#vhenaste lavellan

[bohemiantea-scorpiocoffee]

DA:TV Spoilers!

I AM SCREAMING ABOUT THE MURAL WITH SOLAS'S REGRET AND WHAT EMMERICH SAID ABOUT SOLAS TRYING TO FORGET AND HOW THIS MAY BE PART OF HIS WEAK POINTS

*stares at the camera*

I even put that basic idea in Reflections, I felt so strongly it was a thing he'd do and loooook.

I screenshotted that shit because I'm gonna need that high again and again.

[allisondraste]

check mark! I'm leaving it open for any of our ocs. :)

Niamh:  “I think if I had a choice to be like anyone other than myself, it would be Vhenaste.   When you’re made an instrument of an organization you don’t support, when everything you have ever known and cared about is questioned and shaken to it’s core, it’s easy to be angry and bitter all the time.  Damn if it isn’t what happened to me.  I think it is amazing how Vhenaste has handled everything that has been thrown at her with grace, openness, and compassion.  She’s the hero these shems and their Chantry never deserved.”

[bohemiantea-scorpiocoffee]

BioWare dropped a title cinematic for DA:DW today, and it has flipped me back into fangirl mode. I am clown, hear me honk - because hi, that fuckin' orb in the cinematic has the Black City in it.

Dragon Age: Dreadwolf In-Game Cinematic Focuses on Solas and Sets the Stage for the Upcoming RPG - IGN

In celebration of Dragon Age Day 2022, BioWare has released an in-game cinematic from Dragon Age: Dreadwolf that focuses on Solas and sets t

Anyway I'm now gonna be super fucking gauche and link my angsty, tragic, completed Solavellan fic because I specifically included a fight between them in the Black City.

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

I'm so glad I finished this before the game came out, because I dunno if BioWare will be brave enough to give us a taste of the Black City in-game and I figured at least one of us in the whole circus should give it a swipe.

[bohemiantea-scorpiocoffee]

@apostatetabris You know I read tags. ;)

Damn right she would. She was partly responsible for their care and took them swimming and on other group outings. They were are her children. When I shift her canon story to something better, that's going right in there. <3

[bohemiantea-scorpiocoffee]

Unearthing

Solas sat on the little bench outside of his cabin, enjoying the wan but clear sunlight of Haven’s morning as he sketched. The little village was still waking up, the kitchens, blacksmith, and healer the focus of activity. Compared to the chaos of a week ago, it was quiet and calm. Lavellan successfully stabilizing the Breach had done that. Ironic for them to now look to her for worship after they’d been howling for her head.

Ah. And here was the subject of his musing now. 

The Dalish woman still bore faint bruising under her eyes, but it was better than the waxy pallor and other signs of violence from her struggles with the Anchor and its bestowing. She seemed in fairly rugged good health, actually, her cheeks competing with her hair from exertion in the cold. She bore armfuls of elfroot and other herbs, a smear of dirt on her face and bits of leaves and thorns clinging to her hair. Her boots were secured to her belt; her feet were muddy.

Solas smiled faintly. Perhaps both shining steeds and griffons were out of the question, here would be a hero striding the earth itself. And, if her offer were serious, wrestling the likes of Cassandra to protect him from the Chantry.

He continued his sketching -- the landscape, for practice and studying how best to leave -- as Lavellan knocked at the apothecary’s door. Adan answered with the gruffness he’d come to expect from his neighbor, but Lavellan seemed to take it in stride, handing him the fruits of her labors.

“Thank you. It’s possible we’ve got people for this, but no one’s got the time and so supplies run thin,” Adan grumbled.

“Well, right now I’ve the time,” she replied. “And perhaps if I keep doing this, people will stop referring to me as the Herald.” 

Solas couldn’t see her face, but her tone was clear. The gentle, rueful repudiation harbored a dislike that sounded genuine to his ears, but only time would tell the truth of Lavellan. Recent events would provoke reactions in anyone, but aside from that he had no sense of who she was other than a mystery and contradiction. For someone professing such fierce protectiveness of his apostate nature, very little emotive depth tended to cross her face that he’d personally witnessed. She was a mage, she had a connection to the Fade that most lacked; this calm of hers unnerved him a little, if he were being truthful with himself.

“That bad, eh? Well, thanks again,” Adan said. He shut the door and Lavellan turned away.

