Tag: solasmance

For DA Drunk Writing: Kiss 19 for Solas x Lavellan!

Thanks for the @dadrunkwriting prompt! Kiss #19 is “a good luck kiss”. So here we have some Solavellan at the Winter Palace. 

Fun fact: I hate this mission. Timed missions are the death of me.

Read on AO3 instead.

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Solas keeps his head canted low as he skirts the edges of the courtyard. The Winter Palace is a feast of fine wine and gentle music, of beautiful gowns and gently twinkling fairy lights. Nobles from all over Orlais drift through the gardens, their dulcet voices a scanty veil for their poisoned words.

They ignore Solas entirely.

It’s clear that any elves present here tonight are assumed to be waitstaff or servants, and it’s an impression that Solas purposely reinforces with his cultivated deferential air. At any other time, the assumption would be galling. But tonight, it serves Elia best if he slides beneath the notice of anyone important. Drunken socialites have loose lips in the presence of their servants, and Solas might be able to learn something of use by virtue of his pointed ears.

Despite – or perhaps because of – his anonymity, Solas is enjoying himself. Arlathan and its politics had countless faults, but one thing they’d always excelled at was throwing a party. This human masquerade is paltry compared to the grand affairs of ancient Elvhenan, but no matter the time or place, formal fêtes always have a handful of common features: the lush costumes, the posturing and the intrigue, the dancing, and the plots hidden within plots. Fen’Harel had grown weary of the backstabbing and the schemes toward the end, but here in Halamshiral, the stakes don’t feel as high.

Perhaps it is because Solas sees the greater picture, and he knows that the outcome of this night will be of fleeting consequence in the grander scheme of things. Or perhaps it is because he knows Elia will prevent anything too atrocious from occurring. No matter what the reason, Solas is feeling quite relaxed indeed.

I hope I will come across some of those frilly cakes, he thinks idly as he watches Elia socializing with the myriad guests. The Inquisitor’s stature is proud but polite, her smile demure but her handshakes firm, and Solas thinks that some of the nobles’ gentle laughter is actually quite genuine rather than practiced or biting.

He continues to drift along the edges of the party, separate from the festivities without being truly apart from them, his attention divided between his lover and the murmured conversations around him. Eventually Elia extricates herself from the company of the nobles and heads up the main stairs, and Solas notices something.

As she walks up the stairs, she twines her fingers together and rubs the thumb of one hand against the length of the other. She turns her head briefly, her eyes darting quickly over the garden. An instant later she is composed again, her hands loose and relaxed at her sides and her chin lifted confidently as she reaches the top of the stairs and turns to the right.

She is nervous, Solas thinks with a pang of fondness. Slowly and carefully, he makes his way up the stairs, following the path she’s taken.

The area she turned into is dim and occupied only by a couple standing at the balcony and kissing ostentatiously. Assured of their inattention, Solas slips through the one and only door in the wall.

It leads down a quiet and well-lit corridor, and Solas silently follows the hall to a small storage room. Elia is standing just inside the door, and she jumps when he enters the room.

“Solas!” she gasps, then rests her palms against his chest and wilts with relief. “Fenedhis. I’m sorry. I’m just…”

He grasps her arms reassuringly, then pulls her close and runs his hands along her back. “You are performing most admirably,” he says softly. “Truly, you are a sight to behold.”

She smiles ruefully up at him. “‘Performing’ is the right word,” she says. “I feel like an actress who could forget her lines at any second.” She slides her arms tightly around his waist and presses her cheek to his chest, and Solas feels her ribs expanding beneath his embrace as she inhales deeply.

“I’m scared,” she whispers. “What if I slip up? Say the wrong thing, or step on someone’s foot, or insult someone by accident-”

“Vhenan,” he interrupts gently. He runs one hand through her short dark hair, then tilts her chin up to face him. “The path you walk holds its perils. I would be concerned if you were not afraid,” he says. “But do not let your fears paralyze you. Trust your instincts. You are polite and diplomatic and an excellent negotiator, and you listen extremely well. And there is nothing these people like more than being listened to.”

