#theshirallen

[avrorean]

Does Nanna know that Ian and I adore her with our whole entire hearts

Only as much as Ian knows Nanna and I adore him

[queenaeducan]

Var Shiral'vhen - Chapter One: A Reluctant Recruitment

For the rebel mages of Redcliffe's, the Herald's arrival and the Tevinters' departure was a sign of good things to come. For Ian, he cannot help but fear that her arrival spells the end of his freedom.

“Hey, stop!” Maddie’s voice is too far across the room to be the source of the shift in light, and that knowledge stiffens his shoulders. “I already told you to leave him be–you can’t just barge in here, Inquisition or not.”

Now his head snaps up, fingers pausing for only a moment before he pulls the stitch tight. A quick glance over his shoulder reveals the return of the messenger, this time accompanied by another dwarf and…and an elf. Ian spares little time to study them before he looks back down, sliding the needle in and out again. Three of them stand between where he works and the only usable exit, and he’s bound up in stitching what is left of his patient’s forearm. His heartbeat quickens, pulse drumming madly in his ears, but his hands are steady where he works the stitches.

“Peace, Sister,” the scout says, and Ian can imagine the lift of her palms to emphasize the gesture. Her next words are for the dwarf at her side. “Herald, this is the mage I was telling you about.”

“My name is Iander.” Another tight, neat stitch. “I didn’t…I didn’t expect the Herald herself to come to take me.”

“You can’t have him.” Maddie elbows past them, setting herself at his back. He can feel the heat of her through the fabric of his tunic, though she doesn’t press against him.

“Calm yourself. We are not Templars here to seize innocent mages.” The elf speaks in a smooth voice, his irritation burring through the syllables as though her concern for Ian has offered personal offense.

(Read the rest on AO3!)

[serenityfails]

Commission for @queenaeducan of @theshirallen's character, Ian Lavellan (genderqueer, he/him) and Solas. :D

[dreadfutures]

get to know me

tagged by @broodwolf221 and if YOU see this then YOU are tagged! (blank template at the end)

Last Song: i didn't listen to anything today actively so it was: Heat Waves (live) by Glass Animals, which is my morning alarm! seeing them next week!!!

Favorite Color: maroon

Currently Reading: Var Shiral'vhen by @queenaeducan and @theshirallen (I also started the murder mystery novel everyone on this train is a suspect but i'm not far)

Currently Watching: Not watching but listening to the Impossible Landscapes Delta Green campaign by Glass Cannon

Last Movie: Only Lovers Left Alive

Sweet, spicy, or savory: savory

Relationship Status: single and tired of it

Current Obsession: thai basil (and freezing produce)

Tea or Coffee: Coffee

Last thing I googled: malevolent podcast summary detailed*

* I'm trying to Go Here but it is not my fav style of audio drama so I am reading deep synopses

Last Song:

Favorite Color:

Currently Reading:

Currently Watching:

Last Movie:

Sweet, spicy, or savory:

Relationship Status:

Current Obsession:

Tea or Coffee:

Last thing I googled:

[theharellan]

@theshirallen​ ASKED: [ help ]  for your muse to lean on mine for support

Water runs down Teldirthalelan’s chin as he lifts his face from the stream, his fur dripping where it grows thickest, curling in tight ringlets that will dry into loose waves. Solas combs his fingers through it wherever he foresees future tangles, wetting them in fur slick as seaweed on the shore. “Drink deep from the mountain streams while you still have the chance,” he remarks, in a tone so conversational one might mistake his partner. “Where we are headed the water will not run so pure.”

As if in answer, a contented snort issues from its snout, water spraying into Solas’ face. “Ha!” Sera’s snort is no more dignified. “He got you good, elfy.”

“Hmph.” Eyes still balled up, he rubs the water from his eyes, flicking it away with a disgruntled sigh. “If that is how you feel, perhaps it is time to move on.”

The Inquisitor sits up from where she reclined on a sun-bleached rock, stringing the heads of daisies into a bracelet, summoned by a suggestion that requires her input. “Uh, sure. It’s about time we got going.” It’s a reluctant decision, but the weather is fair and the road ahead long. Better they head out now than wait for Fereldan’s weather to turn foul, as it is wont to do.

