SUNDERED
Prologue:
Rock and ash tumbled; The earth still shuddered with the settling debris. Corypheus had been defeated. The battle had been harried and their roles were set, the party just proficient enough in coordinating together that they destroyed a would-be god. Lavellan had been magnificent. As rocks still crashed to the ground, Solas found the remains of the orb. He bent and gingerly touched it, his heart aching as if he'd lost a close friend. The power in the orb had been his but he'd been too weak to unlock it when he woke from his slumber only a short time before… all of this. The orb was destroyed, cracked in two, and he could see that his plans would have to change. He needed to leave and set new plans in motion. He felt the hairs on his skin rise and knew the Lavellan was nearby. He couldn't let her see the pain in his eyes and hear her words. He had to leave, to flee, to escape the draw of her. He couldn't let himself love her or be loved by her. He remembered he had already made so many mistakes. His relationship with her was just another mistake that he should regret.
Two years earlier, Solas had woken from his nearly eternal slumber and had been as weak as a child. Unable to unlock the power of his hidden foci, he let Corypheus' spies learn of the orb's existence. He hoped the fool could unlock it's power where he could not and then Solas could take back what was his. His ancient magic would never want to inhabit the walking-talking-blighted-corpse that was Corypheus.
When Corypheus had been interrupted by the brazen Dalish elf the orb had chosen her as the vessel for Solas' power. It was a bitter pill to swallow when Solas found her on the mountain, incoherent and stumbling as the mark crackled to life in her hand. It had nearly consumed her. He had been loath to take Lavellan's hand in his when the mark appeared to be killing her, Solas had imagined that she was all of the things he hated about the Dalish, that she was fanatical in her worship of her 'gods', blind to magic, and ignorant of her people's past and potential future. He had been so wrong thinking she was just some foolish quickened child. Realizing she was something more, that she was not so unlike himself, was the first chip in his stoic armor.
He played the role of the wise hermit, the elven apostate that saw one of his own in need and wanted to help. It had been a terrible lie and the foundation in which their relationship began. He had never intended to love her, or anyone again, but especially not her. She was a pawn in his game, a game she didn't know she was a part of. He made them all dance like puppets. He led them to Skyhold. He fed them tidbits of information through his network of spies, just enough to lure them this way and that. The Inquisition was a joke. Everything was accounted for and he could plan circles around, he knew what to expect – except for Lavellan. She was a beautiful, fiercely passionate, and insightful woman. Their relationship was a mistake.
Only months before, Wisdom had told him that Lavellan was dangerous in ways he hadn't considered. He'd dismissed his friend with a hearty chuckle. How was one little Dalish elf any threat to him? She was no one and nothing of significance. She was a woman out of her element, surrounded by 'shemlens' that accused her of killing their Divine Justinia and trying not to be killed, then hailed as a hero and a Herald of Andraste! It was laughable, truly. It was his pride and feelings of superiority that lead him to show off his knowledge, to tell Lavellan small hints of the elven history that she was ignorant of. He had thought she was little more than a foolish child, annoying at times when she questioned him or stumbled across something that challenged her delicate Dalish worldviews.
He enjoyed the looks she gave him when he educated her as well as the confusion, the furrowed eyebrows, and pursed lips when she discovered or learned of something that refuted her people's customs and beliefs. He had wanted to feel the distance and differences between them – that she truly was so far removed from her heritage and incomparable to 'true elves' because it made his actions more justifiable. It was easier not to care when she was just a poor unfortunate soul, barely even a whisper of what an elf should be.
It was her responses to this knowledge that surprised him – she wanted to know more. Lavellan wanted the truth – not the 'truth' that the Dalish desired. They wanted to believe the humans had destroyed their people and were the cause of their fall from grace. They didn't want to admit to the truth, the elves destroyed themselves. Solas had been the final nail in the coffin when he'd sealed away the veil to protect his people from their 'gods' that played with them like they were toys to throw away with when they were bored. The elven mages that the Dalish worshipped were monsters. They had killed Mythal. These so-called gods had committed horrific acts against their own people just to entertain themselves.
He only gave her small truths, given sparingly like treats during their travels. Sometimes they would sit together late by the campfire and he would tell her of all the things he 'saw in the Fade', not admitting that they were glimpses of his former life. Lavellan would listen with rapt attention and share her meals with him, even offering him tea. He would wrinkle his nose and grimace at the offer and politely decline. Her quiet laugh was infectious and delightful as she tried not to wake their sleeping companions.
