ayamikasai

[ayamikasai]

Garrus commission for red_robin on Discord ♥️

♥️ Discord (junyami) for commissions

♥️ Donate!

♥️ Prints!

♥️ TikTok, Instagram, BlueSky, Xiaohongshu

[ayamikasai]

Commission for LadyCrazyDragon on TikTok for a Expedition 33 inspired Solavellan piece. ✨

So, I haven’t played the game so this is all greek to me but I loved how it turned out.

❤️ Discord (junyami) for commissions!

❤️ Donate!

❤️ Prints!

❤️ Tiktok, BlueSky, Instagram, Xiahongshu

[ayamikasai]

god touched. / chapter forty-eight.

Pairing: F!Lavellan x Solas | F!Lavellan x Cullen Rutherford Chapter Word Count: 5K Story Summary: Thenera and Lalen Lavellan are sent to observe the gathering at the Conclave only to find themselves embroiled in a desperate fight to save the world. A Dalish elf becomes the messianic figure in a wholly alien faith and struggles to find her place as a symbol to an organization that has long sought the extermination of her people. A former Tevinter slave finds herself adrift in an insane world as the only anchor she has known slowly crumbles under the weight of responsibility. Tags: Slow Burn; Muteness; Canon Divergence; Dreamer Lavellan; Retelling; Romance; Angst; Neurodiversity; Two Lavellans; Emotionally Repressed; Hurt/Comfort; PTSD; Nightmares; Panic Attacks; Body Horror; Solavellan Hell; Loss of Identity/Regaining Identity; Alternating POV; Third Person Limited; Canon-Typical Violence; (Future) Polyamory; (Future) Polyamory Negotiations Author Note: Amazing cover and tarot art by the lovely @ayamikasai! <3 <3 <3 You can also find me over on BlueSky!

( Read on AO3 )

Next Chapter. / Masterlist. / Previous Chapter.

CHAPTER 48: THE SECRETS OF DARKEST MAGIC

Alexius has failed. The work here thus becomes all the more vital. Secure the site at all costs. The Elder One will not tolerate another mistake on our part. —A written note found within Redcliffe Castle, circa 9:42 Dragon.* *A note from the Herald of Andraste clarifies that the date is indeed correct despite being one year in the future.

How much time has passed?

Between singed clothing, skin blistering burns, and general malaise, the aftermath of the skirmish saw all of them worse for wear. And without the cacophony of combat, the castle had fallen into an unsettling silence. The calm before the storm, as it were.

How long before I succumb to the poison?

Thenera struggled to keep her footing, strength seeping away by the minute. Dorian’s arm around her waist gave her something to lean on as she caught her breath and tried to ignore the pounding in her head.

Am I past the point of no return?

“Almost there,” Dorian said in what was probably meant to be an encouraging tone. But, despite his best efforts, there was the unmistakable undercurrent of fear. “Just a bit further.”

Is this really how I'm going to –

“This damn song won’t get out of my head.” Next to her, Varric pinched the bridge of his nose. “Someone wanna start humming something else for a bit?”

“I was unsure if you could hear it at all,” Solas murmured. He hummed a few measures of a haunting, discordant tune that sent shivers up Thenera’s spine. “Something like that?”

It was like untreated halla fur scratching against sensitive skin.

Varric bristled in agitation. “Yeah. It’s the same shit my brother Bartrand was singing after he got his hands on that damn red lyrium idol we found under Kirkwall.”

There was an untold story lingering behind those haunted eyes. A memory best left forgotten by the annals of time. So, a perfect time to change the subject.

“H-hey, Varric. Why…” Thenera leaned heavily against Dorian, panting. “Why do nugs have hands?”

The Iron Bull’s question had worked to get her mind off of an arrow to the gut. Surely it would work to distract the dwarf from bad memories. Or so she hoped.

“Weird, huh?” The question, thankfully, had the intended effect — Varric laughed. “A lot of folks raised them in Orzammar as pets. Never understood the appeal, personally.”

“Don’t let Leliana hear you say that,” Sera muttered. “Loves the little blighters, that one does. Might wake up with a bed full of knives. Or you full of knives.”

“Oh, Red’s welcome to try to sneak into my bed anytime.” The qunari grinned. “But maybe you can settle a bet, then. Cause I was telling Thenera my theory: armed resistance against the dwarven bourgeoisie.”

“I think they’re f-for baking,” Thenera murmured. “Nug cupcakes.”

Varric snorted. “I dunno anything about armed resistance or baking, but they’re known to shove their fingers up your nose if you aren’t careful. And lemme tell you, that shit hurts.”

Thenera giggled, unsure if she found the idea of Varric howling in pain with a nug’s fingers up his nostrils amusing because of fever or blood loss.

Probably both.

As they rounded a corner, a sudden hush fell over their group. Before them loomed a massive set of ornate doors, crackling with magic so thick it made the hair at the nape of Thenera’s neck stand on end. Dorian’s grip on her tightened as they approached.

“Well, this is it,” he murmured, voice barely above a whisper.

Sera and Varric went about slotting the red lyrium shards into the door. The Iron Bull cracked his knuckles and rolled his shoulders in anticipation of another fight, his eye roving over the intricate carvings adorning the doors. Solas stood tall, expression unreadable. The only sign of stress was the white knuckled grip he had on his staff.

But behind this door was the architect of this nightmare.

I’ll make that bastard pay. 

Thenera gave Dorian a weary look, then nodded. He carefully unstrapped her staff from his back and passed it to her. 

Even if it kills me.

Dorian carefully released her, hands hovering just in case she were to falter, but Thenera remained upright by leaning heavily against the sturdy sylvanwood staff. Taking a deep breath, she approached the giant double doors, flanked by her companions.

With a flare of magic from Dorian’s staff, the wards faded and the doors slowly creaked open to reveal the same chamber as before. But now the tapestries were tattered and torn, with the once lustrous mahogany refectory table dull and in obvious disrepair. Dusty plates with the rotten remnants of numerous half-eaten meals littered the length of it, with wine stains crowning overturned goblets.

Truthfully, Thenera expected to see Alexius standing triumphant and defiant. But what greeted them was a broken man who didn’t even bother to turn and face them. His shoulders were slumped, head hung and with a crouched figure lurking at his side.

“Shitballs.” Sera spat a mouthful of blood onto the marble floor. “Guttershite won’t even put up a fight?”

A guttural groan sounded from the Magister’s side — a sound of agony. The shape was human, but closer to the corpses Thenera had found in the Fallow Mire than anything else. Deep bruises surrounded hollowed eye sockets and accented sharp cheekbones. The emaciated figure wore dirty yellow garb and seemed to collapse in on itself with a pathetic whimper. It took a moment for recognition to settle.

It can’t be –

“Felix?” Dorian’s voice cracked with barely concealed rage. “Maker’s breath, Alexius, what have you done?”

There had been some semblance of a plan — Thenera had intended to make Alexius use the amulet to send them back. But looking at the Magister now, and looking at the shade that was once his son, she suddenly understood. None of this had been in the sole pursuit of power or even in service of the Elder One. 

Magister Gereon Alexius had destroyed the world out of love. 

And having already gone this far, he would unquestionably continue to do so knowing that it was too late to go back. A sunk cost with an unimaginably high toll. And unless they used the man’s son against him, there was little hope for success.

Sera seemed to have a similar thought. While Alexius turned his focus onto Thenera, the archer skulked around the edges of the room towards the human’s blind side.

If she could reach Felix, then they could —

“Magister says ‘what?’” Sera nocked an arrow and drew the bow to its full capacity.

Oh no. Thenera realized too late what she was doing. No, no, no! 

This was no plan – this was the simple revenge of a wounded child. Not a warning nor a crippling shot, but a lethal one. 

Andruil have mercy and let her miss.

Sera didn’t wait for a response.

Nor did she miss.

The bow twanged, arrow flying and finding its mark with deadly precision. It made a dull thud as it punched straight through the back of Felix’s skull and erupted between empty eyes. His blood smelled of copper and rot as it washed down his face in thick rivulets.

“Oh, sweet Maker, no…” Dorian’s voice hitched in despair, shouldering Thenera behind him. “Alexius, please, just listen to me—” 

But any hope for diplomacy had died with Felix.

The Magister roared in pain, raising his staff in a blind rage.

The air burned as the Tevene men both pulled flames through the Veil. Solas grabbed the edge of Thenera’s tunic and dragged her into the closest point of cover, throwing a barrier up to protect them from the worst of the heat.

“Creators, Sera, why?!” Thenera cried in anguish.

“Oh, piss off!” Sera snarled. “You mages think you’re so clever!” Another of her arrows deflected off Alexius’ barrier uselessly. “You break the world with a spell and think you can fix it with a spell. Like nothing that happened here was real to you!”

But it was real and could still be real.

“We’re t-trying to prevent this from ever happening!” Bitter tears welled in Thenera’s eyes. “How c-could you be so — ”

But Sera had fully succumbed to mania.

“Well, I know what’s real, and that’s making shit tits hurt like he hurt people!” Sera shrieked, eyes blazing as she rained more and more arrows down onto the Magister’s defenses. “I’ll die knowing I hurt the bastard. Made him pay!”

There was no reasoning with her. A year’s worth of pain lashed out in a tantrum that may well have doomed them all. And all Thenera could do was watch helplessly.

“Alexius, stop!” Dorian begged. “It doesn’t need to be like this! We can still put things right!”

But grief and rage had likewise consumed Magister Gereon Alexius. Emotions that had only a singular outlet — them. The mages they had fought in the Hinterlands looked like children compared to the raw power a Tevinter Magister called forth.

The Iron Bull rushed forward, trying to get to three of them in time to take the brunt of the attack, but he had been caught out of position. Solas’ barrier wavered in the face of an onslaught of flames. Another surge and it dissipated entirely. The next wild flood of magic struck where Thenera stood and knocked her to the floor.

She had fallen plenty of times before — from the back of a halla, from tree branches, off wagons. Bone on stone was a sensation she knew. But this…this was a whole new agony. The entry wound warmed with freshly spilt blood as cauterized flesh ripped anew.

The rest of the fight dissolved into a series of heartbeats.

Dorian, dragging her back into cover.

A leather coat shielding her and the rhythmic thunking of Bianca.

The Iron Bull singing something in guttural Qunlat.

Solas’ voice: “Hold on, da’len!”           

Sera’s body landing limply next to her, little more than a burnt husk, gasping for breath.

An empty bottle rolling across the stone floor.

The pain didn’t subside so much as it sublimated with a rush of fear-laced adrenaline. Thenera sat bolt upright, groping for her staff, but only found Sera’s charred hand. With a cry, she jerked away.

“Herald, we have the amulet,” Dorian said urgently. Kneeling in front of her, he had the look of someone who had been explaining the same thing repeatedly to a simpleton. “We have the amulet. We’re almost home.”

“The amulet…?” Thenera whispered weakly.

“Yes.” Dorian’s eyes flickered between hers, searching for…something. “The amulet. I need time to reverse engineer Alexius’ spell, but we did it. We can go back. Everything’s going to be alright.”

Thank the Creators for small mercies.

