mythedaslore

[mythedaslore]

He shrinks himself so he can lick her

[mythedaslore]

a friend on bsky said:

"Someone draw hairless cat Solas in a little DAI sweater snuggling up to Lavellan and hissing at Rook"

Finally a cat that Rook can't pet

[mythedaslore]

I deeply love this idea of healing the blight - with song, sound and harmonics. All magic in Dragon Age always felt like it sung , no matter the source, and using that idea to be the last puzzle piece to help heal the blight just feels natural.

I love how you have captured Solas and Lavellan's relationship and their new experiences with each other. Honestly, your writing is to beautiful and heals the soul!

Between Fade and Flesh

Day 7 of Dragon Age Kiss Week 2025 - Celebration.

Solas sat at his desk, writing, reading, revising notes. The breakthrough they’d made recently - toward understanding how to calm a strain of the Blight - had reshaped his thinking. A discovery that had required two minds, with Lavellan’s role, in his view, indispensable.

And one mystery, long left unsolved, had been key: the Anchor.

He had spent years chasing its meaning, its residue and aftereffects. Dozens of experiments - failed and repeated - because the final element had eluded him. That element, it turned out, had always been Lavellan.

It was not the Anchor itself, now long gone from Lavellan, but the residue of it still within her that held the key to this breakthrough. Through her - through the lingering trace of that powerful mark - a tether remained. A conduit between his magic, the Veil and the Fade that had not frayed. The spirit’s words returned to him now, spoken long ago to Lavellan in the Nightmare's realm: “It is the needle that passes through the Veil, as little else can. You are the thread.” The spirit's words had proven true even now. Through that tether, another thread had emerged - something in resonance with the Blight.

His eyes drifted to her prosthetic, lying across his desk. He picked it up gently, turning it over in his hands.

Dagna’s work never ceased to astonish him. There were moments he wished he could have spent more time with her back in Skyhold - just to learn how she thought, how she moved so easily between material and magical, science and song. Her connection to lyrium, to the stone, to magic itself, should not have been possible. Yet her inventions defied his expectations again and again. Lavellan’s lyrium fused prosthetic was no exception.

It wasn’t the complexity of it that humbled him - it was its simplicity. Dagna had attuned the prosthetic to Lavellan’s body by matching the residual harmonic signature of the Anchor. A lyrium rune had been embedded into the inner plate, precisely tuned to the frequency of what remained within Lavellan - amplified by the material she had chosen for the prosthetic: veil quartz.

It made sense - a material revealed only through veilfire, was the perfect medium. It conducted energy efficiently and stabilized form. The result was a kind of magnetic stability - one that allowed the prosthetic to bind to Lavellan not only physically, but metaphysically. As if it had always been a part of her.

But more than that - it was through that thread that one strain of Blight revealed itself.

They had discovered it by accident, partway through one of their studies. Lavellan had mentioned that her prosthetic would sometimes hum faintly near certain Blight nodes. At first, they assumed it was a quirk in the rune - some sensitivity in the lyrium Dagna had used, affected by being physically in the Fade.

Solas felt it, too.

He had sensed it before: a faint, discordant resonance at the edge of his own awareness - it was the effect Blight always had on him when he was near it. His lyrium-reinforced form made him sensitive to such echoes, but without clarity it was like hearing only the bass line of a song with no melody. He had actually given no more thought to it until, Lavellan, wanting to rule it out, left her prosthetic behind the next time they ventured out.

And still, when they reached the site again, she felt something. A thrum - not in her arm, but in the empty space where it had once been. The sensation moved through her shoulder and into her throat the closer she got to the node. Subtle, but insistent. She called it a tickle.

Instinctively, he reached out to touch her shoulder, hoping to sense what she did - and when his hand met her skin, he felt it. The vibration moving through her into him. And the pattern sharpened.

She ran back to retrieve the prosthetic. When she returned and reattached it, he touched her again and the sensation deepened. Her body, the residual thread of the Anchor still woven into the Fade, and the lyrium-tuned rune created a harmonic loop with his magic.

What they realized was the frequency Dagna had attuned to the Anchor matched the same frequency of this particular strain of Blight. How many other strains had they come across that had no pull on her? After much debate, trial and error, they were finally able to isolate one of the vibrations. And once they did, they found they could communicate with it, match it's harmony and still it for a time.

Through Solas touching her and guiding his magic through the prosthetic, they found they could use it like a tuning fork - it was a massive breakthrough. Repeating this process, they began to identify multiple layers of harmonics within a single Blight frequency. Solas would adjust his magic, and Lavellan, when needed, would add her own, as though plucking different strings of an instrument - each of them pulling on threads, honing in on each signal with increasing precision.

With Lavellan's prosthetic as the conduit, they began mapping the structure of the strain: layered frequencies, buried harmonics, shifting signatures. They documented each one with care, writing down what they heard, what they felt.

It wasn’t long after that they were able to recognize other nodes carrying the same resonance - subtle variations, distinct inflections, but all tied to the same strain.

There were still harmonics yet to uncover in the one strain, still vibrations tucked out of reach - but they were closer than they had ever been. Once they completed the map, or better yet, the song - once every resonance within that frequency was known - they believed they could soothe it entirely. And in doing so, reach the Titan from which that strain had been born.

For Solas, it was exhilarating. Like composing a song - but this time, the melody passed through Lavellan. She was the instrument. And together, they were beginning to compose the language of the Blight itself.

