goth ihop

“oh, yes, WISE,” nick shouldn’t have taken the comment offhandedly, but he did. he ignored it because he didn’t think it was NECESSARY to remember. “is there anything else you wish advise me on? besides my… wisdom or lack there of?”

the wolf bristled. he did not like this shemlen. it was no secret, his disapproval, and yet, he stayed calm. only bit out insults when  it was not quite so obvious as all of that. then again, he had called the inquisitor unwise.

       ‘ oh, ‘ evee responded, sounding a bit disappointed with his answer. the thought of solas constantly having to polish his head because of the constant dung that fell from the heavens was a lot funnier than protective wards, but it made sense. her eyes never left the crows, accidentally falling silent for a few moments before looking back down at solas. there was a cheesy grin on her face.

       ‘ what would happen if i fell from the top floor? ‘ it was a stupid question, but she had to know. she would never test that theory, of course, for a great number of reasons. though her safety and well being was surprisingly not one of them. the main one being that she would lose a lot of valuable allies and important partnerships if word got around that the herald of andraste was having giggle fits over tossing herself off balconies. 

       ‘ would your wards break my fall? ‘

“sorry to disappoint you, inquisitor,” he murmured, the ghost of a smile on his face. he watched the young girl stare at the crows. the mind of a child was marvelous sometimes. solas could see the cogs and gears turning within her mind. she would ask him another question, perhaps more ridiculous than the last, and solas would answer. he was here to guide her. shape the young mind.

he does not smile outright, but his lips do lift fully at her question. “tarasyl'an te'las would catch you. the magic of this fortress protects those within its walls. you would feel a lightening of your feet, and you would drop to the ground with little incident.”

solas could remember chasing the younger elves through the halls of his fortress. they would leap and bound through the high halls and vault over balconies. those who had come to fight with him had brought their children, and though solas had been the leader of this great rebellion, he had taken the time... 

he supposed those children were dead now. it was not a thought that brought him great joy.

It was not intentional – the face of absolute abject disbelief that pasted itself on her visage. Ny’Ari had been trained not to allow emotions to show. She had been quite adept at it while Arlathan still stood; listening to Elgar’nan’s and the rest of the evanuris’ arrogant comments of The People; their people. With a single line, she was reduced to a sputtering recruit who forgot which side of the sword was the pointy end.

Thoughts screamed in her head as she forced her mouth closed and open like a fish, trying to find the words. Was he seriously asking? Was he that ignorant of the literal destruction and suffering he caused by his actions? A single finger raised on an outstretched hand, begging for a second or an era to compose the ferocious and violent litany she wanted to spew at his calm demeanor. 

There were too many words to form any coherent sentences; too many wild emotions wreaking havoc in her mind. Ny’Ari had never been overly eloquent like the man before her, much preferring to use actions to convey her message. 

It wasn’t as if she could punch him. Whether it be in Skyhold or elsewhere, he would always hold a bit of respect and reverence from her – from what he accomplished before setting the world aflame. 

With a stomp at the frustration and hate bubbling in her stomach, she used that same foot to turn away from him. No. He would not do this.

“stop,” he asks, a touch of the old god he had been revered as trickling back into his voice. though he had not been quite so grand as falon’din or elgar’nan. or even mythal. he preferred... well, no. he could claim the humility he draped himself in. the wolf in sheep’s clothing. he was no humble servant of the people. he had always been the embodiment of pride. and it had been the downfall of the elvhen.

