A/N: Bora'din ma'dirth - I can't cast off my truth.

Solas never had trouble falling asleep. He slipped from one world to the next as easily as entering a warm bath. But tonight he found he didn't want to sleep. What existed in this reality was finally more important than what he saw in dreams, the world around him finally more beautiful than the world that once had been. Tonight, arms around Lahria, her breath in sync with his own, he longed to stay here, now, instead of wishing he could return to the past. Her touch chased his guilt away. Her kisses stopped his regret. How could he regret a world that made her? How could he hate what he had done, when she was a byproduct?

These thoughts are dangerous, he told himself. I'm slipping.

But it would be so easy to forget, to be in her bed every night, to fight by her side every day, to do good work with her, to love her as Solas, and not himself. He wanted to be the man she believed him to be. He could be that man.

Her back was pressed against his chest and her feet nestled against his ankles. Solas trailed kisses over her shoulder, moving the thin fabric of her night shirt to touch her skin. She didn't stir as he laced his fingers through hers and whispered her name against her shoulder blades.

I want to be this man, he thinks. Solas, the man who loves the Inquisitor. The quiet, studious man she comes to for advice. The man she trusts.

That last thought sends pain lancing through his heart. The man she trusts. She wouldn't, if she knew the truth. His truth. All that cursed truth that claws at him, names and voices no one remembers, the weight of a people – the People – bearing down on him. Sometimes he finds himself unable to breathe, fists clenched, swallowing his own screams at the wrongness of the world. The world he helped create. How did everything go so wrong?

Lahria shifts in her sleep, rolling over in his arms so that her face is against his chest, one hand curled in a sleepy fist against his ribcage, the other draped over his side, snuggling him close to her body like she belonged there.

Oh, vhenan.

Solas watches the flutter of her lashes against the pale skin where her vallaslin had been, the slight twitch of her lips as she sleeps. He tucks his face against her hair, breathing her in, letting his body relax into the softness of her embrace, the warmth of her breath on his chest.

Ar lath ma, vhenan.

She would hate you if she knew.

The two thoughts come unbidden, one after the other, striking discordant notes inside his skull and he winces. He's acting on borrowed time. This is a fantasy born of lies. She doesn't love you, or at least, she only loves a part of you.

And why is that? A small part of him protests. You've never given her the opportunity to know you. You've never trusted her enough to try.

But he can't burden her with that. He doesn't want her to wake as he does, opening her eyes to a tainted world and a broken, distant magic. He doesn't want her to see him and know he's the reason the night is dark and cold and empty.

"Solas?"

His heart thumps erratically in his chest. "Yes?"

"You're squeezing me."

Solas immediately relaxes his hold. "I'm sorry. I didn't realize I was."

Her hand, pinned between them, slips up to his face, caressing him. "Are you alright?"

He doesn't want her to see him like this. She'll worry. She'll ask questions.

"I'm fine, vhenan."

Her solemn, sleepy eyes don't turn away. "Tell me."

"I-" his breath hitched. Ar'nuvenin dirth ma. I want to tell you. I want you to know me, vhenan. He pressed his forehead to hers. "Go back to sleep."

"Solas." She kissed the underside of his jaw. "U'ma din'nadas." You don't have to be alone. Her lips, sleepy and clumsy, kissed down his neck to his chest. She placed a kiss over his heart then snuggled into his embrace again. "Ma'lath." My love.

His resolve was breaking, pieces raining down around his feet like so much harmless dust.

"Would you-" His whisper shook between them.

When he didn't continue, Lahria answered, "Yes."

He gave the smallest ha of a laugh. "You always give before you even know what I'm asking."

"Would I listen? Would I care to know? Would I get up and ruin my sleep for you? Would I carry your burdens if you handed them over? Would I love you anyway? Yes to all of them."

Solas swallowed. "You give too much." And you promise things you can't know.

He had been too afraid by the lake and even more afraid after, with the distance she let stretch between them. But then she had said she loved him, and not out of desperation or loss, but simply said it, told him she loved him in the clear, easy, natural way she told him every other truth. And she kept saying it. And she meant it.

"Sit up, vhenan. I'll tell you."


We sat on my bed, cross-legged, and I blinked slowly, trying not to fall back asleep. If it takes the middle of the night for him to trust me, then so be it.