This act, more than anything, had created a deeper intimacy between them - one he had never imagined. Her trust in him. Her willingness to open her body to his magic, and his ability to listen through her. To feel the subtle vibrations of her own essence and learn to distinguish them from the pulse of the Blight was captivating to him. This discovery of something entirely new - together.

This deepened intimacy expressed itself in their lovemaking as well. Each more fully attuned to the other - aware of their own vibrations melding together in harmony. When their combined arousal would intensify, they allowed their magic to rise with it, to heighten it - letting it fill their bodies, saturating every nerve. The resonance between them would deepen, weave together tighter, until it overwhelmed everything else. It enhanced their orgasms, extended them, carried them further than either could reach alone.

Solas was often left lying in bed without thought or words afterwards - just pleasurable waves of sensations.

He had lived a very long life in corporeal form, but this was the first time he had truly felt what it meant to be in partnership - both physically and spiritually in harmony. A feeling he had almost forgotten entirely being so far removed from his spirit origin, yet one he had always been trying to chase.

He placed the prosthetic down, careful, reverent, and reached again for his quill. It wasn’t lost on him that none of this could have happened without her. A woman he had cowardly once turned away from. Could he have found his way to this discovery alone? Possibly. But how long would it have taken? How much more would have been lost?

His mind turns once again to their first meeting. To the chance that she had borne the Anchor. What if it had been someone else? The thought unsettled him. He was not prone to romantic notions of fate, and yet - that person had been her. And he had fallen in love with her.

He often wondered at the synchronicity of it all.

He shook the thought from his mind and bent back over the page, eager to document their recent discovery. A new strain of the Blight had surfaced, one with an entirely different signature. They would begin its exploration once the first was fully mapped.

Her voice suddenly, soft and warm, entered the silence of his study. “Solas, you’ve been writing a while. Rest those hands and that mind of yours. Celebrate our discovery with me.”

He didn’t pause. Not yet. “Soon, vhenan. I need to capture these thoughts.”

She spoke again. “It can wait. Celebrate with me, my love - put those hands to a different use.”

He heard the intention behind the words, the shift in her tone - low, sultry, made only for him. He looked up.

She stood in the doorway of their quiet Fade-dwelling, robe sheer and open at the waist - nothing beneath it. And ah, yes - he felt it immediately. The swift, familiar pull of arousal stirring in his body as his gaze passed over her bare skin, the curve of her hips, the fullness of her breasts. Every line and contour already known to him, memorized, his eyes greedily roaming.

His notes could indeed wait.

He set the quill aside and rose, crossing the space without a word, arms circling her waist as he pressed his mouth to hers. The kiss was slow, heated, luxurious. When she pulled back with a teasing smile, dropped her robe to the floor, and turned to walk toward their bed, he stood still for a moment, just watching her. Letting himself enjoy the simple ache of wanting her.

She lay back upon the bed, opening herself to him, and he mapped her body in his mind: where his mouth would go first, the path he would take with his hands and lips and tongue, the moans he would steal from her before he kissed her again. He shuddered with anticipation, aching to return to their duet - to the rhythm and harmony only their bodies knew.

Yes. It was time to celebrate - and he would revel in it.

[mythedaslore]

da kiss week 2025 day 1 || morning

[mythedaslore]

It’s done :]

I am aware the colors are a bit off but I am happy with how it turned out! More DA embroidery to come! 💕

[mythedaslore]

something about the future he thinks he doesn't deserve :^)

[mythedaslore]

Ame’len Fen'Vhenan - "She who carries the heart of the wolf"

- As spoken by Keeper Shiven before the gathered clans at the Arlathvhen.

It is asked why we refer to her as Ame’len Fen'Vhenan. Why we invoke her in our darkest moments. Why, when we light our fires, we offer the first flame to her before any other. I will tell you.

It is said that before the Dread Wolf brought havoc upon the world, his heart was wise and kind - but betrayal turned it cold. In the long ages before the Veil was torn, he waged war without cease. He tore down thrones, cast down those once called kin, sowing destruction wherever he went. So great was his power that it sundered Thedas itself, and forced him to slumber, the world reshaped in his absence.

When he woke, all he saw was ruin. The world he had known was gone and in that moment, his grief became a fury so vast, the wolves of the world were said to howl with his voice.

To calm his rage, one was sent to face him - one who blazed with fire, her body bearing the power of gods. The Avvar named her First-Thaw, the shemlen called her The Herald, believing the flames that leapt from her hand were sent by Andraste herself. No matter the name, all agreed: her fire reached the Dread Wolf’s heart and in its thawing, they fell in love.

For a time, he knew peace in her arms. The wisdom and kindness he had forgotten returned to him. And the world, for a breath, could rest.

But sadly, peace could not hold in the heart of this grieving god for it was too weakened by an eternity of pain. Unable to let go of the world he had lost, he chose to restore it - knowing it would destroy the world she lived in and the heart she had awakened in him. To protect her and his heart, the Dread Wolf tore it from his body and gave it to her so that his wisdom and goodness might survive within her, shielding her from devestation. Though she begged him to stay, he vanished before she could turn him from his path.

He journeyed where no one could follow, and wherever he went, ruin unfolded. Without his heart, his pain spilled into the waking world. Rivers poisoned, demons rose and dreams turned to nightmares.

In fear, the people of Thedas turned once more to Andraste’s Bright Flame, begging her to destroy the Dread Wolf. But the Herald - who loved him still, and who held his heart within her - felt his pain and saw the wisdom still flickering within. She alone understood that a wolf only bites when it has been made to bleed. And so she set out on the most perilous of journeys to find him.

