Note: First order of business, major spoiler warning. Second, while I don't necessarily feel this way about the canon, for fic purposes, I've interpreted Solas as the physical embodiment of Fen'harel, like a god who deigns to walk among men (not unlike Christ), so he lacks the powers and omniscience of a god, and acts more or less like a human, or elf, with the memories and motivations of his god self. Feel free to comment about the fic or if you want to speculate with me on the canon, be my guest. As you can see, this ship is going to be the death of me. Enjoy!


Solas strode softly over freshly fallen leaves, a crisp wind rustling those that clung to branches in denial of the coming autumn. The star-spangled firmament rose above the canopy, distant yet clear, free from the green tinge that had marred its vision for so long. The rift was gone. Corypheus was gone.

He was gone.

Even as the world faltered, trembled, the Veil restored, the battle won, he had disappeared, vanished like a whisper of farewell stolen by the wind. She had turned, the exaltation of victory aglow about her face, a quick flash of the smile that had claimed her as his. But the smile had wavered, sustained only by his visage, now absent.

"Ma sa'lath?" she had whispered, words carried to him as echoes across the Fade.

"Ma vhenan," was his answer, lost to distance. Now he walked alone, bereft from her touch, nothing but the wind to remind him of her cool lips against his skin, the leaves to mimic the soft cadence of her whispers, the night sky like the dark tresses of her hair, the stars like her eyes, lost, questioning….

Cole's undulating voice filtered through his thoughts. She is bare faced, embarrassed, and she doesn't know. She thinks it is because of her…

Solas shook his head, dispelling painful thoughts as one dispels the vestiges of a nightmare, vainly attempting to purge the poison that is memory from his mind.

"It is better this way," he spoke into the night, alone but for the footsteps he left behind, the footsteps of a forgotten god, faded and forlorn, wretched and reviled.

He Who Hunts Alone. Solas laughed bitterly, defacing the silent sanctity of the night with his thinly veiled despair. He looked up at the night sky, eyes searching vainly for the moon. Even it would not grace him with its soft luminescence, to provide him a shadow to walk beside him.

"Ir abelas, in souver'inan isala hamin," he sighed to himself, glancing at the small clearing in which he stood with indifferent resignation. "I must dream."


Translation: "I am filled with sorrow, but weary eyes need resting."