#fade angst

Solas blushed—actually blushed—a flush of red spreading across his carved cheekbones.

“You did!” Athim said. “But why would you think that? You said it yourself. The Dread Wolf never ‘took me.’” She took a perverse pleasure in throwing Solas’ uncomfortable wording back at him.

With some bitterness she remembered the deep kisses, the whispered vows—all followed by careful boundaries and gentle rejections.

“Not physically, of course,” Solas sputtered.

“Did you do something mentally? Just what exactly are you confessing to?”

“No, not like that, I…” Solas paused, taking in a deep breath. “I knew she could not be my child in a more literal sense, but in the Fade… Sometimes the deepest of hopes and desires can be made manifest.”

Hm. Of course Solas would consider the idea of a daughter as just as real as an actual daughter.

“Ah,” was all Athim could think to say. “I see.”

There was a time when Athim had wanted a family with Solas. Since his departure, she never allowed her dreams to linger on the thought. She knew how the promises of the Fade could sometimes draw people in, could make them abandon the waking world. She couldn’t afford to indulge in the idea too much.

A heavy silence fell between them, and Athim expected this to be the moment Solas left. I’ll never forget you, he’d say, or something equally as enigmatic and final. But he didn’t. 

“Her name is Enasal,” Athim said finally. “She’s my daughter in the waking world. Not just here.”

“A fitting name,” Solas said, his expression carefully measured. “And I see you… you have moved on, then. That is good.”

“Not that it’s any of your business, but I adopted her,” Athim said. “Her mother was unprepared to care for her and her clan’s resources were already strained. They went to the Arthlavhen looking for other clans to take her in.”

“I see.”

His expression seemed to lighten, and Athim cursed herself for telling him. What reason could she possibly have to explain other than to comfort him? To reassure him of her continued devotion? Devotion he did nothing to deserve.

Solas took another step towards Athim. Each step Athim felt as if it were directly on her chest, pushing the air out of her lungs. 

“I’ve missed you, vhenan,” he said, resting his long fingers on her arm.

Those same hands on her waist, pulling him flush to her. His lips pressed to hers, bending her back as if he couldn’t get close enough. “Ar lath ma, vhenan.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“I apologize.”

“Stop apologizing and just… stop doing the thing that’s hurting me.”

Solas pulled his hand away and stepped backwards. The tightness in Athim’s chest eased, leaving only a void in its wake.

“You know I can’t do that,” he said. “I should not have come.”

He started to walk away, and a terribly familiar desperation swept over Athim. She wanted him to go. She wanted him to stay. She wanted what she wanted to matter.

“Did you want her to be your daughter?” she blurted out before she could think better of it.

Solas stopped in his tracks like she’d frozen him in ice.

Athim jogged after him, the forest around them blurring at the edges. 

“Tell me, Solas. Was a life and family with me something you wanted?” she demanded.

He whirled on her. “Of course it was! It still is.”

The Fade pulsed around them, responding to his intensity. His expression cracked and behind it Athim found a mixture of joyful anticipation and dread. He paused and gathered himself, focusing as hard as he could,

“No,” he muttered. “No, not here. Not now.”

Despite his protestation, the shifting of the Fade did not relent. Athim almost pitied Solas in that moment. It was so very mortal of him, to not be able to control how the Fade reacted to his innermost thoughts and feelings.

Around them, the sweet sound of Enesal’s laughter returned. Athim looked behind her and there her daughter was, running up to them with a beatific smile on her face.

“Mamae! Papae!” she called.

The wind was knocked from Athim’s chest.

Solas cursed softly under his breath and gave up his focus. He looked up and locked eyes with Enesal’s, his gaze immediately melting to warmth.

More footsteps joined Enesal’s, and she was soon followed by a young boy—perhaps three years old. He had his mother’s rich, auburn hair, his father’s long, straight ears, and an unmistakable dimple in his chin.

“Wait for us!” the boy cried.

The two children ran full tilt into Solas and Athim, knocking them over into a tangled pile.

Doubts and bitter feelings were swept away as the childlike enthusiasm of the young children overtook Athim. Her newfound son wrapped his arms around her waist and giggled in delight.

“We win!” the young boy crowed.

He was so light and new, spry and bursting with energy as only three year olds are. His small fingers dug into her sides in a delightfully inept attempt to tickle her. She laughed to humor him, her laughter turning genuine at his pleased expression.

“You didn’t win, not really,” Enesal piped up in a decidedly elder sisterly way. “Mamae always lets you win.”

“Does not!” insisted the little boy. “Mamae is the bad guy, and I beat her fair and square.”

Enesal tackled Solas, throwing her whole body weight onto his chest and knocking him loose from the pile. 

He obliged her, falling backwards with exaggerated drama and letting her perch directly on top of his breastbone. She bounced merrily in victory, and Solas tried unsuccessfully to catch his breath between laughter and repeated blows to his chest.

“See?” said Enesal. “I beat Papae for real.”

A father for her daughter. A partner in her home and in her bed. Peace and contentment washed over Athim at the sight of her daughter and the man she loved, together as a family at last.

“Nu uh,” said the little boy. “Papae let you win, too.”

“Papae, you didn’t let me win, did you?” Enesal asked. She stopped her bouncing and curled up against Solas, looking up at him with wide, earnest eyes.

Solas swallowed thickly. “Of course not, little one.”

His words brought Athim back to reality. Solas spared a glance for her, and she saw that he had sensed it too. The time for this particular fantasy was coming to an end.

He wouldn’t let her win. He would never let Athim, her daughter, or their potential future together stop him. 

Athim pulled the little boy in her arms tightly to her chest and breathed him in, allowing herself to revel in his presence for one more brief moment.