She huffs out a breathy little laugh, her arms relaxing around his waist. Finally she sighs, then releases him to press her palms against his abdomen instead. “All right,” she says. “I’m ready to dive back in.” She tilts her head coyly, her aquamarine eyes twinkling with renewed good humour. “A good luck kiss, perhaps?”

He smiles back at her, then cups her face in his hands. “You do not need luck,” he tells her. “Everything you need is here.” He taps her temples with his thumbs.

“Indulge me,” she whispers. And so he does.

Elia’s lips are soft and sweet, as rosy and restorative as a velveteen petal of embrium, and Solas enjoys the feel of her hands on his neck and her gentle tongue as it traces his lips. Finally she pulls away and strokes the angle of his jaw.

“You’re wrong, you know,” she says. She taps her temple. “This isn’t the only thing I need.” Her smile is warm, but her eyes are serious and heavy with affection. She gently pulls him down and presses her forehead to his. “You’re always here when I need you,” she whispers. “Thank you.”

Solas closes his eyes. There’s a bittersweet pulse of affection in his chest, slightly more bitter than sweet, but it is a bite he is prepared to suffer for the exquisite taste of her love.

“Ar lath ma,” he whispers. Then he takes a slow and reluctant step away from her. “Now go and write history, Inquisitor.”

She grins at him, then squeezes his hand once more before slipping out of the room, and Solas waits for a long minute before following her out.

He will not always be here for her. Their time together is finite, and Solas has always known this acrid truth. But at the end of this night, by Elia’s side is where he will be.

I love this art and IT’S SO INSPIRING AND BEAUTIFUL, I had to make a little dialogue for it. Solas and Lavellan having an academic chat in the library… 

Lavellan: Solas, do you think that spirits consider the Fade their home? Do they know what it means to have a home?

Solas: [GREATLY APPROVES] It depends on the spirit, vhenan. Simpler spirits may only understand the concept of ‘home’ from what they observe of this – that is, of our world. They may not understand that the concept of a home applies to them as well. 

Lavellan: [sadly] I wonder if Cole misses the Fade. Do you think he will go back someday?

Solas: I cannot say. It depends on what he sees a home to be. Even for people of this world, home can mean many different things. For some, it is a place. For others, it may be a time they long for, an age of safety and happiness. And for others still… [he trails off, studies the lines and curves of her face.]

Lavellan: … it’s a person. 

Solas: [softly] Yes, vhenan. Exactly. 

Welcome to DWC!! How about “a kiss on a place of insecurity” for Elia and Solas <3

Thank you for the @dadrunkwriting prompt, love! ❤️ 

This little drabble is partly self-insert, and partly inspired by the Hands On The Table series by @apostatehobolife. I seriously love that art series so much and it makes me want to die in the best way. 

Read on AO3 instead, and for some extra notes about this chapter. 

***************

Solas became aware of her presence a moment before he heard her voice.

“You’re still working?”

Elia’s fingers drifted lightly across his shoulders, and he broke his gaze from his sketch to look up at her. “Yes,” he confirmed. “I will soon be finished.” He gently blew a smattering of black chalk dust from his drawing then looked up at her again, only to realize his eyes were stinging with fatigue.

“What time is it?” he asked.

She leaned her hip gently against his shoulder. “It’s past one. I was really stuck in a book until I realized you hadn’t come to bed yet.”

Solas yawned and rubbed his face. No wonder he was so tired. He gestured to his sketch. “There is not much left to do. Would you care to keep me company while I work?”

A beautiful smile lit her face. “Keep you awake, you mean?” she gently teased.

He smiled faintly in return, then slid his arm around her hip and pulled her down to sit in his lap. “You do have a special talent for capturing my attention,” he replied.

She chuckled as she settled into his lap. Solas settled his left arm loosely around her waist, then picked up his chalk and continued to draw.

“Planning your next fresco?” she asked quietly.