It doesn’t take long before they are mounted and set to be off, Thora having clambered onto the back of her nuggalope with the help of an obliging boulder. She follows the trail blazed by their scouts, taking point as the rest of their party follows. Teldirthalelan scarcely needs urged forward, so accustomed to following in Moroc’s shadow that the mere faint impression of Solas’ heel in his side sets him forward.

They are not long for their journey before they are interrupted, managing on a few short steps down the path when they are stopped. The snapping of underbrush heralds their visitor. The approach is too loud to be the work of a true predator, and surely enough the face of a red wolf appears in the bushes, but does not leap. Its ears pin back against its head, more wary of the hart than he is of it. “I didn’t expect to see you until nightfall,” Solas says, a tone of surprise in his voice. “If you came to rest, I’m afraid you’re too late. I don’t expect we will stop again until nightfall.”

The wolf’s tail drops, a low whine whistles through its nose before as it steps out from the shadows of the trees. In a breath of wind, it rises to two legs almost stumbling from its transformation, more unsteady upon elf legs than he was wolf’s. Ian keeps his eyes trained upon the forest floor, what glimpse he affords Solas of his expression is lined with shame, and pale with exhaustion. “Can he—can—” He reaches out, balancing himself against Solas’ thigh, swallowing hard, tongue lolling out past his teeth, still weary from his running. “Can he hold two of us? I’m...” Idle fingers rub his forehead, flinching when they remember the brand that breaks the branches of Mythal’s vallaslin. “I don’t think I can go any farther, not on my own feet.”

He fights to keep the dismay from his expression, a thin smile pinching the corners of his eyes, genuine but laced with concern. Mere months ago it was never a question of can. If Ian rode, it would be because the pocket of Solas’ jacket sounded more comfortable than the ground beneath his feet. “He will bear us both,” he assures him. “Here.” He looses his foot from the stirrup, providing Ian with a path up.

He sways slightly as he slides the toe of his boot into the step, hand balling up the fabric of Solas’ pants before he finds it in himself to hoist himself up. He sits in the saddle like a new rider, stiff and still, adjusting only with great thought given to the creature below him, and behind. Eventually, his back meets his front, and they fit together as they do beneath their covers. Finding some familiarity in that, he feels Ian breathe, settling against him with what little strength remains devoted to keeping him upright, trusting Solas to do the rest. “Thank you,” he murmurs. “I’m sorry I— I’m sorry.”

For what, he doesn’t say, and perhaps he can’t. Even in dreams, Ian’s apologies are mired in doubt and guilt, too tangled to pick one singular cause from the nest. “There’s no need to be,” he says, and not for the first time that day. “Souver'inan isala hamin. I will take us where we need to go.”

Teldirthalelan snorts, ears kicking back as though he understood. Ian’s laugh is weak, but he feels it against his chest. “I think he means to say that he will be the one taking us, ara’lath.”

A snort not so different from the hart’s issues from his nose as he takes the reigns in hand. “My mistake.”

[chiefambassador-archive]

for @theshirallen​ !

The Frostback Mountains have chosen benevolence this afternoon, and Josephine is eternally grateful.  For all the overcast days and the foul, cold weather, today the sun covers the gardens, unobstructed by a single cloud overhead.�� As the ambassador steps outside, she takes a second to admire the scene of unfiltered sunlight before her.  If it wasn’t for the underlying chill, she may have been able to pretend she was back in Antiva—with a stark suspension of belief.

She exhales, rejoining the present.  Her eyes are searching for someone, and it does not take long at all to find him.  There are very few people in the gardens at this hour, for whatever reason.  So, Josephine approaches Ian with what appears to be an ornate napkin or handkerchief in her hands.  It is folded over something, which remains unseen due to its cover.  Once she is near enough to speak without raising her voice, she greets him warmly.

“Good afternoon, Master Lavellan,” her smile can be heard in her voice. “I had hoped I may find you here.  Would you mind some company?  I have sweets.” Her tone shifts at the latter remark, leaning into light-hearted mischief.

[ourdawncomes]

Party Banter Meme | Not Accepting

@theshirallen​​ asked: ♤ Cole & Solas in Skyhold’s kitchens

Felicia: Remember to stir some honey in Messere Solas’ tea. The face he makes after is not quite so sour. Young Boy: All I can find is sugar. Cole: That won’t work. Honey tastes rounder. Felicia: (apparently ignorant of Cole’s presence) Look harder. Try the shelf above it, I’m sure I saw Harold put it up there.

