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Pride and Despair

So, I need to start by saying I have never posted my writing publicly before. It has taken me a long time to work up the courage to do this, but here goes nothin’.

Translations at the end.

Any thoughts, tips, or feedback is great appreciated. It may be too late to submit for @submissivesolas, but it is still the 30th here, so I’m giving it a shot.

*throws on my dash and runs away as fast as possible*

Solas x Aelyn Lavellan

Skyhold was finally quiet. After a day full of activity, the residents and refugees now slept safe within the fortress walls. But Solas did not sleep. He enjoyed this time—when he could paint or read or study without distractions.

Tonight he was sketching, light but confident strokes dancing across parchment as he considered the next addition to his mural. The sound of charcoal scraping against the weave of the parchment was soothing, and had been doing an adequate job keeping his mind occupied from more distracting thoughts.

Such as his Inquisitor.

It had been nearly a month since he had abandoned her in Crestwood. His heart clenched at the thought, memories flooding back to him.

She had been breathtaking in the soft light of the hollow. With her fingers twined in his, a soft smile on her lips, and wonder in her eyes, he had allowed himself to hope; to picture a future with this woman who had captured his heart so unexpectedly.

So he had told her about the vallaslin; explained the truth behind the mark that she wore so proudly. She had calmly but resolutely asked him to remove her tribute, and he had cast the spell in awe of her. Ar lasa mala revas. Words that had fallen so readily from his lips lifetimes ago took on a new meaning when he said them to her. She was of the Dalish, and she was so much more than he ever expected. She was intelligent and curious, strong and compassionate, independent and patient. And she trusted him. She trusted him without knowing who he really was. Fen’Harel. The Betrayer. The Dread Wolf. The nightmare that stalked Dalish steps. When he told her that the history of her people had been wrong, she trusted him.

That thought had broken him—filled him with unimaginable self-loathing. How dare he ask this future of the woman he loved? And so, instead of telling her the truth, he had pushed her away.

In the following weeks he had seen little of her, but he knew she was in pain. He heard the whispers, the concerned chatter of her advisors and companions. And during their time together he had learned to read the look in her eyes as easily as he could read letters on a page. He had glimpsed anguish and confusion in them a number of times, but she was always quick to carefully conceal those emotions behind a polite but distant mask when she thought she was being watched.

Her pain was another line to add to his long list of failures.

A small, frustrated sigh escaped from him as he attempted to return his focus to the parchment.

Stunned, he realized he had drawn her. Abstract—to someone else it may have been anyone, but Solas knew her form better than he knew his own. He paused for a moment, eyes widened in surprised, then softly touched the tips of his fingers to her.

Ir abelas, vhenan…

A familiar sound from the scaffold above brought him back to himself.

“Hello, Cole,” said Solas quietly. Cole had come to the rotunda many nights in the past few weeks. During the day the keep was too busy, too loud for the sensitive spirit. The combined hurts of its inhabitants were overwhelming. He spent his days in the loft of the tavern instead. There, drink and sociable company dulled the aches he could so readily feel in those around him. But when the keep grew quiet and dark, he often visited Solas. They had spent many nights together in companionable silence; Cole occasionally commenting from the scaffold or the railing above, and Solas responding with guidance or support as he pursued his interests.

“It’s cold.” The spirit rocked slightly, looking at the murals around him but also beyond them.

Solas abandoned his current sketch and began a new one. He rolled the charcoal lightly between his fingers, waiting for inspiration to strike.

“It hurts. Hurts. Will it ever stop hurting? Too bright… hard to see.” Cole said quietly. He was rocking again, legs swinging below him from the edge of the scaffold.

Solas listened absently, charcoal moving across the new parchment. A wolf was taking shape, running through a forest of bare trees, away from a light near a lake.

“She is a symbol now, but she wants to be a person again. Lost. Everything is lost. Abandoned. Alone.” Cole often heard the dreams of those sleeping in the hold. Some were bound to be unpleasant, but Cole’s voice was frantic, more emotional than Solas was used to.

He paused, Cole’s words catching his attention. He turned his head slightly, eyebrows narrowing in concern. “Cole?”

“Spirits circling.” Cole was clearly agitated. Eyes wide, arms wrapped around his stomach. “Sometimes too bright, but now I can see. I don’t want to see. She should run, fight, but she’s tired…”

Spirits? Solas thought. He abandoned his sketch, standing to face Cole. The Inquisitor’s alliance with mages brought many of them to the secure walls of the hold. Possession was always a risk for mages, and it would be especially dangerous for the residents of Skyhold. “Cole, where are they?”

