#solarook

Solas: my vhenan, you are the universe's most precious creation, and I am but a monster

Lavellan: our love is far greater than our circumstances

vs

Solas: I'LL SEE YOU IN HELL

Summary: Day 8 of the Christmas advent.

Pairing: Solas x F! Elven! Rook

WC: 1.2k

Warnings: elf!mage!rook, unnamed rook, dalish!rook, VEILGUARD SPOILERS, rook is described as having elgar’nan’s vallaslin, smut: hatefucking, rough sex, barely any prep, dom!solas, solas bites rook and draws blood, rook also bites solas, rough kissing, blood play, elf ears are erogenous spots I don’t make the rules sorry, this is NOT soft sex, mdni, lmk if I missed anything

Notes: I have been dying to write for Solas ever since I first played Inquisition 8 years ago, and finally I’m mustering up the courage after playing DAV! I’m sure he’s OOC in this, apologies. That said, I had such a fun time writing this. With all that said, there are veilguard spoilers, so if you haven’t completed the game turn away now!

Elven phrases: “Dirth ma, harellan. Ma banal enasalin. Mar solas ena mar din” - Your pride is responsible for everything that has gone wrong; you will die alone.

“Ir emah'la shal” - I will kill you!

“Dirth ma banal” - You have learned nothing.

“Fenedhis” - Unknown curse, I’m using it as fuck.

“Sahlin garas” - Now; Come. Ofc I’m using it as Now, cum. Creative liberties and all that.

Christmas Advent || 2024

Read the fic anon is referencing here! (A03) Noncon mention below, 18+

oh man okay I was thinking about this last night. I'm going to give you two answers:

The slightly more serious answer is that Solas was horrified/disgusted by Rook's loss of agency. I have to imagine it's probably not the first time Solas has seen Elgar'nan rape a resistant slave in order to break them, which is why Solas warned Rook to endure in the beginning. He had a fairly strong idea about what was going to happen, had hoped Rook would be strong enough to withstand it, and was mildly disappointed (but not surprised) that she's not able to. Add in a very selfish element personal insult, as part of him considers Rook his agent, and you leave Solas as a little-bundle-of-angry-despair.

The slightly hotter answer, (and the one I choose to believe) is that Solas was a mix of horror, disgust, and reluctant arousal. All of the above applies, except you factor in that Solas and Elgar'nan are alike in many ways; that part of Solas (that he vehemently denies) does enjoy being smarter and better than ordinary people; that he has a line in Inquisition indicating he enjoys watching people get dominated; and that Solas has some latent attraction to Rook.

“Foolish,” said Solas.

Rook made a noise that might have been in agreement before she turned away, silently undoing the binding on her hands. A nervous habit, unnecessary in the Fade but one she often did absentmindedly during her little meditation sojourns to his prison.

Staring out into the nothingness of the Fade the Dread Wolf turned over the facts in his mind methodically. Inside he was a tangle of feelings; each one sharper and more uncomfortable against the inside of his skin than the next. He should have been infuriated, and in some ways he was. The plan had been foolish. Too great a risk for too little a reward. But to match the stoked fires of his ire was the ice cold pit in his stomach for what might have been lost. How close…

Across from him Rook dropped the wrapping that she had just unwound from her right hand and watched vacantly as it fluttered into the abyss between them.

His brow dipped in concern, his attention suddenly focused on the flush of her skin, the dampness on her lashes, and the dark smudges under her eyes. “Rook,” he began, as if to question her when he saw the tremble of her hand a moment before she clenched her fist and looked away.

“Solas,” she said, a warning to ward off further inquiry. Her voice was hard like granite but something in the way she kept her gaze turned from his was brittle as crackled porcelain.

The lightest touch would--

“Rook.”

That time, her name from his lips was not a chastisement but she flinched anyway. Her chest expanded and she released a sound like air through a cracked window. A gasp. A flutter of her lungs. A barely coherent sob.

Understanding unfolded in his chest and chased away the criticisms that lingered on his tongue like ash. In a moment his arms are around her, her face is pressed to his chest.

“I did everything I could,” she said in a strained voice. The voice of someone who had made hard decisions and was weary of the burden of failure.

“I know,” murmured Solas, steady as her composure crumpled in the safety of his strength.

Breath hitching, Rook held onto him tightly, hot tears spilling down her cheeks as the stress, grief, and frustration spilled over into release.

“I’m so tired,” she told him, struggling to keep the whine from her voice. The naked pain and exhaustion of shouldering her many burdens struck him truer than any mortal weapon. Between his ribs she pierced him with the waver of her voice.

“Breathe,” he reminded her, voice low and calm, a port in the storm of her released emotions.

They stayed locked like that for a moment or an hour. A moment or a day. He, holding her trembling body to his, feeling each sob like a heartache in his chest. Her, fingers curled into the leather and fabric of his clothes, unburdening her grief stricken mind one gusty, tear stained sigh at a time. And then--

As her distress eased and her breathing calmed, Rook gasped suddenly, fingers tightening into the places on his ancient battle scarred vestments that had already born the scoring of her nails. “How did you?” Her voice faded when she looked from him, real and solid and wrapped around her, to the place he usually occupied across the great divide. “How can you?”

Solas made a noise, soft and deep in the back of his throat. “It takes some effort,” he started to explain.

Rook tensed. “But—”

“I am still imprisoned,” he affirmed wryly, amused more than affronted when she immediately relaxed with an audible sigh of relief.

Slowly they parted, as if each was reluctant to take up their conflict. The ease of their embrace corroded into stiff movements as they became like two soldiers re-donning their armor and staves in preparation for further dueling.

“Thank you,” she said at last, glancing away before something within her seemed to turn to steel and she lifted her chin to meet his Fade-washed eyes.

Solas could feel the full strength of the Fade trying to launch him back into place; the magic felt tight and hot, attempting to correct an aberration he had wrought within his prison for the sole privilege of drying her tears. It had been unwise and yet--

“You have done well, Rook.” Her expression softened, ever so slightly. “Spending so much time supporting, helping, and easing the concerns of your companions has not been easy on top of the other burdens you bear and still you manage it all beautifully.”

“Beautifully,” echoed Rook, the edges her mouth lifting into something softer than their usual mockery.

“Beautifully,” he confirmed, solemn.

Rook vanished as she was torn from her meditative trance.

Concentration dissolved, Solas jerked and groaned under the power of the prison he had constructed. The Fade flung the Dread Wolf back into his cage, the backlash burning like a brand against his own weary mind. Without Rook’s presence the regrets of a hundred mortal lifetimes rise in unison to clamor for his attention.

“You burn everything you’ve ever touched,” says a voice like a heatwave in summer. A pause. “But, then, it all burns so beautifully.”

“Beautifully,” echoes another voice, snide. And another, sad.

Solas does not flinch but he feels each echo like an unhealed wound tearing anew to leak ichor. His jaw clenches. He rests his head against the stone at his back and tries to drown out the history of his failures.