She crossed battlefields steeped in blood. She faced demons that clawed at her spirit and darkness that tried to break her. But through it all, she guarded his heart. And true to his word, his own heart guarded her as well. In carrying both their hearts, a bond was forged so deep that the spirits came to know her by it. They called her the Dread Wolf’s Heart. And when her strength failed, when the path grew darkest, the spirits came to her aid and carried her forward. Finally she found him at the top of the highest mountain, his hands poised to tear the world apart. Here in this moment, she offered his heart back to him.

It is said that when his eyes fell upon her face, his heart leapt from her body and returned to his. And when it beat once more within his chest, the Dread Wolf fell to his knees, overcome by grief so vast it should have destroyed him.

But it was not the same heart he had given her.

In her keeping, it had not only endured - it had grown stronger. By carrying both their hearts within her, she had entwined them, and each drew strength from the other.

And so the Dread Wolf found the strength to stand and face his crimes. He bound his life to the Veil and stepped into the Fade, to bear his punishment.

But he had not foreseen what it meant to love - and to be loved in return. When Andraste’s Flame came to stand beside him, willing to bear his punishment with him, he tried once more to shield her. She reminded him that their hearts were one and she could bear it - because they would bear it together.

It is said the kiss that followed was filled with such love that it healed the Veil behind them as they left this world behind.

That is why we name her Ame’len Fen'Vhenan - She Who Carries the Heart of the Wolf. That is why we call upon her in our times of need. When our strength falters and our pain is too much. Because she bore the Dread Wolf’s heart and her own through the deepest trials and brought them forth whole, and stronger than before.

So that we know our own hearts may endure as well.

Found, hundreds of years after the events of the defeat of the last elvhen gods, in an old forest ruin. An old legend, written and recorded by a faithful follower of Ame’len Fen'Vhenan - also known as First-Thaw, Herald of Andraste, the Woman Who Blazes Like Fire, Inquisitor, The Dread Wolf's Heart.

*Thank you K and V for the inspiration and love of Solas and Lavellan.

[mythedaslore]

A Mirror Reflection

"That night in Crestwood, when I shared the truth about your vallaslin… you do not know how close I came to breaking." "I could have shared the truth, or even put my plans aside and simply stayed with you as Solas… as I wanted."

[mythedaslore]

One sad woof. D:

[mythedaslore]

The expressions! The love and the unspoken words! This is so beautifully done. And those hands and the colors in the skin are so well rendered.

The Lovers (Solas x Dhaveira) Still figuring out Photoshop.

[mythedaslore]

Re-reading a few short stories to recall events for my Dragon Age fic and once again this scene in The Dread Wolf Take You - well, took me:

“Why did you come? Why you personally?” “I wished to know what you all knew,” he said, gesturing at the table. “There are many of you, and you are not fools. As for me coming in person … the Inquisition was involved.” He returned to his seat. “Why did you come?” She shook her head helplessly. “Because you told the Inquisitor that you were going to destroy this world,” she said. “Did you expect us not to try to stop you?” He sighed. “It was a moment of weakness. I told myself that it was because you all deserved to know, to live a few years in peace before my ritual was complete. Before this world ended.” “Then perhaps we are not the only ones you lied to,” Charter said. “You do not have to do this.” His look pinned her. “I have no choice. What I am doing will save this world, and those like you—the elves who still remain—may even find it better, when it is done.” Charter considered lying, but then she thought of Tessa, with her quick smile and strong hands. “There are those I care for who would not.” He smiled sadly. “I know that feeling well. I am not a god, Charter. I am prideful, hotheaded, and foolish, and I am doing what I must. When you report back to the Inquisitor…” His voice faltered. “Say that I am sorry.” -The Dread Wolf Take You - Trick Weekes

I think the reason I keep coming back to this scene is because it feels like it establishes a canon emotional relationship between Solas and the Inquisitor. For reasons he never fully articulates, Solas chose to reveal his plans to them - what he later calls a “moment of weakness.” He claims he did it because they all deserved to know, but it’s clear he’s lying to himself about the deeper motive, and Charter picks up on that.

Another line that I hadn't really paid attention to until now is when Charter tells him there are people she cares for who won’t find his new world better. Solas replies sadly, “I know that feeling well.” It’s an understated admission that he, too, has people he cares (or cared) for who oppose his vision. While that could refer to Mythal or Felassan, the context centres the Inquisitor: he goes in person because the Inquisition is involved, he spares Charter, an Inquisition agent when he doesn’t hesitate to kill the others, and he sends a final message directly to the Inquisitor - his voice faltering as he asks Charter to deliver his apology.

Now, god forbid I get people screaming at me for this, I'm not saying Weekes is canonizing a romantic relationship outright, but the scene clearly affirms the emotional importance of the Inquisitor to Solas. That his connection to them, and to the Inquisition, remains unresolved and meaningful, no matter how far he has gone.

Which, it is interesting that they hardcoded the Inquisitor into Solas' atonement ending. The only ending that actually has Solas make his own choice.

