1. Introduction
"I don't think I've properly thanked you for helping me, have I?"
Yavven and Solas sat in the older elf's shack in Haven, door and windows shut closed against the frigid air and snow outside. A snowstorm was raging outside the wooden walls, hindering the Inquisition's early efforts at growth; there was little they could do at the moment but talk.
The two of them had been having their first full conversation when the winds had begun to pick up, and within short order had made their way into Solas' little home. Still chilly, but there were numerous blankets and furs, and both could easily conjure up heat with their own magic should the hearth they huddled around prove inadequate.
"I was only doing my duty, but I appreciate the thanks nonetheless. And so long as you possess the ability to seal the Breach, I intend to continue to aid you. Cassandra offered me little choice in the matter to begin with, but I am glad that you are not as… abrasive a person as you could have been."
Yavven lifted an eyebrow, warming his hands around a mug of tea (which Solas had served him while neglecting to pour himself a cup). "You thought I might be 'abrasive'? And here I was, thinking I had a charming face." He flashed a smile, humor in his tone.
Though he wore the markings of Sylaise on his skin, they were framed and interrupted by numerous deep scars. Some were clearly from a blade; others from nasty burns. A few had origins that Solas couldn't quite discern. It was obvious that the man had been through quite a lot before the Conclave, and no matter how friendly his smile was, he had a visage that would intimidate most people.
Solas' own smile was thin but not humorless. "I never said you or your appearance were lacking in charm. My dealings with your people in the past have been a bit rough, and I was worried that problems may arise between us. Whether or not the future proves us to be friends or distant acquaintances, however, our start has been a pleasant one."
"So that was the problem. I'm Dalish."
"This is perhaps not the best topic to discuss during a snowstorm," Solas pointed out. "We will have disagreements, but I would not want the esteemed Herald of Andraste to freeze his ears off on account of a poor conversation with me."
Yavven rolled his eyes with a grimace. "Very well, but you could at least call me by my name instead of that awful title."
"Regardless of your rejection of the title, posturing is necessary, Herald." He grinned. "But as you wish. I will call you Lavellan from now on, then."
"Yavven. My name is Yavven." The younger mage took a sip from his mug. "You just go by Solas?"
"Some may think it odd, but yes. I have no other name."
"It is good to meet you, Solas."
"And you, Yavven."
2. Love
Solas slept soundly in the Inquisitor's bed, curled up comfortably under the heavy sheets as he wandered the Fade on his own. Yavven sat on the sheets next to him, reading a book by candlelight. Aside from the wind and a few stray shouts and cheers from the keep's courtyard, the only sounds to be heard were that of their breathing and the book's pages being turned.
He smiled softly as he turned his head to watch the other elf in peaceful rest. A few months ago, all he'd known about this man was that he was an apostate with an affinity for the Fade; now it felt like there were hardly any secrets between them.
It was easy for him to say he had fallen in love. Not for the first time, but he hoped and prayed that this would end better than previous encounters. As much as Dorian playfully insisted that Solas was simple and therefore dull, Yavven could see so much more in him and was, frankly, enchanted; the man pulled at his heartstrings like a cat tangled yarn around itself.
He could tell it wasn't quite the same for Solas. While he didn't know his history, there was something pulling him back from loving Yavven as openly and fiercely as Yavven loved him. Was it fear of the Inquisition's failure and death? Had he been hurt by another lover before now? Did he come from a place where relations between two men were scorned?
Maybe it was simply a quirk of his and he should stop wondering.
"You're thinking too hard." Solas squinted his eyes open, a gentle smile on his face. "It is rather difficult to stay asleep with somebody boring holes into one's skull."
"Would you believe me if I told you I found it difficult to focus with such an amazing man beside me?"
Solas laughed lightly, turning a little bit so the pillow wouldn't muffle his words. "Yes, if only because I must admit to having the same problem," he teased. "Does something trouble you, vhenan?"
Yavven placed the book on the bedside table, shutting it without marking his place. He leaned over Solas, lips meeting his to share a long, tender kiss. There was no passion behind it, but Yavven hoped he was able to communicate his feelings well enough.
They parted with sighs, Yavven's face remaining close enough to Solas' that their noses nearly touched. "Ma'arlath, Solas," he murmured, "ma sa'lath, ma sulahn'nehn, ma vhenan'ara."
Solas leaned up for another kiss. "I have never held that in question, and you know that I return the feelings just as strongly."
Yavven pushed himself back again, putting some distance between the two so that he could properly situate himself beneath the covers. A wave of his hand and a hint of frost magic doused the candle, and then he snuggled up close to his lover, face nestled in his neck.
