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(oldie repost. rewrite of the crestwood scene, no breakup on this one)
âI need to go for a walk.â
âDĂĄire, it is literally about to rain.â
âIâll be back soon.â
He hears his sisters call as he stands and walks into the trees. She continues to call his name several times.
DĂĄire walks fast but treads lightly. He knows his sister could still track him with ease if she wanted to, but he hopes she will not follow this time.
The voices have been ceaseless, ever since they left the Temple of Mythal. When they are not speaking over each other, they are screaming. Not a moment of silence. In the last two days, DĂĄire has barely been able to sleep.
In this moment, all he wants is to finally arrive at Skyhold, close all curtains to his room, and lie there in silence. And hope they would go silent as well, or at least manageable. If he could at least be with Solas...
It didnât help that he had not spoken a word to him since the Vir Abelasan.
It also did not help that every time he tried to talk to him or walk cloae to him, the voices screamed loud and shrill. Like someone screaming in pain but who will not tell you which bone is broken.
And Ellara was right.
It is raining.
DĂĄire still makes his way through the trees. He does not have a destination. At least the sound of the storm is louder than the voices, and the warm summer rain soaking his clothes is strangely comforting.
Lightning flashes across the sky. DĂĄire stops and closes his eyes, waiting for thunder, but is met by another collective scream from the voices. Holding his head in his hands, he falls to his knees.
âJust tell me what you want!â
They waver for a second as if thinking, trying, but the yelling continues. DĂĄire opens his eyes just to see a shadow off the corner of his vision, between the trees.
Maybe this time they are trying to warn him.
He gets up, feet and knees covered in mud, turns and runs.
Some of the words in ancient elven, he can make out: Run. Youâre in danger. You will be hurt.
They are not very helpful, as he still does not know what heâs running from. Or if he should be running at all. The storm, the thunder, the voices, the trees zooming past him. It is too much, and he runs like following an instinct. Away from danger. Away from the voices.
As he tries to look back, his foot catches on a root, and he falls, face-first into the mud. He pulls himself up, breathing heavily.
And sees the shadow through the trees again.
He is ready to stop running and face it, magic crackling in his hand. But the voices roster yet again. You're in danger. Get up. Turn and flee.
And run.
And-
He stops on his tracks as he comes face to face with a wolf.
Dark, billowing fur. Impossibly big. With eyes like stars.
His jaws open and DĂĄire closes his eyes, awaiting the tear of the teeth on his skin.
He feels, instead, two warm hands on his shoulders.
âDĂĄire! DĂĄire open your eyes. You still belong to yourself, no matter what they tell you.â
When he opens his eyes, he sees Solas, holding him, a concerned expression on his face. DĂĄire looks over his shoulder, trying to find the wolf, and then tries to turn around to look behind his own back. Solas' hands firm on his shoulders.
âNo, DĂĄire. There is just us here. Please, look with your own eyes. Look at me.â
When he does, the voices scream again, but DĂĄire fixes his eyes on Solasâ, his arms shaking.
âGood.â Solas lets go of his shoulders and wraps his arms around them instead. âNow look past me, and tell me what you see.â
Resting his chin on Solas' shoulder, DĂĄire looks at the forest. In the darkness of the storm, a sudden flash of light far away, barely visible between the trees.
âLightning.â His voice sounds hoarse.
âGood. Now tell something you are thinking. One of your own thoughts.â
DĂĄire stays silent for a few seconds as his thoughts become clearer.
âOne summer, Ellara taught me how to count the seconds between lightning and thunder to know how close they are.â
âCan you do that now?â
DĂĄire nods. Solas steps back and holds his hand, leading him onwards as he counts out loud.
Solas leads them to a small group of rocks off the side of the forest. Not really a cave, but big enough to provided shelter from the rain. DĂĄire sits next to him, and rests his head on his shoulder, counting as the storm slowly recedes and the lightning falls further away.