Then, as if in answer to the flickering of hope that lit in Thenera’s breast, an earsplitting roar of rage shook the very foundation of Redcliffe Castle. Dust and detritus fell from the rafters, and it was only Dorian’s quick reflexes and magic that kept her from getting crushed under an errant piece of dislodged ceiling.

“You must hurry!” Solas cried out in anguish. “The Elder One approaches!”

Varric turned to the Iron Bull, and the two shared a knowing look. The hulking qunari nodded with silent understanding.

“We’ll head out front.” With the giant great axe slung over his shoulder, the Iron Bull started towards the double doors. “Keep them off your tail.”

“N-no!” Thenera jerked upright. “I won’t let you walk off to d-die! We'll…we’ll…”

What? 

What could she do for them at this point? 

It was a stupid sentiment. She couldn’t bring them back with her, obviously. There was already an Iron Bull, a Varric, a Solas, and a Sera waiting for her to prevent this catastrophe. These…these versions of her companions were dying or already dead here — damned to be left behind in this hopeless future.

“It’s alright, boss.” The Iron Bull looked over his shoulder, smiling sadly as if reading her thoughts. Knowing him, he probably had. “Leave it to us.”

“We’ll buy you as much time as we can. After that, well…” Varric hefted Bianca up and adjusted some kind of mechanism. “Give ‘em hell, Chuckles.”

Solas laid a hand on the dwarf’s shoulder. “Likewise, Child of the Stone.”

Then the two were gone, with only Solas remaining as a last line of defense. The doors thudded closed behind her friends with an eerie sense of finality.

This is what it must feel like to be on the executioner’s block.

“I always did my best work under pressure.” Despite Dorian’s blasé tone, there was a thin sheet of perspiration on his face. The altus turned away from her and pulled the amulet from his robes. “Well, here goes nothing.”

As he began to chant, a soft glow emanated from the necklace where it hung suspended in front of him.

Thenera met Solas’ gaze as he took Dorian’s place. From where he knelt down in front of her, his eyes roved over her face as though committing it to memory.

“I’m sorry it’s come to this, lethallan,” he murmured. His hand lifted towards her face, but he caught himself and dropped it to his side in a balled fist. “But while I draw breath, nothing shall touch you.”

It took Thenera a moment to realize what he had called her. Not da’len, but lethallan.

An honorific that held the connotation of equals.

“S-Solas, I…” Lips trembling, she wanted nothing more than to hug him. To reassure and comfort him in what was likely to be their last moments. “I’m s-so sorry I w-wasn’t able to — ”

“Hush.” He hesitated a moment before slowly removing the jawbone necklace from around his neck, pain lining every inch of his face. “If all goes according to plan, you will return to your proper time and this will be nothing more than a bad dream.”

Sera’s words prickled in the back of her mind. ‘Like nothing that happened here was real to you!’

How can he even say such a thing?

“To you, it w-was all real,” Thenera whispered fiercely. “The l-last year of torment and every h-horrible thing this Elder One caused…you’ve had to…had to live through it. That makes it real.”

He flinched, a muscle in his jaw twitching. For a moment, it looked as if he were about to argue, then thought better of it.

“Your words hold a wisdom I would have done well to heed long ago.” Solas smiled sadly and glittering crimson-tinted tears swam unshed in his eyes. “But it’s too late for that now.” His breath hitched as he released the cord and the wolf’s jaw dropped into Thenera’s outstretched hand. “When you go back, tell the version of myself from your time…” He hesitated, then laughed softly. “Tell that prideful old fool that Felassan was right.”

Who in the Void is Felassan?

But now was not the time for questions. “I…I will.” 

Thenera lifted the jawbone necklace, slipped it over her head, and tied it so that it settled against her chest. Shaking, blood-stained fingers brushed over the sharp fangs. 

It was heavier than it looked.

Standing up, Solas’ eyes dropped to where it lay between her breasts with a melancholy expression. “But for now, we must survive.”

Demonic shrieks and their companion’s battle cries began to bleed through the sealed entryway. As Dorian murmured incantations behind her, Thenera watched while Solas returned to his pacing, staff weaving through the air. She heard him singing softly in smooth, lilting elvhen as he went. In response, wards flickered upon the floor and walls surrounding the room’s entrance.

A shiver of trepidation rushed up Thenera’s spine.

She flinched as the doors shuddered violently. Dorian’s eyes flickered between Alexius’ amulet and the front of the room, yet his chanting spell work never faltered even as another earth shaking impact sent wooden splinters skittering across the floor. Solas’ wards flared, reinforcing the entrance, but it was only a matter of time before they would collapse under the onslaught.

The sounds of battle grew closer and louder, muffled shouts and demon shrieks bleeding through the thick wooden doors and Solas’ wards. Then came another roar from whatever monster this Elder One possessed that filled even Alexius with dread — a bell, tolling for the soon to be dead.

They’ll buy us enough time. I know it.

Thenera’s fingers curled around the sylvanwood of her staff, the weight of this blighted world falling heavily upon her shoulders. Stress, piled upon stress, kept her pinned to the ground and stole the strength she needed to stand. The stakes had never been clearer to her. Without the Anchor, the world they knew would be condemned to this nightmare.

It cannot be. Spite and determination warred with the poison flooding through her veins as she fought to remain conscious. It will not be.

With every fiber of her being, Thenera clung onto that sliver of hope like a drowning woman would a raft. Then the wooden door shattered into a million pieces. The wards flared and instead of an explosion of shrapnel, they clattered harmlessly onto the floor.

A terror demon contorted itself through the remnants of the doorway, flanked by a group of Venatori. In its many hands were the limp, shredded forms of the Iron Bull and Varric, covered in blood, and faces contorted in frozen death grimaces. The creature tossed the corpses of Thenera’s friends carelessly aside like broken dolls.

A simmering rage swelled behind her breast. Elgar’nan, grant us the strength to fell our enemies.

Solas stood defiantly in the center of the room, staff lifted high above his head, and voice rising as his song echoed through the room. A glittering barrier flared and surrounded Thenera and Dorian, effectively cutting them off from the rest of the room.

Fire, ice, lightning, and raw Fade essence ricocheted off the walls, but his barrier held strong against it all. Each wave of demons and Venatori dispatched served their purpose in weakening Solas — a death of a thousand cuts. But he wove between blade, claw, flames, and thunder with a lithe grace Thenera had hitherto not seen.

But while a capable fighter, Solas was only one man. 

Blood sprayed when an arrow inevitably found purchase in Solas’ shoulder. The Veil itself shuddered violently, but his barrier never once wavered. Through the haze of smoke and destruction, Thenera met Solas’ crimson eyes as fat droplets of blood hung suspended in the air.

Solas’ bellow reverberated through Thenera’s ribcage. “DREAD WOLF TAKE YOU!” 

She could only stare in horror as his blood began to swirl and coalesce into a maelstrom of raw power. The crystal at the center of his chest flared with an explosion of light, bathing the room in a prism of garnet fractals.

It was so bright.

Eyes watering, Thenera turned away. But once the light faded, she looked back towards the battle.

Blessed Creators have mercy…

The singular crystal at the center of Solas’ chest had blossomed into a grotesquerie of jagged spikes that lined his spine and sternum alike. The shards pulsed rhythmically. Blood leaked from where they protruded from his chest, eyes, nose, and lips. Even his hands became encased in the blighted lyrium, fusing them to his staff as he continued to cast. His magic flared with renewed strength, but with each spell, more and more blood poured into the crystals.

Venatori and demons alike fell, but more flowed through the doors to replace them.

Even as his skin grew paler, bruises and cuts standing out in stark contrast, Solas’ eyes held a deep, simmering rage. Lips pulled back in a snarl, his voice raised once again with another lyrical refrain. The magic he had woven into a protective cocoon around Thenera and Dorian, which moments ago had been a transparent shimmer, shifted.

Each verse of the song twisted blood and lyrium together into a network of throbbing veins and matrices of viscera. The magic pulsed in tandem with Solas’ ragged voice. With each thrum of power, his skin tightened — each subsequent layer of the barrier pulled from his very life’s essence. 

A forbidden practice that had left its mark on Thenera from the moment of her birth, but one she’d never bore witness to ’til now.

Blood magic.

As the ephemeral barrier finally strengthened into visceral reality, Solas was little more than a skeletal husk. Yet his voice remained as strong as ever, shouting in defiance as a hailstorm of arrows embedded themselves into what little flesh remained unmarked by blighted lyrium. The crystals thrummed in time with his rapidly fading heartbeat.

This wasn’t the Solas she knew, not really.

But he could still be if she failed to put things right. 

How can I not try to help him?

Thenera made to stand.

“Don’t!” Dorian grit out between clenched teeth. “You move, and we all die!”

So instead, Thenera watched.

She watched as Solas fell to his knees, arms dropping limply to his sides. She watched as the demons and Venatori drew closer to him with claws and blades bared. She watched as the expression of rage and rebellion on his face fell, deathly exhaustion taking its place.

Yet, when he caught her gaze from across the room, a glimmer of hope flickered within those blood-red eyes. His lips moved, and while she could not hear him, she recognized the shape of the words: 

Vir suledin.

‘We endure.’

Then, Thenera watched as a Venatori slit his throat.

Solas’ lifeless body crumpled to the ground, blood pooling around him in an ever-growing puddle. The red lyrium continued its pulsating glow, each beat weaker than the last. The barrier shuddered, veins throbbing in sync with the crystals. 

Once, twice more…

Before falling still.

Thenera’s chest heaved. Rage, terror, and despair bubbled from the pit of her stomach and tore free from her throat in an acidic scream of agony. And, as if in answer, came an enraged roar that shook the castle’s foundation.

Death was upon them.

The Elder One.

A demon shrieked in victory and surged forward. Razor-sharp claws ripped and shredded at the failing barrier inches from Thenera’s face.

It’s not fair. We were so close.

But before despair could tighten its hold on her, Dorian hastily scooped Thenera up. It took great effort — as both of them were beyond exhausted — but he carried her into a swirling apex of magic. There was another tug behind her navel. But this time, she was not alone in falling into the abyss. 

The two of them clung tightly to one another as they hurtled through space and time. The world around them contorted, colors swirling and melding into a beautiful yet terrifying display of power. Thenera felt Dorian’s heart thudding in sync with her own as they continued to fall through the Void. 

And just as abruptly, they landed with a bone-jarring thud. 

Dorian just barely kept a hold of her, fingers digging into her with bruising intensity. Collapsing to his knees, the human slid an arm out from under her to point at one of the Inquisition archers, and bellowed, “Assassin!”

Oh, right. The Antivan Crow.

Thankfully, the Iron Bull did not hesitate. The would-be assassin had Thenera in his sights for the second time – then, in the span of a heartbeat, he had no arms. Only bloody stumps remained, the freshly dismembered limbs and bow splattering and clattering to the floor. 

Then the man started to scream.

Everything blurred. There was shouting, shapes moving about the room frantically, the smell of blood and bile. The world felt as though it were spinning on its axis, the dull pain in Thenera’s belly pulsating through her like a relentless drumbeat to match the stuttering cadence of her heart. 

But despite it all, Thenera laughed.

And laughed.

And laughed some more.

Then vomited a stream of bloody bile across the polished stone floor.

Hysteria faded and exhaustion gladly took its place. She tried to focus on each struggling breath, fighting to stay conscious through sheer force of will.

But there was no strength left in her.