"I know," he said, and the two drifted off to sleep together.
3. Light
"Tell me something, ma lath," Solas said, slicing a knife roughly through a hunk of bread. "What do you make of your mark?"
The other elf leaned back against the tree behind him, filling his own sandwich with dried meat. "What about it?" he asked. "It's elven in origin, and it can do interesting things with the Fade. Ultimately, we know little about it. I would assume that you might understand it better than I do, though, considering your field of study."
"I do not have the experience of actually having the mark," he pointed out, emphasizing the words by briefly pointing the knife at Yavven, "but that was not really what I intended to ask. I meant your feelings on it.
Yavven let out a sigh, holding his sandwich in one hand and using his teeth to pull off the glove on his left, letting the faint green glow of the anchor out. The magic around it danced, neither formless light nor solid, crackling almost as if with lightning. His eyes lingered on it, and Solas' gaze was drawn to it as well.
"It's useful," he admitted, "and fascinating. It's not every day you learn about long-forgotten magics, after all."
"I can't fault you for not liking it." As always, Solas saw right through him, cutting straight to the important topic.
"I would like it a lot more if it weren't on me. It doesn't always hurt, but the feeling can get unbearable at times. But this whole… The responsibility of it all, and the uncertainty. I mean, we fell into the Fade. On accident. The very same Beyond that the gods came from."
His good mood from earlier in their picnic was completely gone by now. "I don't want this mark, Solas," he whispered. "I don't want to return there. I don't want demons following me for the rest of my life. They will because I'm a mage—and now I'm just easier to find."
"You can find a way to cope. It will be difficult, but all of our journeys have times like this where the way forward seems filled with terror." Solas had placed his food on the blanket beneath them, and took Yavven's from his hand as well so that it wouldn't fall apart, laying it next to his own. He reached up a hand to stroke the other man's face, fingers gently tracing the scars there. "Can you truly tell me you've never felt like this before?"
He had, and Solas knew he had; being sold to the Imperium did that to people. "After all of this is done, I want it gone," Yavven croaked out. Tears pricked at his eyes, held in check by the closeness of the other man. "Whether by magic, or if I have to remove the hand myself, I want it gone eventually. I don't want to be tainted by it forever."
"There are no guarantees in life, vhenan, but I can promise to help you find a way."
4. Dark
Darkness, he supposed, was nice.
He might wake in the middle of the night, haunted by nightmares, ready to jump at shadows for fear that they were demons, afraid that something might reach at and grab him—but then he would feel a soft hand on his arm, lips on his cheek and gentle words in his ear. He would be pulled back under the covers, face cradled against Solas' chest as he would whisper stories of the Fade or share poetry he had read.
"Stay with me, Yavven."
At some point, Solas had started humming songs to him, some from their peoples and some unknown to him. Sometimes he would recite prayers to the elven gods. It meant little to Solas, but everything to Yavven. When he had been away from his clan, stolen away and sold to vicious Tevinter, religion had been all he could cling to some days to ground himself and keep his mind stable, and he needed it now.
They enjoyed the daytime as well, but some of their most tender moments together came when only the stars were out to illuminate their world. They would sleep together, traveling the Fade, Solas showing him the wonders he saw every day. Sometimes they talked about people (or spirits, in Solas' case) they had known before they had met; other times they jested in front of the fire, curled up in blankets next to each other. All the magic in the world seemed to pale in comparison to those too-few moments they would spend together, an existence so set apart from the Inquisition that they could pretend, if only for a night, that it never existed.
"Yavven! Stay with us!"
He wondered what would happen once all this was over. Would they stay with the Inquisition? Well, Yavven had to, as Inquisitor, but he would have time to travel. He wouldn't force Solas to stay if he didn't want to, but he hoped the man would. Maybe they could reform it, separate from the Chantry, help fix the world like they were already doing. Long-distance probably wouldn't suit either of them.
How many more nights would they share, traveling the Fade and gossiping by starlight? If his luck held, years of such nights might follow—and, even luckier, they might not be interrupted by nightmares.
"Is he still breathing?"
A fist on his chest, a spark of magic, and his eyes flew open, consciousness returning fully. Solas, covered in blood, smiled tiredly, a smile he returned weakly. Yavven kept his eyes half-open to watch the other man work, thoughts torn from his mind as feeling returned and pain gripped him. He lacked the energy to cry out, shivering as waves of healing magic washed over him to combat the pain of fresh wounds, the air filled with the tang of lyrium and blood.
Yavven tried to speak, but was stopped by a finger on his lips.
"Hush, vhenan. Save your strength—your body needs it to heal."
5. Seeking Solace
"Inquisitor, may I have a word with you?"