He didn't remember when she'd wormed her way into his heart. Was there a single moment that stood out to him? She had come back from Redcliffe with Dorian in toe, the smarmy Tevinter that had Solas on edge. Blood magic practically oozed from the man's pores. Lavellan spoke of time travel, red lyrium, and had stared at him with a strange expression. She was clearly shaken and looked on the verge of tears. Solas felt a pull deep inside himself, as if she had tugged on a single heartstring. When they were alone, she whispered her recollections from the future that never came to be. She told him that he'd died for her, that many of them had sacrificed themselves so she could come back and make things right. Lavellan had admitted that she couldn't let their lives be sacrificed for nothing and she had to fix the mistakes of the past to build a new future. It stunned him, to hear someone admit so plainly what he felt so strongly in his own heart. She knew how he felt, though she didn't actually realize it. He felt a kinship with her and a draw that he previously was unaware of. Maybe he was wrong about her. Maybe she wasn't so unlike him as he had thought?
He had tried for months to pretend that it had only been lust that drove him to her. He avoided her touch, but couldn't help but peer at her in the Fade when she slept. He thought she felt something for him too, but hoped he was wrong. Attraction was normal and it had been actual ages since the last time he'd felt the flesh of another in intimacy. How many had shared his bed in his long life? He had wanted her to be nothing more than that, just another temporary companion, just flesh and desire. Demons teased him wearing her skin in the Fade and he felt the hot-blooded anger of his youth. Wanting her was wrong in so many ways. He wanted to feel superior, to feel like she was barely even an elf, a shallow reflection of the people of old. He blamed the mark for the draw to her that felt practically irresistible. Surely it was his magic trapped in her palm that truly tied them together. He found himself captivated at her natural beauty and carefree charm. She was stunning when the dappled sunlight spilled through the trees, or when she warmed her fingers with puffs of breath in the cold.
She was also completely uncouth and uncivilized and yet she made him smile. She licked her fingers after eating. She chewed on jerky while talking and seemed too willing to make fast friends with idiots and geniuses alike. On the note of idiots, she and Sera had established a strange camaraderie that bordered on familial ties. Sera was like the idiot younger sister and Lavellan was the older one that tried to keep her out of trouble. She was only just so successful; Sera ran amok in her absence. He would watch as they stomped around like drunken halla after long visits to the tavern. Once, Sera had put lizards into his bedroll. He was positive that Lavellan wouldn't have allowed it. He got a proper vengeance though and got a dark pleasure out of Sera's fear of 'elfy-ness' and magic. Lavellan would scold him for scaring the fool, and he'd smile and act innocent. He loved that despite her scolding he could see her smiling at him with her eyes.
She was witty and loved humor, but clearly also had poor taste in literature. She and Cassandra would discuss the writings of the dwarf often after they discovered their mutual joy of reading. It was better than their rocky start, but so annoying on long journeys. Solas would roll his eyes at the dramatic discussions of the love lives in Varric's horrific novels. The two would ply the dwarf for details on his upcoming releases, which he would refuse with a grin. Solas knew that Lavellan was graceful, but so often she surprised him with her lack of grace and skill. A chuckle spilled from his lips when she nearly fell from her mount when testing out unfamiliar harnesses. He watched as Blackwall stopped her mount and they worked to untangle her ankle from the leather straps. Solas felt a warmth in his skin that spread to the tips of his ears. She warmed his cold heart.
He needed a distraction from her, so he painted the fresco in the rotunda of Skyhold, but also because painting brought him joy. He soon unwittingly learned that her attention could be directed toward him. Lavellan had been visiting with her spymaster, Leliana, before winding her way down the stairs of the rotunda. Solas had been drawing and painting for hours. She found him mixing colors with raw pigments and binding agents with blue pigment dusting his clothes. She said nothing as she came to sit perfectly still on the stairs and watched him in silence. The Dalish were hunters. It was rare for her to use her stealth and silence on one of her own companions, but she later told him she had been captivated and didn't want to interrupt. Solas paused with his palette and brush in hand before making both careful brushstrokes and hurried ones. Hours passed before he noticed her presence as he cleaned his hands with a rag. He remembered feeling such shame that he'd been so deeply engrossed in his painting that he'd been unaware of her, but he felt something else too, a sort of pride and excitement that he'd stolen away her attention when her time was precious and almost always dictated by a strict schedule. She had smiled at him and he had smiled back. His ears turned red at the tips and he felt his cheeks flush with heat.