“Sweet one,” she said gently to the boy. She wondered if Solas had given him a name. “It’s time for you to go home. Mamae and Papae have a lot to talk about.”

The boy looked up at her with pleading eyes. “But I don’t want to go. Can’t I stay with you?”

Athim shook her head sadly. “No, dear one. Not today.”

Solas squeezed his imagined son’s hand. “Listen to your mother,” he said. “Enasal can go with you.”

Enasal stood and took the young boys’ hand. Athim noticed that she wasn’t quite the same as her Enesal in real life. Still, she looked quite like her waking counterpart considering Solas had only caught a brief glimpse of her in the Fade. Athim couldn’t help but feel touched at how quickly he had incorporated her daughter into his reckless, vain dream of the future.

Hand in hand, the children from the family that would never be walked off into the Fade. Their departure left a hole in Athim’s chest, and she felt as if they were dying. As if any hope she still retained of a life like this with Solas was dying.

Solas helped her to her feet, then took a measured step away from her. A heavy silence descended upon the pair. Beside her, she could sense that he mourned, too.

The years that had passed since their last meeting sat like a chasm between them, but at the same time Athim’s feelings were raw and unhealed. She wondered if she would ever feel healed, if she would ever move on.

“What is his name?” she asked eventually.

Solas shook his head. “I haven’t given him one. I try not to… indulge.” He looked over at Athim with a sad smile. “And besides, I couldn’t give him one without your approval.”

This attempt at connection, however lame, burrowed under Athim’s skin. All of the whys and why nots that had haunted her these past five years bubbled to the surface, itching on her skin.

“I don’t understand,” she said. “If you wanted this life, you could have had it. You could still have it. You wouldn’t even have to give up on your ultimate goal.”

“Athim…”

“You could have been with me, had the family and companionship you wanted, and then resumed your mission after I died.”

“Vhenan,” Solas said, a pleading edge to his voice.

“I’ll probably live, what? Sixty more years at most? What is sixty years in the immortal scheme of things? Only a blip in your timeline, I’m sure.”

“Athim, please.”

There was something satisfying about hearing Solas beg. It made her think of the times she had begged him. To stay. For an explanation. To find some value in this world. To find some value in her. It had never made a difference.

It made her angry.

“Then again, by then I might be gone, but not our son and daughter. You would have to wait another thirty years or so for your children to die natural deaths, too,” she said, cruelty lacing her words with poison. “Unless you’d be willing to kill them along with everyone else, of course.” 

Solas let out what sounded like a whimper of pain. Pathetic.

“So I suppose you’d have to wait another generation or two. Tell me, Dread Wolf, how many generations removed would your children need to be for you to be able to bear murdering them all? Grandchildren? Great-grandchildren? At what point do their lives become academic enough for you to snuff them out?”

“Enough!” 

His shout echoed through the Fade, silencing not only Athim but everything around them. Power reverberated through him, shaking his frame, reminding Athim in one terrible moment that this was no mere mortal she was dealing with.

Solas turned his steely eyes towards her, and the fear must have been written all over her face, because he softened.

“Ir abelas, again,” he said, and he sounded so tired. “I don’t mean to hurt you or scare you. And yet that is all I ever seem to do.”

Athim closed her eyes and her shoulder sagged. “You don’t have to.”

“I really do.”

His heavy words stagnated in the air between them for a long moment. What else was there to say? This was why they hadn’t spoken in five years, after all.

“I’m not afraid of dying, you know,” Athim said eventually. “All mortals die. It’s our blessing and our curse—to know there is an end is to give value to the moments leading to it.”

For a pause Solas considered her words. That was one of the things she’d always loved about him. As arrogant and paternalistic as he could be, he always took her opinions seriously.

“I can see that,” he said thoughtfully.

“That’s your problem, I think,” Athim said. “You have an endless amount of time, so you think you can try over and over again until you get everything just right.”

“I don’t think-”

“Yes, you do. You’re never content to live with your mistakes, like we mortals have to do. There’s always something to fix, to do again, to get right.”

Solas’ eyes fell to his feet. “You were never a mistake, vhenan.”

“A life doomed to end is still a life worth living, Solas. I hope you see that one day.”

Athim turned from him and started walking, feeling the Fade gradually recede around her. She could sense Solas’ eyes still on her from somewhere behind, but she didn’t turn back.

Tears began to slip down her cheeks. Seeing his loving, sympathetic eyes made it too easy to lie to herself. Too easy to tell herself that he would change his mind. Her tears blurred her vision, and the softened reality of the Fade melted around her.

Little hands reached for her arms again, but this time their solidity and warmth was unmistakably real.

“Mamae? Mamae?” 

Enesal’s gentle shaking drew Athim from sleep, and she rubbed at her bleary eyes.

“Yes, my sweet one, I’m here,” she said.

“Mamae, you were crying in your sleep,” Enasal said.

Enasal’s small, heart-shaped face was creased with worry. Athim drew her daughter onto the bed next to her and wrapped her arms around her.

“Don’t worry, my Ennie. Mamae is going to be alright.”

“Are you sure? Did you have a bad dream?”

“Not a bad one, not exactly. But a sad one.”

“I love you, mamae,” Enesal said, pressing a sloppy kiss to Athim’s cheek. “I hope you can feel happy.”

Athim pulled Enesal closer to her. Her daughter’s quick heartbeat thrummed under Athim’s hand, lively and vulnerable in equal measure. 

“With you here, I can.”

---

Several weeks letter, a simple, unsigned letter found its way onto Athim’s rugged homestead. It was written in beautiful calligraphy on pristine parchment, and though it lacked a seal, Athim knew exactly who it was from.

I am glad I was able to meet your daughter—or at least, the version of her you brought into the Fade. She is beautiful and strong, just like her mother. If there are any true gods, I pray to them that someone will be able to stop me.