step her and Bellara practiced. It had to be perfect. It felt as though too much hinged upon it. During daylight hours, she traveled out of the Lighthouse, gathering intel on the Venatori running underground in Minrathous, the Antaam slowly building aggression in Treviso, and bracing herself for the inevitable choice she would have to make in the coming days—an impossible choice; an unfair choice. One no one would soon recover from. Each new day bore the heaviness of a woman doomed to fate’s wills. One of her last remaining respites was the dance. When skies turned dark in Thedas, she and her companions would return to the Lighthouse. Healing, rest, food, camaraderie. They kept her heart beating, though it ached with each new toll. Their futures called to her, beckoned her into hopelessness. At the end of the night, Raven would escape inevitability with Bellara—with the dance.
Bellara mirrored her hand, palm hovering inches from her own, as they circled one another in a swift set of steps before twirling 180 degrees, changing hands and directions. It was the very antithesis of a conventional two-person dance. Actual contact was practically non-existent, until the very last position. But the proximity was consistent. Mirrored gestures inches apart, never far enough to lose the heat of a partner’s skin but never close enough to relieve the anticipation. Bellara’s hand raised above her head, miming the gesture of twirling Raven outward, and Raven followed, allowing the moving air to be her guide, only coming to rest when Bellara stood behind her. The elf’s hands drew outward, open, graceful palms floating along the air the way leaves departed their branches in autumn, and Raven’s followed the gestures, the backs of her hands nearly touching Bellara’s fingertips.
“Why did you want to learn this dance?” Her voice, a stark contrast to the quiet echo of piano tinged with magic, startled Raven from a reverie she hadn’t realized she was partaking in.
“I—”
“It’s because of Solas, isn’t it?”
The question rattled her more than she expected it to and her arms dropped to her sides. “It is,” she admitted, her gaze settling across the trinkets littering Bellara’s desk. Some of them were from back then—his time. “Everyone told me to be wary of him—and I am, and Varric told me that he’s kind of an ass—and he is. But beneath the anger, the displaced blame, the half-truths, and all the smokescreens, he just seems…” she trailed off, hand gesturing in the air in front of her.
“Lonely?” Bellara offered.
“Raven nodded. “That too. But also sad.” She took a seat on Bellara’s work bench and let out a sigh. “He seems sad. And, I know, it very well could be part of his ruse, but I don’t think it is. At least, not all of it. He lost everything—which, to be fair, was largely his fault, but still. No matter what he tells me or himself to justify it all, I feel as though he’s just desperate to get it back.”
Bellara sat down beside her and folded her hands in her lap. She was quiet for a long moment before she spoke again. “What about you?”
Raven looked over at the elf, confused. “What about me?”
Bellara met her eyes. “You lost everything too—your life, your family, your whole world. You never asked to be here, but here you are anyway, leading a whole war for people that aren’t even your own.” Her words struck true, and Raven looked away from her as hot tears gathered in the corners of her eyes.
“I think I can get through to him, Bel,” she whispered, her face still turned away.
Bellara laid a gentle hand on her shoulder and Raven braved a look at her. There was warmth in her golden-brown eyes. “I think that if anyone can get through to him, it would be you, Raven.”
. . .
It had been a quiet evening in the Lighthouse, a blessed reprieve from the chaos of their usual nighttime rituals. There were no sounds of armor clanking to the floor in the entryway, no panicked shouts for healing just inside the Eluvian, and no blood-caked, newly-retraumatized faces haunting the dinner table. Lucanis took Raven along to the Treviso markets for his weekly pantry restock, and they had spent a leisurely hour taking in the mediocrity of the task. Raven could see why he treated these outings as sacred. For the evening, they were merely two people buying groceries—something that could be stripped from them at any moment; something they may never be again come the morrow.
They had returned to the Lighthouse in companionable quiet, with Raven continuing to slip Lucanis candied pecans from the bag she bought, despite him insisting he didn’t want any when asked outright. Apprehension had been gnawing at her throughout most of dinner, and although Lucanis’s gnocchi was always divine, she couldn’t find it in herself to eat much. She slipped away from dinner early, excusing herself before Harding could begin another story. As she cleared her place at the table, Bellara—the only one who knew her plans for the evening—met her eyes and tipped her lips up in a gesture of encouragement. Raven returned the smile and nodded in thanks before padding up the stairs and down the hall towards her room at the end.