Flashes of heat. 

The taste of copper, bitter on the tongue, coats the back of a swollen, sore throat, oozes from every pore. There are shards of crimson, sliding under feverish skin, in an aching chest, and roiling guts. Every breath and movement is agony. 

Sickening crystalline blossoms erupt from gums, fingers, eyes, chest, back. 

Every swallow tastes of the tainted lyrium and every touch infects the world with its rot. Veins throb, carrying the corruption further and further until every last cell has been polluted and rushes to replicate itself until the red lyrium is all that remains.

Next come the voices, echoing through the darkness.

“Give them hell, Chuckles…”

“Break the world with a spell…”

“But for now, we must survive…”

“Keep them off your tail...”

Then united and echoing in a singular voice:

“YOU ABANDONED US!”

Too hot.

Too tight.

Too cramped.

Can’t fucking breathe!

Thenera came to, thrashing violently and screaming her throat raw, as blind, animalistic panic granted a burst of strength. Lashing out, her elbow connected with something hard and unyielding.

“Woah, there, calm down!”

Eyes snapping open, the Iron Bull’s face slowly came into focus. He was cradling her, gently but firmly, against his chest.

“You’re safe, boss.” The qunari’s voice had lowered to a soothing timbre. “Take a breath. We’ve got you.”

Please, please, please — 

Thenera searched his face frantically. There was no sickly aura, no glimmer of crimson in his eye — 

Eye!

Trembling fingers yanked the Iron Bull’s eyepatch up. Underneath was only an empty pit with knotted scars.

No red and no sliver of crystals to be seen.

“C’mon, boss.” One of Bull’s large hands came up and gently pulled her hand away and lowered the eyepatch back into place, his brows furrowed in confusion. “You’re starting to scare me.”

But what about the others?

Turning her head, she made out Solas’ blurred form.

To see is to know.

Leaning forward and ignoring the Iron Bull’s protests at the sudden shift in weight, Thenera pressed her hand against Solas’ chest. Under her palm was smooth muscle with no trace of a mineral’s jagged edges. The only pulse being the steady thrum of his heart. Warm, but not burning. 

There’s still time. We can still stop it.

Collapsing back against the Iron Bull, Thenera buried her face in his neck and shattered. Her shoulders shook with gut wrenching sobs and her fingers gripped the leather harness she’d bitten into to stifle her screams.

They didn’t die in vain.

“So…” One of the qunari’s large hands rubbed soothing circles against her back. “Wanna tell me what the hell happened to her stomach?”

“Well, the you from the future said it was a Crow hit,” Dorian said impatiently. “Poisoned arrowhead.”

“Ah, shit.” The Iron Bull’s grip on her tightened. “Do you have the — ” 

“Here.” 

The qunari shifted, nestling Thenera in the crook of his arm like a newborn babe. Her head lolled against his shoulder from tear-soaked fatigue. Taking the fletching from Dorian, he peered at it with a critical eye. It looked comically small in his hands as he turned it this way and that. Satisfied, Bull set the feather aside and took the sharp metal barb. Lifting it to his nose, he sniffed before recoiling with a vicious curse.

“That bodes well,” Varric muttered darkly.

“I carry most common antidotes with me.” The words rumbled against her back. Even though Bull was clearly speaking the Common tongue, it took her longer than it should have to process. “But this one’s a Crow specialty. Has to be brewed as needed since it has a short shelf-life. But I can send word ahead to Stitches to get some prepared. Varric, you got a — ”

“Way ahead of you, Tiny.” A quill scratched across parchment rapidly. “Ready when you are.”

Thenera shifted and stared intently at Varric’s hands. 

No lyrium under the nails means more stories. More heroes and happily ever afters. 

As the Iron Bull started listing off ingredients, Thenera nestled her head against his neck. Gods, but she was so tired.

Just a little nap wouldn’t hurt...

“No, no, no. None of that.” Dorian knelt down, cupping her face in his hands. Too warm. He was much too warm. “I’m sorry, my dear, but I need you to stay awake.”

“D-don’t wanna.” The words came out horribly slurred.

She blinked.

Solas had replaced Dorian.

“We have to move quickly.” His beloved features swam in and out of focus. “Sera, I’ll need — ”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m on it,” came Sera’s surly response. “Royal or regular?”

“Royal.” He brushed sweat-slick strands of hair out of her face, fingers delightfully cool against feverish skin. “And embrium, if you can find some.”

Thenera smiled weakly. He called me lethallan…

The-Solas-That-Would-Not-Be-Solas.

That meant something, didn’t it?

But there was something important nipping insistently at her heels. Something she was supposed to tell this Solas that came from the Future-That-Would-Never-Be. Squinting against the throbbing pain nesting behind her eyes, Thenera fought to pull the words from the syrupy abyss of her poisoned mind.

They slipped between grasping fingers. Her thoughts were thick and heavy, hard to focus. She needed crispness and clarity. Reaching up, Thenera clutched the jagged fangs of the wolf’s jaw necklace that hung between her breasts. 

Sharp. Like a knife’s edge. Or a pair of pointed ears.

Solas’ eyes followed the movement, then his lips parted and all the color seemed to drain from his face. “How did you…?” 

A prick of pain and she had them! The words from a Future-That-Never-Was. Leaning forward, Thenera released the amulet, took his face in her hands, and pressed her forehead to his.

The words rang, clear and true, from numbed lips:

“Felassan was right.”

Message delivered. 

Duty done. 

Which left Thenera adrift and lost at sea.

There wasn’t a shred of crimson. No blood in the water, no magic conjured from flesh and viscera, no fiery heat of blight. There was only the color of the sky just before the sun fell below the horizon — an endless expanse of the most beautiful shades of violet and blue Thenera had ever seen.

Twilight made manifest…

…followed by the darkest of night.

[ayamikasai]

Gale of Waterdeep wearing THE dress. 🌊

Part 3 of ??? of bg3 boudoir series.

Prints for this and the other ones are available in the link below! 👇

♥️ Discord (junyami) for commissions

♥️ Donate!

♥️ Prints!

♥️ TikTok, BlueSky, Instagram, Xiaohongshu

[ayamikasai]

god touched. / chapter forty-six.

Pairing: F!Lavellan x Solas | F!Lavellan x Cullen Rutherford Chapter Word Count: 4.2K Story Summary: Thenera and Lalen Lavellan are sent to observe the gathering at the Conclave only to find themselves embroiled in a desperate fight to save the world. A Dalish elf becomes the messianic figure in a wholly alien faith and struggles to find her place as a symbol to an organization that has long sought the extermination of her people. A former Tevinter slave finds herself adrift in an insane world as the only anchor she has known slowly crumbles under the weight of responsibility. Tags: Slow Burn; Muteness; Canon Divergence; Dreamer Lavellan; Retelling; Romance; Angst; Neurodiversity; Two Lavellans; Emotionally Repressed; Hurt/Comfort; PTSD; Nightmares; Panic Attacks; Body Horror; Solavellan Hell; Loss of Identity/Regaining Identity; Alternating POV; Third Person Limited; Canon-Typical Violence; (Future) Polyamory; (Future) Polyamory Negotiations Author Note: Amazing cover and tarot art by the lovely @ayamikasai! <3 <3 <3 You can also find me over on BlueSky!

( Read on AO3 )

Next Chapter. / Masterlist. / Previous Chapter.

CHAPTER 46: IN HUSHED WHISPERS

Alexius keeps asking for patrols of the walls. Waste of time, if you ask me. The Inquisition ground themselves to a pulp against the walls ages ago. Ferelden made three attempts to lay siege here before the last life got crushed out of them. Who’s left out there to threaten us? The mountain barbarians? But Alexius seems to expect a siege. Man’s gone completely mad. —Excerpt from a guard’s journal, found within Redcliffe Castle, date unknown. *A note from the Herald of Andraste clarifies that the date is indeed correct despite being one year in the future.

Pain and nausea clouded the details after Dorian gently leaned Thenera up against a nearby wall of the dungeon next to Solas’ cell and left in search of a keyring. The world tilted on its axis. Blood pulsed in her ears, throbbing in time with the sharp pain in a mangled stomach. Leaning back, the cool stone against her back was a balm.

“En’an’sal’en,” Solas breathed from above her.

Blessings to you, too, hahren. For what little they’re worth. What else was there even left to say? This was a death sentence he had already suffered for a year, apparently. May Falon’Din guide our souls.

The Iron Bull spared her from having to say anything. “That feather fletching…ah, shit.”

His voice came from across the corridor, and Thenera lifted her head to see he was in much the same state as Solas. His eyepatch was gone. But where there should only have been a pit where an eye once lay was a cluster of crimson crystals. Then there were the slivers of red that scored his skin alongside the sickening realization: every single one of the qunari’s countless scars had split open to reveal even more of the loathsome lyrium.

His one remaining eye flickered between her stomach and face.

“What is it?” Solas asked nervously.

“This is a Crow hit. And if it’s a Crow hit, I can guarantee that arrow’s been poisoned.”

“Poison?” Thenera tried to sit up but remembered the arrow sticking out of her torso and stilled herself.

A hazy memory of a conversation between some of clan Lavellan’s hunters floated to the surface of her mind. How, if one were to be bitten by a venomous creature, the most important thing was to keep calm. A quickened heartbeat would only hasten the venom’s journey through the body. Then came the image of Solas, sweat slickened, gaunt, and not much different from the vision before her, sick from a spider bite. 

Well, chances were good that the same could be said of poison.

In for four. Hold for four. Out for four.

Dorian was back already, unlocking the cell holding Solas.

“Fenedhis lasa.” Once freed, Solas rushed to kneel by her side and pulled his roughspun tunic off hastily to reveal a pulsating crystal protruding from the center of his chest. His amulet fell back into place, clattering against it. “Under normal circumstances, I would not remove it. But if there’s even a chance to minimize the poison’s yield, we must try.”

That sounds promising.

Another jingle from the keyring saw Varric released next.

“Varric, I will need your knife,” Solas said.

“And here I thought you were just happy to see me.” Varric chuckled and slid a blade out from one of his boots.

At first, Thenera thought the dwarf was unaffected by the lyrium. But as he placed the dagger safely on the ground next to her, there were signs of growths beginning in his hands. Tiny shards of red crystals peeked out from beneath his blunted fingernails, and dried blood colored the tips of his fingers.

Enough that holding a quill would be agony.

Noticing her scrutiny, he winked at her — but there was no humorous spark left in those once amber eyes. They were lifeless scarlet gems that glittered with a simmering despair.

I have to fix this. Thenera looked away. Somehow, I will fix this.

Another cage clanged open. 

Hair a wild mess well past her shoulders, Sera walked free with an expression twisted in understandable skepticism. Her lips parted, and an unnatural glow leaked forth. Dried and fresh blood stained her lips and dribbled down her chin, where clusters of crystals crammed the crevices between her teeth.

“Don’t ask me for shite,” Sera spat, glancing angrily between them. The archer’s words were sluggish, each one thick with pooled blood. “I’m not gonna pull elfroot out my arsehole. Smoked that away the first week in this blighted pit.”

The last cell opened, releasing the Iron Bull.

Snatching up Varric’s dagger, Solas quickly went to work slicing the sleeves from his tunic and began cutting them into slim strips before spreading the bulk of the fabric out on the filthy ground. “On your side, da’len.”