Yavven looked up from the war table, cloth map covered in pins and figures to mark requests, rifts, and troop locations. Letters and reports sat stacked on one corner of the map, and it was these he was working through, alone in the room as he was. He had already familiarized himself well with the markers on the map.
"Always. Is this regarding the Inquisition," he asked, indicating the table with one hand, "or…?"
"A private conversation, preferably not so near to reminders of daily war and death."
Yavven nodded, replacing a letter on the table and walking over to Solas' position, taking the bald elf's hand in his own. "How about the gardens?" They would be almost empty at this time in the evening.
Solas shook his head. "The fresh air would be welcome, but I would rather not be around people for the time being." His lip curled down in faint disgust. "Just you."
They passed by Josephine, who gave a polite nod before returning to their work, and soon found themselves inside the Inquisitor's quarters, where Yavven opened the doors to the balcony and gestured with his head to the sofa. "Tea?"
"No, not tonight." His voice was gentler than usual.
"Chocolate?" he offered.
"Chocolate?" came the confused response.
"Josephine had some drinking chocolate brought in from Antiva. It's interesting, and different—I've made it before, but never had it until recently—but you might like it."
"Very well then," Solas acquiesced. "I try not to partake in certain luxuries, but I will try this one."
Yavven gave him a smile, then set to preparing the chocolate. It took little time to make, since he could heat water quicker than usual with his magic, and after a few minutes of silence he sat down next to Solas, shoulders touching, hot mugs in both their hands warding against the chill.
"What did you need to talk about?"
Solas sighed, taking a tentative sip of the drink. "I find myself uncertain of where to go from here."
"And where is 'here,' exactly?"
"My friend is dead," he said numbly. "A spirit of wisdom, corrupted and killed. She is not truly gone, but… she will never be the same again."
"You're grieving," Yavven realized.
"The loss pulls at my heart more than I could have imagined. I have felt loss before, but that was long ago. I came to you because you have experienced such a thing before, and because…" He trailed off, unsure how much would be appropriate or even accepted. "I thought you might be able to help."
Yavven kept his mug in one hand, wrapping his other arm around Solas. "I will remain here for you," he promised. "I can't fix this, but I will help you in any way I can."
Solas let out a light chuckle, contrasting with his damp eyes. "Starting with chocolate and sweet words?"
"It's better than nothing, isn't it?"
"I suppose it is."
6. Break Away
Yavven took one last look at Skyhold, gazing across the bridge from atop his hart.
It had been a home of sorts. He had a family there, odd and mismatched as it was, driven together by fear and necessity yet glued together with the bonds that had developed. The Inquisition had been practically his entire life for almost a decade now. He'd had no reason to return to the Free Marches, not after his clan had been wiped out, and had few ties outside of the Inquisition.
As friends began to drift off to continue their own lives, he had to wonder where his was going. Would he spend the rest of his life faking a smile as people called him "Herald," leading an institution set up by the Chantry? How long could he remain the head of such an influential power, now that there was little reason, in the eyes of the public, for a Dalish elf to have the position?
The time had come for him to break away and make his own path, leaving Cassandra as Inquisitor before he left. He had nothing, now. No clan. No history of any merit. No family.
What sort of family could he have had with Solas, he wondered? A quiet life, wandering the material world and the Fade alike? One where they made their own adventures, as if the Inquisition had not given them enough for several lifetimes? Could they have adopted children, raised them and loved them as their own?
It didn't matter now. He hadn't tried to hunt down Solas, not really; the man was evasive as a Dalish, and Yavven did not want to hurt him. But despite their separation, he had taken Yavven's heart and run off with it, leaving an aching hole in his chest.
He could still remember their first kiss, a heady experience in the Fade that had been just as real as their second kiss, shared on the balcony of the Inquisitor's quarters. The soothing lilt of Solas' voice whispering in his ear still made its way into his dreams at night, and he ached to feel that warm body beside him, to hug and caress and share with him. There was so much of his life that he wanted to show Solas, but he couldn't do that anymore. The mage was gone, and Yavven hadn't heard a word from him in six years.
A miserably long time to hold onto their love, but Yavven never did things in halves. He had no regrets, either—he would suffer the heartbreak a thousand times over just to see that man's loving smile.
"You alright?" Varric asked from beside him, astride his own horse. He was finally returning to Kirkwall for good this time, having made no more than brief trips over the years. It was as good enough a spot as any for Yavven to move on with his life, create yet one more new start.
"Yeah," he replied, throat clenching. "Let's go."
7. Dream
"Solas," Yavven began, gripping the other man's shoulder. "We shouldn't be here."