She was somewhat frustrated with herself for feeling so nervous. If she had been feeling wary of Solas himself, that would have been one thing, but she knew when he would betray her next, and she had a fair amount of time. She had changed little so far, if only to maintain his predictability for awhile. But, embarrassingly—and so very like her—she was more worried that he might refuse, or worse, laugh. Tending to wounds of blatant humiliation was a particular brand of torture for her, and she knew the kinds of cutting remarks Soals was capable of. As long as she stood before him wearing the mantle of leadership woven into her intentions, they stung less. But coming to him as herself? In an honest attempt to connect with him? She practically felt the blow beneath her skin as though he had struck her already.
Shaking her head, she banished her uncertainty as well as she was able. This was not about her. There was more at stake than her pride. A chuckle fell from her lips as she opened the door to her room; the irony was not lost on her. The lyrium dagger was exiled to the top drawer of her bedside table—she certainly would not be waltzing into the Fade prison with the ancient elvhen equivalent of his house key on her belt—and she adjusted her staff next to the closet before turning to the settee. The book sat there already, having been placed days prior in preparation. As she lowered herself into a comfortable position and crossed her feet, a subtle poke reminded her of the small knife stowed in her boot. She bent down to remove it, then paused. Her conversations with Solas thus far had been strained, as anticipated, but far less hostile than she had expected. Had “Rook” been more antagonistic? Should she follow their example? Raven shook her head again. No. She was in Rook’s place now. She could handle Solas. She could. Book in hand, she closed her eyes and envisioned his prison, the threads within her mind pulling taut within seconds. He was already waiting for her.
Color drained into muted sepia and her awareness opened—a gentle transition from wakefulness into the conscious dreaming of the Fade. He was already there, across the chasm, hands clasped firmly behind his back, when she opened her eyes. “It is early in the evening for you yet, is it not?” She felt his gaze searching her, assessing her, and nodded.
“It is. But I had something I wanted to talk to you about, or rather, to ask you, I suppose.”
He inclined his head ever so slightly and the ghost of a smirk passed over his features—or was his distance from her fooling her eyes? “Alas’nira in era’vun.” Her head snapped back up. “You have been in my library, I see.”
Raven smiled sheepishly, bringing the book up to observe the cover as though she had not already memorized half of his ridiculous commentary between its pages. “You have an interesting variety of tastes,” she chuckled.
“And your interest finalized upon a dance instructional. How quaint.”
She ignored the thinly-veiled attempted at provocation and shook her head, amusement creeping onto her face despite herself. “I read as much of it as I was able with the help of one of the members of my team.”
“Bellara Lutare, the Veil Jumper. She seems to have an avid curiosity for things of ancient elvhen culture.”
She nodded again, unsurprised at his already seemingly extensive knowledge of her team. She would riddle out how he was accessing it later. For now, she refrained from giving him the edge of seeing whether or not he caught her unawares. “The very same,” she replied, as nonplussed as she was able. His brow pinched ever so slightly. “I enjoyed your additions,” Raven admitted, an honest grin splitting across her lips. “They really did come in handy.”
He cocked a brow at her, but said nothing. Raven shifted her balance to her other foot. “I—” The words caught in her throat uncomfortably.
Across the chasm, Solas sighed impatiently. “Out with it, Raven.”
“I learned it. I learned the dance and wondered if you would be interested in doing it with me. You—” she paused, her voice quieting. “You seem to miss them quite a lot, your people.”
“And you seek to exploit my vulnerabilities by taunting their customs before me?” His voice was colder than she had ever heard it and panic gripped her. This was not how things were meant to happen.
“No!” Raven yelped. “That’s not it at all, Solas. I—remember when I told you I believed you, at the ritual site, that you were trying to correct your mistake? I meant it. I still do.”
“If you take me at my word, then why did you interrupt me?”
Raven sighed. “Solas, just because I understand doesn’t mean I agree with your methods. Look,” she scrubbed her eyes, shoulders deflating. “Perhaps it’s a… mortal custom only, but when we revive old traditions and memories like this, it’s to honor them—to keep them alive in the present, as it were. I didn’t mean to insult you, truly. I apologize.” Gingerly, she placed the book down on one of the stone edifices near her. “Hopefully it will remain if I don’t attempt to bring it back with me.”