Under different circumstances, Thenera would have been thrilled to have Solas shirtless and bidding her to lie with him. Alas, it was not to be. But she shifted and struggled to do as he asked.

Mayhap if I live through this…

Well, it never hurt to be optimistic, right?

“I'll replace the bandages,” Dorian said softly, finally kneeling back down next to her and smiling. “Don’t fret, my dear. We’ll have you right as rain, won’t we?”

With barely a grunt of acknowledgement, Solas set about weaving makeshift bandages to pass to Dorian to further stabilize the arrow. His hands worked deftly and with a sense of urgency that betrayed the fraying mask of composure he wore. The untold horrors he had undoubtedly faced in this strange future etched worry into the lines of his face—both familiar and new.

Dorian took Varric’s knife and sliced the blood encrusted blanket strips away. After quickly replacing them with the new bandages, he carefully helped her settle back onto her side.

So…tired. It was becoming increasingly difficult to keep her head up.

The fabric of Solas’ tunic held an unnatural heat to it. And layered alongside the familiar scents Thenera associated with him of aged parchment, herbs, and the slightest tang of ozone, there was something other. Something akin to sweat mixed with copper, with hints of rot underneath that reeked of wrongness.

But even after a year of neglect, it was still soft to the touch. A small comfort, all things considered, but a welcome one.

Just let Lalen be safe. Wherever…or whenever she is.

“Fenedhis.” Solas grimaced. “It will need to be pushed through to the other side.”

“I — what?!” Dorian’s mouth hung open in shock, his eyes wide as saucers. “Y-you must be joking, surely?”

Any sense of comfort Thenera had felt vanished. I probably look much the same. 

“Unfortunately not,” the Iron Bull said soberly. “Unarmored target equals barbed arrows. It’ll only do more damage if you try to pull it back out.”

“Bugger this shite.” Despite the aggressive tone of her voice, Sera looked like she was going to be sick. Thenera couldn’t really blame her — she was in a similar state and was purposefully not looking down at the arrow in question. “I — I’m gonna go look for our stuff.”

Creators, but she’s so…young. Thenera watched her flee out of sight. Barely twenty namedays and facing her worst fears.

It wasn’t fair. None of this was fucking fair.

Sera should be off stealing Cullen’s pomade, drawing all manner of vulgarities on Josephine’s reports, and making Flissa laugh so hard that ale came out of her nose. Or finding love and contentment in someone’s arms while sharing all her hopes and dreams.

But this world was an abomination — a world of darkspawn and demons, betrayal and bloodshed. One where mothers wail as their children starve at their breast and nightmares flood through into reality.

Thenera’s left hand clenched. And it all started with this gods-be-damned mark.

Between the grim expression on Solas’ face and Varric’s uncharacteristic silence, dread settled itself behind the metal lodged in Thenera’s belly.

The Iron Bull unbuckled one of the belts from his chest harness and set it next to her, and she peered up at him in bleary confusion.

“Trust me, you’ll want something to bite down on.” He tapped a large, ragged scar on his left flank. “But you’ll be alright. We’re gonna get you through this.”

“Found our stuff!” Sera’s voice echoed from somewhere down the hall. “Oy, could use some help — ” There was a loud crashing sound followed by a series of exasperated curses. “This shite’s heavy!”

“I better check on her. Bianca’s delicate, after all.” Varric looked relieved as he turned and strode through the doorway.

“The fewer distractions, the better,” the Iron Bull said, standing with a grunt, “so I’ll keep them outta trouble. But we’re still in shouting distance. If there’s any problem, give us a yell.” He looked down at Thenera and gave her a weak smile. “Just keep breathing, boss. You’ll be alright.”

Right. Just keep breathing.

The qunari followed the elf and dwarf, which left only Dorian and Solas…who up til then had been going back and forth on how to proceed. Thenera tried to focus on the sound of her own breathing (in for four, hold for four, out for four) as she readied herself for what was to come.

“First, you need to snap the arrow shaft,” Solas was saying. “Just under the fletching so you can still maintain a grip to guide it through.”

Dorian did so. 

The vibration of it shuddered through her belly and Thenera swallowed the urge to gag. 

“The next two steps will need to be done in tandem. You need to quickly push the arrow through at an angle — away from her spine, and away from any major organs. Then, once it is through, you will need to cauterize the wound immediately, as it will bleed profusely.”

It was odd to hear Solas speaking so matter-of-factly about the horror of the situation — as if this kind of situation was an old hat to him. Thenera tamped back a fresh wave of panic and continued to focus on her breathing, eyes sliding shut.

In for four. We are the Dalish: keepers of the lost lore.

Hold for four. Walkers of the lonely path.

Out for four. We are the last of the Elvhenan, and never again shall we submit.

And under Dorian’s breath, “Kaffas…”

The Tevene curse brought Lalen to mind, and the knot in Thenera’s chest loosened ever so slightly. She sent a whispered prayer to Mythal that her journey would be safer than…whatever this was turning out to be.

Solas’ voice, terse and with a tinge of annoyance: “If you think yourself not up to the task, now is the time — ”

“I’m perfectly capable of that level of spell control, thank you.” The human sounded offended at the very suggestion, but his next words held a tremor of fear despite his attempts to hide them behind the bite of sarcasm. “I’m just…not accustomed to pushing arrows through someone’s entrails.”

May the slow arrow go up both your arseholes.

“I can still hear, you know,” Thenera groaned.

Solas ignored her. “Quickly, now — push it through.”

Bull’s leather strap was rough against Thenera’s tongue and her eyes squeezed shut. She buried her face into the heavy fabric of Solas’ tunic as one of Dorian’s hands gripped her shoulder, the other wrapped around the blood slickened haft.

Sylaise’enasalin.

There was a sickening, squelching sound and Thenera felt pressure tugging behind her navel. 

Then she was apart from herself — floating, looking down at the scene playing out in front of her. 

Dorian, with sweat dripping down his aquiline nose and chin, hair plastered to his forehead, hands covered in blood — her blood — and carefully guiding the dark arrow shaft through her torso.

Then there was Solas pacing in front of them like a caged animal. Yet his eyes never left her prone form as she bit into his tunic to muffle an agonized scream. His expression was a grimace of agony, his hands curling and uncurling with impotence, lips moving and giving instructions that were lost to the thunderous pulse of blood rushing through her ears.

Through the dissociative haze, Thenera made out Dorian’s murmurs of soothing nonsense. A mantra of placation and praise of how well she was doing, how still she was staying. That it would be over soon. Someday they’d have drinks and laugh about all of this madness. Whether it was for her benefit or his own was a bit of a mystery. 

Mayhap both.

Head swimming, Thenera could only watch numbly as the metal head of the arrow slogged its way through the flesh of her back. She knew she should feel something — pain, nausea, horror, fear — but where those feelings normally lived was a gaping void of nothingness.

From above, it all seemed so…small. Insignificant. Two ants fussing over a third. But what happened to the world when that third ant held the only hope of saving it? And what if all that little ant wanted, more than anything, was to just give up?

Creators forgive me, but I’m so tired. I just want to sleep.

But then came the stink of burnt, cooked flesh and she was abruptly jerked back into that horrid reality.

Dorian’s magic worked to cauterize Thenera’s insides and all those feelings returned with a vengeance as unwanted memories threatened to burst through the blockade she had crafted. So, in a pathetic attempt to protect herself, Thenera tried to pull her knees up towards her chest.

“This is difficult enough without you squirming around,” Dorian hissed, one hand pushing them back down. “I know I’m hurting you, but please, you must lie still.”

“Creators, it’s the smell.” Thenera gagged. “I can’t…I’m — I’m going to be sick.”

“Focus on my voice, Thenera.” Solas ceased his pacing and knelt down, face swimming in her vision. “Breathe like I once showed you. In for four — ”

She met his gaze. “Hold for four.”

He nodded. “Out for four. Just like that. Again.”

Thenera struggled to comply, her body trembling with shock and pain. But through gritted teeth, she managed it. The rhythmic breathing acted as a lifeline in the sea of agony that threatened to drown her. The world around her faded into muted colors and indistinct shapes, but through it all was Solas.

In for four. Hold for four. Out for four. She clung tightly to the lifeline he had given her and held his gaze stubbornly.

He breathed with her, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. While the smell of burning flesh still lingered, it was easier to ignore now.

Dorian continued his spellwork. Thenera glanced over at the human. Sweat streamed down his face, and he had an expression of utmost concentration in lieu of his usual glibness. And though she barely knew this man, Thenera felt a surge of affection towards him.

A complete stranger held her life in his hands. And a human from Tevinter, at that.

Yet that shemlen was doing everything he could to see her through this, fighting to keep her alive. In just a few short hours, Dorian Pavus had done more for her than her own clan ever had. And the weight of his hand on her shoulder helped ground her, a reminder that she wasn’t alone in this nightmare of a future.

“There.” Dorian sat back and wiped his brow with the back of his forearm. “All patched like an old pair of ill-fitting trousers. Although, you know…in Tevinter, we usually just throw tattered things away.”

“In my clan…they usually j-just threw tattered things away.” Her stomach heaved and a burst of heat surged up from her belly to nest behind her eyes. “Hot…so hot.”

The human placed the back of his hand against her forehead. Judging by the look on his face, it wasn’t anything good.

“She’s burning up with fever,” he said. 

Because of course she was. Just another thing to add to the ‘gone to shit’ pile.

I shouldn’t be surprised, really. Thenera whimpered when he lifted her to rest against his chest. Just another joke from the gods, I suppose.

“Isn’t there anything you can do about the poison?” Dorian was shaking. “You’re the closest thing we have to a healer.”

“I dare not.” Solas’ jaw clenched, eyes glowing in the hollowed pits of his skull. “I fear that even my magic may be tainted by the blighted lyrium. Our best hope is to get you back to your proper time as quickly as possible.”

Back to our proper time…Thenera’s head swam with the implications. 

That all of this would be erased from existence.

Dorian cursed under his breath. “Useless!”

Solas sneered. “Oh, I do apologize for my having been locked away and force fed blighted lyrium for the past year, but — ”

“Not you! I meant myself.” The human’s face twisted with grief and frustration. “All that time studying magic without a single healing spell? Magic should serve man, indeed.”

He was falling into a spiral she knew all too well. One that would swallow him to despair and leave him wrung out and distracted when they all needed to keep their wits about them.

  Have to break it. For all our sake.

“You’ve done the best you can,” Thenera said weakly. A wave of dizziness washed over her and she gripped Dorian’s forearm to ground herself. “It…it will be enough.”

It must be.

The Iron Bull entered the small cell block, axe slung over one shoulder. Seeing her relatively upright, he grinned. “Tougher than you look, boss.”

Thenera groaned as the molten iron ball in her temples pulsed angrily. “Necessity more than toughness, I think.”

“Either way, you’re up.” He pointed at the blood-soaked arrow next to her. “Probably a good idea to keep that. It’ll be useful for getting an antidote prepared, if nothing else.”

How optimistic.

While Solas and the Iron Bull spoke in muted voices, Dorian once again shifted her weight before helping her secure the fletching and metal arrowhead away in one pocket of her pack.