They walked among sparse trees, a warm wind sifting through the branches and the orange light of evening dappled on the ground. The area wasn't immediately recognizable, but Yavven could see certain marks on the trees and bushes around him, signs left for his clan's hunters.
"This is a memory of yours, isn't it?" Solas asked. "We're in the Free Marches, correct?"
Yavven nodded. "My clan's been here most of my life, but…" He couldn't quite voice it. Something was off with the environment. Not a problem with the Fade or demons, but the dream itself. "I'm not sure this memory is a good one."
"We all have difficult memories," Solas said softly, taking Yavven's hand in his. "Sometimes it is better to face them than let them sit untouched and ignored."
They heard sounds up ahead, distorted whispers of a conversation lost to time, and entered the clearing before them. Two men, two young red-headed siblings, a teen with ruffled hair, and a younger Yavven sat on a blanket, a basket of food between them which they shared in a picnic. They laughed when the teen said something with a frustrated face, one of the men leaning over to muss up their hair with his hand.
Yavven gasped, putting a hand over his mouth.
"Your family?" Solas asked. He knew little of them except that most had died.
"Yes," he choked out. "That's… those are my fathers. And my sibling, Cyrnarel, they've got the brown hair." Even as his body shook, he let a fragile smile onto his face. "They always were a little troublemaker."
Solas hugged him from behind. "I am sorry for what happened to them."
"I'd gotten my vallaslin a few years prior. The red-haired woman there—she's a hunter in my clan. Ellana. She'd just gotten hers that week. Her brother's Mahanon. He's a mage."
The pleasant scene was abruptly interrupted as an arrow hit one of the men in his chest. Shock covered the faces of the other elves as humans strode into the clearing, weapons brandished. Flames and frost were conjured to Mahanon and Yavven's hands respectively, ready to fight back, and Ellana drew her bow as Yavven's other father had his throat slit.
Yavven removed Solas' arms from his waist and turned, pulling the man back into the forest. "We're leaving."
Within minutes they had reached a small lake, cheery fennecs running around it happily. Solas recognized this place: The Hinterlands, near the Crossroads.
Yavven sat down on the shore, crossing his legs and staring into the water. "Ellana survived," he murmured. "She had the sense to run."
Solas joined him, rubbing circles on his back. "Is that when you were taken away? To Tevinter?"
"Yeah. Mother thought I was dead too, until I returned." He couldn't hold back a sob. "Cyrn and Mahanon never even got their vallaslin."
They stayed there in each other's arms until the sun had set.
8. Innocence
It wasn't until Solas' heart was in Yavven's hands that he realized the mistake he had made.
He hadn't expected to fall in love. A temporary yet valuable exchange of emotions, certainly, with the inevitable separation that would eventually come leaving them sad yet reasonably sated. But this? A man with whom he would happily spend years, perhaps even decades with? Someone who he truly enjoyed to be with, a mage with as much interest in the Fade as himself, a man who loved life with an enthusiasm he should have lost long ago?
Yavven had charmed him more than any demon could ever hope to attempt, and separating from him would be one of the most difficult decisions in his life.
He had weighed the benefits of staying with this man, but his duty pulled him from it. Still a part of him whispered Why can't you bring him with you? How could he tell him the things he knew—about the gods, about vallaslin, about Solas himself—without breaking him? Either way, Yavven would end up hurt.
It frustrated him to be so unable to do anything. If he disappeared with the Inquisitor, all of Thedas would hunt for them. If he told the Inquisitor about anything, he would follow Solas of his own accord, assuming he did not hate him. No, it was better to keep him in the dark, let him retain some of his people's innocence. Then he might remain to lead his followers; he might be able to move on.
How would he possibly be able to move on when he knew he was loved by a god, after all? Not just the love he believed the Creators had for the world and their creations, but a truly special, intimate love just for him?
Solas still found himself doubting his own thoughts. There should be ways, surely, to stay with Yavven, hide the both of them away from the world as Solas performed his duties. Rejection wasn't guaranteed—Yavven always had an open heart and mind, and was filled to the brim with patience when Solas expressed disagreement on Dalish history and beliefs.
But that would be irresponsible. The last thing he wanted to do was make things worse for his lover.
Perhaps he could show Yavven at least some of the truth. It might be met with hostility and the man might decide to leave him… Solas wanted to give him one last gift, however. It could break Yavven to learn that leaving Tevinter had not taken him as far from slavery as he had hoped, that his vallaslin tied him to it as a remnant of the dark past of his people, but Solas wanted to see him truly free. He didn't deserve those marks on his face.
He could heal Yavven of them as a final gift before departing. The only things that belonged on his face were the scars he wore proudly and the smile he shared with the world.
