Faded Mistakes
"I know what you really are," she said to him. The words echoed in his mind as he felt his body tense.
Both of them were leaning with their backs against one of the huts in Haven, looking out over the snowy mountains. She didn't look at him, she looked into the distance, but there was a tension in her voice that normally wasn't there.
They were in the Fade. He brought her here, thinking it was a good idea. All he wanted was to bring her some joy, bring her to a place where she'd once laughed and danced, to elevate her spirits. And now she knew who he was? How? What did she know?
She got up and circled around to stand in front of him, her expression serious and resolute. She had to look up, her purple eyes fixed on his.
"You're not really Solas," she said. "You have a lot of nerve, thinking you could deceive me. I think I knew from the start, really. You just tricked me here with lies of comfort. I'm not that foolish."
He still couldn't move. Did she somehow know it was him, in his wolf shape, that woke her from her sleep when she was laying in a mineshaft below Haven? Did his eyes betray him when she spoke the words Dread Wolf take me, those three days ago?
"What am I then, according to you?" he spoke. His voice was unsteady, revealing the growing distress he felt inside.
A confident smile grew on her face. She reached out her hand and placed it on the side of his neck, her fingers touching his ear. He found himself entranced by the blazing look in her eyes, unable to look away.
There was nothing she could do to him here, while their bodies were asleep in the Dales. Would she wait until they woke up? Would she leash out with her magic, cursing his name as she sometimes did? Would she, Bull and Dorian try to slay him? He did not have the power to counter them, still weak from his long slumber.
Her fingers trailed down over his sternum, over his chest, to grip the leather cord of the wolf jaw necklace he always wore. It was almost loving. How long was it since someone touched him like that?
Her smile turned to a frown. "I don't think you made a perfect copy," she said. "The real Solas doesn't have shoulders this wide."
Wait, what? His eyebrows shot up. He stared at her in disbelief. What did she say? This was really him, he did not alter his shape. She looked so confident, so sure of herself, but what was she actually thinking?
"What do you think I am?" he asked, his voice mercifully steady.
"It's obvious," she replied, giving a small tug on the leather cord she was holding. He didn't resist and bend over so their eyes were on the same level. "You're a desire demon."
He stared at her. "You think I am... A desire demon?"
She smiled and released the cord. With the sudden removal of counterbalance, he had to steady himself.
"It's so clear," she said. "You lured me here with false comfort, wearing the skin of the man I desire. I know the real Solas doesn't return my feelings, and I have made my peace with that... But this, what you're doing, tempting me, is cruel, really. But I've seen right through your lies. I won't let you possess me."
She looked so proud of herself, completely in control. He had made a terrible mistake bringing her here. He knew what she had thought of him. When they had first laid eyes on Skyhold, she had thrown her arms around him in joy. Then also had she placed a hand on his cheek and had a clear intent to kiss him. He, thinking it a very bad idea to indulge in that, had gently turned away. He had hoped she had forgotten about it, put it out of her mind, that she just acted out of passion in the moment. That was the first time when he realized she was a real, fully-fledged woman that could invoke desire in him.
He remembered when she was nothing more than just a Dalish girl, slightly too proud of her heritage. At that time, she was barely more to him than an effigy of his orb, to be protected and looked after, the key of their salvation.
But then, as time passed by, she had sought connection with him. At first, she just seemed to take comfort in his stories. Over time, he'd seen the layers of her personality. She was compassionate, smart, with a strong sense of moral justice and so strong willed. And no matter the grim situation they were in, she could express such joy in simple things. Except for these last few days, that was, which is why he wanted to cheer her up by bringing her here.
Sure, he'd flirted with her, by means of conversation and because he enjoyed the fluster she got when he complemented her. It had been selfish of him, really. At that time he had never truly considered her as a woman, someone that could equal a sense of personhood. That happened in the Frostbacks, when he realized he should never had said all those words to her.
They might never have been in this situation otherwise, her staring smugly at him, thinking she had solved a mystery. It wasn't she that was foolish, it was him.
He was searching for words to say to her, and the longer he waited, the more doubt he could see in her eyes. The proud look on her face turned to dread and she took a step backwards. Had she realized it?
He spoke her name, softly, with as much compassion as he could muster.
"No," she said in denial, the look of dread turning to a look of horror. She looked ready to turn around and flee. That would be dangerous. If she was dwelling alone in the Fade, overtaken with emotion, she would become a target for actual demons praying on her.