[mythedaslore]

i remembered i had vaguely traditional media looking brushes, so it's time for late night emotional support elf pictures

[mythedaslore]

long time no post, I have a backlog of stuff to share but in the meantime, a birthday present for @inquisitor-julia of Solas kissing the hand that he ultimately caused Wren to lose ✨

[mythedaslore]

I have been doing some Bob Ross style paintings by following along to his show - and trying not to fall asleep, as that mans whole vibe is peaceful. So naturally once I finished the main parts, I started to add in my hyper-fixation into the painting. Here is spirit Solas floating around a peaceful mountain region, freshly built by the Titans - untouched by war or destruction. Just experiencing the birth of nature and life.

I have so many head-cannons and thoughts about pre- Titan war times with the spirits and Titans and how they interacted with each other. Did they even interact at all, or just kept out of each others way? I think the spirits observed the Titans for a while, first in awe and then in envy. Maybe they were inspired by the physical more tangible parts of a Titan and was curious - especially with them making the first of the dwarven kind.

Did some of the Titans have certain roles like how animals, plants and insects do in nature? Aside from the impending Blight, how did the world of Thedas and beyond change once those forces or nature got wiped out, ? Ahhh I have so many questions and thoughts on this.

(Painting was done in procreate)

[mythedaslore]

happy thedasweekend! how about "kissing your lover after believing you’d lost them ." for your pairing of choice?

hi hello!! it has been literal months but here they are 🫣🫶

Lavellan and Solas for @thedasweekend

[mythedaslore]

Dread

He had fled. With no other idea except to be free of his own shame and Felassan’s ease in the center of his worst memory. Directly into the Titan’s dream. At least, this time, he had remembered to grasp the Inquisitor’s living hand instead of the prosthetic. At least, as the breaker of emotion washed over them, some dim part of him could still feel her pulse between his fingers. Or he could until he let go.

It was not loneliness that engulfed them this time, but absolute terror. The wave of light shrieked as it passed them, crackled like every flame he’d ever seen and pierced each joint as if he’d been struck by lightning. Battles flashed before him, battles he’d fought himself against the behemoth titans. The earth rattled around him, mountains split asunder from the force of Mythal’s spells and melted under Elgar’nan’s heat. And then it was gone and he was howling.

“Atish, emma lath, ea eth.” The Inquisitor’s voice seemed impossibly small. Distant. He could feel the imprint of her hand shaking on his arm and looked down. “Telir somniar,” she said, craning to see his face. In his panic, he had transformed. He let his wolf body diminish, dwindle away. “It’s over, it’s over,” she said. “How did you remain calm?” he asked, pulling her into him. “I didn’t,” she said, returning his hard hug. “This one will be more difficult.” “Yes,” he said, staring over her shoulder at the approaching wave. “It is panicked. The pulses will be closer together.”

“A good dream. A safe dream,” she muttered. “It is the size of mountain ranges. What can it fear? How do we make something like that feel safe?” He closed his eyes, mostly to shut out the scarlet sparks of the approaching wave. There was nothing else to see. Not yet. “It is about the sensation, my love. Not the setting.” “I feel… stripped of any such memories, Vhenan. I cannot think of much aside from this overwhelming dread,” she admitted.

“It’s the only fair way,” Varric’s warm voice broke the blank. Solas felt her flinch slightly against him, but did not halt the dream. He only had a few moments before the terror returned and the memory would scatter if it was not solid enough. A bard sang somewhere nearby. “Then perhaps I should not play. For everyone’s comfort,” Solas remembered saying. “Bull’s got the same, droopy. Come on, ‘s just three drinks. Seen you do that at the ball in ten minutes flat and never blink.” 

“They really do want you here,” Cole’s voice floated through the air. “It isn’t for the cards, it is just better with you here. And it’s not just her. They all want you here, even Blackwall. Even if you said no to the rules. Please, Solas, you want to stay, too.”  Floorboards creaked and then became visible, solid under his feet. The Inquisitor’s grasp on him loosened slightly and she looked around, her own mind already filling in gaps before his own could. The Rest’s large fireplace bloomed into being, flickering against several tables shoved unceremoniously together. Solas could feel those tabletops even now. Perpetually sticky no matter how many times Cabot swiped at them with a damp rag and reeking of stale wine. Scratched with dozens of Inquisition names and symbols. Uneven chairs that squeaked and tilted dangerously.

Cole perched upon the bar beside him, his hat pushed far back, legs kicking the wood. Cabot did not scold. Solas had guessed the others did not see him. “You do not have to be a god. Or a commander. Or someone else’s wolf. They love you as you are. You can stay.” “Come on, Chuckles, I’ll make Cabot break out the good stuff.” Varric appeared with Sera leaning on his shoulder. Both younger than when he had last seen them. His chest ached, but he did not push the memory away.

The Inquisitor’s terrified expression dissolved into something more comfortable. She reached for Varric and melted when he embraced her. Solas knew it was not really Varric. He thought she probably knew too. Not like Blackwall or Felassan had been. A dream, only, but solid enough for her to smile.

“Oh no, darling, don’t let him order the drinks,” Vivienne laughed over Solas’s shoulder. “Three of Varric’s choice will put you under the table and taste like Cabot’s dishwater all the way down. Trust me to handle it.” “Pah,” said Sera, “You don’t fool me, you can outlast Bull if it came to it, Vivvy.” “True. But I choose not to suffer while I do so. Inquisitor, is that West Hill Brandy still in the cellar?” The Inquisitor turned toward her. “I’ll go and—” she gasped as if struck and the dream shattered.