A heaviness settled in her stomach when she turned away, readying herself to return to the Lighthouse. Then, a soft sigh came from behind her. “Wait.” The ground rumbled beneath her feet and she turned to find a small bridge forming across the chasm, stones from above and below aligning to allow her access to him. He eyed her expectantly, his expression notably less grim. Raven’s heart lifted instantaneously.
“You don’t plan to crumble this bridge and test my Fade manipulation skills, do you?” she teased and he smirked at her.
“I am not so cruel.” He tilted his head thoughtfully. “Not today.”
Raven barked a laugh before she could stop herself, clapping a hand over her mouth to at least lessen the echo. Solas grinned at her, a beautifully genuine thing, and Raven’s heart soared. Perhaps all was not lost, after all. The bridge held firm as she crossed it, and she nodded to Solas in gratitude as she stepped up to him, face to face for the first time since the ritual.
“So it seems your Veil Jumper is not the only one curious about Elvhenan,” he mused, a spark flaring to life in his eyes that she had not been privy to from afar.
“She is not,” Raven admitted.
“Then let us see what your curiosity has taught you.” He gestured to the space before him and Raven tentatively stepped into it, her heartbeat hammering in her ribcage when his heat gathered at her back. He was far taller than Bellara, standing nearly a foot and a half over her, and she could feel his breath against the crown of her head as he looked down at her. “Take your position,” he said, voice tinged with amusement and something she couldn’t quite place. She eased her arms into the first pose and his came up to frame them, hovering even closer than Bellara’s had. Raven sucked in a breath. He had never been so close before, and it was this moment her traitorous body decided to remind her that Solas was indeed a man—a very real, very close, very warm man.
Solas’s right hand flicked out before re-finding its position and music filled the space between them. An enticing blend of string instruments pulled into the quiet of the Fade, seeping into a slow, ethereal melody that only sharpened Raven’s awareness of the elf’s proximity. The music was achingly intimate and her mind stuttered to a flustered halt. “W-We didn’t practice it this slowly,” she explained, frozen as she continued to stare at Solas’s hand behind her own.
“Mm,” came his quiet reply, and she swore she could hear the smile in it. He knew. He had known the entire time. She scrunched her eyes closed in a mix of irritation and embarrassment. “Have you changed your mind?” The music came to a halt, but the smile in his voice remained. He expected her to take the out he was giving her. But she took a deep breath. This was not about her. Not anymore.
She shook her head. “If this is the true tempo, I will adapt.” He paused, in what she could only assume was surprise, then she felt him nod, his chin brushing against her hair in the motion.
“Very well. Follow me. I will guide you.”
The melody slowly hummed back to life, enfolding them both in a time long passed. It struck her, as his hands began to move and hers followed, that this was his music. This was the music of Elvhenan. She moved with him as precisely as she could, eyes flicking to her hands in an attempt to keep them from bumping Solas’s. “You are stiff, ean’sulahn.” His voice was soft in her ear—earnest.
“Ean’sulahn?” she repeated. The term was unfamiliar. She startled as her left hand bumped into his.
He chuckled, and the sound was sweet enough to make her turn her head in his direction. She caught the gaze of his violet eyes in the corners of hers. There was a smile fighting to emerge within them. Gently—so gently it made her ache—his fingers cupped the point of her chin, and he turned her head forward once more, his voice now a whisper at the shell of her ear.
“Songbird.”
She gasped, warmth surging through her, and nearly turned to fully face him, but he had continued to move, and she winced when her arm once again collided with his.
“Breathe, Raven,” he instructed. “It is a dance, not a skirmish.”
‘There he is.’ She took a deep breath and focused on maintaining the distance between their arms. Behind her, Solas sighed softly. “It is not about precision,” he said, gentler now. “It is about feeling. Close your eyes.”
His instruction gave her pause. Should she? Close her eyes and let down her guard with the Dread Wolf at her back? She knew him—knew his future, knew of his betrayals. But she had seen how easily a timeline could change. How much did she trust her knowledge?
“I will not hurt you.”
It was not surprising that he had surmised her thoughts. What was surprising was how easily she accepted his words as truth. She felt his every breath at her back and—alarmingly—knew she was safe, closely tucked within his shadow. Her eyes fell closed, and her awareness opened further. The beginning theme of the music returned, and she moved. (Music Here!)