"When I was a little boy," he began, a smile light on his lips. "My mother called me her Fennec."

"Like the foxes?"

Solas nodded. "Apparently I was always running, a quick little scruffy thing, with hair sticking up in all directions." He wiggled the tips of his ears. "And of course, the ears."

"I'm having a hard time picturing this." I laughed, patting his bald head. "A Solas with hair."

"I'm sure I was an adorable child. All energy and opinions. At least that's what I was told I was like. I don't remember."

I tried to picture it. A smaller, softer Solas, scowling at his elders, insisting he was right. Suddenly, I burst out laughing. "Creators, you probably drove your mother mad."

"Perhaps." His smile was a tender, flickering thing. "My older brother-"

"You have a brother?" I nearly shouted it, grabbing his knee as I leaned closer.

"Had a brother. He died a long time ago."

"Oh. I'm sorry." I pulled away.

Solas waved a hand, dismissing it. "My older brother teased me with that nickname mercilessly. Fennec. Little fox. I hated it. He was much older than me – better at everything. I wanted him to like me, and he wanted his baby brother to leave him alone." Solas shrugged. "As all brothers are, I imagine."

"I wouldn't know." If I had siblings, I didn't know their names.

"He grew up, traveled. There was distance between us by the time I was a young man, but the entire village already knew me as Fennec. The little fox boy. It was insufferable to a boy of, oh... twelve. Thirteen."

I grinned. "Why have you never told me this before? You've told me so much. We talk for hours. Yet this," I gesture. "This never came up?"

Solas' eyes remained carefully down. "It's part of a larger story."

I slipped my hand into his where it rested, tense but open on his knee. "One you didn't want to tell me?" Grey eyes flicked to mine, surprised. "We all have stories we don't like telling, Solas." I gave his hands a squeeze. "I'm happy you're telling me now."

Those eyes dropped down to our hands, and he continued. "Thirteen years old, I gave myself a new name. Refused to answer to Fennec any longer. I thought myself all grown up, deserving of more. So I shortened it to Fen instead."

"Fen?" I blinked. "As in... wolf?"

He gave a slow nod.

"Didn't you know it's bad luck to name yourself such a thing?" I teased him, swinging his hand playfully. "Naming a child after the Wolf calls him down on you."

"Perhaps someone should have warned me." His voice was quiet when he said that, and I drew my thumb over his knuckles in response. He met my eyes, gave me a small smile. "But my people didn't have such legends."

Solas was quiet then, and I wondered if that was all he wanted to tell me. Surely not.

"There's more." He licked his lips. "But I think I want to stop for now. Is that alright?"

"Of course." I yawned. "Maybe you can tell me more tomorrow?"

"Perhaps."

I flopped back onto the bed with a sigh, burrowing into the covers. He soon joined me, pulling my body into his embrace so that I was warm and loved again. I made a humming sound as he tilted, moving my head to his chest and twining our fingers together.

"Fen," I said quietly. "Do you want me to call you that?"

"No." He drew his fingers through my hair. "Solas will do." His hand stilled. "Or Fennec."

A smile bloomed on my face and I nearly giggled. "Fennec."

"Yes. Of all the names I've had, I miss that one the most."

"How many names have you had?"

"Too many." He stroked my hair again. "But so have you. Lahria. Herald. Inquisitor. First. Lady Lavellan."

"Vhenan," I finish for him.

Now it's his turn to hum low in his chest, pressing my body against his.

"Vhenan," he agrees.

He seems lighter, now. What he told me wasn't much at all, but… maybe it was to him.

I roll on top of him, rest my chin on his sternum. "Fennec."

Even in the gloom, I can see the shy smile on his face. It's a lovely, precious thing, and I want to make it stay forever.

"Ar lath ma, Fennec."

His eyes flutter closed and he wraps his arms around me, kisses me, a soft groan in his throat. His kisses are deep and slow, sending warmth spiraling through my veins. He shifts me off of him, settling me beside him as he kisses me gently.

"Ma serannas, vhenan."

"For what?"

He pushes hair from my face.

His only answer to my question is a long, lingering kiss before he whispers, "Ma'arlath, vhenan."

A/N: *tosses canon out a window*