AN: Hello my dears! A bit of a shake-up in this chapter so I wanted to get it right. Where one conflict ends and another one rises ;)

I'll keep this short so you can all read - thanks again to everyone for their support. You guys are absolutely wonderful.

Much love,

~Voi

The crow had arrived just before dawn, an exquisite Antivan species Theron recognized on sight. The deep blue-black plumage had stood out amongst the other birds as it winged through the air and upon extending his hand the elegant creature was more than happy to swoop down to be admired.

Scarcely a day had passed since he had sent his missive, but it seemed that wherever Zevran was, this bird had had little issue. But the letter Theron retrieved from his feathered messenger was light, scarcely more than a single sheaf of paper, and that had Theron hesitating anew. Though he had faced all manner of challenges, killed an Archdemon and saved Ferelden, the opposition posed by this singular letter seemed the most insurmountable by far.

Would his lover dismiss him with a few short words? Or would he offer the chance to reconcile? Dare he open it?

He touched the glossy black wax, lingering over the insignia before finally mustering the courage to break it, to gently part the fine fold of paper and read the short message scrawled within.

Zevran had always spoken self-mockingly of his penmanship, had said that the Crows had taught him to kill cleanly, but little else. His writing was only barely legible, and even that was a kind word for it. But as Theron read, he felt his heart twist at the familiar hand that had made the marks, the sensitive rendering of the words.

In many ways, Zevran's writing was an perfect expression of the man himself. Theron skimmed the letter a second time and felt his heart quake, registering the meaning now that he no longer focused on the hand that written the words.

Folding the letter shut with trembling hands, he offered another small treat to the crow that was waiting patiently nearby.

"I'll give you my response soon enough." He promised, "Why don't you get a bit of a rest now?"

He needed to tell Lavellan, had to tell her of the letter and what it would mean for the two of them. Inhaling slowly, Theron tried to regain control of his senses, to remember to think as well as feel. There was little doubt of his own contentment, and yet, there was a bittersweet taste of his victory too, for in encouraging him Lavellan had made herself vulnerable.

Had left herself bound to an outcome outside of her own control.

Theron was not blind to his feelings, and he knew well enough that he cared deeply for the elven woman. It was not unrealistic to think that with time they might come to love one another. But in allowing him the freedom to send that message, by providing the courage needed for the task, she had ultimately brought about a premature end to their relationship.

That was, if he did go through with her suggestion.

Part of him wondered if he should savor Zevran's message of forgiveness and accept it as just that. There would be no need to pursue his lover to Antiva, or whatever distant land he chose to journey to. Instead he could stay here, in Wycome, with the courageous elven heroine and her three sons, build a family together.

They could almost be unremarkable then, the two of them, the five of them. After years of being the exception, Theron craved normalcy. He knew Lavellan felt the same.

But she had been right about him, about how he felt about Zevran, more than she probably knew. And though there was guilt, he owed her the truth and a debt of gratitude the likes of which he had did not think he would be able to pay off.

And so it was that he crossed the small footbridge, crested that final hill and found himself nearly there, at Lavellan's house. But before he could quite make it to her doorstep something made him pause, or rather someone, for there was a man working in the yard despite the early hour. And what Theron found when he looked closer made a smile tug the corner of his mouth, eased the tension in his chest.

He had never formally met Lavellan's lover, but there was no mistaking the man who was so meticulously tending to the little garden outside her home. Approaching slowly, the hunter took time to assess the man, to really see.

Tall, broad shouldered, the older elven man moved with the sort of easy grace that came with being comfortable in their own skin. And though Theron could not be sure, there was an undercurrent of something dangerous beneath that distinct air of calm he projected so easily.

"Hello." The man straightened smoothly when Theron was drew close, expression unscrutable in the early light.

"Good morning." Theron greeted the man, "Beautiful morning is it not?"

The man smiled sedatedly, but his eyes were sharp, bright with awareness.

"Are you here to see the Inquisitor?" he asked, "My apologies, she is currently sleeping."

Theron's brows rose, it was unlike her to be resting despite the hour. Dalish life often meant early rising, and the lady hero had always made it a point to remain carefully honed.