“Thank you, Dorian.” Thenera reached out to take the human’s hand, her own trembling with fatigue and fever. “Truly, if we get out of this, I will owe you my life.”

“An accomplishment I shall never let you live down, don’t you worry.” He patted her hand in return, gaze softening. “We’ll get you back to your Dalish mud wrestling soon enough.”

Thenera opened her eyes, although she didn’t remember closing them. Dorian and the others were gone and, for a worried moment, she thought she was alone.

Then someone cleared their throat. Even in her stupor, she recognized the noise as coming from the Iron Bull. Craning her neck from where she lay swaddled on the floor, she saw him sitting just down the hall from him.

“You know what I’ve always wondered?” he asked amiably. “Why do nugs have hands?”

Thenera grunted in pain and put a hand to her head. It was pounding. “I beg your pardon?”

The Iron Bull continued, practically as if she hadn’t spoken. “Have you ever actually looked at them? Little bastards have hands. Opposable thumbs and everything. But for what? Are they plotting an armed resistance?”

“I think they’re for…” Thenera searched for a logical answer and then gave up. The Iron Bull was trying to distract her, as Dorian had. So she took the bait. “…baking. They make tiny cakes in nug-sized ovens.”

“So that’s why the little shits are so popular in Orlais.” The qunari nodded sagely. “Cupcakes are just a nug’s version of cakes.”

“We’ll have to tell Madame de Fer and Leliana that we know their secret if we make it back alive.” Everything felt shaky, and the hallway was freezing. “Where are the others?”

“Trying to find keys to get into the throne room.” The Iron Bull rested his hands on his knees. “I’m sorry. I wish I could offer you something. You look like shit.”

“Well, thank you,” Thenera replied sarcastically. With a grimace, she shifted slightly. “A throne room? If Alexius is there, I imagine it would be magically sealed.”

She thought of her own clan’s use of magic. They used all sorts of wards to lock doors, caves, tombs, and even entire campsites. Surely Alexius would have done the same.

“Yup. Needs red lyrium shards to open it, apparently. Asshole got paranoid after you…ah.” The Iron Bull stopped talking as something clicked into place. “Because he knew you survived, but didn’t know when you were going to show up.”

“So he’s just been sitting in this castle the whole time?” For a moment, Thenera almost forgot her pain.

“Not just,” the Iron Bull said. “He’s working for someone called ‘The Elder One’. They killed the Empress and rolled a demon army through everyone. He played a part in that somehow.”

“Elder One?” Thenera’s heart stuttered.

Her thoughts turned, unbidden, to the Dread Wolf from the Conclave. That hulking monstrosity that devoured the Beyond with inky blackness and furious fire for its many eyes.

“Not sure what that is. Caused the Conclave explosion, but details have been a little sparse, what with the prison cells. Guards sometimes taunted us with tidbits here and there, but we’ve mostly been kept in the dark.”

The creature at the Conclave. So not the Dread Wolf.

“Do you know what happened to…” Thenera’s throat tightened.

Lalen, Cullen, her clan, the people of Haven?

“No,” the Iron Bull said bluntly. “You don’t wanna know the answer to that. All you need to know is that it wasn’t good.” He shook his head and couldn’t meet her eyes. “Dorian said Alexius might be able to undo the spell. If that happens, this all becomes a dream. You don’t need to carry the weight of nightmares that might never come true.”

Thenera touched her head to the stone. The chill felt nice against her fevered cheek. Not having to worry…that would be so nice. “And if we’re stuck here, trying to undo this?”

The Iron Bull’s expression softened, then let out a boisterous laugh. “I can tell you this. Leliana was a prisoner here for all of a week before disappearing from the dungeons.” He recounted the tale like just another war story of his. “Everyone says she turned into a flock of crows and escaped.”

Thenera smiled as she pictured Leliana being confronted with the rumors. The knowing smile. Downplaying it coyly to make it seem like there was no way it wasn’t true. Then a cryptic quote suggesting it was somehow part of the Maker’s plan.

Her smile didn’t last long as the sounds of running feet echoed down the hall. The sounds of combat followed, and then the voices of Thenera’s friends bounced along after.

“ — more of this and all I’ll be able to do is bullshit them!” Varric’s voice sounded strained.

A flash of fire lit the hallway and the retreating forms of her companions came into focus. The Iron Bull stood, leaning heavily on his axe as a crutch.

“Just tell them there are dozens of us and they’ll have to give up,” the qunari called out to the others as he ran forward to join them.

“You could at least try to not alert the rest of the castle.” Solas’ tone was devoid of emotion.

Thenera struggled to stand. If nothing else, she might have been able to help light one of the bastards on fire.

Their pursuers came into view: some of Alexius’ Venatori minions and a handful of armored guards. Solas released a large bolt of red-tinted lightning he had been holding. It sizzled through the first, onto the second, then bounced between the metal clad group.

“We tried asking nicely, but they turned us down,” Dorian said over the shouts of pain and crackling.

“Da’len, I know what you’re thinking.” Solas eyed her suspiciously. “Save your strength.”

Thenera let the staff drop from where she had been trying to muster the energy for a bolt of flame. This must be how Solas felt after being bitten by that damned spider.

Weak.

A liability.

The Iron Bull reached the battle and waded in with a flourish. Blood sprayed where the sharp edge of his axe took two limbs off one of the Venatori with one swipe. But in response, another lashed him with a burst of fire against grey skin. Where the embers charred flesh, red lyrium bled out and clinked onto the floor.

“Get rid of the bastard in the back!” he called out, blocking the hallway with his bulk.

Dorian broke off from the group and joined Thenera. He threw his left arm under her arms to support her. “Good to see you back with us,” he said cheerfully. “Just give us a minute to get rid of my pesky countrymen and we’ll have everything we need to say hello again to my old mentor.”

“Bull said you have a way to reverse this?” Thenera said weakly.

“Yes.” He thrust his staff forward, driving a lash of flame down the hall to pick off an archer trying to draw on Varric. Then his voice dropped lower, barely audible above the sounds of fighting. “It’s a slim hope, but it’s the only one we have.”

In that case, I pray that the Creators look favorably upon us all.

[ayamikasai]

So, I'm in my BG3 era. Officially, my new favorite game. 11/10

Here are my obsessions. Will likely make this a series.

RIP my life thanks to Larian Studios.

Concept: If bg3 characters were paintings on the Sharess' Caress wall/menu lmao

♥️ Discord (junyami) for commissions

♥️ Donate!

♥️ Prints!

♥️ TikTok, BlueSky, Instagram, Xiaohongshu

[ayamikasai]

Commission for DarkGoddessEris on TikTok ✨ for their OC Ashara with Dirthamen.

xx

♥️ Discord (junyami) for commissions

♥️ Donate!

♥️ Prints!

♥️ TikTok, BlueSky, Instagram, Xiaohongshu

[ayamikasai]

My first Solas/Rook commission for LadyCrazyDragon on TikTok.

I missed drawing Solas so much. I struggled a little bit with the lighting in this one but I think it turned out well. Is it just me or does drawing in landscape mode feel more intimidating than portrait mode??

Hope you all like this one ✨

♥️ Discord (junyami) for commissions

♥️ Donate!

♥️ Prints!

♥️ TikTok, BlueSky, Instagram, Xiaohongshu

[ayamikasai]

Adrian Ingellvar

My Rook makes his art debut. He's a Mourn Watcher and is gloomy, sweet, awkward sense of humor but wise. Still wondering who I should romance him with.

♥️ Discord (junyami) for commissions

♥️ Donate!

♥️ Prints!

♥️ TikTok, BlueSky, Instagram, Xiaohongshu

[ayamikasai]

Prayer

Commission for Pagius on Discord for her Rook praying to a statue of Elgar'nan'. Continuation for my other Rook x Elgar'nan art that you can see here. 🖤

♥️ Discord (junyami) for commissions

♥️ Donate!

♥️ Prints!

♥️ TikTok, BlueSky, Instagram, Xiaohongshu

[ayamikasai]

‘Memento Mori, Memento Vivere’

Thank you to my friend @enterthedreams for commissioning from me ✨ This is a piece for their AO3 Emmrich/Rook/Lucanis fic. PLEASE READ IT, IT’S INCREDIBLE

♥️ Discord (junyami) for commissions

♥️ Donate!

♥️ Prints!

♥️ TikTok, BlueSky, Instagram, Xiaohongshu

[ayamikasai]

Elgar'nan x Rook commission for Pagius on Discord. You all don't understand how happy I am of this. I kinda went all out on this one. Timelapses are on my TikTok page <3

❤️Discord (junyami) for commissions!

❤️Donate!

❤️Prints!

❤️TikTok, BlueSky, Instagram, Rednote

[ayamikasai]

🥹✨♥️

Feral - OpalApparition - Dragon Age: Inquisition [Archive of Our Own]

In the Fade, the man Ellana knew is gone. Solas is something else now—wild, dangerous, and though she knows she shouldn't... he is impossible to resist.

Rated E / Oneshot / PWP / Regressed Solas / Adventures in The Fade / Happy Ending

Excerpt:

She woke to heat and need, awareness creeping in like morning fog...

Solas burned against her back, his body a brand of fire through their clothing. His breath came hot and heavy against her neck as he nuzzled her skin,, snuffling at the back of her neck. The hard length of his arousal pressed insistently against the small of her back, and Ellana shivered all over, a low, shocked moan escaping her lips before she could stop it. Behind her, Solas made a hungry noise that vibrated through her bones like thunder. Her heart slammed against her ribs as something fundamental shifted inside her, ancient instinct overriding reason. She realized, with sudden clarity that stole her breath, that she ached with want.

"Solas," she breathed, his name half-plea, half-question.

Solas rumbled against her skin and rolled her onto her belly, settling heavy atop her and pressing her into the mound of leaves and grass. His hips ground against her with urgent need, and Ellana made a broken noise she'd never heard herself make before, needy and wounded like another animal he’d cornered to kill. An overwhelming rush of heat burned through her veins like liquid fire, and she lay trembling beneath him as Solas stripped away their clothing with efficient, almost savage movements. Those hands could paint frescos. Those hands could split skulls. Those hands deftly undid buttons and belts like they remembered how to be gentle, leaving trails of heat on exposed skin.

Those hands skimmed down her sides, nails scraping, mapping her body and marking their territory, the swell of her hips, the peaks of her breasts, and the tender valleys between. Then his weight shifted, and she felt his hot breath against the shell of her pointed ear before he moved lower, flowing down her body until he was between her legs, lifting her hips up, his tongue unabashedly dragging against her cunt. A broken cry escaped her as the wet heat of his mouth sent sparks racing up her spine. His growl of approval vibrated against her most sensitive flesh as he tasted her arousal, lapping eagerly.

Fingers joined his mouth, first one, then two sliding into her with careful insistence. Was this something he remembered to do? Ellana tried to think despite the overflow of feeling, he was wild, gone, but still so determined to please–

Read the Rest on AO3! :)

[ayamikasai]

Hi, it’s been a while. Here are some commissions I’ve done recently ♥️

The past few months have been so hectic. Everyone please be safe and spread the love out there.

Top: Solas x Lavellan for @zevswarden

Middle: Modern AU Lucanis x Rook x Neve for Rori

Bottom: Nathaniel x HoF for No. 1 Martin Septim Lover

♥️ Discord (junyami) for commissions

♥️ Donate!