Solas sketched the wooden palisade and the fragments of mountain and frozen terrain he could see through and past it. It was lovely, in its rough way, but the walls could use some reinforcing.

“Solas?” 

He glanced over; he saw Lavellan’s muddy feet, toes red through the earth caking them, before he saw the rest of her standing by diffidently. 

“I almost didn’t see you,” she said. “You surprised me. I don’t wish to intrude, but... may I sit?” She indicated the seating next to him on the bench.

“Yes, of course. Please do,” he said. He gave her a polite smile.

“Thank you,” Lavellan said, and sat. She was quite close, but if he adjusted his seat it would ruin his viewpoint for the sketch, so he remained where he was. She was redolent of fresh-cut herbs, dirt, and clean sweat. It, too, was better than the smell of sickness and the ozone of her magic clashing with the unstable Anchor mark that had permeated the dungeon. She removed the boots from her belt.

“Sketching? Are you an artist as well?” Lavellan asked, rubbing her hands together and then applying to a raised foot, brushing off the mud and massaging her toes.

“As well as...?” he said, smudging at the shadow of a mountain.

“A dangerous apostate,” Lavellan said with an amused chuckle. 

Solas glanced at her; her yellow-green eyes were avian, a faint smile turning the corners of her mouth. Interesting. A self-aware joke? She flexed her toes before pulling on a boot, brushing the mud off her fingers.

“As much as anyone might claim, I suppose,” he said.

“May I see?”

He half-closed his sketchbook. Lavellan was rescuing her other foot and watching him with her hunter’s eyes.

“Why?”

She sighed a little, as if disappointed.

“I’d like to know more about you, Solas. You’re an apostate, yet you risked your freedom to help the Inquisition.” She finished with her foot and drew the other boot on, bringing both legs up so she perched on the bench, hugging her knees. Dirt clung under her nails and smeared on her trousers where she gripped.

“Not the wisest course of action when framed that way,” he muttered. He kept the sketchbook half-closed, his finger holding his place in it.

“We will be working together, yes? I respect your work, and it would help me understand you better.” She turned her head to the side and pressed her mouth to the tops of her knees, her eyes flicking curiously over his face.

Interesting.

“I’m sorry. There’s been so much fear in the air... what would you know of me?” He sat up a little and turned toward her, abandoning the view. He could resume it another time.

“I’m still interested in your work,” Lavellan said, a sudden mischievous slash of a smile flickering across her face as she pointed at his sketchbook. “I promise I will keep my hands to myself.”

He chuckled politely; clearly a ploy to put him at his ease.

“Very well,” Solas said, and opened his landscape for her viewing.

“It’s lovely,” she said, leaning closer to examine. She kept her fingers tucked in behind her knees, then glanced up. “Do you sketch other subjects?”

“Sometimes.” Solas hesitated. “Spirits, mostly.”

“Oh! I should have guessed. What made you start studying the Fade?”

“I grew up in a village to the north. There was little to interest a young man, especially one gifted with magic,” he began slowly, searching for the right balance of truth and evasion. Lavellan didn’t seem to want to know anything detailed, judging by her conversational tone, and yet there was something subtle in the shifts of her demeanor that made it easy for him to speak about what truly mattered to him. 

Solas spoke about discovering, cherishing, and honing his Dreaming gifts and she listened thoughtfully. He might have almost said raptly, so focused was she, if she hadn’t asked more questions following on each thought sparked in the wake of his speaking. Lavellan released her knees and stretched them out as he told her about traveling to enrich his life and continue his explorations of the Fade. She set her hands on the bench on either side of her hips, bracing herself, and her sharp eyes lost focus as she stared up at the sky.

“I wish you luck,” Lavellan said wistfully.

“Thank you,” he said, surprised. “In truth, I’ve enjoyed experiencing more of life to find more of the Fade.”

“How so?” She glanced at him, but it appeared the subject of the Fade had caught her interest. It was as if she was staring past him into areas he couldn’t see. The thought of a shared interest drove him on. It had been so long since he could converse this easily.

“You train your will to control magic and withstand possession. Your indomitable focus is an enjoyable side benefit,” he explained with a smile. “You have chosen a path whose steps you do not dislike because it leads to a destination you enjoy.” He smoothed a hand over the cover of his closed sketchbook. “As have I.”