Had something kept her awake late into the night? He did not think she had spent the night with her lover in 'that' sense, but she had been increasingly worried as of late. Theron frowned.

"Lavellan is still sleeping?"

The familiarity in his voice, the manner in which Theron used her name was deliberate, and he knew the other man understood his insinuation when his lips turned into a slight frown.

"Forgive me." Blue eyes narrowed slightly, "I do not think we've met."

"Ah." Theron smiled, "Apologies, I am Theron of Clan Sabrae. And you are?"

"Solas." The man said plainly, folding his hands carefully behind him.

"Lavellan's lover." Theron identified though he had known from the start, "I've heard of you, though she's been protective of your identity."

"She and I ended that particular part of our relationship some time ago." The man, Solas, said patiently.

"I see." Theron nodded, feeling the amusement bubble when the man's careful wording. He was very much like Lavellan, and his mannerisms told Theron well enough the attraction was, at least on his side, far from over.

Sensing that he had an opportunity, a chance to play with fire, Theron grinned, it was time to needle in the name of friendship. Lavellan might not appreciate it until later, but the chance to get some answers was too good to pass up.

"Then you would have no qualms if I wished to claim her as my bondmate?" He asked casually.

The older man stiffened, and Theron might have smiled at the look that passed over the man's face.

"If she would have you." Solas' words were those of a friend, despite the tightening of the man's shoulders. "The matter would be between the two of you of course."

"And you would have no opinion?" Theron pressed. "You are the father to her sons are you not?"

"I am, and shall continue to be." Solas said patiently, "But I'll not stand in your way, if that is what your concern is."

"And you would not object to my rearing your children?"

The man seemed to grow increasingly more still, "I trust Lavellan's judgment. "

Theron smiled widely, "Excellent. Thank you."

They lapsed into silence shortly thereafter, Solas returning to his gardening and Theron waiting patiently by the gate. Neither one seemed keen on leaving, on running away, and yet despite their silence, the air seemed to grow increasingly more charged with temper.

Did he really have to attack at the weeds so viciously? Theron wondered idly, watching Solas' continued assault on the unwanted parts of Lavellan's garden, Need he frown at them so ferociously that they wilted before he struck them from the ground?

And yet, Theron could not be happier with the unsettled state of his companion. Because in his anger, there was an honesty, a frustration that Theron suspected ran much deeper, one borne of the love he carried for Lavellan.

It was this same love that eventually brought the question to the other man's lips, tight and untrusting, rife with protective instinct.

"What is it that you like so much about her, about Lavellan?"

The words were said with such careful precision, that Solas might as well have waved a flag declaring his continued affection for the woman. It was no wonder both of them had remained unhappy, they were stubborn to a fault, and desperate to be 'friends' despite the fact their hearts were clearly bound more tightly together than any other pair of lovers Theron had ever known.

"Like about her?" Theron repeated as if he were confused, "What is not to like? She is beautiful is she not?"

The last bit he spoke with a touch of arrogance, as if he thought it the most obvious trait that a man might find desirable. It was precisely the correct, or perhaps incorrect, thing to say, for in that moment he finally saw Solas' temper unmasked, saw the fury in that man's bright blue gaze.

"If her beauty is the first thing you think of, then perhaps it is best you leave her well alone." Solas snapped as he rounded, straightening to his full height.

"Oh?"

"Lavellan may be many things. And while beautiful is certainly one of them, it is perhaps the least of her qualities. Any man who looks at her and sees beauty before any of her other talents is a blind man indeed."

"And what of these other traits?" Theron taunted, "A hunter needs to be strong, swift, but her?" he shrugged, "She is a mother now."

"You use a role she had chosen as a means to reduce her. But you could not have been more wrong." Solas looked almost murderous, "She is subtle and insightful. She is a woman of grace, of such bravery that it would make all the hunters of the Dalish look like cowards had they but tried to face the opposition she conquered."

He exhaled sharply as he continued, "And she is kind. More generous to people then they deserve, than they have any right to expect. She chose to become a mother, and her sons are a testament to her skill, her strength, the love she is so capable of."

The man folded his arms, "But when you look at her, you see her beauty, and the shallowness of that remark does you no credit."

Solas nearly vibrated with the strength of his emotion.