♥️ Prints!

♥️ TikTok, BlueSky, Instagram, Rednote

[ayamikasai]

Marianna

Dragon Age OC commission for SirenTheMochi on Discord ✨

A member of the Orlesian Chantry.

Been going through some stress lately so posts/commissions will be slow. Sorry for the inconvenience!

❤️Discord (junyami) for commissions!

❤️Donate!

❤️Prints!

❤️TikTok, BlueSky, Instagram, Rednote

[ayamikasai]

god touched. / chapter thirty-seven.

Pairing: F!Lavellan x Solas, F!Lavellan x Cullen Rutherford Chapter Word Count: 2.3K Summary: Thenera and Lalen Lavellan are sent to observe the gathering at the Conclave only to find themselves embroiled in a desperate fight to save the world. A Dalish elf becomes the messianic figure in a wholly alien faith and struggles to find her place as a symbol to an organization that has long sought the extermination of her people. A former Tevinter slave finds herself adrift in an insane world as the only anchor she has known slowly crumbles under the weight of responsibility. Warnings: Slow Burn, Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Romance, Graphic Depictions of Violence, PTSD, Angst, Nightmares, Panic Attacks, Body Horror, Past Child Abuse, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Loss of Identity/Regaining Identity, Other Tags to be Added as Story Progresses Author Note: Amazing cover and tarot art by the lovely @ayamikasai! <3 <3 <3 You can also find me over on BlueSky!

( Read on AO3 )

Next Chapter. / Masterlist. / Previous Chapter.

CHAPTER 37: EYES LIKE FIRE

In those ages, our people called all the land Elvhenan, which in the old Elven language means “place of our people.” And at the center of the world stood the great city of Arlathan, a place of knowledge and debate, where the best of the ancient elves would go to trade knowledge, greet old friends, and settle disputes that had gone on for millennia. But while our ancestors were caught up in the forever cycle of ages, drifting through life at what we today would consider an intolerable pace, the world outside the lush forests and ancient trees was changing. —Excerpt from The Fall of Arlathan, as told by Gisharel, Keeper of the Ralaferin clan of the Dalish elves.

 We will not survive much longer.

     Solas was swiftly running out of strength. With the break in the storm, his source of powerful lightning had all but vanished. So, in its place, he reached for ice.

     As light continued to pulse from the head of his staff (and he could only hope Lalen was astute enough to discern its meaning), frost coalesced across the Pride demon’s claws — specifically its joints. Every ounce of his will focused on visualizing concepts of ice, snow, blizzards, and the like to pull from across the Veil until Pride’s thickened carapace turned brittle as a mirror’s surface.

     The last pulse of magelight faded into darkness.

     And like glass, the moment Lalen’s sword plunged down, the monster’s claw shattered.

     The demon roared in agony as tarry ichor spurted into the air. But the Dalish woman wriggled free and went back to work cutting a trail through the reanimated corpses. And despite everything, he smiled. Much like the Herald, Lalen was stubborn. A trait of Clan Lavellan, it seemed.

     We may yet survive this, then.

     Then Solas couldn’t breathe.

     One moment, he was wading through knee deep swamp water towards the cave entrance. The next, an explosion of flames and suffocating steam rose in thick plumes that scalded what little flesh lay exposed. Instinctively, he wrapped himself within the Fade and shifted.

     Unfortunately, where he rematerialized was little better.

     Bright orange flames and Fade green glow turned the cavern a sickly brown. A blackened haze drowned out any other smell and drove him into a crouch, chest heaving with hacking coughs. An oppressive heat fell upon him like a physical weight, making it hard to think, let alone put together a plan.

     But through the clouds of soot and condensation, he could make out the shapes of the towering Qunari warrior and Pride as they slammed into one another.

     And the Anchor…?

     As the high-pitched ringing in his ears faded to a manageable level, Solas found the magic’s familiar song easily enough. Squinting against the burning pain from the smoke, he saw the Herald’s silhouette uncomfortably close to the two behemoths clashing together, but whole.

     For the moment.

     Each breath felt like fire in his lungs and his heart pounded in his chest, but he forced himself through the sweltering heat. The cavern had effectively become an oven. But just when he thought he could bear it no longer, the Anchor’s siren call rang with a fresh burst of flames and a glimmer of emerald light drew him forward.

     Reaching out, he took hold of the Anchor.

     The Herald tried to jerk free, but his grip held fast. Auburn hair whirled as she turned to face him, and animalistic panic flooded the young woman’s eyes. There was no spark of recognition at all. Her skin crackled with wild magic, much like the storm outside, threatening to consume them both. And still she struggled against him, breath coming out in frantic gasps.

     At this rate, she is like to expire from smoke inhalation. None too gently, he yanked her down under the cloud of smog.

     With a surge of his dwindling power, Solas encased them both in a protective barrier to shield them from the choking fumes. He pulled the still struggling woman through the heat and swirling shadows, making slow progress towards the cavern’s exit. The sounds of combat echoed behind them, growing fainter and fainter until drowned out once again by the violent storm.

     The heat of the flames licked at their retreating heels. The young woman continued to thrash and claw at him in a wild panic. With a last burst of strength, Solas stumbled out of the cavern and into the raging storm. Rain lashed at them, mixing with the soot and ash clinging to their clothes.

     He collapsed to his knees, gasping and wheezing for breath. Fresh air had never tasted so sweet. Releasing Thenera, she collapsed next to him in a fit of coughing and spluttering. Once their lungs were relatively clear, their eyes met and finally Solas saw a glimmer of recognition in the Herald’s wild gaze.

     We cannot linger here.

     Dragging himself to his feet and with a last, lingering look back at the cavernous conflagration, Solas and Thenera took flight.

     Now free from the inferno, freezing mud clung to their footwraps and crept up past their calves. The added weight also made each step even more treacherous than before. The storm, an unmerciful wall of noise, barred any chance of effective communication and the howling winds ferried moans of the undead, which made it near impossible to determine where threats or safety lay.

     Unlike the demons, fire did little to deter the risen corpses. It instead turned them into blazing abominations. Lightning, comparatively, seemed to work better. At the very least, it halted the creatures long enough for the two elves to gain ground.

     Solas raised his voice, “Use the storm’s power and avoid — ”

     But a peal of thunder drowned out the rest of his words.

     One undead shambled too close and Thenera hurled another panicked burst of flame, nearly spelling disaster. The creature lunged and skeletal fingers clutched the woman’s loose tunic. Flames greedily leapt from corpse to cloth before Solas channeled another roar of thunder and a streak of lightning to paralyze dead musculature. In her desperation to get away from the undead, Thenera lost her footing and sank into the Mire with a cry.

     Damn it all.

     Solas fought his way to her side. Reaching down, he took hold of her elbow. The acrid stench of smoke from the extinguished flames clung to her clothes as the Herald scrambled to her feet. A grimace of pain twisted her features. Adrenaline urged her forward, but she clearly favored her left leg. The rancid smell of cooked, rotten flesh slowly faded once they found dry land.

     Even Solas struggled to pull his own feet from the thick mud. He raised his voice once more to be heard over the storm. “Are you alright?”

     “Some singed clothing and a twisted ankle,” Thenera shouted back.

     “I can bear your weight.” He wrapped an arm around her waist. Even right next to her, he could barely make himself heard. As was becoming routine, he found himself beyond exhausted and endlessly frustrated. “We need to find shelter.”

     Once more, the Anchor is endangered.

     Slender fingers gripped his shoulder, the old magic in the girl’s hand radiating towards him. It was close enough to touch, yet he was not strong enough to reclaim it. Thenera hissed between clenched teeth with each step, but stubbornly pressed on.

     Luckily, she is tenacious.

     After slogging through the swamp for nigh on an hour, they finally stumbled upon a cave. Dense vegetation obscured the worn and weathered entrance of the cave. And while the gaping maw of darkness offered shelter, it also held an air of trepidation. A scent of wild predation clung to the old stone — perhaps once serving as a wolf or bear’s den. The two elves briskly inspected the cavern to ensure there were no previous tenants within before all but collapsing.

     Adrenaline faded, replaced by shivering and chattering teeth.

     The storm raged on outside, lashing the desolate landscape with an unyielding fury. Inside the cave, the tempest’s howls became muted, except for the occasional crash of thunder. Rainwater trickled through unseen nooks and crannies. It created a symphony of droplets that danced upon the rough, uneven ground. The smell of wet earth and decaying flora mingled, saturating their refuge with an ancient musk.

     Intermittent flashes of lightning fractured darkness, casting eerie shadows upon the cave walls from jagged stalactites and stalagmites. Dripping with moisture, they gave the impression of monstrous fangs just waiting for the moment to clamp down upon unwary travelers.

     Solas unslung his pack, and Thenera followed suit. They took care to avoid the pools of stagnant water dotting the cave floor that glowed with a ghostly shimmer after each lightning strike. The sporadic seconds’ worth of light before the oppressive darkness returned only enhanced their blindness.

     He knew it would be unwise to waste resources on comfort when survival was at stake — which meant what little magic that remained to them needed saving. So they would need fuel for a fire. Otherwise, they would likely freeze to death before anything else went awry.

     “Stay here and rest.” The chill of the stone against Solas’ back was uncomfortable, but bracing. “I will return shortly.”

     Thenera gave a slight nod. Her knees pulled into her chest, arms wrapped around them. Tilting her head back, her eyes slid shut.

     After taking a moment to catch his breath, Solas reluctantly got to his feet. Collecting his staff, he ventured further into the cave. The path was illuminated only by the faint glow of his weakened magelight and smatterings of bioluminescent fungi. As the air grew colder, a thin layer of frost clung to the glistening stones. Drafts of icy winds alongside soaked clothing threatened to sap what little strength he had left.

     Breathe and ground myself. Solas’ senses sharpened. He focused on following the direction of the wind, carrying with it the smells of damp and vegetation. Find the thrum of spirit nestled in this place.

     He had walked down the path for only a few minutes when it opened into a smaller cavern. Moving into the chamber, his eyes scanned the ground. He saw concentrated patches of fungi that cast an ethereal glow on the walls and ground. Even more important were the sparse, stringy foliage that grew in spurts within the cracked stones. And buried within those cracks lay the pulses of life he sought.

     Sure enough, upon turning the corner — there: moss, deep mushrooms, spindleweed, and a smattering of blood lotus.

     Carefully, Solas extricated the plants with the paring knife he kept on his belt. He was especially cautious with the mushrooms and blood lotus — well known for being poisonous if not prepared properly in the former’s case and the potential to cause hallucinations or unconsciousness for the latter. But with care, they would serve as decent enough food stuffs.

     Climbing atop a nearby outcropping, he also collected a few handfuls of twigs. Nothing edible, but it would be enough to keep a flame alive for half a day or more.

     A strange sense of nostalgia overcame Solas as he bundled his findings together. As he tied his bounty to his belt, there came memories of youthful travels and explorations into similar caverns. Discovering the dreams of cultures lost to the sands of time. Learning where treasures of a now unknown kingdom lay. And, naturally, the exchange of information with friendly spirits in the areas.

     But soon after came the guilt.

     This should all be so much different.