(Passing through Skyhold’s kitchen sometime after the events of Ian’s personal quest.)

Solas: And we will not be disturbed? Cole: No. She’s gone to see the garden, she’ll lose herself in the weeds. She’ll never know we were here. Solas: Excellent. Inquisitor: What are you two up to? Solas: Ah, Inquisitor... Cole: We haven’t started yet. Solas: What Cole means is we— I— had hoped to prepare a meal. Inquisitor: What’s the special occasion? Solas: None in particular, it is intended as a surprise for Ian. Cole: Blood wells in small pools pricked by the prongs of his fork. His stomach turns, it smells like the deaths he couldn’t help. He lays his knife across the plate, food untouched, ignoring how his stomach pleads. Solas: As Cole said. With all due respect to Molle, she seems unaccustomed to meals where meat is not the centerpiece. (option one) Inquisitor: Is there anything I can get you? Solas: I do not believe so. Thank you, for understanding. (option two) Inquisitor: Alright then. I was never here. Solas: Thank you, Inquisitor. (option three) Inquisitor: I can’t have you commandeering my kitchen, Solas. Cole: We said something wrong. I can fix it. Forget. Inquisitor: I... what was I doing here again? Solas: Passing through, I imagine. As we were.

(When passing through the kitchen after, or lingering nearby. Solas stands over the stove and Cole sits on a nearby counter, hitting his leg against the wood.)

Solas: Would you like to try it, Cole? Cole: Would it not be a waste? I don’t need to eat. Solas: To overindulge, perhaps. A taste will do you nor the world any harm, a good meal is about more than survival. Cole: Then I’d like to try it, please.

Cole: You don’t have to eat, Solas. Solas: Strictly speaking, no. Cole: Sometimes you do anyway. Solas: When the urge takes me, or if refusing would be seen as ill-mannered.

Solas: If I could ask for your opinion, Cole. Cole: It remembers the garden. The sun bakes it red, colour working through it like a blush upon a maiden’s cheeks. Solas: Excellent. And this? Cole: It was lost in weeds for weeks, neglected and forgotten. It tastes like oversteeped tea. Solas: I see. Then we will find another.

Cole: And it remembers the ocean? Solas: It knows the mountain streams and rocky coasts as well as any well-seasoned traveller, though the paths it takes are laid with smoother stones. Cole: Rough edges wicked away by river waters. Soft enough to stand on without any shoes. Solas: Though one must still take care not to fall. (optional) Inquisitor: Speaking from personal experience, Solas? Solas: I suppose one might say that. Cole: Feet forget the ground, flying out from beneath him, but the rest of him doesn’t follow. Solas: (tinged with embarrassment) As I said. Inquisitor: (chuckles) (otherwise) Cole: But you always get up again.

[skyheld]

@theshirallen​ plotted a starter with maliphant !

The last run-ins with the Inquisition soldiers have been peaceful,  but entering one of their camps feels like walking into a phoenix’s nest.  

Even finding it is difficult,  despite knowing its approximate location,  and Maliphant is aware his approach is watched.   At the very entrance to the camp,  a guard beckons for him to leave his daggers behind,  so he does  ---  the visible ones,  at least.   Taking out all the rest from their various hiding places seems pointless,  because he's outnumbered already,  and the important thing is the show of trust,  not ridding himself of every last weapon.   It would have taken ages,  anyway.

“ I came to speak to the Inquisitor.  I’d hoped they were here “,  he says,  sensing the soldiers wants to know his business,  and seeing no sign of the Inquistor themselves.   Technically he’s not just hoping,  he heard it;  but they don’t need to know he keeps as close tabs on them as they do on him.   “ Are they expected back anytime soon? “

[ghilannainguideme]

I'm mobile so I can't c/p but the starish symbol meme

<3 <3 

First impression of your muse: He’s still so young when they first meet at the Circle, I think? If she spoke to him at all, she would, first, quickly recognize his cleverness, and second, be sure that he’s Dalish originally. Also, he looks so much like Arelan, her little brother. So, really, her first impression is sort of... an aggregate of what their people have collectively suffered. 