âI cannot hear them anymore.â It is a sudden realisation. That it is not just the thunder that has gone silent.
âYou will have to learn to push their thoughts under yours when you donât need them.â He is silent for a moment. When he talks again, his voice is harder than before. âYou should not have drunk from the Vir Abelasan. I begged you not to.â
âSolasâŠâ
âYou gave yourself into the service of an ancient elven god.â
âYou⊠You donât even believe in them. I myself, donât know what to believe after what we saw at the Temple. So, what does it matter?â
âI donât believe that they were gods, but I believe that they existed. If not gods, then mages, or spirits. And you are bound to one of them now. Anything you do will be for her, whether you know it or not.â
His voice is so sad it knocks the air out of DĂĄire's lungs. It takes him a few breaths before he speaks again.
âThis is... clearly very important to you. Is that why you havenât talked to me since we left the Temple?â
âAnd because you seemed to be in pain whenever someone made a sound near you.â He stayed silent, watching the rain drip from the rocks in front of them. âWhy did you offer yourself so readily for it? Was it for power?â
The reply comes to DĂĄire faster than he was expecting:
âBecause it was what I had to do to be able to save everyone. All other options were worse than this.â
Solas does not reply, but he feels him tense up at his response. One of his arms wraps around DĂĄire's shoulder and holds him close. Tight.
In silence, they watch the rain stop, and the evening sun start to pool through the leaves.
âThere is a river nearby. We should at least wash the mud off your face and hair.â
DĂĄire touches his face, suddenly aware of the mud now caked and solidified on his skin. He rubs it with the palm of his hand and laughs.
Solas holds his hand as they walk towards the river. Itâs not often that he is the one to reach for his hand, and it has happened twice today. DĂĄire entwines his fingers with his. Solas tightens his hold.
The river runs wide and shallow and slow in here. DĂĄire walks in, knee-deep, welcoming the cool water. He kneels on the river to wash his face, rubbing the mud off his cheeks.
Solas walks into the river and kneels behind him. DĂĄire feels cold water and then his fingers on his hair. He feels water pour over his hair, washing away the mud, the swear and the rain. Careful fingers undo knots with so much gentleness that tears threaten to well up in his eyes. He closes them instead, feeling that he could fall asleep right there, in the arms of the river, under the warmth of the summer sunset. And the blessed silence in his head.
It is Solas' voice that breaks the silence.
âThere is something you said earlier. That you did not know what to believe anymore." He pauses. "You said something similar before we went to the Temple⊠Something about the ancient elven gods not being here.â
One of Solas' hands is still running over his hair, the other has come to rest on the spot between his neck and his shoulder, his thumb rubbing gently at the back of his neck.
âWhen we were talking about the Dread Wolf, yesâŠâ DĂĄireâs voice comes soft and mellow. âI said that maybe what he did, fooling the Elven Gods, was not... so simple. That we could not say for sure it was something bad. That the creators made.this world and they are not there anymore to hear us, but essentially Fen'Harel gave us the world as we know it. Made it our responsibility. And now watches and listens." DĂĄire stops, trying tonput his thoughts in order. "Maybe there is more to it now, knowing what we saw at the Temple. Maybe heâs not here to listen to our prayers eitherâŠâ
As he speaks, Solas stands and walks around him, to kneel in front of him, cupping DĂĄireâs cheek in his hand.
âMaybe there is more truth on that than you think⊠DĂĄire, there is something I wish to tell you. The truth.â
He goes silent after that, running his thumb over his cheek. DĂĄire reaches out to rest his hand on Solasâ cheek too.
âYes?â
A breath shakes Solas' chest as he looks into his eyes. For a moment, DĂĄire thinks he is going to break into tears. He opens his mouth.
Then Solas breaks eye contact, briefly, looking down at his cheeks, rather than his eyes. He takes another breath.