As she started to turn, he stepped forwards to catch her arm, preventing her from fleeing away.
He spoke her name again. "Wait," he called.
She turned around to look at him. "You toyed with me," she accused, a look of genuine hurt on her face that he pierced his very sense of self.
"Please…" he begged. "I never meant… Let us talk, after you wake up."
He awoke with a gasp. A little to the side, he heard the gasp of her awaken. She stirred, rose, and came stomping over in his direction.
"You," she accused in anger, bending over so her face was next to his. The light of the embers of the campfire reflected in her eyes, increasing her look of anger. "Follow. Me." The words she uttered stung like daggers.
He got up and before he was properly to his feet, her hand clasped on his wrist and she pulled him behind her, into the forest. He let himself be dragged off by her, she deserved that much. Soon, the only illumination was from the Anchor on her other hand, swinging back and forth in rhythm with her angry steps.
She was only wearing the thin white shirt she wore underneath her clothing, only barely covering her. The light of the anchor, swinging with her steps, illuminated her legs. He focused his gaze on her long braid instead, that swung like a pendulum over her back.
"Did you enjoy tricking me like that?" her voice sounded, white-hot in anger.
"I am sorry, that was never my intention," he replied. He could hear the plea in his own words.
When they were far enough away from the camp, she turned around, released his wrist, which actually did hurt a little from her steel grip, and she pushed him to a tree. Her let her. She took a step back again.
"What did you intend to do, then?" she asked. Her voice was sharp, but he heard the undertone of hurt in it. She looked up at him, her eyes large and glittering in the light of her Anchor.
"I have seen you having a hard time, these last days," he started, hoping his soft tone would ease her anger down. It was the truth. She had experienced a rough few days with their encounter with the not-so-friendly Dalish clan and the clear loss of faith that it had stirred within her. Him bringing her to the Fade had truly been an act of kindness.
Not that that made it less of a mistake, in the end.
"You had not been sleeping well," he continued. "I simply wished to offer you some comfort, sleep without nightmares, memories of a place where you had known some joy."
He saw the anger in her face soften and for a moment she looked almost sad, before the anger flared back up again, resolute.
"And you thought the Fade was the perfect place, colloquially known as the place of demons?" she spat.
He was a fool, for having forgotten. The Fade was so different to him than it was to others, that he'd forgotten that simple fact. It was just... He had been asleep, thinking about her, and just decided to share a dream. "That is my mistake," he replied. "Things have always been easier for me in the Fade. It was ill-considered, I should not have done it."
"That's a little too late now," she shot back. She still looked at him, waiting for him to speak, in expectant anger.
What could he say? He was deeply, truly sorry that she felt tricked, that she, understandably, had interpreted the situation differently. Yet at the same time, there was no mistake that she'd confessed to desiring him. And what could he do with that? He couldn't say that he was flattered, because of all the implications that would come with it.
He also did not want to say that he did not desire her in any way, because that would be a lie and he did not want to lie. And yet the truth was worse than any lie he could tell.
The look of anger on her face started to falter. Her eyes became more reflective as they slowly started to water and she crossed her arms, hiding the Anchor from view, and with it, hiding both of them in midnight darkness.
"Leave," she said in a low voice, barely more than a whisper. "I know when I'm not wanted. I want to be alone."
He should apologize, turn around and walk away. That was the smart thing to do. No lie would need to be told, just a simple apology. Why couldn't he just do that?
"It is not so simple," he heard himself stay instead.
A few seconds of silence rang between them.
"What are you saying?" she asked in quizzical anger.
What was he saying? That a few days ago, she had declared herself his, had declared herself to belong to the Dread Wolf? Surely she didn't know what she had said, but that afternoon, when she crushed that pathetic Dalish man to obedience without a single offensive spell? Just words and barriers, and a well-timed mind blast, and she had brought a man to grovel before her feet.
He had been so proud. If then, she had flung herself at him like she had done in the mountains when they first gazed upon Skyhold, he certainly wouldn't have been able to muster the willpower to step back.
In three ways they were now connected, in three ways he could claim her his. Months ago, when the power of his orb manifested on her hands, days ago, when she declared herself to belong to the Dread Wolf, and just now, when she had openly confessed her desire for him.
"You are the Inquisitor," he said instead. "You have duties and responsibilities."
"I'm just a woman, Solas."
