Chapter 6 – Flawed and Forbidden Fruit
Solas was well aware of his flaws. He was a liar, a murderer, and a thief. He was a master manipulator. He was cunning. He could be cruel, though he made efforts not to be. He would take advantage of people's weaknesses and strike. He was deceitful. He was a betrayer. Little would stop him from his goals, he would rarely pause to change course. She had given him a reason to pause, even gave him a reason to just stop. Lavellan – she was everything that he never would have wanted.
Lavellan was also a liar. She was also a murderer. She was also a thief. Lavellan had stolen his heart, like the rogue she was. She hadn't given it back either. He knew he didn't deserve her. She was so pure, so raw, so real. He'd swallow her up and destroy her very being, if she knew who he was, what he was.
Luckily, she never has to know.
He smirked with a grim knowledge that in his youth he would have simply used her in his war campaigns. He would have thrown her away. She was just a pawn in the game. He would have been a much more dangerous Inquisitor than she, and understandably ruthless. She was disposable, a bit player in a great game that she didn't know she was a part of. He moved pawns around and didn't think twice about them. They were the means to an end. Even after the conclave and the anchor rooted in her hand, he saw her as nothing more than the unfortunate byproduct of a miscalculation. She existed because of his initial mistake thousands of years earlier, and then his secondary mistake with the orb and Corypheus. She was unimportant. She was powerless. She had been no one; she'd told him just that.
It was a cruel twist of fate that she encountered Corypheus, the orb, and then stole away the power within. She lived when others died. She stood when they fell. Suddenly accused of murdering the Chantry's Divine Justinia, she fought to prove her innocence. Soon after Lavellan was considered a miraculous prophet, the Herald of Andraste, which was downright laughable. She was the furthest thing from divinity, the furthest thing from being a prophet. He was stunned that they were so blind to their own faith that they'd raise up an elf as a figure of import, all because of the Maker. They were fools.
The odds were stacked heavily against her. She was burdened with a magic she couldn't control; It was killing her. Her foe was powerful enough that he corrupted the Grey Wardens, controlled armies, and had effective immortality. He watched this little nobody, this elf of no renown, a mortal that could be easily overlooked, inspire others to her cause, raise an army, and grow into a force to be reckoned with.
She should have failed, time and time again. Lavellan was not intriguing or beguiling like those he fancied before. Her personality and motives were not a mystery. He shouldn't have been interested in her at all, but she piqued his interest almost immediately. She seemed to have a spirit that could not be stopped.
That first night in Haven was nerve-wracking for her. She was first held prisoner, then forced to seal a rift and then suddenly made into a divine hero. Humans that previously had wanted her strung up and killed now wanted her on a pedestal.
He shook his head at the sorry state of this world.
She approached him and he watched her with an analytical eye. He stood with his hands behind his back, his shoulders held high. He could hear soldiers nearby, whispers of people staring at her. They called her Herald as she passed them.
"The Chosen of Andraste, a blessed hero sent to save us all." He remarked with a sarcastic bite in her voice.
The Herald furrowed her brow and looked irritated, upset, and tired. She had bags under her eyes and her hair was frazzled. She reminded him of an orange tabby cat. Clearly, he'd hit a nerve and she had very few left from the day's events.
"I've no interest in being a hero. All I want is to find a way to seal this breach." She said with a bit of a huff.
Solas gave her a scathing look and nearly shrugged. "Pragmatic, but ultimately irrelevant."
He turned away from her and walked to look over at the village of Haven. She followed. He remembered he thought her like a child then, lost and seeking guidance from her elder, her better. He didn't mind providing some insight, clarity, and much needed knowledge to this lost little elf. He doubted she'd be any different than the other Dalish he'd already been unfortunate enough to interact with.
They had been unpleasant.
Solas spoke to her with the wisdom of thousands of years of life and wrapped it all up in a neat present, explaining away his wisdom as journeys in the Fade. It would have to do, because the truth would be too unbelievable to this simple little thing.
"I have journeyed deep into the Fade in ancient ruins and battlefields to see the dreams of lost civilizations. I've watched as hosts of spirits clash to reenact the bloody past of wars both famous and forgotten.", he said as he looked at her. She paused, her brow furrowed. She looked like she wanted to say something or ask a question. He continued.
"Every great war has its heroes. I'm just curious what kind you'll be."
Lavellan stood there with words clearly on the tip of her tongue. He thought he had her cornered into answering him, but instead she seemed to pivot the conversation elsewhere. She immediately asked him about the Fade, the ruins, the battlefields. Her curiosity made him take a step back and reframe how he looked at her, how he spoke to her. She managed to navigate the conversation repeatedly to his journeys in the Fade, looking at him with eyes full of wonder. He felt a smile pull at his lips despite himself.
Interesting.