“In the Fade, but not. The floor is cold, but Despair is colder.” Cole’s eyes went wide, the words pouring out of him quickly. “Icy fingers on her arm. Breath on her neck. It reaches for the light in her palm… Don’t leave me. My love, my love.”

Alarm flared through him and his body went tense. No, that cannot be. She is not a mage. “Who, Cole? Who is it?”

When the spirit spoke next, his eyes were still distant, still speaking and feeling the thoughts of the dreamer; words tumbled out of him as quickly as they were conceived, answering the question inadvertently. “You call her vhenan.”

But Solas was already running.

He hurtled through the main chamber and through the vacant wing adjacent to her chamber, pausing only after he reached the door to her room. Doubt crept over him. He had not been in her room in weeks… entering without cause after what he had done to her in Crestwood would be painful for both of them. She was not a mage—possession was unlikely. Was he overreacting? It is possible, he granted, but Cole’s words were still fresh in his mind. He needed to be sure.

He knocked on the door firmly. When there was no immediate answer he knocked again. She was a light sleeper; it was unlikely she would sleep through the noise. He entered cautiously, closing the door behind him.

“Inquisitor?” he called softly. He reached the top of the stairs and paused, one hand on the railing. The bed was disheveled but empty. She was not here.

Solas sagged a little in relief. Perhaps she was at the tavern. She had been spending many of her nights there lately. And there were whispers that at the end of those nights she retired to Sera’s chambers rather than returning to the keep. Solas knew that they had become friends. He had wondered if she stayed with her for friendly comfort—perhaps it was painful for her to be in her bed without him. But another, more selfish part of him wondered if they had become lovers. Hot envy pooled in his chest, even as logic reminded him he had no right to that emotion. That she deserved happiness and comfort if she desired them.

He moved farther into the room. He knew he should withdraw, but this room was overpowering with the sense of her.

And, oh, how he missed her. He could smell her in the air—the scent of rain in a forest. Of green and sunlight.

Her room was a mess, which was uncharacteristic of her. It made him consider her mental state more thoroughly. Perhaps she was better at hiding pain than he realized. He would ask Cole to keep an eye on her.

His gaze was drawn to her bed. He was suddenly reminded of nights where he would wake her as he tossed in his sleep. She would sigh softly and press herself against him, viewing her unexpected wakefulness as an opportunity rather than an inconvenience. It was difficult for him to hear endearments from her when he was awake, and he always accepted her touch a little ruefully. But when he slept she could say the things he usually rebuffed. Her lips would find his throat, and chest, and shoulder. She would whisper all the things he meant to her. Her fingers would brush his cheeks, stomach, hands, and hips, watching as he responded to her touch. And as he stirred from sleep, already searching for her, she would finally kiss the space just behind his ear. And he would struggle to remember his own name, even as she whispered it into his ear.

His cheeks grew warm. He could not afford to think of such things any more, especially not here.

He should leave. It was late; she could return at any moment. But instead his feet carried him across the room to the open balcony doors. Cold wind whistled through them, disturbing papers on her desk. Many documents were already on the floor. But the balcony held memories, too—memories of a poignant question, a desperate kiss, a soft request, an ancient oath.

He closed the doors and finally turned to leave, but froze when he heard a small crackle of magic and saw a brief flash of green light.

She was there. On the floor next to her bed, barely visible in the heap of bedding that was wrapped around her, as if she had fallen from the bed and pulled the covers with her. Her hand was exposed and the anchor softly flared. But she was pale, and she was not moving.

No!

Solas rushed to her, panic sweeping through him. “Inquisitor!” She did not respond. He dropped to the floor next to her and gathered her in his arms, distantly realizing she was lighter than he remembered. He brushed the hair out of her face and felt her cheek. She was cold. But she was breathing. And he noticed her eyes flickered behind her eyelids. Anguish roared in his ears.

“The Fade. Hurry. Hurry!” said Cole’s voice behind him.

“You can hear her?” Solas demanded. He had not expected the spirit to follow him.

“Yes, not as bright, but she is quieter, too. She needs help, but I can’t go to her there. I can’t. I can’t.”

Solas lifted her gently and placed her in the bed. He curled up behind her, grasping her hand. Sleep felt very far away, but he must, he must.

Hold on, vhenan.

He forced his eyes to close, his breathing to slow. His face was tucked into her shoulder, her hair cascading around him. He breathed in her scent. Letting it fill his mind and chase his other thoughts away.