Every draw to her he tried to resist. Every chuckle he tried to suppress. Every smile he tried to hide. She seemed drawn to him too and he found himself in her party even when others were better suited for the mission. Lavellan was honest but shared little of her feelings with others. With him, she was different. He had thought it was because they were both elves, but when he saw how she acted around Sera he knew that wasn't it. He really was almost clueless to her feelings despite their flirtations until she had kissed him on her balcony. He had enjoyed it and it drove him to want more. As if he were afflicted by some lingering illness, Solas slowly felt a love that was so blindingly strong it took his breath away.
He remembered her cunning at the Winter Palace and how she took his breath away at her part in the Game. The palace was dangerous and full of malice that night, with assassins waiting to strike in every darkened shadow. He'd drank too much expensive Orlesian wine and eaten too many tiny cakes as he watched the events unfold. He'd been pleased with the progress of his plans thus far. Briala served him and his goals, stirring up malcontent in the elves in the palace and Orlais itself. When the last drops of blood had been shed, Lavellan graced the ballroom floor with a lithe movement that spoke of the delicate beauty of the great elven dancers of the past. He had watched her with rapt attention, keeping himself in a darkened corner of the room. When the dancing ceased, she commanded attention and announced the murderous plot to all of the guests. He had nearly choked on a little cake when she deftly weaved words around the wants and desires of Grand Duke Gaspard, Briala, Grand Duchess Florianne, Empress Celene, her ladies, and the aristocrats.
They seemed unable to phase her. To Solas, they looked like fools stumbling in the dark. He had seen Lavellan command an audience before but not like this; He'd seen her studying human customs, families, and the aristocracy's rivalries with Josephine for days before the ball. Solas had felt transported to a previous life, like being thrown back in time to his youth in the courts of the so-called-gods of the ancient elves. He had been lucky to be a servant then, waiting on these selfish and beautiful creatures that called themselves the Evanuris. He had also been a fiery young man that was bold and brash and fell in and out of beds more often than not. Solas had considered Lavellan to be attractive, albeit plain looking because the Dalish looked strikingly similar to one another, but tonight she was radiant. He should have paid attention to the proceedings, but when the music and dancing resumed and he saw her escape to a balcony for air, he felt such an overwhelming desire for her. He bowed to her and asked her to dance. Her expression was one that was seared into his memories, precious and priceless.
Lavellan had almost broken him after their battle in the Arbor Wilds, after the Well of Sorrows. She never knew how close she was to defeating the greatest threat to life on Thedas with nothing more than a flushed smile and a tender expression. She had been hurt when he shared his 'knowledge' on her vallaslin. The Dalish wore these blood-bound tattoos, their vallaslin, with pride not realizing they were branded like cattle. They would never believe that they were living with the marks that signified they were property. The Dalish could never accept that they worshipped monsters. He assumed that as all evidence supported that belief.
Lavellan listened to his words and believed him. It hurt her to know she wore the marks of a slave. She accepted the truth and it made her all the more amazing to him. Was Lavellan an anomaly? Did the mark change her into this wonderous creature? Or had she always been like this? Solas pondered that if she could be so accepting, so surprisingly, so unlike what he had witnessed in his long sleep and in the Fade, could others be like her? It made him feel a nagging doubt for his purpose, his goals. If the elves of this age could be as great as those of the past, then why was he trying to restore them in the first place? He tried to let these new doubts dissipate but they troubled him.
Solas had told her that she was beautiful. Lavellan had that tender look in her eyes that showed him the depth of her love, as if he was someone worthy of that love. It was then that Solas felt his heart nearly break. He wanted to share everything and throw away his plans completely. He wanted to tell her his truth, his past bubbling to the surface, with a desire for her and peace.
He could tell her who he was, who he truly was, and she would believe him... He could walk away from it all and live his life with her. Without his power he'd likely only live a little longer than she would, but they could be together. They could be happy… she never had to know what he had planned for the world. She could know he was once the Dread Wolf. She'd accept him if that was all he gave her. If he only told her the good deeds that he did, the slaves he freed, the monsters he sealed away, and not how he had killed so many in the process and since; Solas was willing to sacrifice every last living person if it brought back his people and restored the world of old. He desperately wanted to be worthy of her love, that he could be a hero instead of a villain. It was a mistake. He was a liar. He was a fraud, a trickster. Fen'Harel was a monster. He was no hero.