âYour face. The vallaslin. In my journeys in the Fade, I have seen things. I have discovered what those marks mean.â
âThey honour the elven gods.â
âThey do now. And they did back in the time of Ancient Arlathan, but in a different way. A noble would mark his slaves with the symbol of the gods he worshipped.â
DĂĄire looks into his eyes. He does not think Solas would lie to him, but he is not sure if this is all there is to it. He runs his thumb again over Solasâ cheek. He, ever so slightly, flinches.
âIs this⊠Is this why you donât have any?â
âYes.â
Trying to get Solas to speak about his past had always been difficult. DĂĄire lowers his eyes.
âWhy tell me now?â
âBecause, after all that has happened, after seeing the memories of the slaves branded against their will in honor of a god for the rest of their lives⊠You deserve better than that. You are already bound to Mythal. You donât have to have her brand on your face.â
âI donât have to?â
âI know a spell. I can remove the vallaslin, if you wish.â
Any questions he might have had freeze in his throat.
A million thoughts reel on DĂĄireâs head.
Days spent meditating and purifying.
The pain as the hours passed, and the Keeper applied the lines with care and reverence. His sister holding his hand.
Ellara, embracing him with pride, pressing her forehead to his, the branches meeting their copy on each other.
But also Ellaraâs anger at the Temple of Mythal. Her faith reinforced, while his wavered.
And the voices in his head. In there forever. Pulling and pushing, whispering into his ear. Muttering secrets and showing him visions he does not want to see.
And Solas deciding not to get his vallaslin? Or having it removed? So many things DĂĄire has always wanted to ask about his past. And so many of them that have been met with silence.
âDĂĄire.â His voice brings him back to reality. âYou do not have to decide now. You do not have to agree to this at all. I am sorry.â
He stands, water dripping off his clothes, and heads towards the river bank. DĂĄire stands after him and holds his arm. When he turns to face him, DĂĄire holds his hands and brings them up to his cheeks.
âDo it.â
âAre you sure?â
âI am bound to Mythal now. I don't regret the choice I made." He adds before Solas can say anything else. "I wish it didn't have to be me, but it was my choice."
He lowers his hands to his sides. Solas' hands remain cupping his face.
"But knowing this now, knowing⊠what I saw at the Temple, I donât think I can be comfortable with this. With the vallaslin on my face. Call it a small rebellion, I guess.â
Solas smiles and nods. He places his hands on DĂĄireâs forehead.
He closes his eyes.
It does not hurt. As Solas runs his hands down his face, a faint light glows behind his eyelids. It feels cold like the water lapping at their knees.
When itâs over, DĂĄire opens his eyes, but resists looking at his reflection in the water. Rather, he looks at Solas, who is now staring at him with a fondness he has never seen before.
Knowing itâs not over, DĂĄire reaches to undo the laces of his shirt, but Solasâ hands reach for them.
They have undressed each other many times before, but this time itâs different. Solas undoes the knots on his shirt slowly. He slides the wet shirt it off his shoulders with reverence and carefully lays it on the river bank, over dry, sunlit stones. He does the same with his undershirt, with his pants. It feels almost like a ritual.
Slowly, his hands trace the ink lines over his chest, his back, his legs, his arms, glowing as the lines disappear under his fingers. Yet he also traces the rivers of his veins on his arms, the scars on his chest, imaginary lines between his freckles.
âAr lasa mala revas.â
You are now free.
We have done this before. A stray, nonsensical idea that flies through his mind like an arrow.
DĂĄire looks up at him and reaches for his face with his hands again. And he kisses him, deep and desperate, as Solas wraps his arms around his waist.
Without breaking the kiss, DĂĄire reaches for the hem of Solasâ shirt. Slowly, he also starts to undress him.
With as much reverence.
With far more unsteady fingers.
---
Later, as they lie on their warm clothes on the riverbank, Solas looks up at the sky, as the first stars appear through the canopy.