"You do not deserve her." he said, "And I would face your Dalish Creator's single-handedly before allowing one as unworthy as you to dare be her companion. She is stronger without you."

Theron smiled, "You know, for a man who says he has no claim on her, you certainly sound rather like you do."

And before Solas could make another scathing remark about him, Theron turned to look over the man's shoulder.

"Wouldn't you agree, Lavellan?"

Solas turned to find her standing there in the doorway, hands clutching her shawl around her shoulders. She looked him in the eye, and though her face was pale, color rode high on her cheeks.

"Solas?"

"I- " The man looked stunned, shocked into stillness as his words continued to echo around the three of them. Stark, angry, protective, he had revealed much with his words.

Too much.

Unable to stand it, he said turned and left without a word, his hands still dark with dirt, expression lost as he hurried away.

"Why did you do that?" Lavellan looked as if she wanted to follow Solas, and her eyes lingered in the direction where he had fled.

"Why did you bait him like that?" She asked as she frowned, "That was unkind Theron."

"It was. And yet, can you tell me that his words did not at least ease your heart even the slightest bit?"

He approached her, gently touched her chin so that she might look at him, "Solas seems to be rather desperately in love with you. So what is keeping the two of you apart? Stubbornness?"

"I've told you, he has a mission to accomplish; a path that he insists will lead away from us."

"And yet he loves you." Theron smiled, "Were you not the one who said such things were strong enough to do the impossible?"

"It is not the same." Lavellan protested, "And that is why I told you to write to Zevran, to leave my own situation out of your decision making."

And then she seemed to realize why he had shown up at her house at this hour, the reason that was not pestering her lover in the garden.

"You've received a response." She said, brightening, "Zevran replied to your letter."

Theron nodded, "Indeed."

She remained silent, and in that quiet she watched as Theron's expression bloomed, the smile on his lips a softer, gentler expression that spoke of the depth of his happiness.

"Oh Theron." Her eyes misted with tears, "I am so happy for you, my friend."

She was in his arms a moment later, hugging him with all the strength in her arms as he returned the gesture with equal fierceness. Face pressed the top of her hair, he spoke, his voice hoarse, more serious now than any time she had heard before.

"It was because of you, Lavellan." He gently drew back enough to give her a look of deepest appreciation, "Thank you, lethallan."

"You are most welcome." Her lips trembled, "I could not have asked for better news."

Theron grinned, "Nonsense. I delivered better news to you not a moment ago. Or did you not hear that I have just confirmed, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that your man there is just as smitten with you and you are with him?"

"Theron." She protested, but her face flushed anew, "That was unfair to him."

The man snorted, "I thought he might strike me down when I played at being shallow. It may have been unfair to him, but I assure you, it was more dangerous for me."

She laughed, "Then perhaps you are having a lucky day."

Theron grinned, "So it is settled then. I will remain here until after the Arlathvhen, but shall we agree that our...match, has been set aside?"

"Yes." Lavellan squeezed his hand, "And thank you Theron."

His brows raised, "Whatever for, my dear?"

She smiled, "For being my friend."

He shook his head, "That will never be a hardship."

Then, gesturing with his hands, he said, "Now go find that man of yours."

But now it was she who paused, hesitated.

"Are you truly going to make me drag you to him?" Theron teased.

"I-" She looked down, swallowed, "I'm afraid."

"No man will love you as deeply as that one." Theron said, "It will not be lack of trying on their part, but I think that in loving you, Solas has lost a piece of his heart and no amount of stubbornness on his part is going to return it. He loves you Lavellan. Perhaps it is time to figure out if you love him as well."

He touched her cheek, "But I think we both know you do."

She sighed but nodded.

"Will you look after the boys for me?" She asked, "Cole, my oldest, knows what to do. But I would appreciate it if you could answer their questions, if they have any. I'll be back soon."

"Yes, of course." Theron smiled, "Now go and find him, Lavellan. Creator's guide you."

Solas could barely think past the rage.

It had abated some since he had left her house, but even now it simmered below the surface with a sort of sustained power that could not be entirely attributed to the Fen'harel legacy.

Striving for calm, he tried to shrug off the temper but could not quite shake the desire to clench his hands into tights fists, to squeeze until his nails bit into his palms. And while he might have claimed the anger as belonging to that same legacy he recognized the jealousy as his and his alone.