Current impression: She admires his determination to ease other people’s suffering even when it means making personal sacrifices, and really thinks he’s wise beyond his years. He’s a rare, genuine, good soul. She can’t help but see a sadness and loneliness in him very often, and as she gets older, she recognizes that feeling of no longer quite being able to belong in any of the places you’re supposed to, and she wishes she could fix that for him! 

Attracted to your muse?: By Inquisition timeline, I think she would say he’s good-looking, but she feels a little too protective or familial for that to turn romantic or sexual.

Something frightening about your muse: Like I mentioned re: Merrill, Lyna is pretty wary of magic, in the sense that she doesn’t really understand its behavior or limitations. While she doesn’t believe Ian would ever hurt her with it, she is apprehensive when it’s happening around her.

Something adorable about your muse: When he instinctively does wolf-like behaviors even though he’s in an elvhen form?? Also, the palpable joy in his feelings for Solas.

Would my muse sacrifice themselves for yours?: Just try and fucking stop her :|

Would my muse go on a date with yours? Only of the platonic sort. plz imagine modern!verse Lyna frequently dragging him out for coffee or lunch to make sure he eats.

One word my muse would use to describe yours: Heartfelt.

Would my muse slap yours if they could?: NO

Would my muse hug/kiss yours?: Soft platonic hugs and forehead kisses plzkthx!!

[hopewrought]

@theshirallen​

     “Say I wanted to tell someone ‘fuck you’ in flower language, is that possible?”

[seekerdivine]

@theshirallen​ || plotted starter

They were searching the bodies of the slain templars, at the request of a recently widowed elven woman. Her beloved slain and robbed by templars claiming to be hunting rebel apostates. Cassandra had to have some doubt, had to - to cope with the blunt hits of reality. That things were not as plain as it would be to make her job much easier.  Perhaps the comments sunk in - the evil on both sides. One was not blameless, and even with a wariness to magic- she had to accept it. 

To hear the chirp of a found ring- confirming all accusations.  Casandra glared at the crumpled bodies of those who were meant to stand for the same convictions as she. To protect and show mercy when needed. Nausea swirling as she bent down to look through their belongings. A map to the rogue templar base, fingers gripped hard- nearly tearing the parchment, before turning her head slightly to the freckled mage and holding it out.  “Here, take a look at this.” 

She kept up her search, grabbed an insignia of the templar order and took it, “He has revoked all rights to this.” forced through clenched teeth, standing up with an inaudible sigh turning over the pin in her fingers. Though it’s quiet, only for the one hardly exchanged words with. 

Good- he probably won’t speak of it to anyone else.

[avrorean]

tagged by: stole it! tagging: @theshirallen @sacrificedmore @foolshoujo @hexsreality @astrxlfinale & you! please steal it because apparently tumblr has an @ limit now

TWO HEADCANONS FOR YOUR MUSE THAT YOU’VE NEVER TOLD ANYONE :

i. 𝐎𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐒 𝐒𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐊𝐄𝐃 𝐑𝐄𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐃 𝐌𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒. Seeing as Southern Thedas has an overall colder, harder climate, it's no surprise that any tropical or otherwise warmer fruit would have to be imported from other nations if they showed up at all. So naturally, Nanna hadn't come into contact with much more than lemons since she was brought to Ferelden. So when overseeing imports in Amaranthine and she got her first smell of oranges, Nanna immediately had to excuse herself lest she burst into tears on the spot. Oranges have strong roots in Nevarra, and the smell immediately sent her head swirling with memories from before her time in the Tower, in particular of an orange orchard outside of a blue house; this was the first time she'd ever remembered anything concrete from her homeland.

ii. 𝐍𝐀𝐍𝐍𝐀'𝐒 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐒𝐓 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐄.. Her name was EVUNE, an elven girl who'd been stolen from her clan when she was nine by the Templars when she was caught casting a spell too close to a human settlement. Even with the presence of other elves, it took time for her to adjust to a place so full of humans, but she did grow close to Nanna as a girl who'd been unwillingly taken from her home to this unrecognizable place. They were close friends through childhood, and in their adolescence found themselves romantically entangled.