Her arms swept forward, encasing her ribcage but never touching. Then they moved outward, circling the air beside her as her palms fell open. She felt him there, a hair’s breadth from closing his fingers around her own, following her movements. She no longer felt his breathing apart from hers. They breathed as one, moved as one, and both of their hearts had aligned to beat as one. It felt as though even the Fade around them harmonized to their melody. “Do you feel me?” His voice was a murmur in her ear and her heart quickened at the feeling of him so close. She nodded.
“Yes.”
“Very good.” When she turned in his arms, she felt his breath on her cheek as she passed and gave in to the temptation to look at him.
She gasped. In a single moment, she understood the Inquisitor better than she ever thought she would. A smile rested upon his full lips, and his eyes—in every moment she had seen of him, past, present, or future, he had never once looked this way—held a tenderness that shattered something within her. Their arms continued to mirror each other, moving in the fluid space around them as though maintaining the spell that had befallen them. They turned, Solas to the left, Raven to the right, and although they faced away from each other, it was as though those violet eyes never left her.
When their gazes met again, their right palms came nearly together between them as they circled one another. The image in her mind returned, unbidden, of dancing with him this way in the time of Elvhenan. She, a human, would not have been welcomed, she knew, but the image remained, nonetheless, and Solas—who, no doubt, had seen the vision blossom in her mind’s eye as well—smiled a little brighter as they changed hands to circle in the other direction.
Raven’s heart constricted. He was so beautiful like this—smiling, eyes full of gentleness, dancing to the music of his people. Raven had never disliked Solas. Despite all she knew of what had been and what would be, she would even admit to having a soft spot for him. But seeing him this way? This was who he was meant to be—who he never got to be. Her vision blurred as they moved, and he was once again at her back. Her head fell as she reigned in the tears.
She sucked in a breath when his fingers came up to caress her chin, tilting it upwards again. “Raise your head, ean’sulahn,” he murmured with such affection that Raven felt her skin flush in response. Songbird. Perhaps she could get used to that. “Good,” he purred, and she nearly had to steady herself. ‘Damn him for making me feel so much all at once.’
Raven brought her hands in front of her chest, her palms facing inwards. Her left hand was positioned above her head, while her right sat low in front of her abdomen. Solas followed, his hands outside of her own, his right hand high and left low. As the penultimate chord pulled slow along the strings of the instruments of the Fade, their hands moved vertically, gravitating together like wanderers finally coming home. He leaned in close, the side of his head resting gently against her own, and she melted into his touch. When their hands converged in front of her chest and the music eased into the final chord, Solas pressed his palms into the backs of her hands until hers met the center of her chest, and they released a final breath together. Even once the music faded into the silence of the prison of regret, they remained; neither willing to part, but neither able to deny that something had changed between them. Something beyond gods and monsters had been shared, and it would remain for as long as their blood ran in lines.
They moved slowly, untangling from the other like receding vines, and redressing in their respective roles. Raven did not look at him as she composed herself. She couldn’t. She could not return to impassiveness under the weight of his honesty. Blessedly, once she finally turned to him, he had donned the mask of the Dread Wolf once more; his posture staunch and his hands clasped firmly behind his back.
“You did fairly well, for a novice,” he commented, and Raven chuckled.
“That was very nearly a compliment, Solas.”
He smirked, and the mirth actually reached his eyes. “Nearly.”
“It was so much slower than Bellara and I practiced it. I’m guessing that was its intended tempo?”
Solas nodded. “Every piece of music, work of art, and dance had a purpose in Elvhenan. It would lose its intended purpose entirely, were it done in a quicker time.”
“What was its purpose?”
~
The gleam that appeared in the elf’s eyes made Raven’ stomach flip. He leaned in close, his voice now an all-too familiar whisper in her ear.
“It is a courting dance.”
Her eyes snapped open to meet the mahogany ceiling of her bedroom in the Lighthouse, and she propped herself up on one elbow—shocked, confused, and far too warm.
- May the Dread Wolf Unmake Me (🎃🔞)
- Lovers Mourn No Apologies (🎃🔞)
- In Dreams of Respite (🎃)
- Alas'nira in era'vun (🎃)
- Succulence (☁️)
- Abnegation (🔞)
- Vhena'nas'falon (🔞)
- To Combat the Chill (☁️🔞)
- Soft Farewells on the Strands of Silvery Hair (💔)