Lavellan’s head tilted and she raised a brow at him, her full attention back on him. He was reminded briefly of the last time that had happened: when he’d grabbed her hand.

“Indomitable focus?”

“Presumably. I have yet to see it dominated. I imagine that the sight would be... fascinating,” Solas said, the words tumbling out of his mouth without thinking. From all he’d seen thus far, Lavellan did have a powerful strength of will. She would have to, to have withstood so much. Anything that could overcome what she’d brought to bear thus far was admittedly fascinating, if in a terrifying way.

Lavellan slowly smirked at him and he flushed, suddenly realizing what she must be thinking.

“Have you always worked alone?”

“No, I have formed friendships with spirits in my journeys, as well.” He felt intensely studied and a little off-center.

“Subjects of your sketches?”

“Yes. They are just as real to me as Varric or Cassandra are as real to you. Is Varric defined by his chest hair and not his wit, or Cassandra by her cheekbones and not her faith?” Solas said, gripping his sketchbook.

“You have an interesting way of looking at the world, Solas,” Lavellan said, removing her hands from the bench and shoving them between her knees. It was strange: he felt as if she’d waved a carrot in front of his face while retreating.

“I try,” he said wryly, now matching her head tilt. “And that isn’t quite an answer.”

“I look forward to helping you make new friends,” she said, steadily holding his gaze. The smile she offered was a dare. 

“That should be... well,” he said. Lavellan was a bundle of surprises. He didn’t know what to say, though he wanted to say something.

“That isn’t quite an answer, either,” she said, her smile broadening. He flushed, and her sudden peal of laughter rang out against Haven’s quiet.

“Come on. I need to wash my hands, and we could have breakfast and talk some more. It’s only fair I share something of myself as well,” Lavellan said, standing up. She glanced at the tavern. 

“I’ll feel better about ‘Herald’ this and ‘Herald’ that,” she said, looking back at him. “Please?”

“Alright,” Solas said. He wasn’t sure where the impulse came from. “...Herald.”

“Ugh,” Lavellan said, stooping down and scooping up a handful of snow to fling at him. He chuckled and shielded his sketchbook.

[bohemiantea-scorpiocoffee]

things you said through your teeth for vhenaste and solas 👀

Mmm, coincidentally I got feels from First Aid Kit’s “Fireworks” and it fits here. So if you’re feeling brave, put it on and listen -- and then read. Post Crestwood.

Var Bellanaris

Though the civil war had been largely pacified, the Exalted Plains still bore its scars. The latest to add to the pile of broken promises that was the Dirthavaren. Soon to add one more.

Vhenaste’s stomach roiled as she led the way into Var Bellanaris, Cole, Solas, and Cassandra trailing behind. It had to be only them. Bad enough what she planned: she could not afford to have it so readily identified and attached to the Inquisition. Every nation would see her action as a repudiation of her own people and use it to excuse elven abuse, delegitimize Wycome, and add scandal that would be difficult to smooth over. Vhenaste could survive that, but the Inquisitor could not.

Vhenaste wasn’t sure, however, that she could survive the absolute self-loathing she felt right now.

Golden late afternoon light bathed the plains and ancient ruin, early crickets busily signalling the oncoming evening. Distantly she could hear the wandering halla galloping, the rush of the Enavuris, the normal hush of a recovering land. Dappled light fell through the graveyard’s trees onto Var Bellanaris’s stones. It felt so peaceful.

Cassandra stood by patiently, if somewhat uncomfortably, hands near her weapons. Perhaps Vhenaste put too much stock into the Seeker’s childhood with the mortalitasi, perhaps she just felt grateful someone had been concerned enough about her bare face to say something to Solas. Perhaps the woman was grateful for Vhenaste’s help with her old order and thus why she agreed to come. Regardless, Cassandra’s presence felt necessary and somewhat comforting.

Cole had barely needed to be asked to come. He’d twisted his hands but nodded. “They will not understand, but I do.”

Solas... she’d descended into the rotunda a week ago, as had become her habit after a debriefing with Leliana, and told him in clipped and cool tones that his presence would be required and to pack for the Exalted Plains. The day before that: Why? Heart stuck in her throat keeping her from all but shouting it at him, eyes fixed to the jawbone necklace to keep from breaking under a gaze she’d once sought.