She called Nanna 'ma sulahn', Nanna called her 'eyuni', spent many nights tucked together beneath the covers talking about the plans they'd make to run away together, how Evune would take Nanna back to her clan where they could live free with their magic forever and live happily ever after. It was a sweet dream for them both... until the day actually came. During the particularly chaotic escape attempt of a certain young healer, an opening had been created that would have let them both flee the Tower and Evune immediately seized upon it. But when she tried to bring Nanna along, she had froze, too terrified and loyal to take the risk of incurring the wrath of the Circle and Irving's disappointment. Both of them turned away in tears, and Nanna never saw her again. Two years later, this event would spur her to action when Jowan would come to her with the same request. After all this time, she still sometimes wonders if Evune ever found her way home.

THREE THINGS YOUR CHARACTER LIKES DOING IN THEIR FREE TIME :

i. 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆. the circle mages likes reading, everyone is shocked i know. But being and the favored of the First Enchanter, Nanna has always been inclined to reading and study; she loves learning new things and loves engaging her mind. And one of the many perks of being Arl and Warden-Commander both means she has access to things that would otherwise be censored in a Circle library - including literature banned by the Chantry. ii. 𝐅𝐋𝐘𝐈𝐍𝐆. one of the benefits of being taught the art of shapeshifting by Morrigan is its use in escaping her woes of the Keep. What she'd mostly used for tactical reasons became a newfound freedom for Nanna when . Sometimes she chooses to run as a wolf, but more often than not she takes the form of a bird to fly across her lands to clear her head. iii. 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐏. for all that she enjoys the prior two, Nanna needed a hobby. It had been Madame Woolsey who’d made the suggestion; being a mage of uncertain birth, or at the very least not a Fereldan noble as far as her vassals were concerned, it had been put forward that taking up some arts of the noble ladies would be seen favorably. Initially an instrument had seemed the most practical choice, but Nanna quickly became enthralled with the act of learning the harp and its complexities, of reading and understanding music. Now it's not uncommon to hear the sound of a high harp coming from the Keep.

SEVEN PEOPLE THAT YOUR CHARACTER LIKES / LOVES :

(note: in no particular order) i. Rune. ii. Leliana iii. Zevran iv. Sten v. Morrigan vi. Varel vii. Oghren

TWO THINGS YOUR CHARACTER REGRETS:

i. 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐓𝐎 𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐘. one of Nanna's internal fears has always been the rejection of the family she doesn't remember. She does eventually establish a connection, but plenty of things might have gone differently if she had taken the initiative herself in seeking them out. The Hawkes, her father with her sister in Rivain, her missing mother in the Wastes, her brother in Tevinter, the twins in the Grand Necropolis. Any of them might have been a strong, stable connection that she could have had through the years, and she regrets that she waited so long to find out.

ii. 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐈𝐑 𝐎𝐍 𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐆𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐅. Nanna often consoled Alistair on his grief over Duncan, but rarely if ever did they speak of what to do about Loghain aside from stopping him at the Landsmeet, so his burst of rage over her decision to spare him came as a shock to her.

TWO FEARS YOUR CHARACTER HAS :

i. 𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐑𝐄𝐄𝐃𝐎𝐌𝐒. Despite all her accomplishments, Nanna knows that her standing of being protected from Templars is tenuous at best - a fact only amplified by the Templar ambush and infiltration in the seemingly unending chase to capture Anders. Coupled with the fact that her phylactery is still firmly in Chantry hands, it could be a blow of an ill wind and Templars could be at her door and back in the bowels of Kinloch Hold. If Nanna at any point found herself locked up in the Tower again, she'd likely wither away in despair.

ii. 𝐆𝐈𝐀𝐍𝐓 𝐒𝐏𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐒. Nanna hates giant spiders - specifically giant spiders. She ran into so many on the roads of Ferelden, in caves, and in ruins, that she dreads running into them and their giant, trapping webs. She'll gladly fight to kill them, but they make her skin crawl.

[queenaeducan]

Var Shiral'vhen - Chapter Two: New World, Old Friends

Ian's arrival in Haven is met with a few familiar faces, some more welcome than others.

The road from Redcliffe to Haven is long, though he’s traveled further, and recently. He does not rush the path, feeling no sense of urgency to find himself surrounded by Chantry forces, despite what promises the Herald had to offer. The Chantry’s recent separation with the Inquisition it had birthed is no comfort, meaning as much in practice as on paper as of yet. Besides, the Herald herself is moving with a great contingent, and no large group moves faster than a traveler alone, particularly one who knows well the roads and how to avoid them.