âWe should head back to the camp.â
DĂĄire shakes his head, eyes half-closed. Face buried in the crook of Solas' neck.
âI donât want to go back. Not now. I want to be with you. I donât know how much time we will have together before this is all over.â
Solas smiles and places a kiss on his lips, light as a feather, before he stands and reaches for his clothes.
âI will go back and tell them you are okay. And that weâll make out way back to Skyhold on our own. At our own pace."
DĂĄireâs face lights up as he sits up. âThere is nothing I would like more.
Solas chuckles.
âYour sister is not going to be happy. I donât look forward to it.â Once he is dressed, he walks back to DĂĄire and kisses his forehead. âWait for me here. I will be back soon.â
DĂĄire throws his arms around his neck, keeping him closer a little longer.
âI will wait. Come back soon.â
As Solasâ steps fade into the forest, DĂĄire looks up at the sky.
The voices are a soft murmur at the back of his head. The sound of ocean waves. Some of them are louder than others, and once they are noticed they rise to meet him as if he has fallen asleep before the tide. He tries to remember what he did before.
Tell me what you see.
âThe stars. Constellations Eluvia and Solium.â
Now tell something you are thinking. One of your own thoughts.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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Free to watch âą No registration required âą HD streaming
i feel like iâve been seeing more solas x m!lavellan content recently (finally, after all these years) and itâs fueling my soul, thank you so much for this delicious food, i will cherish it until the end of my days i love u guys so much
A little something featuring @littlegumshoeâs DĂĄire Lavellan because I thought this post was super cute and also I love him
The first time DĂĄire visited the statue of Fenâharel the Dread Wolf - his dread wolf - he was just trying to clear his head. He hadnât been looking for it, just hoping to find some place quiet to think, to be alone.
Given the stone animal lacked so much of the warmth and personality that made Solas the man that he loved, he didnât expect it to be the comfort it was.
The second time, he wasnât exactly sure what he wanted, why he found himself trekking his way back to the statue. But reason or not, he was there, sitting beside the cold stone, this time with a book in his lap. It was one Solas had given him, a collection of stories, although that hadnât played a factor in his decision to bring that particular volume. At least not consciously.
âI still think this one silly,â he told the statue as he finished the first story. There was no response, although he wasnât exactly expecting one. Statues didnât talk, cold and lifeless as they were, and he felt a little silly addressing it in the first place.
Solas would have answered though, even if it was just to argue the merits of this particular story. After all, it was one of his favourites.
It was the third time he visited that DĂ ire discovered the cozy little space between the statueâs paws, a space the perfect size to curl up in. The wolfâs head rested above him, blocking out the sky, like it was trying to keep him safe. Or maybe that was just wishful thinking, wishing to be safe with the man he loved, wolf or not.
The fourth time, he read the story out loud, not caring if anyone heard him. Solas may be gone, but that didnât mean he couldnât share the stories they had loved. Maybe if he spoke them into the world with enough love, theyâd still find their way to his ears, wherever he was.
It became a habit after that, DĂĄire spending time by the Fenâharel statue whenever he was able. Sometimes he read, sometimes silently to himself, sharing only his thoughts, and sometimes out loud. Other times he sang, songs that his family had sung to him, songs Solas had taught him. Sometimes he just talked, sharing whatever was on his mind, things that were bothering him, things he wished he could say to the man he loved. Things he wasnât able to say, to Solas in his absence, or to anybody else, the things that were too private to share.
On the days when it was sunny, he could balance on the statueâs broad back, the sun warming them both and he could almost imagine he wasnât alone. On miserable days, the statue was a shelter, and at least they were both damp together. The contours of the statue became familiar under his fingers, the plants growing taller and taller around them with each passing day, a path worn into the dirt.
The time didnât bring the man he loved back to him, didnât wash away the little seed of loneliness growing inside him, but at least being near the statue made it hurt a little less.
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