She Called Him Fen’Harel
A Dragon Age: Inquisition Fanfic
In the fading light of Val Royeaux, the inquisitor carries the weight of a crumbling world
Secrets stir in the marble corridors, whispers of danger cling to coded notes, and in the silence between them—Solas watches. A slow-burn Solavellan fic told in fragments of doubt, duty, and memory. 🐺 Solas x Lavellan
🌿 Set during DAI main events
✍️ Character-driven | mystery | sorrow beneath strength
➤ Read on AO3
They walked the streets of Val Royeaux beneath the weight of unanswered hope, their cloaks stirring faintly against the stones. The day had worn long and fruitless, and the golden sun had begun to dip behind the towers of marble and glass when Falherna, weary of words and waiting, spoke.
“Let us leave this place,” she said, her voice low and steady, though touched by the wind of fatigue. “There is nothing more for us here.”
Cassandra looked at her for a moment, her eyes wide — perhaps in surprise, perhaps in recognition — and then she inclined her head.
The streets, cobbled with grey and green stone, carried on them a fragrance strange and bittersweet — the perfume of blooming vine-flowers mingling with the salt-laced breath of the harbor sea. It clung to Falherna’s skin, to her thoughts. But no sweetness could ease the heaviness in her heart. Bright doors, their wood painted with hues of crimson, saffron, and jade, and women cloaked in silks that shimmered like dragonfly wings passed before her eyes without meaning. The colors of Val Royeaux no longer held beauty. The city, grand in its reach and rigid in its rule, had offered them neither wisdom nor aid.
And then rose a voice — not fair and singing, but loud, harsh, and full of wrath.
“You might as well keep walking! I want nothing to do with heretics!” cried a man whose anger seemed to claw at the air itself.
Others joined him, like ravens cawing from the battlements:
“They’ve abandoned us! The Templars! They’ve left us to the mercy of mages!”
“The Chantry has turned its face from us!”
“Our protectors have fled!”
“What of the Inquisition? Shall we let another power rise and claim what was once ours?”
So the shouts rose, like storm winds rushing through a valley. Fear and fury twined together, thick as smoke.
Falherna turned her gaze toward the far end of the square, seeking a shadow among shadows. She sought Faron, her companion of many silent paths — he who knew the ways of secret things. But of him, there was no sign. The elves that passed bowed their heads, their steps slow and heavy. They wore their shame as one wears a shroud.
Her heart ached to see it — these were the children of Arlathan, now hunched and hollow beneath the towers of a human empire. And in their sorrow, she saw the reflection of her own weariness.
The clamor of the crowd rose like the tolling of a warning bell, echoing through the narrow stone streets of Val Royeaux. It surged in waves — first fury, then fear — until it became a great buzzing din, like that of a hive disturbed.
Falherna turned her gaze down the winding road, her eyes searching the shifting faces, her heart drawn to shadows. She sought Faron — ever silent, ever elusive — who knew well how to pass unseen, leaving behind only the softest impressions of his path. Her pulse quickened as her eyes slid from one bowed elven form to the next. They moved with hunched shoulders and averted gazes, cloaked more in shame than cloth.
A weight pressed against her chest. Once, their people had stood beneath the banners of Elvhen glory, their voices proud and their heads unbowed. Now they moved like shades — ghosts of a forgotten empire. And in their posture, she saw a reflection of her own weariness.
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Armored fingers folded over into loose fists; Solas set his weight into the gold flecked mural and leaned in. “I must leave you, Vhenan.”
He pressed his head against the cooling surface, “I am sorry.” His eyes squeezing shut and his mouth twisted into a grimace as regret stained his tongue in the aftermath of those words.
“Rest assured, I will find her and I--” The breath shivered in his throat, “—will right these wrongs.”
Reluctantly, Solas withdrew. His hand relaxing into an open palm as it swept down gently caressing the fresco before him.
“One day you will understand.”
With his shoulders slumped he turned from the wall, his gaze trespassing over a fluid barrier encompassing a Dawnstone casket. From his cloak, he produced a small bundle cushioned in cloth of gold and stepped into the barrier.
The portrait of a woman painted behind him shimmered in metallic hues, the twinkling eyes chaperoned by false light and diaphanous powder. Six violet amethysts crushed into submission and subjected into the landscape of a grieving man’s regret. Sapphire pinched into the intricate lines of her vallaslin, Mother of pearl pressed into porcelain-snow skin, and obsidian stroked into ribbons of midnight-colored locks. Gold-leaf adorned her neck in ringlets, lavishing even more opulence upon the figure.
His shadow lengthened with each step and those carefully constructed eyes followed his form as he approached the casket in the center of the room.
The Dread Wolf bent humbly at the lip of the crystal casket, his fingers teasing the string of the bundle free, the fabric hissing like serpents against his metal hands. The luminous material swooned over his fingers and lying in the center was the Jawbone amulet.
He plucked it from the deflated fabric, and it dangled over the edge, frothing whisps unfurling from the opening just below. With a single whisper, he ushered the surface to divide and recede.
Solas held the cord with his other hand and placed the amulet on the still chest of someone lost, delicately curling the cord around her neck. His voice, an entanglement of sorrow, now victim to the sight below him, willed his lips to move, “I will return her to you,” and a single tear plummeted into a familiar face.
Only a few paces away, I advanced on him. “I am not finished with you!”
But Solas didn’t even glance my way. My rage got the better of me and it boiled upwards, surging, as it cloaked itself within the sliver of steel that I whipped out of my boot and hurdled at his frame.
“Fine, if you won’t talk, then let’s fight!”
It skirted past his cheekbone as he barely leaned out of its path to pierce the wooden retaining wall directly in front of him and he halted, but he did not turn around.
“We fought together for months, journeyed together, ate together, strategized together, now slept together, I trust you with my life, so what is it? What is it about me that causes you to hesitate? Maker’s sake, why can’t you drop your guard around me?!”
He whirled around, “Because you change everything!”
“I learned …how to sacrifice good soldiers to gain ground, I learned how to deny life to afford my own, and I learned how to stash all the guilt away by tossing it under the greater good. Because the only thing that mattered was stopping Corypheus and no one would ever dare to blame me for what I had to do.”
“Until now.” Solas whispered.
“But, I suppose in the end…I learned from the best. The Inquisition still exists, thundering down upon its victims like a storm and a lost ship at sea. I mean look at it now—“my eyes fell upon the disheveled cloak I wore, “I sculpted Leliana into a monster—maybe now my father and mother would be proud—their sacrifice was worth it.” Tears descended upon my cheeks and I did not fight their downward pursuit.
“The Dalish and the City Elves are descended from those that I freed. History does not always remember fondly…or accurately. The louder voices linger longer and surface above the rest. If you let them in you will crumble under the edifice of malcontent they have built for you. Take pride in what you have done, Moon’Hwa, even if it is only you that does.”
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"Moonlight dappled her skin, blue veins careening through diaphanous porcelain, only sullied by the purple fingertip bruises he had left behind in the heat of the moment. He waited for the shame, for the guilt to wrack him, but he only felt the desire to do it all again."
'It must be lust, the thought arrived with the authority of a declaration, for it mustn't be anything more than just sex. His purpose, his mission was far more important than someone who would inevitably die as an afterthought in the wake of its success.
He glared down at his reflection, only, his image had been replaced by her. He slammed his fist into the icy waters and her violet eyes shattered like broken glass.'