What sort of hero would save people just to watch them be slaughtered by demons and spirits that he unleashed? Those were his plans, ultimately. He knew if the veil was destroyed that the fade and the world would reunite. Spirits, and yes demons too, would return to the planes of the living on Thedas. Magic would be everywhere again. People would be slaughtered by the millions. Some would survive. Those people that the Inquisitor and her allies saved would likely suffer horrific deaths soon.
Solas hated to see people die needlessly. So many would die, so many that were innocent. He hated it, and yet he would not only allow it, but usher it into being. He knew he was a horrible madman and yet his purpose was defined and necessary. Who else but him could save his people? It was his burden to bear and his own poor judgement and mistakes that he had to correct. Lives would be lost. Solas had convinced himself that the veil being destroyed and the deaths that followed were inevitable. It was tragic, yes, but those that died… it was like they were lost to a force of nature. It was beyond his control, wasn't it? It was an unfortunate expense that some would die so that the elves could be restored.
In the privacy of the little pond by the cave, following the moment where she accepted the truth of the vallaslin, they kissed. He told her how he felt about her and how it had all been real. His veins felt like they were on fire. He felt a revulsion for his past, present, and future. The Dread Wolf ruined everything he touched; Her love could be no different.
Solas needed to step back and be cold and calculating. He knew that his plans or the mark would likely kill her, and it was then that he wanted it all to just end. Either he would love her for however long he would live with this pittance of power, or he would run from her so he could complete his plans. He struggled with the thoughts, the regret and pain. Solas needed to end their relationship so he could end the world. He could not let her break him, crush his resolve.
He ended it. Solas told her it was all a mistake. Lavellan was stunned. She must have thought it was because of the Well of Sorrows, about how fiercely he had argued that neither she nor Morrigan should drink from it – that binding herself to Mythal was tantamount to slavery. Her love had to be a form of divine punishment because it was never meant to be. It was a mistake meant to distract him from what needed to be done. Ultimately, Lavellan meant enough to him that she could stop him and his machinations to end the world.
He retreated from her as if she were made of fire and he was made of ice. Her touch could sear him and melt his heart, destroy his resolve, and could tear him away from his destiny and make him weak. He had to be strong despite her. Solas needed to remove her from his life, her love from his heart, her touch from his skin, her words from his ears, and her from his gaze. Solas loved her. It was all a mistake. He adored her and he would do anything for her, and that was the problem. He would walk away from everything for her and he couldn't let all of those who died have died for nothing. All of the deaths were because of him, because of Corypheus finding the orb, because of Solas leaving it for him to unlock. They had to be for something as he was not a wanton killer. He left her side, he abandoned her to her own thoughts and heartache and hoped she would forget him quickly.
The weeks that followed were hard on him. He had to stuff away the hurt, shut away all that was threatening to break free, and be the solitary wanderer he pretended to be. He avoided Lavellan as if she were blighted and did not share in any levity or playful banter. He was brief in his responses to their companions, quiet and morose. Solas kept his distance and his guard up. Not all of their companions were blind to the sudden fracture between the two elves. Dorian surely plied at his "favorite Inquisitor" for information. Solas was unsure what she told him, if anything. He did not like the human blood mage and liked him even less because he was from Tevinter. Solas didn't understand why she trusted him so implicitly, but he knew her judgement could be doubted considering she'd taken Solas to her bed.
Varric had watched him like a hawk and even tried to question him, getting nothing but a fierce glare and clipped words in response. He knew that Lavellan must has spoken with some of them when Sera had stopped pranking him. Solas had never imagined he'd miss finding inappropriate and quite fake love letters in his belongings or miss the uncomfortable questions about "bumping bits" from the Red Jenny.
Solas felt pangs of regret grow as the days and weeks seemed to slow to a crawl. The rotunda felt stifling, and he found himself often left behind when missions were ready. It was smarter that they spend less time together, so he tried not to let it hurt when he was in Skyhold more than he'd like. Solas often thought of her even when he tried his damnedest not to. Was she crying over him? Was she lost in another's arms or in their bed to chase away the thoughts of him?