Solas reached for the Inquisitor’s hand but she screamed when he touched her. He had only an instant to feel sorrow for it before fear swallowed him whole. It was not Titans this time. And it was not Solas who was in danger. Mythal’s hand was outstretched, offering Elgar’nan their dagger, offering proof of what they had done. Elgar’nan’s smile was cruel, surely Mythal must see his cruelty. Surely she would step back, shield herself. But of course, this was not real memory but only how Solas imagined a scene he had never been present for. Elgar’nan’s voice was treacherous, arguing coolly that they had been mistaken. That Solas’s ire had surely led Mythal astray. That she should not let such things alarm her. Mythal shook her head, pleaded with them. Her attention called by Sylaise, she turned. Elgar’nan’s arm raised, Mythal stepped back too late, too late to put the distance she needed between them and— the dream dissolved.

  The Herald’s Rest slowly reappeared around him, piece by piece as if it were a child’s toy being constructed. The bard’s song was different. A weaving song, a hymn to Sylaise sung in an unfamiliar man’s voice. He found himself sitting beside Cassandra. The Inquisitor frantically reconstructing the memory around them. “Well?” asked the Seeker, nudging his arm gently. He glanced at her cards, even as Blackwall appeared on his other side and pressed a glass of brandy into his hand.

“These,” he said, pointing to her knights with shaking fingers. “But I thought snakes were better.” Varric sighed. “Serpents. And it depends, remember?” “Dunno why I insisted on the brandy,” muttered Blackwall, “No way you can win with the Seeker, she just tells everyone her cards.” “Hmm,” said Solas, not really listening. He was looking for the Inquisitor.

She sat at the far corner, next to Iron Bull who was playing much the same role for her as Solas had been for Cassandra. She watched him intently.  “Are you well?” she called down the table.  “He’s already got at least a pair on the first play, I’d say he’s doing well,” said Iron Bull.  But Solas knew that was not what she had meant. “Yes, Vhenan,” he said. Sera whistled.

“Well,” said Dorian, “are you going to play Seeker, or should we have another open hand to go over the rules again?” “Are you certain?” Cassandra asked him. Solas wanted to get up, draw closer to the Inquisitor so that he would not be parted from her when the next wave of fear came, but the dream was fragile. Push it too far from what they both remembered of this night and it would collapse. “Yes. If it were my hand, I would bet a crown that Varric has the Angel of Death. He always goes quiet when he does or leaves the table to order another round. It is the best you will be able to draw.”

Blackwall groaned and slid his cards onto the table. Iron Bull raised an eyebrow. Pointed to a card in the Inquisitor’s hand before Sera tapped at his glass to remind him to drink. Solas closed his eyes as the play moved on. Tried to remember the warmth of the fire, the texture of the tabletop, the glass in his hand, what the weather had been. Tried to layer in complexity as a buffer against the Titan’s panic. So something of the memory would remain when the next wave passed. Like digging pits in the sand as the tide comes in. 

He had felt easy in this instant. A little tipsy and it didn’t make him nervous to realize he had let himself become so. He had just been a man among friends who did not look to him for anything more complex than which card was better to play or to call a bluff.  He had been certain, just for the instant, that if he had told them all, if he had sat at those creaky tables awash in old ale and grimy coins and related the tale, they would have listened. All of them.

He even knew how it would have gone. Immediate empathy from the Inquisitor and Cole. Startled denial from Cassandra at first and then a barrage of questions. Varric would have laughed and then his cards would have dropped to the table and he’d have hunted for a quill. Vivienne, alone, perhaps, would have shown no shock. And when he was done, they would have helped him. He knew it, in that instant. He was certain. But it had passed, as instants do, and he doubted again. He clung desperately to that surety as the Titan’s emotions swept over them again.

It was not enough. He had no flesh, only essence, only purpose. There was no Inquisitor. No Felassan. Elgar’nan had vanished, his bright presence winking out of sight. Then Mythal, Dirthamen, Falon’din, they slid away, one by one and the Fade emptied. It echoed with the vacancy. It ran down, eroded. Solas was often alone. When Mythal returned in a strange shape, strange voice, strange thoughts, Solas had feared she would disappear again. He had followed her from the Fade in terror and— 

He was back in the dark. He could hear the Inquisitor weeping but could not tell the direction.  “Mamae, halani,” she whispered into the void. Her outline sparked and sizzled with light. “Halani,” she said again and he tried to close the distance, but found he drew no closer to her no matter how he reached. Panic threatened to engulf him again, this time native to him. It would not relent if he gave in to it. The sparks around her intensified.

“Vhenan,” he called to her. “It is too small. We are too small,” she said with a sob. “Ir abelas, ar nuven’in Mamae.” The sparks swirled around her, lighting her face and then gathering beside her. The spirit did not resolve into a definite form, but its work began immediately anyway. 

Solas smelled the sweetness of crushed berries and trampled grass before he could see anything. Then that weaving song slid through the dark again, the same man’s voice, though it dipped and surged as if he were moving his whole body as he sang. Grass and slick, soft wetness squished between his toes. Then the sun, blazing and immediately overhead. He looked down and saw loose blackberries scattered across the grass. A basket, overturned, lay between the Inquisitor and himself. She was weeping heavily. A woman knelt beside her. Familiar but young. As young as the Inquisitor had been when he met her. She swept her fingers over the Inquisitor’s cheeks.

“All is well, little Bramble,” she said gently. “We will gather them again together.” “No, Mamae, there is something evil beyond the grass,” said the Inquisitor, tugging on her mother’s sleeve. “It is coming and I cannot stop it. Don’t go.” “What has frightened you, da’len?”