He murmured a soft affirmative. The fresco in question would capture Elia’s decision to ally with the Grey Wardens after the fiasco at Adamant Fortress. Solas still wasn’t entirely pleased with her choice, but he understood the cooperative spirit with which her decision had been made.

She shifted slightly on his lap and rested her hands gently on the edge of the desk. As he continued to sketch, he couldn’t help but find his attention drawn to her idly resting hands.

They were small hands, with slender fingers and neatly trimmed nails, marked with the occasional faint scar. They were humble hands, undecorated and plain, bearing no calluses of a warrior and no ink of a scholar. There was nothing particularly special about Elia’s hands, but for some reason, he found himself unable to stop looking at them.

Finally he put aside his sketch and pulled over a fresh sheet of parchment. Elia turned her head slightly to speak to him. “You’re starting a new sketch? Now?” she asked in surprise.

“It will be quick,” he promised. With quick, sure strokes of his chalk stylus, he began to draw her hands. He mapped out the edge of her wrist, the knuckle of her thumb, then the curved tip of the thumb itself.

“Oh – oh no, don’t draw my hands.” Suddenly the subjects of his sketch were taken away as Elia tucked them up against her chest. “They’re awful, you can’t draw my hands.”

He pulled away slightly to look at her in surprise. “Why not?”

She wrinkled her nose. “They’re all wrinkled and lined. The skin on my hands looks about fifty years older than the rest of my body.”

Solas gave a tiny snort of amusement. “You’ve hardly got the hands of an eighty-year-old, vhenan.”

“Well, they’re certainly not all smooth and sculpted like yours.” She ran her fingers over the back of his left hand, then interlaced her fingers with his. “Such handsome hands. Seriously, Solas, they’re as smooth as a teenager’s. What’s your secret?” she asked playfully.

Uthenera, he thought with a wry twist of melancholy. “Sheer good fortune, I assure you,” he said instead. “I have never put particular thought into my hands. Dorian would be a better bet for knowing some form of skincare routine.”

Elia laughed gently. “I bet he does. And probably a good one, too.”

Solas lifted her right hand and thoughtfully inspected it. Her hands certainly did not resemble an elder’s, but they weren’t anything special to look at either. And yet, he couldn’t help but find them captivating.

“Elia, I would like to draw your hands,” he said softly.

She groaned. “But why? They’re so ugly. They’d make a terrible piece of art.”

“Do you think that art is intended to depict beauty and nothing else?” he said. “No, vhenan. It is the act of making a moment immortal: of capturing a memory, a thought or a dream, and interpreting it for all to see. Everything is worth being captured in this way.”

She was silent for a long moment, and Solas idly toyed with her fingers until she sighed. “I see your point,” she admitted. “I just… I don’t know. I’ve always sort of hated what my hands look like.” She gave a self-deprecating little laugh.

He tilted her a chiding look. “You do not judge the value of anything else by appearance alone. Why should your own hands be different?”

He lifted her hand to his lips and pressed a careful kiss to her knuckles, then gazed seriously into her aquamarine eyes. “I assure you, these hands are perfect exactly as they are,” he said.

She stared back at him with her earnest jeweled gaze, then finally nodded. “All right,” she said, then untangled her fingers from his own and placed them gently on the desk.

Solas arranged her fingers carefully, replacing them in the pose they’d held before she’d moved them away. He then continued his careful sketch. As the shapes of her thumb and fingers appeared on his parchment, he mused about why her hands compelled him so.

They were simple hands, unadorned by jewelry and ungarnished by Dalish nail-paint, but they were the most special hands Solas had ever known. His lover’s hands held a strong and subtle magic, and this was something he admired. Her hands grasped his own with an open and easy affection, and this was something he cherished. In the privacy of her quarters, her fingers traced across his skin with a torrid kind of tenderness that he hadn’t felt in thousands of years. Her hands reached inside the cavern of his chest, sinking deep where he hadn’t thought anyone from this world could ever sink. Her hands sought and cradled his bruised and bitter heart, and slowly wiped away the shroud of ancient dust that choked him still.

This – all of this, every trait and act of her small and slender fingers: this was what made her hands so mesmerizing.