Turning the corner, Solas forced the breath from him lungs in slow, steady stream, slowing suddenly when he found himself in a narrow albeit sunkissed alleyway, lush with climbing plants and wild blossoms.

It was beautiful, this little patch of wildness amidst the more purposeful smattering of buildings and walls. A pleasant surprise that eased the tension in his chest just enough to be allow his to breathe more clearly.

Reaching out to caress a deep green fern with a fingertip, he sighed anew when introspection replaced the hot pulse of anger.

He had no right to be jealous. In the past few months both he and Lavellan had worked hard to repair the relationship between them, had found a quiet friendship emerge from the ashes of distrust. It was more than he expected, more than he deserved, and he dared not compromise what they had built by what emotion lingered in his chest.

There had already been too many moments of weakness, of wanting what could not be had. He closed his eyes, trying to chase away the bitter chill of loneliness with the warm tenderness of the sunshine.

"Solas."

And for the second time that day Solas found himself surprised. Turning, he looked and found her just beyond the reach of his own arms, standing in a pool of light, almost glowing.

Beautiful. And yet, she was so much more than that, was everything Solas had confessed to earlier.

"Hello, Lavellan." He tried to smile, but the expression seemed clumsy on his lips. She seemed to understand, and when she stepped closer, reaching out to touch his hand, he realized that she meant to apologize.

"I'm sorry about what happened with Theron. I did not realize he would do that, and despite what he said, he is not a bad man."

He made a soft snort, "No, I imagine he is not. But he is still young, some things that matter in youth mean very little later on."

Sighing, he patted her hand, "I've told you once before, Lavellan. I wish you all the happiness for your future."

She opened her mouth to respond, but seemed to change her mind. Instead, she looked down at where their hands were touching and asked a different question.

"Do you trust me to know my own heart?"

"Of course, I trust you to know your heart better than anyone." His own ached in his chest, "But there are those that would do you no justice. You deserve better."

"I deserve to be happy." She said tartly, "And that will be in a match of my own choosing, no?"

He nodded, swallowed tightly as Theron's face came to mind. And while his heart rebelled, his lips formed the words of a friend, "Yes, of course."

"Then answer me this." Lavellan said softly, "Could you...that is, do you love me still?"

Her question electrified the space between them but he remained silent. And in that quiet he looked at her in that way that reminded her of the night before, of all those truths he had told, the pain and guilt of a young man who carried the burden of a difficult legacy.

She stepped closer, into his shadow, hands skimming up the sides of his arms until they rested upon the strong set of his shoulder. Then, feeling him absorb the touch, she lifted her hands upward so that she could cup his cheek with her palm.

"Solas?"

"My thoughts and feelings remain as they were." His voice was rough, his eyes burning like blue flame as he looked down at her, "But so do the obstacles. You have your duty and-"

"My duty to the Inquisition is over, Solas." She interrupted with a whisper, "I've chosen to step aside."

"The Mark persists," He protested, "Surely-"

But in that moment she rose gracefully to her toes, arms curling around his neck and with infinite gentleness brushed her lips against his own, silencing him with the press of her mouth, the restrained heat of her touch.

He made a small helpless sound in the back of his throat when his control strained, his hands clenching at his sides as he tried to hold onto each fraying thread. But when she moved her head just so, made that soft little noise he recognized, he was lost.

Arms closing around her, his hand dove into her hair as he cradled her closer, angling her face, her mouth, so that he might delve deeper, taste more.

It was everything he had missed, everything he had dreamt about for years.

And yet his memories had not done her justice, for the sweetness of her lips was beyond anything he could recall, the feel of her back in his arms once more so absolutely right that he trembled with the force of his heart's joy.

He wished it would last for the rest of eternity.

"Lavellan!"

A voice, sharp and angry made them both snap up to look at the speaker, arms still twined around one another. But it was Solas' own instincts that compelled him to step between her and the man that was advancing on their position.

A mage, the stranger's magic flared at his fingertips, danced off the glittering metal on his rings. But it was not until Lavellan's startled gasp rang in his ear that Solas realized he knew the man as well.

"Dorian?!"