That it had started as a memory, Solas had no doubt. This— the smell of blackberry and the weaving song were too specific, too intense to be a dream, even one plucked from her by the spirit building the scene. This was no imagining. So it startled him when the Inquisitor reached for his hand and told her mother: “Something enormous. It is consuming all the world with its terror and we cannot hold it back and it is so swift— we cannot flee.” The woman glanced up at him and then back at her daughter. “Then do not, da’len. Let it come, this terrible thing.”

“We can’t, it will take everything.” The woman laughed gently and began gathering up the blackberries near the Inquisitor’s knee. “No, dearest, it cannot take everything. Many, many men and gods and beasts have tried to take everything, but we remain. You remain. You cannot outrun this dread. You cannot halt it. Then you must turn and face it.” “I can’t Mamae.”

Solas slid down into the grass beside her, crushed by the hopelessness in her voice. Her mother only calmly gathered up the fallen berries. “You thought the same in Haven, little Bramble. Shivering in the snow while Corypheus closed in. You could not run. And you were not strong enough to defeat him. So you turned and faced him.” “This is bigger than he was,” she protested. “Vin. And you are bigger than you were then, too. When the Blight chased you up the mountainside and all aid was out of reach, you turned around and faced it, too. You held the fortress until the horde retreated. Called home by their makers. And you marched after. To shield others. And you remain. Even here. You did not flee from the Void itself, fanor. You turned and faced it for the love of him. Why should you flee from the nightmare of another now?”

“We must soothe it. The Titan thrashes in its sleep. It sends the Blight over all the world. We have to stop the nightmare until we can wake it.” She patted the Inquisitor’s prosthetic. “It cannot be calmed by a memory of your Mamae. Nor of your comrades. Those are past. What it fears lies in the future. To soothe it, you must face what it fears and turn it aside.” “I do not know what it fears. It is larger than the Vimmarks, what future threat could be dire enough to give it a nightmare?” The woman smoothed the Inquisitor’s hair. “You do not know what it fears, da’len, but he does. He fears the same and he must stop running.” The Inquisitor looked over at him.

“Yes,” said Solas, “I know what it fears. And what I must do.” The Inquisitor’s mother clucked and beckoned him. “Come here, pup,” she said. He stepped toward her and bent down as she waved him closer. She gripped his shoulders gently. “You have many tasks behind you, Solas. Set both by others and yourself. So many that you have forgotten your purpose. Mythal did not create you. She only gave you form. You were not created for tasks or heroic deeds or to be the Dread Wolf who stalks our stories. You exist to be loved, da’len, just as every other creature. That is your purpose. No matter the outcome of this next task you have set yourself. Don’t forget.” She pressed her lips to his forehead before releasing him.

Some part of him knew that the love that flooded him was predictable. It was, after all, a spirit the Inquisitor had called. It made sense that the result would be favorable to him. Biased. But most of that realization was subsumed, swept away by the comfort of the spirit’s words, by the warmth of the dream. You exist to be loved. That is your purpose.  “Now, little Bramble, it is time.”

The Inquisitor reached for him just as the memory collapsed. Her fingers found his sleeve, pulled tight as the Titan’s panic came shrieking past. Five warm spots just beneath his elbow, seeping through the cloth. He wrapped around her and her prosthetic crumbled beneath his hand and then her arm, her shoulder, her breast— “We have to turn into it, Vhenan,” he whispered into an ear that was already shattering stone. “We have to follow the wave.”

He wasn’t certain how much she could hear over whatever nightmare she was lost in, but he did not let go and she stopped crumbling away. He let them float in the crest of the wave, a million prickles and sparks of horror crept over his skin. He let himself change into what he knew the Titan feared. 

Vast and thrumming with power, ice feathered along his unfurling limbs as if he could not quite maintain control over them. Below him, the Titan’s heart tried to call it’s familiar tune. But it sped and skipped and the song was out of sync. The heart seemed small enough that if Solas had still had hands, he might have cupped it in one. Unguarded. Alone. 

“Vhenan, you are…” her shocked voice was distant, a thin echo he strained to hear. She was far beneath him and he bent to lift her but found his axons each tipped with a lyrium dagger. “It is a mask only, my love. What the Titan fears. I am still myself,” he whispered, fearing his voice could shatter the stone around them.

“What will you do?” she asked him, craning to follow each of the light fronds that he was composed of.  “It fears I mean to destroy it completely. I must show it that I mean it no harm. I do not know if that is possible, given how badly I harmed it in keeping it here.” “It is difficult to concentrate here,” she admitted, “but if I can help, I will try.” “We caught the fringe of the wave. If we can remain here, it will get no worse. I am having trouble as well.” He waved the dagger tips of his form well away from both her and the heart to demonstrate.

“Perhaps altering that would be a good start. You are… intimidating.” He focused on shedding the daggers first. They went slowly, the Titan’s fear made it a slow process, stubbornly resisting the transformation. The Inquisitor, in the meantime, had not been idle. A gap-toothed wall of stone encircled the heart, jutting from the ground as if grown there. She was far slower than he, having to contend both with the dread that permeated everything and with her inexperience shaping dreams, but she had managed to grow several of these rock panels in the time it took him to shift into something less threatening.