If he put his paws to the hills and pushed his pace, he could easily outdistance them and be waiting at the gates for their arrival.

The thought holds neither interest nor appeal, so he indulges in a more winding route, skirting wide to avoid edges of Lake Calendhad in favor of the foothills of the Frostback Mountains. In the shape of a wolf, the untrod wilds are as gentle as a well-worn road, and he pauses as often as he might to press his nose into the fading greenery that yet clings to Ferelden’s soil, determined and unwilling to yield to the cooling season.

Ian remains in his fur the majority of the route, glad of the sensory advantages it offers. Though he avoids the roads. He does not, of course, trust his solitude to the wilds alone; his ears and his nose are well-suited to warn him of any others who might also have chosen to forgo the trade routes.

What sleep he takes claims him in the burrows he might craft beneath low-hanging evergreen boughs, and his dreams are full of running. Wolves often dream of running, their paws damp with dew and hearts full of song as they play among the stars.

(Read the rest on AO3!)

[ofrevas-a]

5'2

(almost) everyone is too tall // accepting

[dalathin]

Pencil for the drawing meme (but only if you wanna!)

@theshirallen & @theharellan | send me a thing to draw a thing

I got one from both of you and couldn’t help myself, I hope it’s okay…. 😐

[theharellan]

ROMANTIC FIRSTS for Solas and Ian, modern Thedas. @theshirallen​

TEXT ME. the first time solas texted ian.

His thumb fumbles with Ian’s number, typing too many threes and doubling back with an apology on his lips. Solas does not consider himself the easily shaken sort yet he feels the heat in his cheeks still burning in the wake of his request. He does not overthink his first message, which serves as a mere conduit for Ian to save a name to the string of numbers.

[ SMS ]: Minea Solas

“I got it,” Ian says with a grin that pulls one corner of his lips. His fingers dance across across the keyboard with a speed lighter than his own, and longer than his name, though he only finds out why when his phone buzzes in his hand:

[ SMS ]: ✨ 🥳🌼🐱 🌺🌸🥳✨

CALL ME. the first time solas called ian.

Good fortune is always something worth celebrating, and his first instinct is to share it with Ian. He reaches for his phone, dialing his number to share the new. It rings— once, twice, thrice, before he’s sent to voicemail. What luck lifted his spirits settle a littlel ower, deflated but not defeated by the minor setback.

He’s no inkling of the panic he inspired, half a city away, shattering the relative peace of Ian’s evening with a humble phone call.

DATE ME. the first time solas asked ian on a date.

“You ought to come,” he says, “we play every Wednesday.”

“Oh, I don’t—” Ian’s eyes sweep down and over the counter. “I’m not sure how much help I’d be.”

“You may surprise yourself, but utility comes second to good company, and I can attest to the quality of yours.”

He flushes red to the tips of his ears, nervous laughter bursting between his lips, and quickly clapped shut. “O-okay,” he stammers, then answers again in a surer voice, “I’ll come.”

LOVE ME. the first time solas told ian he loved him.

He has felt it in his chest a hundred times before today, louder than the truth he’d revealed in the turning of the album’s pages. To hold it in was torture, but the last thing he ever wanted was for his love to be a tether. It beat against his ribs as he washed out the mug Ian had brought him cocoa in, demanding freedom.

He denies it another day.

His many names fold into one, and they remember how to talk about tomorrow. With his gaze lost in Ian’s, he speaks a softer truth, one that does not ache to speak aloud:

“Ar lath ma, Vhenan.”

STAY WITH ME. the first time solas stayed with ian.

He hangs the unpleasant memory of what might have been their first night together at the door with his coat. The greenery which teems over every spare inch of Ian’s apartment seem to remember him, palm leaves stretch out with pointed fingers to beseech him for attention. Unfortunately for it, Solas has none to spare, having spent it all on Ian.

Ian’s half of the conversation tremors with nerves, each action marked with hesitation, until it suddenly isn’t. The old, familiar spots he’d lain against before he finds again, ear pressed against Solas’ heart. He falls asleep with his Ian’s curls encircling his fingers like copper rings, never having said good night.