     The Veil had robbed this world of simplicity — of spirit, connection, and so, so much more. Fear and superstition made such communications impossible between the worlds.

     And it was entirely his fault.

     The familiar grief settled atop his shoulders, nearly threatening to bury him. The world should have been mended by now. Not laying on the precipice of destruction once again.

     Another mistake. Another litany of what-ifs —

     Solas shook himself from those thoughts. Self-flagellation could wait until they were not in danger of freezing to death. Or becoming a meal for the undead still wandering the area.

     He returned to the cave entrance quickly, shivering and muttering under his breath. The plants and kindling he gathered would keep them alive for the night, at least. But if they were not careful, the excess smoke could overwhelm and sicken them.

     Yet another hurdle to overcome.

     While he was gone, Thenera had gathered enough rocks to construct a crude fire pit. Two feet wide, and settled close to one of the smaller openings in the ceiling. It would be more than enough to keep them warm throughout the night as well as provide adequate ventilation for the smoke.

     But this was all assuming either of them could start a fire with the drizzling rain.

     “If you can dry out some k-kindling,” Thenera stammered, having come to the same conclusion, “I think I c-can get it s-started.”

     Solas focused a small portion of his remaining magic to do just that as Thenera tried to summon a flame. Thin strands of flames stuttered from the tips of her fingers before fading to embers. The woman’s expression twisted into a scowl. Her entire frame trembled violently. The chattering of her teeth was audible in between the intermittent claps of thunder. After two more failed attempts, a small and steady sphere of flames lay cupped in her palms.

     It flickered weakly for five heartbeats before vanishing in a puff of smoke.

     His concern grew as he watched the woman try again and again with the same result. This was not simple frozen exhaustion — fear emanated from Thenera in waves. She bit her lip, eyes wet with unshed tears of frustration. Solas knew they could ill afford to waste anymore time. With each passing second, she was growing weaker.

     “Let me.” Solas stepped forward.

     Thenera sniffled. “Ir abelas.”

     “Tel abelas.” He gave her a weary smile. Exhaustion settled into the marrow of his bones and his magic felt syrupy, making it difficult to pull from across the Veil. But, thankfully, the flames heeded his call and easily ignited the sparse kindling. Gently blowing on the newborn embers, he glanced over at their discarded packs. “Focus on salvaging what materials you can.”

     Thenera nodded and wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand. Moving over to their packs, she began rifling through them. Solas kept his focus on nursing the burgeoning campfire. The howling winds that randomly tore through the cave threatened to extinguish the flames. Using his body as a shield, he finally coaxed the embers into a steady blaze.

     As he carefully fed the growing flames, Solas felt some of the tension in his body finally ease. Taking a deep breath, he savored the warmth against his skin.

     “Any s-supplies we h-had for a makeshift s-shelter or bedding are w-waterlogged and ruined.” Thenera dropped their packs with a wet thump. “S-Same with our spare clothes.”

     “I feared as much.” Solas wearily resigned himself to a night spent in misery. "Wearing drenched clothing will do us few favors.” He started undoing his foot wraps with chilled fingers. “We’ll lay out what we can near the fire. Hopefully, they will dry by the time the storm passes.”

     “It w-would be my luck to escape the C-Conclave, Venatori, undead, and demon h-hordes only to die of exposure.” Thenera’s voice was low, fatigue and chills wracking her slight form. “In a cave.” With a shuddering sigh, she peeled her own leggings off. “In the middle of a Creator’s f-forsaken swamp.” Her soaked tunic followed soon after. She paused, then laughed. “F-Fenedhis. This is such a mess.”

     “I imagine Master Tethras would craft a suitably heroic end for the Herald of Andraste.” Solas turned away when Thenera reached up to remove her breast band in order to give her some semblance of privacy. Shrugging off his own clothing, he laid them out next to the fire. All that remained was the wolf's jaw amulet resting against his chest. “But I do not believe this is where your story ends, da’len.”

     “Everything will be gone,” Thenera muttered darkly. It was as if she had not heard him. “The B-Breach swallows the world, all thanks to the blood drinking, child-stealing T-Thenera of Clan Lavellan.” A thin, almost hysterical giggle erupted from behind him. “All hail the blessed Herald of Andraste.”

     “It won’t come to that,” Solas murmured.

     But again, he was uncertain if she had heard.

     “It’s too much…” Her voice cracked.

     It’s too much. Too much and far too soon.

     The cave, Thenera, and the storm disappear into a void of white noise. The sudden memory is powerful enough to steal the breath from Solas’ lungs.

     Rage, panic and despair coils like wretched serpents in his soul. The need for action and revenge had outweighed all good sense and a plan that would have taken centuries to perfect was set into motion in less than a decade.

     The Veil has given no time for a smooth transition. But it is too late to stop it.

     And so, he watches helplessly as Arlathan crumbles before his eyes all over again.

     Then one thought, repeated into eternity: What have I done?

     Once a golden splendor and the jewel of Elvhen civilization, the Palace of the Evanuris drifts to the far reaches of the now sundered world of spirits. But at the heart of the palace lies a disease that threatens the world. The fools trapped inside had given him little choice.

     None of this should be happening.

     The pull of uthenera is so strong now. Staying awake was a battle in itself. But the promise of oblivion in the face of what he has done is both a relief and the source of utter horror.

     I must find a way to fix this.

     Gone is the cocky rebel leader filled with foolish pride; in his place is an old soul broken by the weight of one desperate act. He is well and truly alone, covered in the ashes of his own civilization.

     My people will remain trapped for now, but when I awaken…

     His lids became so unbearably heavy.

     …I can set things right.

     An anguished cry jerked Solas back to the present.

     Suddenly, Thenera leapt to her feet and began to pace around the fire pit. Sun-kissed skin glowed in the firelight, shadows dancing upon the walls as she went. Her fingers buried themselves into her hair and she started muttering under her breath. The only words he could make out were “my fault.”

     His brow furrowed, sitting up and eyeing her warily. “Herald — ”

     The title seemed to freeze the woman in place. Lurching backwards, she pressed herself into a shadowed corner. Her eyes were wide as she stared into the fire.

     “Creators, forgive me!” she wailed, falling to her knees. “It’s too much!”

     Another ragged scream tore from her throat, echoing through the cave alongside a particular loud clap of thunder. The lightning that followed nearly blinded him. Thenera’s figure turned to a shadowed silhouette as she collapsed in on herself.

     Chunks of auburn fell as Thenera began to rip and tear at her hair. Errant twigs, mud, and detritus caught in her locks frustrated her efforts to untangle them. Solas lunged forward and seized her wrists. The Dalish struggled against him for a moment before going limp.

     Her eyes were empty and stared into nothingness. When gently calling her name had no effect, he cupped her face and pulled her gaze up to meet his. Her skin was flushed and heated as though with a fever.

     “Look at me,” he instructed. She did so, but seemed unable to concentrate. “Take a deep breath and hold a moment. Now release it in a count of four.”

     She nodded weakly. Slowly, those green eyes cleared and focused on him. Solas felt Thenera’s body still as she did as instructed; the tension in her shoulders eased. With a gentle pull, he got the young woman to her feet and herded her towards the fire.

     “Just so.” Another few steps and he could gently pull her back down next to the campfire. “In for four. Hold for four. Out for four.”

     She knelt facing him, trembling with cold and stress.

     Closing his eyes, he took her face in his hands and focused on the miasma of emotions surrounding the young woman. Strangely, he felt the overwhelming fear from the obelisk's rune lingering against her skin like oil. It had seeped into her spirit, poisoning her.

     At last, the events of the last couple of hours fell into place. When she had activated the beacons, the Anchor must have pulled the latent emotions into her. A foolish oversight on his part. And one he could ill afford to repeat.

     When he focused a sliver of magic to uproot the remaining vestiges of the rune’s effects, Thenera shuddered.

     “I…Solas?” Her eyes fluttered open, blinking against the bright firelight and slowly focusing on his face. The tips of her ears flushed with color. “Ir abelas, hahren. Creators, I-I don’t know what came over me. Everything was just — ”

     “I should be the one apologizing, da’len.” His hands fell away from her face. “I did not expect you to have used the mark while activating the veilfire. I should have anticipated how it would react and warned you of the possible transfer of emotions.”

     “The…what? But I didn’t use it.” Thenera’s words slurred slightly from exhaustion.

     “Are you certain?” Solas frowned, one arm wrapping around her waist to keep her from falling as he readjusted his unsteady crouch.

     “I may not be an expert on the mark,” Thenera replied, a touch of sarcasm creeping back into her voice, “but I’ve used it enough to know what it feels like by now.”

     Activating the latent memories within the flames should not have been possible without it. Or extensive training, which she has demonstrated time and again to be woefully lacking.

     He studied the woman carefully. Yet her expression was open and held no expected signs of deception. Nor did he truthfully think her capable of such subterfuge. Which was yet another skill she would need to learn if she was going to survive the coming days.

     There is so much work yet to be done.

     Outside, the storm raged on, with no signs of ceasing.

     Solas used his free hand to busy himself with dragging their clothing and packs close enough to the flames in the hopes they would be dry by morning. Once satisfied their belongings weren’t at risk of catching fire, he leaned forward as his mind raced to find a solution to this conundrum. To avoid another mishap, he had to understand how it happened, after all.

     If Thenera had not used the Anchor, then that meant she tapped into the veilfire’s memories on her own. The question was: how?

     Perhaps she called on the Anchor subconsciously?

     But that did not feel right, either.

     So what was it that made her different from the others, if not the Anchor?

     Eyes narrowing, he looked at the Herald anew.

     Unlike the other Dalish he had met through his travels, this woman’s spirit burst in a brilliant kaleidoscope of color. And despite the tremors wracking her lithe frame and chattering teeth, there was a fierceness in those emerald eyes that spoke of a strength beyond her physical form.

     She possessed a curiosity not sated by half-truths or misremembered legends. A spark that, until now, he had assumed to have been the Anchor’s influence alone.

     But had that spark of spirit always been there? Or was it a seed his magic had planted that simply took root?

     Solas fed more kindling and branches into the flames. If the abominations didn’t kill them, hypothermia would at this rate. Seemingly in response to that thought, Thenera snuggled closer against him.

     The air seemed to crackle between them.

     The Anchor’s song cried out to the depths of his soul. So faint, as though echoing through the countless ages, but still so agonizingly close. But whether it was from the cold or the pull of magic, Solas did not know.

     Perhaps both.

     The fire cracked and popped, sending sparks dancing around the rocky hearth. Freezing rain soaked the stones at the cave’s mouth and fed the glistening green moss nestled within the cracks. Sharp, frigid air sliced through the cave and stoked the glowing coals. With any luck, the wind would help dry their clothes even if it was miserable against bare skin.

     Solas seated himself on the chilled stone, splaying his legs so that Thenera could press closer still if she were so inclined. Considering the falling temperatures, she did. But it was still an awkward, extremely intimate position.

     Her skin was like ice as she leaned against him, settling between his legs. Solas’ heart thudded against his ribcage, and his muscles tensed as he fought the urge to pull away.

     “Is this alright?” he asked.

     “Well, the alternative is freezing to death.” Thenera gave him a tired smile. “It’s fine. I’ve been in similar situations with my clan during rainy winters.”

     He chuckled. “A fair point.”