“I saw the Sha-brytol do this to defend their Titan,” she offered. “I do not craft them half so well but I thought it might… understand these, at least. Though… I do not know what we are meant to be defending it from. Perhaps the feeling of being less vulnerable will be enough to ease its fear.” She was so far from him. He tried to coil around them both, the heart and the Inquisitor, wishing she could touch him, soothe the constant rub of the Titan’s dread against him as if it would chafe him raw. What is to be done? I cannot convince the Titan I do not mean it harm simply by waiting, can I? It has feared me for millennia.

“This is how you appeared to them?” she asked, peering up through the strands of magic that were him. “I had flesh when I first encountered them. But perhaps the Titan could see what I had been. What I still was beneath.” She reached out hesitantly, let her fingertips graze him, disturb the glow of him. “Perhaps. But Mam— the spirit— said that it did not fear what was past, emma lath. What it feared was yet to come. And you said…” “That I knew what it feared. Yes.” He let the Titan’s heart sing its erratic anthem in the silence. “I do not wish you to see,” he admitted. 

The Titan’s heart thrummed behind her. Her touch did not retreat, a slender, fragile tug of her own magic hidden deep beneath her skin. “I wish to stay beside you. To aid you, Solas. But if you wish it, I will let the wave pass me by, step out of the dream, wait— wait for you to return.” Hope that you return, she means. “Don’t go,” he said quickly. “Ar nuven’in ma.” “Let it come then, emma lath.”  He unfurled himself, a cage of light around the heart and her and braced himself. “I do not know what she will do, Vhenan, in this dream. Ea eth, emma lath.” “I am ready,” she said, and he felt her barrier well and stretch, straining to protect them all. He did not tell her it would be as cobwebs to Mythal.

[mythedaslore]

Solas and his relationships

Below is something I wanted to talk about for a while and practiced writing out over and over: Solas’s relationships and motivations. A lot of other bloggers and youtubers have said it better than me, but I wanted to share my thoughts using Weekes’s intentions. It doesn’t touch upon my perspective of the Lavellan romance completely - it is just a broad picture of Sola’s relationships. I want to talk about a Lavellan in a romanced state, in another post. Really, it is just me sorting my own feelings out - sorry for the rambling.. (Note: I do reference a romanced Lavellan here a lot but even a friend inquisitor is just as important). (Also sorry for any bad grammar or mistakes. It has been a long time since I have written anything like this.)

Motivations for Solas are complex and can be viewed through many different lenses. I love the more empathetic angle, but I understand that isn’t for everyone, nor does it excuse his very morally grey acts. I am a Solavellan and proud - and I love what Weekes wrote in response to fans' questions about Solas’s relationships And these really aligned Solas’s motivations for me. 

Question: Could you please tell us, if it is possible, why it was only Mythal's words that allowed Solas to stop this train of endless regrets from rolling into the abyss? I'm sorry, but it seemed too easy to me after so many centuries. Perhaps I don't understand the core of their relationship.  Weekes answer: That's what he needed to hear. Not because he loved Mythal more, but because she was the reason everything went wrong. She, the past, tells him to let go of all the mistakes of the past. And then the Inquisitor he wanted to be with is there to show him a better future. Question:Does Solas love Lavellan as much as he loves Mythal?  Weekes answer:Mythal is his past, where he made terrible mistakes. A romanced Lavellan is a bright future he doesn't think he deserves until he fixes all of those past mistakes.

Solas' crisis is within himself but he puts it on others to try and make sense of it - aka Mythal. The crisis? ‘I have done bad things which hurt others I care about. I am a monster. I need to atone for my wrongs. Or else who even am I?’.

How does that affect his relationships in inquisition? Solas does not feel worthy of love or peace until he tries to amend the past mistakes with Mythal. 

What are those mistakes? It starts with taking a body which led to war and eventually the Blight’s creation - he thinks it is his mistake because he knew the risks but agreed to take a body and to make the dagger. He trusted Mythal and said yes to things even though he didn’t agree. When she and the others ascend to Godhood, the crisis about his identity and him feeling monstrous for his actions begin to grow. And he thinks he failed Mythal again! Because this time, he didn’t convince her to stand down or he didn’t stay with her and continue to follow her lead. But it was going against his values too much - no matter how much it hurt him. 

I think the rebellion was to free the people, but also to try and show Mythal that his side was the right one this time. But of course we know that she never came, or at least died before she could finally see his side.  

When Mythal leaves to help fix the blight problem with the rest of the Gods, that locks in for Solas that she went to fix ‘his mistake’ and died for it. That guilt ate at him and he shut himself from any connection - to fix his mistakes on his own. (because asking for help or getting other people involved he cares about ends in their death, in his eyes. But also on a darker note, he thinks his way is the right way because all of the mistakes could have been stopped if listened to his judgement and not let love and trust color his mind. He is now more prideful than ever). 

But she made terrible mistakes too.

He made the dagger but she did ask and knew that he trusted her (her choice was that she used his wisdom to win the titan war). When she "pulled him from the fade" their relationship started to become unbalanced - unequal in some parts. Duty was apart of it. He told her about the others breaking the wards to the blight, but she also declined his offer for her to stay with him and chose to stop them even if on her own. In that moment, he wanted to her to join him in stopping the Gods in his rebellion and then find peace, but she wanted to keep going for what she thinks is right - working within the system and protecting her people from the egos of the others. Neither were right or wrong, but it shows that in the end, they had different expectations/wants. 

He loved her. But he felt he never earned her forgiveness - never made it ‘right’ as Taash mentions. And she never chose him, or stood beside him fully in a way he wanted.