Eventually, Lavellan relented to his firm look and finally told him her thoughts on what kind of hero she'd become. He recalled her having so much conviction in her voice, so much hope.
"The kind who makes the world a better place."
Solas let out a sigh.
Optimistic or foolish?
Her story would likely be short, and she was very unlikely to succeed. There would be no songs about her, no glory at the end. That was what he believed at the time.
"It isn't always that easy… but I wish you luck." He said, looking past her to the rift in the sky. "I will stay then, at least until the Breach has been closed."
She looked up too, then glanced to him with a question in her eyes. "Was that in doubt?", she asked. She thought he was there by choice, because he was a good person looking to help, and he smiled at her naiveté.
He sighed. He would have to pretend that those were his motivations. He had to be good and helpful. Solas knew he should be concerned about the templars, and he was slightly. His powers were barely acceptable for a child in ancient elvehnan, so it was insulting to walk around in this state. The situation in Haven, in Ferelden, was tenuous at best for anyone of magical talent. She was ignorant. He'd just have to spell it out for her. The Dalish were like children and simple. He was still angry they'd rejected him and the knowledge he bore.
"I am an apostate surrounded by Chantry forces in the middle of a mage rebellion." He turned his head toward the templars nearby and continued, "Cassandra has been accommodating, but you understand my caution."
Lavellan frowned and stepped closer to him quickly enough that he felt hairs rise on the back of his neck. She spoke with a voice that was full of depth, and her eyes were quite expressive.
"You came here to help, Solas. I won't let them use that against you." She looked at him with concern and spoke with conviction. She meant what she said. Her actions were unexpectedly tender and kind. It was refreshing.
"How would you stop them?" He responded quickly, almost accusatory in his tone.
She was too close and he felt unnerved. He saw the freckles and scars on her face. Unruly locks of hair scattered over her brow. The wind was enough to be biting. Snowflakes fell gently onto her skin before melting at from her warmth.
"However I had to." Lavellan admitted firmly.
Solas was unsure what to think. She seemed genuine. It was quite different than he expected of her. She didn't know what she was promising though. Even a child could make a promise in earnest. One that she could not keep. He doubted her strength and was unsure of her strength of character. Still, it felt comforting that she wanted to protect him from the dangers around them.
He didn't quite smile, but he paused and bowed his head to let her see his honest gratitude.
"Thank you."
In the early days of the Inquisition, she came to him because he was an elf, she was an elf, and they were surrounded by angry humans. All this came to his mind when she would spend her precious time asking him questions or sharing her concerns, her fears. He had thought to be dismissive of her but knew that would accomplish nothing. He might as well be civil to her, the sooner this business with the breach and Corypheus was dealt with, the better.
Solas pretended that she was just a curiosity or a wayward child. He was played the role of a teacher and her the student. Her activities drew his attention, as it would not do to leave a child unsupervised, especially one with a magical scar and a supposed divinity. He watched her with a careful eye but made sure that it was subtle, he didn't want to be seen when he observed her. Lavellan was kind to him and seemed so curious, and so inquisitive that it reminded him of his hunger for knowledge in his youth. Lavellan was actually interested in him, his knowledge, his past. She wanted to know about the Fade. She was curious about spirits. Any knowledge he shared she'd eagerly accept and then she'd ask even more questions.
He started to call her da'len, and she called him hahren. He enjoyed the respect she afforded him and he felt valued. Lavellan was smarter than he'd first given her credit. She saw that he was knowledgeable and she deferred to him when situations arose that needed his expertise, knowledge, or opinion.
She does not cover her ears and pretend that difficult words are not worth hearing.
She made him smile despite himself. It surprised him. It pleased him too, stoking his ego quite handsomely. He'd play the role of wise elder and educate her, happily. They sat up late into the nights, talking. He'd recall events for her, those from the Fade and those he simply said he'd seen in the Fade but had actually experienced long ago. She was always respectful, thoughtful, and vibrant. He felt like she practically glowed. When she was near him he felt a lightness he didn't recall feeling at any other point in his life.
He, of course, associated it with the anchor and not her presence.
I am only drawn to the anchor, nothing more.
He grew to admire her and look at her differently.
As each day drew to a close, he mulled about the fires. Solas's mind went over the litany of information he'd absorbed in his study of her.
Not all of this information was necessarily related to her anchor or abilities. He knew she hated wearing footwear. The Dalish ran around bare foot most of the time, and even he himself was without footwear. Each night she liked to take off her boots and let her toes wriggle in the snow. Lavellan was only a step removed from truly living a life of poverty, but she didn't seem to mind or notice. The woman wanted for little. She did not really want to sleep indoors or in a human bed, and made such strange and amusing expressions at her new discoveries about human customs, culture, expectations, and daily life. He remembered her being confused that humans had large metal or porcelain tubs for bathing in.