She could feel the trio watching her as she stood, watery at the knees, over one of the gravestones with a war waging inside her. Who am I that I do this? Corypheus digs through our ruins for weapons and I dig to get there first.

Am I still Dalish if I throw away all that meant something to me in the name of recovering a past that doesn’t want us? Have I traded who I am for a freedom and future that doesn’t exist?

I can’t even say the prayers. Imposter.

She clenched her hands and glanced up. Soft blue-grey eyes met hers and slid away. So he does revile me after all. I gave in too easily.

“You don’t have to do this,” Cole said.

“I do. If we fail I do not want it to be because I did not try and use everything,” Vhenaste said.

“I know I have not always understood your ways, but--” Cassandra began.

“Ar lasa mala revas,” Cole said.

A chill went up Vhenaste’s spine.

“You are so beautiful,” Cole said.

Solas’s breath caught audibly. “Cole.”

“Why?” Cole said, his voice wavering in her heart’s language.

“Please, Cole, let it go,” Solas said quietly. “This is not--”

“Let him finish,” Vhenaste said, jaw clenched against the pain that threatened to overwhelm. “Since you will speak with him and not the foolish and faithless Dalish girl.”

She heard Cassandra make an awkward noise as the woman shifted toward her, her hand slipping into Vhenaste’s.

“I had no choice,” Solas said, voice full of restrained pleading, finally bringing his eyes to meet hers.

“She thinks it’s because of her,” Cole continued, and turned toward her as if to explain. “He hurts, an old pain from before...”

“You cannot heal this,” Solas said with a conviction that made her swallow.

Cassandra’s hand tightened around Vhenaste’s.

“You’re real, and it means everyone could be real. It changes everything, but it can’t.”

“You change... everything.” As snow fell in a Haven that no longer existed.

“They sleep, masked in a mirror, hiding, hurting, and to wake them...” Cole gasped. “Where...?”

“We have work to do,” Vhenaste said abruptly, squeezing Cassandra’s hand and disentangling from it. Whatever Cole had meant to do, all it had done was remind her of her duty to the Inquisition and the desecration she had planned. Whether that was better or worse than listening to Solas turn away from her yet again, she couldn’t have said.

(Author’s Notes: Before I figured out how to do the exploit to get inside without the key, I’d smash the graves in-game after getting the Dalish approval. No actual smashing in Vhenaste’s fic universe -- the dead were handled with as much care as she could provide, given the circumstances -- but I did still want a chance to bring in that sense of desecration and why that might be chosen when she doesn’t know all it would get her was a mosaic tile and a few goods to sell.)

(Also: I got the Cole/Solas post breakup dialogue there. No lie. It was surreal at the time. Now I’ve contextualized it for everyone’s feels. And goddammit you cannot tell me Cass wouldn’t be sympathetic like this. She, Sera, and Josie are the only people to comment on your missing vallaslin and that’s a fucking crime.)

(Finally: “Our Eternity” -- Var Bellanaris -- is too damned apt for Vhenaste and Solas. I cried writing this, y’all.)

[bohemiantea-scorpiocoffee]

Crack fic is not only fun, but it can get the creative juices flowing. I have one to thank for helping me figure out the direction I'd need to take with a Solavellan AU that @celeritassagittae and @allisondraste suggested after I wrote the Solavellan smut.

Cele, I present to you Vhenaste Lavellan in Kirk's role with the Kobayashi Maru.

"I don't like to lose" becomes incredibly powerful then, considering my canon. :)

[bohemiantea-scorpiocoffee]

Empress Celene: “How do you find Halamshiral?”

What Vhenaste says: “(I can’t do it credit.) I have no words to suffice. Halamshiral has many beauties and I couldn’t do them justice.”

What Vhenaste means: “Sure, it’s an expensively beautiful shem palace you’ve built on the blood, sweat, tears, and graves of my ancestors, who came HERE after the Long Walk because Andraste promised this land to my people, but no way am I going to tell you this because I despise you all. No. Because I need a stable Orlais, I will be working my ass off tonight to save your worthless hides... and you can damn well bet on this being held over your heads for as long as I can squeeze cooperation from you as if it were your own blood. Meanwhile, I will smile and make you think I am happy to be playing a Game I learned at my Keeper’s knee because you people value whose gold-plated knob got polished more than keeping your country from falling to ruin.”