Once he was in the Fade, he found her quickly. He was always drawn to her here. She stood in a clearing, her back to him and her face turned up toward a bright moon in the sky. He noticed her body was rigid, her hands clasped at her sides. He was relieved to see there were no spirits near.

Solas moved toward her tentatively. “Inquisitor?”

Her head lolled back to look at him over her shoulder. The movement was strange… disjointed. Solas’s heart splintered. Her beautiful soft green eyes were gone. They were now black. No, please. Not her.

“Inquisitor, look at me,” he said firmly. Reminding her of who she was.

Return to me, emma lath. He did not say the words out loud. It was not fair for him to say such endearments to her any more.

She faced him, breathing hard. Her chest rising and falling as she repeatedly clenched her hands. As if she was testing them. She looked down at her left hand, at where the anchor should be, but it did not respond. She snarled at it.

Fear and understanding swept through him. He could not allow her to open a rift.

“I cannot let you do that,” he said. Her eyes snapped to him, lips curled in loathing.

“I must,” she replied, only it was not her voice. It was rasping and sharp, like the sound of a blade leaving its scabbard. “Clan destroyed. Home is gone. Face is bare. Alone. Not even a person anymore. Just a tool.”

“No. No, that is not true.” He was consumed by pain and guilt. My heart, my heart. Would she never stop paying for his mistakes?

“Of course it is!” she snapped angrily. “And you. You left.”

“Inquisitor—“

“DO NOT CALL ME THAT!” she shrieked, a piercing, horrible sound. A blast of ice hurtled at him, and he feinted just in time, the ground where he had been standing now frozen solid.

She rushed him, daggers appearing in both hands. Solas evaded, conjuring his staff immediately. She was wild fury, and she pursued him with a speed he had not expected. He deflected a blow with the middle of his staff before feinting again and casting a barrier.

“Aelyn!” he called.

She froze for a moment when she heard her name, body trembling, and then fell to her hands and knees. “Solas!” it was her—her voice. She cried out in pain, head flinging back.

“Hold on!” he was moving toward her when she held up her hand.

“No! Stay back! I can’t—“ but her words were cut off with a sob. She clutched her left hand, teeth bared and clenched. Green light erupted from her palm. “Ma helani!” She screamed, and his heart tore with the sound. Her head whipped back again, eyes screwed tight. The light in her palm went out.

“This is your fault,” she rasped as she rose to her feet. Eyes black once more. Frost and ice swirling around her hands. Aelyn was gone. Solas choked on a sob. A despair spirit would say whatever it could to break them both, but it was right. Of course it was.

But the anchor still was not working, he realized. She had to be blocking the spirit from accessing it, somehow. If she was still there, he could reach her again. “Aelyn, ma garas mir renan. I’m here,” he said.

But there was no flicker of recognition when she heard her name this time. Aelyn did not return. The spirit that claimed her body raised her hands, ice magic blasting toward him and encircling his barrier.

He would not fight her. She was still there, somewhere. She had to be. And he knew despair. Despair would feed her thoughts that would rob her of hope. And though despair was powerful, so also was it simple. He had to remind her that she had a future, and that she would find happiness again.

“Aelyn, you are not alone,” he cried over the crackle of magic surrounding him. She was advancing, and his barrier was weakening. “Your friends—they care for you. YOU. Not the mark on your hand. Think of Dorian, and Sera, and Bull. Cullen. Varric. Cassandra. And Cole. Cole sent me because he felt your pain.” She snarled at the mention of Cole, and the onslaught ceased. Her hands still reaching toward him, but the magic blocked for now. He could see she was shuddering with the effort of holding the spirit at bay.

“That’s it. Hold on.” He moved toward her slowly, hands raised. Her eyes locked on his as they cleared. She was afraid, but looking at him seemed to ground her. Warmth began flowing back into his arms and legs. Oh, how much he loved her. And he had been a fool.

When he reached her, he did not hesitate to touch her. He grasped her hands gently. She gasped at his touch. “Solas…” She was trembling, desperately fatigued from her battle with the demon. Spirits were gathering at the edge of the clearing, drawn by their battle. He needed to get her out of here, quickly.

“Vhenan,” he whispered.

He was stunned when she recoiled, body going tense again. “You do not love me!”

Before he could respond, the anchor flared and she clutched her hand again.

“Solas, the anchor. It wants the anchor, and I… I can’t—“

“You can,” he said. “Aelyn, look at me.”

Her eyes met his, full of tears, and they were afraid. “I am so tired,” she whispered. Her eyes slid closed, and tears fell down her cheeks.