       𝐓𝐇𝐄  𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓  𝐎𝐅  𝐓𝐇𝐄  𝐑𝐎𝐓𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐀  𝐅𝐋𝐈𝐂𝐊𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐃  𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇  𝐓𝐇𝐄  𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐌𝐓𝐇  𝐎𝐅  𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐋𝐄  𝐅𝐋𝐀𝐌𝐄,  laughter  bubbling  from  his  chest  and  fluttering  up  to  the  rafters.  there  is  a  rustle  from  above  –––  but  nothing  that  isn’t  partly  drowned  out  by  the  din  of  rainwater  drumming  against  the  hold’s  slanted  roof  high  above  them.    ❛ speak  plain,  ma  vhenan,  i  beg  you, ❜    he  says,  half  groaning  in  agony,  the  fondness  of  his  teasing  folded  in  at  the  creases  at  the  corners  of  violet  eyes.    ❛ i  came  for  a  lesson,  not  a  riddle. ❜    but  the  flush  that  threatens  to  climb  above  emrys’  collar  speaks  to  his  true  understanding  of  the  other  elf’s  words,  despite  his  protests.

his laughter makes the wolf ache. the inquisitor laughs so easily, and solas cannot help but admire him. his pale cheeks flush red, and solas adores watching the blood blossom. solas takes the leap and moves closer to the elf, reaching to brush a minuscule hair from his face. the weaving branches that mark his face. he does not know. he does not know how he bears the mark of mythal.

send me something to drabble about // always accepting

the wolf felt almost at peace here among the intrigue of the orlesian court. if he closed his eyes, he could hear andruil’s deep, heavy laughter, like that of an arrow head embedding into thick targets. if he inhaled, he could smell the sickly sweet perfume falon’din always wore to mask the scent of death. he never did very well.

he could almost taste the crackle of magic in the air as mythal walked by, flashing him a gentle smile and a pat to his cheek. she had always cared for him. always treated him like...like he was one of her own. like he was dear to her.

he missed her more than anything, but it was no time to get lost in lost memories. he looked up, watching the inquisitor walk towards him. the wolf could not help but smile, face softening at the sight of his beloved.

“inquisitor,” he breathed, the hint of something more behind his lips. he risked it, taking emrys’ hand as he stepped closer. 

“i do adore the heady blend of power, intrigue, danger, and sex that permeates these events,” he says, confidence oozing out of his voice. he cannot help it. he is back in court where he thought he never belonged.

“have you seen anything useful?” emrys asks, cheeks flushed from solas’s bold statement. solas admires him for a moment. he is weak, and he is wanting.

“no, sadly. i do not have the look of one of the elven servants, or i might well be invisible. i wonder how masked men live their lives without ever seeing that servants have an entire society of their own. if you want to find something useful, i would pay attention to what the servants do.”

emrys’ smile is something solas could gaze at for centuries. he knows he will not. emrys’ life will be quick, and solas will... solas will go on. as he often had before. but he will gaze for now. while he can.

“you seem more comfortable with a grand orlesian ball than i’d have expected.”

solas’ own smile forms, and he brushes his thumb over emrys’ gloved knuckles. he has lovely hands. why would he cover them? propriety, he supposed. solas’ own hands were gloved in fine moleskin. and yet... he wished their skin could touch.

“i have seen countless such displays in my journeys in the fade. the powerful,” solas thinks of elgar'nan, “have always been the same. only the costumes change.” lying comes so easily to solas, and he feels bad for pulling the wool over his eyes. a fitting metaphor. 

       ‘ do leliana’s crows ever poop on you? ‘ she spoke, her neck was at an awkward angle as she stared up towards the library’s ceiling where the spymaster’s method of communication dangled above them and caw’d angrily. the young inquisitor didn’t take into account that solas was quietly attempting to read his books. instead, she wanted to pester him with questions.

       ‘ dorian is also somewhere up there and i noticed you two bicker like children sometimes. does HE ever poop on you? ‘

@rebclliion​ || plotted

there is a hint of something more, a smile perhaps. it graces his features and lightens the natural, sour turn of his lips. how long had it been since he was a child? a silly boy with scraped knees and a penchant for getting into trouble. his mother had called him a dreadful little wolf. for his wolfish grin. it held true even today.

“no,” he replied simply, placing his book on the table. she was only a girl, and while the wolf had been particularly fascinated with that passage, he knew he would have to wait. “i have placed wards above my head so that my WORK is not soiled.”