     Thenera’s weight came to rest against one of his thighs while her legs tucked up under herself and chilled feet pressed against his other calf.

     But where should I rest my hands?

     Shifting societal norms made Solas hesitate.

     From what he had observed both within uthenera and the waking world, the Dalish were as comfortable nude as they were clothed. But were shoulders still considered erogenous zones in this era? Or the crown of the patella? Eventually, he settled one hand awkwardly atop her knee with his other arm wrapped loosely around her shoulders.

     Thankfully, the Herald seemed blissfully unaware of his internal dilemma. Nor did she appear offended or perturbed by his embrace. At the very least, the chill of the cave evaporated between their shared body heat and the campfire.

     Centuries of isolation granted Solas a unique appreciation for the simplicity of physical connection. In truth, it shouldn’t be such a surprise. Touch was comforting, after all. An alien comfort after such a long time, perhaps, but one that was welcome — especially when hypothermia was the alternative.

     But close proximity with an attractive young woman had unfortunate side effects. More specifically, a particular physical reaction Solas more or less forgot. Long neglected muscles stirred in the pit of his belly, twitching in time with his pulse.

     Fenedhis, not now…! Solas cleared his throat and shifted uncomfortably. “Ah…my sincerest apologies.”

     “It’s alright.” The only sign that she had noticed his…condition was the pink blush at the tips of her ears and across her cheeks. “There’s no need to apologize for a natural reaction.”

     He cleared his throat again, exceedingly grateful for the shadows cast by the fire masking his embarrassment. Then Thenera shifted against him, brushing against his arousal. A grunt escaped before Solas could stifle it.

     Her movement and the resulting friction just made the situation worse. Every muscle in his body tensed painfully, the fingers resting atop her knee twitching. If the Void opened and swallowed Solas whole in that moment, he would have been glad of it.

     The Herald tilted her head up to peer up at him, eyes glittering mischievously. “Are you always this tense?”

     Ah. She’s doing this on purpose.

     “Not always.” The ghost of a smile tugged at the corner of Solas’ lips. While his body may have been dulled, his wit was most certainly not. “Only when I find myself in such stimulating company.”

     Thenera stared at him, lips parted in shock, then laughed. “Smooth talker.”

     “One of the few benefits of age.” Solas’ eyes slid shut, and he took a deep breath to center himself.

     Under the odors of soot and damp vegetation lay the woman’s natural smell. It was the scent of pine and earth after fresh rain, with hints of something sweet and floral woven in. Mesmerizing and tantalizing in equal measure, he quickly stifled another groan.

     What was the old Dalish saying? ‘May the Dread Wolf never catch your scent’?

     With great effort, Solas pushed that thought aside and refocused on the present. The chill of the rock under him contrasted with the warmth of Thenera’s body; soft, tickling wisps of air with each of her exhales across his collarbone; the feel of her skin under his fingers; her scent mixed with the earthy aroma of the crackling campfire —

     Fenedhis. Focus on anything else!

     The pattering of rain; the rumble of distant thunder, as though the storm were gathering its strength for another gale; orange flickering behind his eyelids as flames leapt and danced within their makeshift hearth.

     Even as Solas struggled to regain his composure, a powerful gust of wind howled through the cave’s entrance. Without thinking, he pulled Thenera closer, shielding her body as best he could with his own. His muscles tensed, pulled taut like a bowstring.

     Opening his eyes, Solas found her watching him with a mix of curiosity and melancholy.

     “You’re really not used to this kind of closeness, are you?” she asked softly.

     “No, I…” Solas swallowed hard. “I have traveled alone for a very long time.”

     Thenera shivered, tucking her head under his chin and nestling against his chest. The flames sputtered occasionally but remained strong. Solas’ hold on her slowly relaxed. He gently extricated a twisted branch from her hair that kept poking him in the chin and tossed it into the fire. While smoothing her locks down, he felt another sprig buried underneath.

     A tight knot tangled this branch against her scalp. As he carefully worked on untangling the stubborn knot, Thenera tilted her head back slightly to give him better access. Her eyes were closed, lashes fluttering against her cheeks and a small smile on her lips. The surrounding air filled with a sense of tranquility, a rare moment of peace amidst the chaos of the storm outside.

     Flashes of memory floated to the surface of Solas’ mind as he finally loosened the last strand of hair from the knot. He ran his fingers through her silky locks, smoothing them out and trailing down to the ends.

     A steamy bath meant to soothe muscles sore from a hard won battle. Slick marble underfoot, and nimble fingers brushing through his tangled and bloodied hair. Gentle words, even gentler touches, and the soul-searing comfort and relief that physicality alone could bring. A kind of intimacy —

     Solas froze.

     Intimacy.

     Touching another’s hair was once something only shared between close family or lovers. Had he overstepped an unspoken boundary?

     But Thenera simply hummed in contentment. “That feels nice.”

     “I’m glad.” He let out the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “If you sit up and lean forward, I can do the rest.”

     She did so; the firelight highlighted the constellation of freckles scattered across her smooth skin. That tightness in his belly flared again.

     Focus.

     Once Solas had smoothed out all the snarls, he carefully gathered a small section of damp hair from her temples to the back of her head. “I noticed you haven’t been braiding your hair before bed as of late.”

     “Lalen usually does it for me.” Thenera shrugged. “I suppose I fell out of the habit. And now…” She sighed, slowly opening and closing her fists. “Well, now my fingers feel like they’re on fire and are stiffer than a spooked halla.”

     “Quite the metaphor.” Splitting the auburn locks into three sections, he slowly wove them together. “I will do what I can. It’s been…quite a while since I’ve done this.”

     A decade prior from the final year of the rebellion, at the very least.

     “I’m impressed. Another skill gleaned from the Fade?”

     Solas laughed. “Believe it or not, I did have hair when I was younger.”

     A crack of thunder made the girl jump, undoing his work. But his touch seemed to soothe her, so he simply started over. The anxiety corded in her shoulders slowly relaxed with each stroke of his fingers through her hair. After the third pass, his fingers slipped easily between the thick, russet strands.

     Drizzling rain and popping flames punctuated the silence between them.

     Then Thenera’s head fell forward. “I can’t do this, Solas.”

     “You can,” he replied.

     And must.

     “My Keeper didn’t even trust me enough to lead my clan. No more than twenty people. I was First in name only, quickly replaced and all but exiled. How am I supposed to lead the Inquisition?”

     It was a question she did not expect an answer to, so he kept his silence.

     “I’m scared, Solas,” she said, shoulders shaking with exhausted laughter that dissolved into a choked sob. “I’m so fucking scared.”

     Solas hesitated, fingers faltering as he searched for the right words. What would have given me comfort all those years ago?

     “I would be more concerned if you were not.” The damp strands of her hair wove through his fingers like silk as he found his rhythm once more. “But this burden is not one you must bear alone. Lean on those around you. Let their experience guide you.”

     “But there’s so much to learn.” Thenera tilted her head to give him access to the last length of hair. “I don’t think I can…”

     Self-doubt was as dangerous as any poison. But sometimes all it took was for someone to believe in you.

     “You are an eager student, da’len. Study comes naturally to you and you will have access to some of the best teachers Thedas has to offer.” By now, atrophied muscle memory had reignited, and Solas’ fingers moved with old familiarity. “The Inquisition is still young and experiencing growing pains. Learn from your mistakes, but do not let them define you.”

     “I don’t…” She sighed, then sniffled. “No, you’re right. I'm sorry, hahren. I'm not very good at this whole ‘saving the world’ business.”

     “I imagine few would be,” he murmured, an ache settling behind his breast. I know I was not. “But all one can do is try to move forward.”

     Live another day so you can fix your mistakes. Press on and endure.

     Then came her voice, barely above a whisper: “I never asked for any of this.”

     Solas’ hands stilled in her hair. “…I know.”

     That fault is mine, da’len.

     Solas finished the plait, then leaned back to examine his handiwork. A decent enough job, considering he was at least three centuries out of practice.

     “There.” He gently draped the braid across her right shoulder.

     “Thank you, Solas.” Thenera’s fingers traced the woven strands with a sense of wonder. “I’ve never seen this pattern before. It’s beautiful.”

     A s are you.

     The thought caught him off guard. Brushing it aside, he leaned back against the cave wall. “I am pleased you find it so.”

     Thenera shifted position and leaned more firmly against him. Her head nested in the crook of his shoulder, fingers splayed across his chest. She let out a shuddering sigh, and he instinctively wrapped his arms around her.

     “We will find a way to put things right,” he murmured — as much to reassure her as to convince himself. “Together.”

     She idly toyed with his wolf-jaw amulet and he felt her warm breath puff out in a laugh. “Vir suledin.”

     “Just so.” Solas smiled.

     “The few times Lalen and I got separated, we would sleep so I could find her in the Fade. If she…” Thenera’s voice trembled, fingers closing around his amulet. As though taking strength from it, she took a breath and continued with renewed confidence. “I’ll find her. Then we’ll figure out a place to regroup.”

     He inclined his head. “Then sleep and seek her out. I will keep watch.”

     After a few minutes, Thenera’s breathing slowed as the Fade took her. The ancient power of his Anchor thrummed above where her fingers splayed over his heart — a constant reminder of the uncertain future that now lay ahead of him.

     Solas’ heart skipped a beat as he looked down at the young woman nestled against him. Her eyes were closed with dark, long lashes fanned out against her cheeks. The flickering firelight painted her features in shades of burnished gold, highlighting the freckles dusted across her nose.

     Thenera’s beauty was an ephemeral thing — fragile, like the fluttering wings of a lunar moth. Diminished and denied of her birthright through no fault of her own. Just by virtue of being born into a broken world. A dying ember that should have been a roaring bonfire.

     Temporary.

     Quickened.

     Mortal.

     His breath caught stifling a despairing laugh — and thus the great and powerful Fen’Harel, the so-called Dread Wolf, sat in a freezing cave in a forsaken swamp, cradling the evidence of his greatest failure in his arms.

     It brought to mind a much younger elf whose heart was not encased in ice; one who had loved with reckless abandon and thought he held all the answers. A young, foolish man who could never have imagined shattering his home into a thousand glittering pieces and damning countless souls to the curse of mortality.

     Mere shadows, without connection to their own spirits. They cling to an existence they will never know.

     But worst of all were those damned markings etched upon their faces. Brushing a loose strand of red hair to the side, he took in the cruel paths of ink. Worn with pride and displayed for all to see. Branded as one of Falon’Din’s sacrifices and pitiful in her ignorance of the truth of the rite that birthed them. A slave bound to the idealized form of a creature that would sooner slaughter her than provide any semblance of a blessing.

     With everything Solas had fought and sacrificed for, this was what remained? Everything had changed, and yet everything that mattered remained the same.

     Or worse.

     Yet…Thenera of Clan Lavellan seemed to be different. And what if that wasn’t merely an aftereffect from the Anchor?

     But such a thought left Solas with an unsettling notion:

     If this one soul was real…did that not then mean everyone could be real?

[ayamikasai]

Ending

Commission for LadyCrazyDragon on TikTok! ✨

Amazin song credits to The Dread Halla Tavern!

❤️Discord (junyami) for commissions!

❤️Donate!

❤️Prints!

❤️TikTok, BlueSky, Instagram, Rednote