Soon, the sketch was complete. Solas lifted the parchment and tapped off the excess chalk dust, then settled back in his chair with a satisfied sigh. “For you,” he said softly.

She carefully lifted the parchment, and Solas watched affectionately as she lightly traced the outline of her own fingers. “This… Solas, it’s so… it’s beautiful,” she whispered.

“You made it beautiful,” he told her.

It was all in her hands. They were exquisite beyond compare, and Solas would love them forever.

three word prompt 15 for solas/elia, fluffy if possible :) thank you <3

pikapeppa:

Perfect timing for this prompt – thank you @bronzeagelove! I just finished reading a soul-crushing Solavellan fic for the second time and am utterly destroyed, so some nice fluffy Solavellan is a soothing balm to my soul…😉

The prompt: grace, dark, holding.

Read on AO3 instead.

Elia leans her elbows on the balcony and sighs.

“Is something wrong?” Solas’s quiet voice floats out from her bedroom, followed by the man himself. His barefooted steps are silent as he comes to lean against the balcony at her side.

She smiles up at him. “Quite the contrary, actually. I was just listening to the music.” She nods her head vaguely in the direction of Skyhold’s grounds. “Someone is playing… something. It doesn’t quite sound like a lute…”

Solas cocks his head to listen to the delicate serenade, and Elia watches the thoughtful creasing of his brow. Then he shifts his weight and folds his arms. “Lyre, if I am not mistaken. It is a lovely duet.”

Elia gazes at his handsome profile with a rush of affection. He always seems to have an answer, even for her unasked questions, and he rarely requires more than a few seconds to pluck the information she requests from the depths of his mind. She wonders what it must be like to have such an excellent memory.

Eventually he meets her gaze, and his expression softens. “What are you thinking?”

She shakes her head. “Nothing much,” she says, not wanting to gush all over him like the hopelessly besotted woman that she is. She leans affectionately against him instead. “Just that this is nice. The quiet, the music… it’s so peaceful.”  She closes her eyes and smiles, savouring the fine sound of the lyre duet as it slides through the darkness of the night. “It sounds like… raindrops tinkling against metal, but fuller. Or maybe… like pearls falling against a mirror, but less strident.” She sighs, frustrated by her inability to properly put the sound into words. “That distinct resonant plucking… I just really like stringed instruments.”

She sighs again and opens her eyes only to find Solas staring at her with such warmth that her breath catches in her throat. Without breaking her gaze, he steps back from the balcony and extends a hand to her. “Come, vhenan,” he says softly. “Dance with me.”

Keep reading

A stupid modern AU love triangle: Lavellan/Solas/Blackwall

So I came up with this modern AU idea a while ago, thanks in part to @hellarcanine and inspired in part by my undying devotion to Message Sent, but I haven’t expanded on it because I couldn’t figure out the plot or who I wanted Lavellan to end up with. Blackwall or Solas?? I love them both?? And then I was going to put Abelas in it too and I just had to give up because I HAVE PROBLEMS OK

I wrote this one tiny snippet of the fic and I probably won’t write anymore, but what better time to share it than for @dadrunkwriting Friday?

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Second swimsuit, got it… light cardi… fenedhis, where’s that green one I like for the summer?

Ellana flicked through the hangers in her closet once more, her frustration rising as she failed to find the mint-green cardigan in question. Finally her eyes dropped to the floor of the closet.

There, she thought with annoyance; the cardigan lay in a crumpled heap on top of the myriad boxes and purses at the bottom of her closet. She grabbed it and backed out of the closet, then realized with a jolt what she was holding.

It was definitely a cardigan, but it wasn’t hers.

Ellana stared at the garment in her hand for a long moment. Then she dropped the cardigan on the bed and picked up her phone.

She held the phone in her hands for a few seconds, then put it down and continued her packing. Sunscreen and elfroot after-sun lotion went into a plastic bag and then into her carry-on; spare phone charger, a favourite dog-eared novel for the beach, beaded sandals for the evening: she tucked it all snugly into her bag, but she wasn’t focused on her packing anymore. The men’s cardigan on her bed kept drawing her unwilling attention, like a car accident on the freeway.