“No!”

She took a few rapid steps away from him, crying out as the anchor flared and her eyes glazed black again. She grit her teeth, fighting as hard as she could to keep the demon from the magic that marked her palm, but her strength was failing.

“Solas, ma ghilana mir din’an,” she sobbed.

They were the same words Wisdom had said to him all those months ago, and it rent him apart. He called her name.

“Ar lath ma,” she whispered, and then she was gone. Her body convulsed, skin turning white, then grey, before his eyes.

He always knew he would lose her, but not like this, never like this.

Despair attacked again. He deflected and blocked, but he still could not bear to harm the body of his beloved, and Despair pressed that advantage.

It broke his barrier with a particularly strong attack. Solas was thrown back, and he grunted as he hit the ground.

He rose to his knees. He had made so many mistakes in his attempts to help the people. He was always fighting, always pushing against forces beyond his control, but things only worsened. And those he loved always paid for the price of his arrogance. Instead of accepting her love, he had pushed her away and into the arms of a demon. Damn his pride!

It charged, a cold shriek on its lips and daggers flashing.

Thousands of years he had lived, and he had never loved someone the way he loved her. He would not leave her again.

“Ir abelas, vhenan,” he sobbed, finally broken. “Ar lath ma. Ar lath ma.” He let his eyes slide closed, palms open at his sides, submitting to her at last.

He waited for the pain, for the force of her blow to find his chest, or throat. But it never came.

Solas opened his eyes. She had stopped, mere inches away from the killing blow; daggers poised, breathing hard. She was confused. “Flee!” she commanded. Was it a command from the demon, or from Aelyn? He could not tell.

But he did not. Instead he reached for her. She gasped in shock as his fingertips caressed her cheek. His voice was soft but sure. “I will not leave you, vhenan. Never again.”

She blinked, and her eyes were green. She cried out. There was a flash of blinding light, and great blast of cold wind as the air in front of him exploded. Solas was thrown away from her. When his eyes adjusted she was there, crumpled face down on the ground.

“Vhenan!” He crawled to her side and rolled her over, cradling her in his arms, one hand on her cheek. He rocked her, his hand moving to her neck and chest as he felt for a heartbeat. There! He poured mana into her, willing her to wake. Finally her eyes fluttered open, and a broken sob of relief left him. “You are all right. I have you.”

“Solas?” She looked up at him for a long moment in disbelief. Eyes widening as she realized where they were and what had happened. She had dreamt of him many times, but this time he was real. She could not help but wait to see the wall appear behind his eyes as he pushed her away again, but it never came. His eyes were open and vulnerable, and there was no trace of indecision as he gazed at her.

Finally, she pressed her palm against his cheek. His breath caught, and he leaned into her touch.

“My love,” he whispered.

She heard the promise behind his words. She leaned forward, capturing his lips with hers, and he could not stop the small moan that left him, but a moment later she was gone, disappearing as she woke within Skyhold.

He followed her to wakefulness. She was sitting up, looking a little stunned.

“Are you hurt?” he asked, already looking her over as he sat up beside her.

“I am all right,” she replied. His hands framed her face, and he looked at her in wonder, relief temporarily distracting him from guilt. She met his gaze, and her hands covered his. She loved him. He could see it in the way she looked at him. He could feel it radiating from her. He did not deserve it, but he would not reject it again.

But he would also not impose upon her either. He had hurt her, badly. And now he was in her chambers, and in her bed. He painfully recognized that she may no longer want him there. He looked down, hiding his eyes from her as he spoke.

“I hurt you. In Crestwood I did what I thought was necessary to protect you, but perhaps that was a mistake. I meant what I said: I will not leave you again. But I also will not presume that you desire my company. You have every right to demand distance from me. And whatever you command, I will obey.”

Aelyn placed her hand beneath his chin, coaxing his eyes back to hers. Her gaze darted back and forth, assessing him. “Do you love me?” she asked.

He never thought he would see her look at him that way again. He never thought he would get another chance to touch her. “Yes,” he breathed, voice low.

She pressed her brow to his, eyes closing gently. “Then prove it to me. Stay.”

“Ma nuvenin,” he whispered. His heart was whole.

Ar lasa mala revas = You are free

Ir abelas, vhenan = I am sorry, my heart

Ma helani! = Help me!

Ma garas mir renan = Follow my voice

Ma ghilana mir din’an = Guide me into death

Ar lath ma = I love you

Ma nuvenin = As you wish

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