For Solas, the emotional truth here is that he failed her—and in his mind, the blight, the rise of the Gods, her death, and the creation of the Veil were all consequences of that failure. He became a man obsessed with righting that ancient wrong, so much that it defined his entire mission of tearing down the Veil. 

The one thing I am so interested in is that even though we as the audience can see that both have made mistakes, Solas only really sees himself as the ‘mistake maker’. Going with what was intended and my own thoughts, I think this makes sense. If you look at it from his perspective, if he was to admit that she used him or made her own terrible choices/mistakes it would mean that his trust was misplaced and/or that their relationship had changed (from when they were spirits) which means all the pain he feels was for nothing. In the past, he had a version of her that he was upholding, especially in his rebellion. In his mind, she embodies the greater good, and trusting her and making her out as the ‘good one’ means all the pain he has caused to others and himself meant/means something. It was for the people and her vision, he would tell himself. 

Solas’s duty, the sunk cost fallacy and Mythal's words 

Even though Mythal has an emotional hold on Solas, he still makes connections in the present world of Thedas. He makes friends and/or falls in love despite his past and despite his ongoing unresolved issues with Mythal. It is not a replacement for his past, but something new, something that shows him there is a future. He starts to see the world as worth something as it is. But that is also terrifying.

“Mythal is his past, where he made terrible mistakes. A romanced Lavellan is a bright future he doesn't think he deserves until he fixes all of those past mistakes.”

Lavellan/ inquisitor or friends of the inquisition show him a version of himself that could be happy. Someone who can chose a better path to fix his wrongs. In terms of purely solavellan, they are a new separate love for him. Something far away from his past that begins to sing to him. Yes, they have been entangled because of another one of his mistakes, but they catch him off guard because of the way they handle themselves, their wisdom and how they treat him. 

But because it is not a replacement for the unfinished past, it also means it cannot cover up his past pain/mistakes, nor change it. He still needs to address it/fix it in his mind. And like I said before, the way he thinks he needs to address it is by righting that ancient wrong - tearing down that bloody veil. 

He is caught in a sunk cost fallacy. I want to reference Ghil Dirthalen’s video (awesome vid, so watch it all!) on regret because what she mentions about sunk cost fallacy, regret, and Solas’s ties to Mythal ring true to me. (Sunk cost fallacy mention at 48:40)

In short, he has put some much into the past and with all the mistakes stacking on top of each other, he thinks tearing down the veil will make those sins not be for nothing. And those mistakes are all tied to Mythal and the world she was building from the very beginning. The one he still believed in, even when she went with the others to become Gods. 

That is why her words at the end are needed. Only she, who was there from the start and who made the same mistakes, can tell him that he no longer needs to carry that vision - and break that fallacy.

As Weekes puts in regards to why her words are important during the ending:

“She, the past, tells him to let go of all the mistakes of the past.”

Solas doesn’t love Mythal more than Lavellan or a friend inquisitor, but he does carry more pain tied to Mythal. His actions are driven not by present love that he wishes to rekindle, but by regret and a desperate need to undo a mistake he made as her friend and close spirit companion (or in whatever relationship context you chose). 

And in terms of his relationships with them both, it is not about him choosing one over another. When he talks about how he cannot stop for his Vhenan/inquisitor because he failed his oldest friend, the narrative was not saying that the they did not matter, it is saying that he is has sunk so deep into his past, immense guilt and that vision of ‘Mythal’s world’ that even the future cannot pull him free. How can he deserve a future when he is still feeling like a monster? How can he deserve to love someone like Lavellan when he feels his love destroyed the world before - when he became a weapon? I am only worthy of love once I atone. I need to do my duty for the people, to Mythal.

So to me, his mission to tear down the Veil wasn’t about love. It was about atonement/duty. And until he was confronted with both Mythal and Lavellan/ friend inquisitor, he couldn’t break free from that duty and find a healing form of atonement. 

And narrative wise, this is why the ending works for both a friend or lover inquisitor! Because in that moment, both the inquisitor and Mythal are acting as the past and future representations (Rooks is the present. Sorry for the lack of Rook love, I have thoughts about their relationship with Solas too. I love them and the many dynamics people have with them (Solrooks are having a fun time!)). Again, It is not about loving one more than the other, it is about reconciling and facing the past, letting go of the pain, guilt, regret, and being inspired by the future to find a better way. He needed to be released so he could choose his own path without worrying/channeling the wants/needs of others. He is no longer a weapon or rebel.

The personal part with Lavellan (or other solas loving inkys) comes in after when they can ask to join him. The very fact that he doesn’t decline them once they have made their choice, shows how the last moments have opened him up. He can now be who he wanted to be when he was with Lavellan.  He can now be that humble apostate but not as a fake persona, as himself. He can become the real humble apostate hobo, with nothing to hide. And I think that is beautiful. 

(One can argue that there was another personal moment when he first sees the inquisitor. But then his guard goes back up after that conversation. Mythal then comes into the fray and then the inquisitor follows again, with the goal to guide him into the future. If that makes any sense…I am rambling now) 

His romance route is not an easy one and it isn’t clean. You have to hold steady through-out Veilguard and believe in what Solas has said/written to you (‘I will never forget you’, ‘what I feel for you will never change’ etc) and fight through the doubt and pain (especially in regards to killing Varric) to reach the end. It makes it feel earned. It is mythic and lives outside of modern romance, as many other brilliant bloggers have said before. 

But this is in my world of Thedas and how I see it.