His imagination ran away from him, and he began to analyze every interaction he witnessed between her and others. A smile between her and Blackwall; Was it something more? Solas sneered at the thought; The man was a liar and a traitor, Thomas Rainier. He had been against freeing the fake grey warden from his doomed fate in Orlais. He hated how similar their pasts were, that Rainier could live a new life as Blackwall and be pardoned of the crimes he'd committed while Solas had to live with his guilt and suffer. He wouldn't wish death upon him, but he was furious when Lavellan had him freed and returned to Skyhold for her supposed 'judgement'. No inquisitor would pardon Solas for his past crimes and demand nothing but his service. He would give up his very being to spend the rest of his live by Lavellan's side. His people demanded that he fix what he had broken, right his wrongs. It was only this belief that kept him from begging for her forgiveness and confessing his sins.
Every evening Commander Cullen had late private visits with Lavellan in his tower. Solas didn't trust him for many reasons, including his power over mages with his templar skills. He could plainly see the man was handsome, even for a human, and lonely. He'd heard that templars took a vow of celibacy and wondered if that made Cullen even less trustworthy than he imagined. Was it so farfetched to imagine him confessing his feelings to his beloved Inquisitor? Would the human be overcome by her beauty and take her friendship and good nature as an invitation to try to kiss her, touch her…? It made him sick with worry and jealousy. Solas glared at Cullen's tower and wanted to badly call down the elements upon him. It would be satisfying to force a meteor down onto the tower or freeze the giant oaf and kick him off the edges of Skyhold, watching him plunge down to the abyss below. He avoided interacting with Cullen as much as possible, which was luckily not difficult.
It became difficult to sleep. Every time he walked the Fade, demons greeted him with her face. For the first time in his long life, he envied the children of the stone and their dreamless sleep. He could not afford to let his walls drop again; he could not allow himself the selfish desire for companionship. Fen'Harel was a monster and monsters didn't deserve happy endings.
After the final battle, Solas had only allowed himself a moment's rest to pause and look to the Inquisitor, checking to see if she was alright. Her mark flashed and crackled as Lavellan gasped, looking around in the crumbling remains of the Temple of Sacred Ashes. He saw her head turning, her large eyes scanning the final battlefield – she was looking for him.
Lavellan would have asked him if he was alright even though their relationship had ended, and they barely spoke to one another. He felt he didn't deserve her concern and no, he wasn't alright. Solas was physically fine, but his heart was sundered and his conviction faltering, just as it had after the Well of Sorrows. He knew Lavellan would be horrified if she knew the truth; he planned to end the world. Solas would rend the sky apart and tear down the Veil to restore his people to their former glory, return them to the immortal lives they lost. He wanted to feel like for once his good deeds would matter. He did everything for his people, and yet those that remained sang of him as a villain, a trickster, and a monster to scare young children. The Dalish were a poor facsimile of his people, their people. The city elves were even more pitiful. Gone were their immortal lives, their long and delicate features, their language, history, and songs.
It was very possible that every Dalish and City Elf that walked Thedas would die when the world was remade. He barely convinced himself that it was acceptable, because the modern elves weren't elves at all. Lavellan was different and unique and he couldn't allow himself see these people as his own. He would let them live their insignificant lives for a few more years until it all came to an end. It was kinder than for them than to know what was coming and think that perhaps they could stop it. He couldn't stomach the thought of Lavellan knowing his plans, knowing what he was going to do. She would try to stop him, or worse – understand him, pity him…or sacrifice the goodness in her soul to join him. He could never let her be twisted into the horrible thing he was. He would not have her regret her actions and feel the blood of millions on her hands. Let her live and die as a hero, a Herald of Andraste, a Dalish elf that brought peace to the land and healed a hole in the sky. If she survived the end of the world, it was just as likely the mark would kill her anyway. He wanted her last years to be those of peace – without him there to ruin it.
Their companions, no – her companions drew to her side and distracted her. It was then he turned away and quickly made his exit. Solas stumbled as he made his way through the snow down the mountainside, his toes slipping on icy rocks. He could not bear to see her questioning stare. Would she think that he was abandoning her? That he was angry about the orb? That what they shared between them had been meaningless? Solas felt like he was being choked. He could not swallow the pain and regret quickly enough. Distance seemed to grow and he moved numbly through the Frostback Mountains. His eyes stung as tears threatened to fall, freezing in the miserably cold winds.
He needed to forget her. He needed to pretend everything he felt for her was meaningless. Their lives were incomparable. Her life would end in a heartbeat and he would live on eternally. In a thousand years' time he probably wouldn't even remember her name. He had his own mission and he knew where he could get the power he needed to move forward. Solas hoped he would forget the feel of her skin and the warmth of her lips, the scent of her hair and her laugh. He didn't pray to the gods, he just hoped he was strong enough to save his people.