"How do they carry it with them?", she'd asked with all seriousness.
Solas had almost laughed at her. He managed to suppress the urge and just smiled.
"They don't, da'len. They keep them in rooms in their homes."
"Oh."
She pursed her lips and he saw her cheeks burn with redness. She was embarrassed.
He smiled further.
Adorable.
Lavellan wouldn't miss a meal for anything in the world. If food was cooking, she was there. She would always try to contribute though, never taking her meals before him. She would bow her head and let him get his dinner first. Elders always went first. Her dinner habits were unfortunate, a byproduct of her Dalish upbringing. She was used to eating with her fingers. He didn't care for it, but he was warming to her mannerisms, though he would not be comfortable acting as unsophisticated himself. Sometimes she'd lick them and then look at him. He never understood the look on her face and blinked, feeling like he'd been caught doing something lurid and voyeuristic. He'd feel his ears burn and he'd look away. Her shoulders seemed to shake out of the corner of his eye.
Is she laughing at me?
He found himself distracted by her. He would scold himself silently when he had a moment of privacy. He was starting to look at her a little bit differently. Maybe she wasn't so much a child as just ignorant. True, she was ages younger than him, but all elves now were quickened and short-lived mortals. Still, he needed to stay focused. Lavellan was an anomaly that needed to be studied to the finest detail. She had the anchor and he needed to understand how she'd survived it and managed to absorb its power. Soon after he started to watch her in the Fade, spying her in her dreams. It was probably a great violation of her privacy, but it was all completely necessary.
Surely, her survival thus far must have been due to something. She had to be special in some way to survive thus far and further still, with her countless brushes with death, her no-win scenarios that she turned into victories, her bravery in the face of utter annihilation. Perhaps, he had honestly meant only to discover how she survived but that was not how things played out. He was charming, even when trying to keep her at arm's length. She kept returning to speak to him, to ply him for information on all the things the Dalish didn't know – that she didn't know.
Lavellan was weak while she portrayed herself as strong. She was soft but pretended to be hard. She was tender, but had to be brutal. As Inquisitor, she deferred to others with more experience and knowledge, she was thoughtful and careful not to sacrifice people's lives in risky operations if she could help it, and she cared. Lavellan cared too damn much about everyone. It made his eyes sting and his heart seize when he thought how much she cared, and how much she had cared for him. He had torn her heart to pieces. He was dismissive and walked away. He had refused to answer her questions. He told her nothing and hoped that she hated him now.
It would make things easier…
Nothing about her should have been surprising, but she countlessly surpassed his expectations and left him feeling something. She could make him smile, make him need to stifle a laugh, leave him stunned, breathless, and even confused. She should have been meaningless.
And yet, to him she was priceless. The weakness he felt for her, the feelings that grew, they built until his heart was overflowing with love for her. She was amazing. He woke and wanted nothing but to share his time with her. She was like air he needed to breathe, he needed her so much. He loved her and knew it was unfair to her. She would never know him, never be able to love who he truly was. She was stronger than he had ever given her credit, but no one could love him for who he really was. He committed acts of mass genocide in the hopes of saving the world and he was committed to doing it again. Who could love such a man?
He couldn't continue to lie to her, to live a lie by her side. Worse though, was the prospect of living forever and watching her age and die. It was better to run from her, from his own heart.
Vhenan.
Therefore, he pushed her away before it was too late. Before he told her the truth.
The Inquisitor was strong enough without him. She could weather any storm. She didn't need him. He didn't want to break a genuine, wonderful woman. He just didn't want to twist her into something else just to have her by his side.
She deserves to be her own person.
Would have it been possible for him to not fall in love with her? He was unsure. He had tried not to love her and failed, miserably. If he could do it all over again, he'd probably love her even more.
Lavellan was a wonder. Solas thought of her fondly with a fresh wave of hurt that he tried to ignore. She was a treasure. The love that she inspired in him, well he shouldn't have ever felt, let alone so strongly. She was mortal. She was Dalish. She was ignorant of her people's past and practically lived as un-elf-like an existence as possible. She was only a step removed from Sera, which made Solas frown in distaste. The two were quite similar, and yet Lavellan was so wonderfully easy to love.
It made no sense to him. He was a man of many tastes, of refined tastes even. He no longer desired just a pretty face or a lithe body, he had types he preferred; She wasn't any of them. Her body was crisscrossed with scars, her face pleasant enough but unremarkable, with hair that was downright unfortunate. The color was a lovely reddish brown, not quite auburn, not quite red, not orange. It was similar to his own from a time long since passed. She had hair that was wild and untamed, just like her. He shook his head with a sad smile at how she mistreated it, and proudly so.
He would never want to change her.
One year earlier in the Hinterlands.