Finally she was packed, the small suitcase filled with everything except the stuff she’d need for the morning. There was no excuse not to text him.

She picked up her phone and swiped into her messages.

–Ellana 20:34–
Hey, I found one of your cardigans in my closet. I’ll bring it to the clinic when we get back from the Arbor Wilds

She tossed the phone down on the bed and went to the kitchen to make some tea. When she came back and casually checked her phone, his reply was there.

–Solas 20:35–
You can bring it with you. I am coming on the trip as well.

She stared at the screen in disbelief. Solas was coming on the work holiday? Ellana had assumed he wouldn’t come; he only reluctantly joined in with social events at work, and even less so since he’d broken up with her. He’d always been too busy with his research and his writing to go travelling with her when they were together, and suddenly he was coming on this vacation with all their colleagues?

He only sees patients at the clinic one day a week, she thought petulantly. He barely counts as staff. Frankly, Ellana was kind of surprised Leliana was willing to pay for him to come along.

She sat on the bed and mindlessly sipped her tea, then tapped out a reply.

–Ellana 20:38–
I didn’t know you were coming? I thought you had to teach

–Solas 20:39–
Josephine was quite insistent. And I must use some of my vacation days before I lose them.

Ellana snorted a bitter little laugh. Of course he had too many vacation days in his bank. The damned man never took a day off.

She idly swiped through her apps and sorted some emails, then returned to her messages again.

–Ellana 20:42–
Ok well I’ll see you at the airport then

She nibbled the inside of her cheek as she watched her screen, but when the three little dots didn’t appear, she put her phone aside and went to go fold her laundry.

A few minutes in, she heard the text chime of her phone. She hurried back to her room and picked it up, but the message wasn’t from Solas.

–Thom 20:50–
hey you – just confirming, pick up at 6:30am tmr?

She smiled fondly. Thom had asked her this already when he’d swung by her office on his way out of the clinic. The burly physiotherapist had started at Leliana’s clinic shortly after Ellana had accepted the clinical psychologist position, and they’d instantly become friends. So she knew Thom well enough to know he was just looking for an excuse to message her.

She quickly sent him a reply.

–Ellana 20:50–
Yes, that’s perfect – no change since you asked me four hours ago 😉

She bit her lip to quell her grin as she watched the three little dots immediately appear. A moment later, Blackwall’s reply popped up.

–Thom 20:50–
right – ok – see you in the morning then mlady 🙂

She chuckled, then sent him off one last message.

–Ellana 20:51–
Goodnight xo

She grinned as she imagined the reddening of his cheeks beneath his beard, then stretched her arms idly as she stood to go finish the laundry. But as she moved back toward the living room, her phone chimed again.

She glanced at the screen, and her amusement faded back into a faint buzz of anxiety.

–Solas 20:51–
Goodnight, Ellana.

Her heart squeezed at the flatness of his words. They were so cold and final-looking. Then she berated herself for caring. She and Solas weren’t together anymore; they were just colleagues now. He didn’t owe her any kind of warm words at night. Besides, she was dating Thom now.  

But Solas’s previous night-time greetings floated up from the back of her mind, freed from the place where she tried to squash her memories of him. Pleasant dreams, he always used to say. It was how he’d sign off at the end of their late-night phone calls, back in the early days. It was what he’d whisper to her every night as they fell asleep, his chest pressed against her naked back.

She shoved the memory away, replacing it instead with the thought of Thom’s warm smile. She returned to the living room and went back to folding her laundry, her mind pleasantly occupied with the thought of Thom’s big strong hands on her waist and the endearing tickle of his beard when he kissed her on the cheek.

Later that night, as she turned off the TV and went to take her shower, she picked up her phone and glanced at the screen. There was a message there, one she must have missed from earlier that night.

Her stomach flip-flopped as she read it.

–Solas 20:51–
Pleasant dreams.