9. Drive
When Solas first met Yavven, he thought the man without motivation.
"Why were you at the Conclave in the first place?" he asked, pale healing magic knitting Yavven's warm bronze skin back together again.
"My clan's Keeper sent me, just to figure out the result."
"Why a mage? There are few enough among your people. Did you offer to go?"
Yavven laughed at that. It was a nice sound, rich as small silver bells ringing in the air but not half as delicate. Solas realized a few months later that he was rather fond of hearing it, even in situations such as these where they were surrounded by death and fear. "I've had enough of shemlen for a lifetime, honestly. No, I was picked because I'm a mage and I've got experience being among humans. Being friendly with them, at least," he amended. "And I stay because I can close rifts."
The younger elf was following the path that had been laid before him. He followed; he was not a leader, and Solas questioned his position as his clan's First. Not that Solas looked down on followers—everyone had their own paths in life—but he was almost disappointed to see this charming man being so complacent.
It took the Iron Bull's keen eye to show him where he'd been wrong.
"You don't want him to even be considered for Inquisitor," the qunari rumbled to him over a drink in Haven's tavern. "You think he'd falter, becoming a puppet or flailing about on the suggestions Cullen gives him."
It was an apt observation. "He goes where the wind sends him. He can't even control a battle—he leaves that to Cassandra or yourself. I would not see him leading an army."
"He doesn't have to."
Solas blinked in confusion. "Then why suggest that he could?" That was what Bull was going for, wasn't it?
Iron Bull leaned over the table. "Look, this Breach thing—if that's all we need, some extra power to help close it, then everyone can go home and forget about all this. The Inquisition won't have much use. But that's not going to happen. We will need an Inquisitor."
"I fail to see your point."
"What does Yavven want, more than anything, right now?"
The elf swirled his drink. "To help people." A simple answer, but perhaps that was all there was to it.
"How can he help people when he's taking on jobs he can't handle? Leading in battle, deciding troop movements, meeting with nobles… He lacks the experience. What can he do without it?"
It hit him then, and he lost his breath with the realization. "He's learning. Watching and learning, so that he can lead when the time comes." It should have been so obvious.
"Right. So stop giving him that disappointed look of yours, because he doesn't have any idea what he's doing wrong by you and he's really damn confused about it."
He supposed he had an apology to give, then.
10. Breathe Again
Bright bonfires dotted Haven and the surrounding land as celebration broke out. Rams crackled on spits and music reached towards the stars, mages and common folk alike dancing and drinking cheerfully. The town probably hadn't had an event like this in decades, and it was the first time since the Conclave that they could all sit back and breathe again.
The Inquisition's work wasn't done and the hole remained in the sky, but they could count this as a victory.
"Not participating in the festivities?" came a familiar voice from behind Yavven as he watched from afar, sitting on a small ledge near the edge of town.
"I'm not a very festive person," he said, facing the celebration and not his companion. "And though I'm sure he means well, I would rather not take up Bull on his offer of a drinking contest."
"Wise decision," Solas said, sitting beside him. He held a mug in his hand, which he promptly offered to Yavven. "Tea?"
"Tea at a party like this? Careful, some people might accuse me of being boring," Yavven joked as he accepted the drink, warming his hands pleasantly.
"I seem to recall worse accusations against you, though I have it on good authority that you are not boring in the least, no matter what Sera and Iron Bull say," Solas said, wearing one of his rare smiles.
Yavven sighed contentedly and returned the smile. "Thank you for being here, Solas."
"I hardly had a choice in the matter, as you might recall."
"Yet you remain, and have been a good friend. I could hardly ask for more."
Solas frowned at that, hearing something in his tone. "You have asked for little, and I have provided. We may have our differences, but I would not withhold my aid from you. If there is more that you want from me, then ask it and we shall see."
Hesitating, as he wasn't quite sure how the other would react, Yavven held the mug in one hand and reached out the other to touch Solas' wrist questioningly. Solas looked at him curiously, but relaxed his hand and moved it slightly closer to Yavven, who laced their fingers together with a grin.
"I may not stay with the Inquisition much longer," Solas warned. He wasn't entirely certain what Yavven meant with the intimate gesture, but didn't want to lead him on in any case—even if he were to stay here, he would have to leave eventually. As it was, he intended to seek out the orb tonight, if possible.
"But you are here now, lethallin." Eyes of molten gold met his, sharing a moment of openness and affection. "I enjoy your company and your stories. I enjoy you. Being around you and with you. Whether we remain friends for one more night or years, I would like to spend this time with you."
Any response Solas could have come up with was cut off by the sharp ring of the warning bell.