It was just after dawn and the campsite was still quiet as most of the party slept, save for Lavellan, Solas, and one inquisition soldier keeping watch. Solas had just finished packing his bedroll and rose to his feet and spied her. The early morning light danced across her features. He wanted to say "Good Morning", but instead found himself staring. He was doing that more often lately, he noted. She sat not far from her tent with a dagger in her right hand – which was not that unusual – except that it was pointed at her head. Lavellan smiled at him with a handful of hair held taut in her left hand. Her anchor crackled and green light filtered through her hair and across the contours of her face.
He was staring at her again.
She is so beautiful.
The blade was sharp and glinted in the morning light.
Wait – what is she doing?
"Inquisitor?" He asked with hints of concern in his voice, his eyes widening ever so slightly. What was she doing? Was she possessed? Was this some strange practical joke that he didn't know of?
She laughed at his expression, "I guess you probably don't need haircuts anymore, hm?" She asked with a playful tone in her voice.
He found himself blushing suddenly. Even the tips of his ears felt a long-almost-forgotten heat. Solas cleared his throat and attempted to speak.
"Well -"
Lavellan slashed with her blade. A chunk of hair fell to the ground.
His heart felt constricted. He wanted to tell her to stop, to hold her against him with a crushing intensity. He wished that she could live in the extravagance that she deserved with servants and attendants, a long soak in perfumed bathwater, a massage, delicate fingers brushing her hair, styling it, before adding sweet smelling flowers. He wanted to imagine her with long locks that cascaded down her shoulders and back. She could look like a goddess – instead of someone who just rolled out of her bedroll on a daily basis. He wanted that for her but knew that was not who she was.
I love her for who she is, not who she ought to be.
It was still remarkable: He loved her. These feelings still stole his breath away. He hadn't told her yet. They had only shared a kiss! He hadn't felt this before, ever. She was nearly all he could think of. She made him doubt himself, his purpose. For her, he could throw it away… How do you tell someone you love them when you have to keep them at arm's length? This was never part of the plan.
Lavellan again was unknowingly destroying the plans of would-be gods.
He wanted her to experience something more than what she lived each day. It hurt to see someone he loved living what he felt was a miserable existence because of their chance of birth. It wasn't fair. She deserved more. He would give her the world…
She continued to slice chunks of her hair until she had shortened it a fair bit. Then she put her blade down and shook her head, running fingers across her scalp. Excess hairs fell from her like a shedding beast.
Solas stared. He could never have her for his own, not truly. If this were the world of the elvehn empire and he back in his proper station as an elite servant of Mythal, a romance between them would be scandalous. She would be a slave of the lowest ranks, chattel. He remembered how they were treated. The beatings, the welts, the scars. Rarely, were they ever treated with kindness. At best, he could keep her as a pet, a beloved slave for his physical needs, wants, and desires. Love? No. Never. She was forbidden fruit. Soft words and gentle kisses could never be shared between them.
But that was then. This was now. He could stay by her side. She could be his and he could be hers.
She would not want me.
He pursed his lips and swallowed, hoping the redness had dissipated from his cheeks.
Lavellan hopped up onto her feet and smiled brightly. He returned her smile, though his was reserved. The freckles and scars moved on her cheeks with her expression of genuine happiness. Solas placed his hands behind his back. He glanced about the camp so he could avoid staring at her. It was becoming a bit obvious, at least to himself, that he was utterly smitten with her.
"Breakfast?" She asked.
His thoughts drifted. Her lips looked like they needed to be kissed until they were red and raw. He would gladly volunteer for the dangerous task.
His ears burned red again and he nodded in response, trying to not smile any further.
Damn.
"After you, Inquisitor", he said as he motioned with his hand.
She walked ahead of him and he enjoyed the view from behind. His smile spread a bit wider.
He could enjoy her presence, and even love her. He wouldn't tell her. He'd keep his hands to himself, his heart guarded. He'd look, he'd want, but he'd remain steadfast to his purpose. He had to save the people. He had to save the world…
One woman was not worth the entirety of the people.
Not even her.
Solas glared at the sky and made his way across the Hinterlands. He had been such a fool. He thought he could resist her, that he was stronger than his basest desires. He tried to play it safe. Don't kiss her and definitely don't touch her. He'd quickly thrown that out the proverbial window. He had thought she couldn't possibly develop feelings for him, love him. For her, maybe it would just be a casual dalliance. The Dalish were very open like they, weren't they?
He never meant to hurt her. He thought she couldn't feel anything for him. In fact, he remembered at first that he thought she was barely even a person. None of them had been people. They were echoes of what people had once been, shadows of the past. He didn't realize they were real.
She was real.
I was wrong.
Now he knew they were truly people. It hurt. It didn't change things, well – it did, but not enough for him to stop.
Solas knew his flaws.
He was a heartbreaker. A world-ender.
And he'd do it again too.