Indomitable

Maera channels her rage and pain into every lunge of her blade - into each battle cry that comes charging from her throat. She tears apart the demons with such violence that when she is done, the mage she had come to rescue scurries away from her in terror, screaming.

"You're welcome," she snarls and walks away from him. She stabs her longsword into the ground and lies on her back beside it, wrists crossing over her forehead. The nightmare Harrowing dissolves and she is left in the raw Fade; staring up at a turbulent, viridian expanse. Hot tears stream down, pooling in her ears and she rubs her eyes with the back of her hand in frustration.

I'm not supposed to feel sorrow. She knows this to be true, though she doesn't understand why. Nor does she understand what just happened. Solas had gone from being so loving - so tender - to cold and cruel in the blink of an eye. Had she said the wrong thing?

What a pair they make. She - unknown to herself and he - trying to forget his dark past. Is that why he lashed out, does he resent her - envy her in some way? Because she is free of such burdens. He does not understand how unsettling it is. He has helped her to understand that she is in the Fade, a realm of dreams and magic. With that understanding comes the knowledge that she does not naturally belong here. It is a place populated by spirits and demons, she does not believe she is either of those things. It follows then that she is a Dreamer, which means she sleeps somewhere in the physical world. But then, who is she, where is she? Why does she not wake?

Why this disparity between what she knows and does not? She knows of Fen'Harel and has information about all manner of topics. But what she desires most, what she seeks to understand eludes her. Her mind becomes slippery and if she tries too hard the effort becomes painful. Or rather, she is met with pain.

She tried so hard to reconcile what she knows of Fen'Harel, with what she knows of Solas. From her perspective it seemed impossible they could be one and the same, yet he had not denied it. If he existed, then did not the Creators also? It followed then, that there must be some truth to the tales that he had tricked their Gods, trapping them all in the Fade and snaring himself in the process. But what he had shown her in the Fade implied that Elvhenan had fallen for other reasons. That its people brought about their own ruin.

He felt responsible, that was clear, but perhaps more had been attributed to him than he deserved. She empathised with him, it must hurt to be seen as a monster. She had not judged him, or admonished him, yet still he had pulled away from her.

He believed himself so terrible that she would hate him, but truly bad people didn't carry such guilt, such self-loathing. Did they? Before now he had expressed no malice toward her, but had been eager to impress - to instruct her - with warmth and charm. True he had at times been argumentative and openly disdainful of the Dalish, but he was hardly the slavering, mad trickster of legend.

Maybe he was right though, if he could cast her aside so callously perhaps he didn't deserve her. Why did she want to be with him anyway, was she just being stubborn, what was she trying to prove?

But she felt it, the tugging deep inside her. The need to find him again, to be close to him. The idea of never seeing him again makes her insides twist; she can't deny the feelings he evokes. Thinking of him, underneath all the hurt and anger, elicits such a depth of emotion - love, desire, longing - it is almost too much to bear. What she feels seems aged, as though it existed long before she can even remember - as though they have always been a part of each other.

It is more than just gratefulness for having awakened her. Bringing her to life when before she was a half-person, moving through the Fade without thought or feeling. What else lay within? The battle with Pride had rattled her. She could feel something lurking inside, hurt and thrashing, like a wounded animal. The demon had tried to draw it out of her and it - the lurker - had unleashed it's fury upon Pride. Not Maera, she had not been in control.

Who was she and what was actually hers? Not her name. Not her purpose. She pitied the mages certainly, but it was clear now she was being compelled to help them. Even her body. She could feel it when she shape-shifted, fighting against her efforts to be different.

To be anything other than this, her hands clap against her breastplate and she feels the crystal pendant press cold and hard against her skin. The memories that arise when she thinks of it, make her blush and ache and want to laugh and cry all at once. She wonders if that was his intention all along.

Well of course it was, that's the point of gifts between lovers; to remind. The resentment she feels with this realisation is both her own and yet not. In the same way her initial mistrust of Solas had felt instinctive, but also beyond her. It turns out those suspicions were uncannily accurate, but how had she known? Still so many questions. She doubts she can find the answers on her own. How then to resolve this rift Solas has opened between them?

"He's the stubborn one," she huffs as she sits up. So he wants to be a martyr, just because he feels - what? Ashamed of what he has done? His ego bruised by Dalish stories? That doesn't give him the right to decide for her.

Maera will choose. Maera will decide. She has to let him know that she accepts him completely - light and dark - she wants all of him. That she will not allow him to sabotage their relationship by being an absolute felasil. Maera smirks wickedly as a plan formulates. She just hopes he is still waiting for her.

Solas gapes, his brain scrambling to process the sensory overload she is triggering. Relief suffuses his body - that she was safe, that she had returned to him. Hard on it's heels comes a wave of heat. A feverish hunger that unspools from deep in his stomach and races through every nerve in his body.

She stands proudly before him, the personification of the Spring, the earth mother - lush and fertile. A sultry nymph, curves draped in a gossamer band that leaves little to the imagination. His gaze roams over her, following the ebb and flow of her slender silhouette. Her hungry eyes capture his as she saunters toward him. She is the Huntress and she has honed in on him - her prey. Solas' mouth is dry, but there is much he needs to say.

"Maera, I-"

"Tel'dirtha." She presses a finger - as firm as her reprimand - to his lips. "Sit," she commands and he does. Maera sweeps down to straddle his lap and when he tries to put his hands on her she grasps his forearms. "No," she admonishes with the slightest hint of anger. "You don't get to touch," she purrs.

His heart thumps against his ribs. She had shown hints of assertiveness before, but nothing as exciting as this bold dominance. She holds his arms tightly against his sides and he shivers as she licks and nibbles the sensitive plane of his ear. She smells different, a subtle mix of lemon and herbs, with an undercurrent of something sweet, like vanilla. His nostrils flare, drawing the intoxicating scent deep into his body. Maera gives his arms a firm squeeze.

"Stay," she reminds him as her hands glide up his biceps. They pause to knead his shoulders before she dips one inside his collar. Her mouth works along his jaw and down his neck, parting his robe to give her access. Fingers stroke up the back of his neck to grasp the base of his skull and he leans into her firm grip. Maera nuzzles her way back up until her intense russet gaze aligns with his.

"You are mine," she says vehemently. He wants to give all of himself to her, but she doesn't know what she is asking. She doesn't know the terrible things he is capable of. "Don't," she warns softly, as she catches him drifting away on an ocean of doubt. "This here, this Solas," she places her hand over his heart. "As we are now, this is all that matters. This is enough, isn't it?" Maera's voice trembles at the end and when he recalls what he said to her in anger, his heart breaks.

"Who are you?" Solas realises he's not the only one looking for acceptance. He wants to take her in his arms, to soothe away the hurt in her eyes. Make her forget everything else but the fact that he loves her, with all his heart and soul. But she has made it clear that she wants to be in control. If she needs to claim him, he will happily oblige and he nods in assent.

She kisses his mouth then, soft and slow and Solas surrenders completely to her passion, following wherever she leads. Any concerns he had about hurting her were ill-founded, as she matches the intensity of his desires with a frenzied abandon that leaves him breathless.

"Ma salath," she keens as she clings to him in him throes of ecstasy. He cannot kiss her enough, touch her enough; he wants to lose himself in her forever.

"I won't hold back any more." Solas promises when his breathing has calmed and Maera makes a pleased noise in the back of her throat.

"Good, apology accepted."

TRANSLATIONS

Felasil - Fool

Ma sa'lath - My one love

Tel'dirtha - Don't speak