A woman to which his true self was uttered as a curse, no matter that she'd spoken it herself. Dread Wolf take me, she had said while looking him in the eyes, unknowingly taunting him.
"I am not the man for you," he said. "I have done..." Unspeakable things, for which she'd curse him if you know. He had destroyed the world she seemed to love hearing about so much. "You should forget about me in this way."
She unfurled her arms again, and gentle illumination lit both of them anew. The look of anger and sadness in her eyes had turned to curiosity. He noticed the shirt slightly clinging to her skin, just slightly transparent.
"But I don't want to," she said, taking a step closer.
This vision of her, her pale skin, the white shirt and her blonde hair, all were tinted green in the light of the Anchor and she appeared as a spirit to him, a vision of beauty. Surely, that was it, wasn't it? Because of the power branded on her palm, she was more real to him than any other, because of the connection she had with the Fade.
She took a step closer, her eyes large and her mouth just slightly parted. He looked away.
"This is a bad idea," he said, wanting her.
"Sometimes, a bad idea feels really good," she whispered back, placing her hand on his cheek and turning his head to face her again. She tip-toed to reach higher, and placed a soft kiss on his lips. Then, she parted, and there was a scared but anticipating look on her face. She wanted to pull her hands away, step back, but he couldn't allow it.
Dread Wolf take me, she had said, and one should not utter his name in vain.
He reached out his hands to grab her arms, preventing her from pulling away further. He pulled her closer, hungry, against him, and he kissed her back. She was soft, warm, and so very, very real.
He traced lines on her body where once his paintbrush traced those same lines on Skyhold's wall, depicting the moment she was named Inquisitor, her breasts, her waist, her hips. Her hands seemed as eager to trace lines on his body, the skin of his torso bare in the absence of a shirt. They had just woken up, after all.
His hands lifted the shirt at her hips, eager to feel the curve of her bottom. Her skin was so soft and warm. He picked her up, her legs wrapped around him as in instinct.
She had offered herself to him, out of her own free will, so he could claim her.
He pushed her to a nearby tree and pinned her in place. His lips left hers to trail down to her neck. To his delight, she gasped.
He couldn't resist himself. Slowly, which each trace of his finger, he willed magic from the fade onto her skin, teasing her where his hands could not, or would not reach. The reaction in her was instant as he could feel her body tense. He knew what he was doing, and he knew her. She was strong, possessed a willpower that would rival a magister's, and she could take it. He would be doing her a disservice if he didn't respect her strengths.
He let the magic ebb and flow over her body, slowly urging onwards, guided by how she tensed and relaxed against him, how her breath became irregular. He kissed her neck, her lips, her ears. And then... With a gasp, he felt her body tense and shake and her fingernails dug into his back.
"Fascinating," he spoke in quiet approval, before he buried his face in her neck, allowing her to catch her breath.
When her heavy breathing had somewhat stilled, she unwrapped her legs from around him and rested on the ground again.
"That was..." she started, her voice still unsteady, but she didn't finish her words. Her tone was almost shy, vulnerable, but here she was allowed to. Wrapped here in his arms, she didn't need to be the Inquisitor, she didn't have to pretend. He knew who she was and she was enough.
He kissed her again, softly, tender. Her fingers trailed down over his chest, over his hipbones, and trailed the edge of his breeches. It was clear what she was intending to do.
He parted the kiss and he leaned back. He had again made a terrible mistake, letting himself be guided by passion.
"Don't you want...?" she asked, eyes big, questioningly.
Yes, he wanted, very much, but he also knew he couldn't. She'd laid herself bare here, vulnerable, and that was fine, he knew who she was. But she did not know who he was. And if she knew, she'd again curse his name. That's how she'd grown up. She was already struggling with her world view and her place in it. He couldn't burden her further with his own struggles. He couldn't violate her body like that. He should never have touched her.
"No," he said in a low voice, taking her by the elbows and distancing himself enough so she couldn't touch him. "This was... This is not a good idea."
"Why?" she asked, her voice a soft plea, her face looking up at him, still illuminated in the haunting light of the Anchor, a burden already placed upon her by his doing. "There could be room in my heart for you, if you'd let it."
There it was, another offering. How sweet would it have been, if he'd just been a regular man, to accept this offer from a spirit as beautiful as her?
It was only now that his eyes again fell on the purple Vallaslin on her cheekbones, complimenting her eyes so much. Mythal's. If there was a Maker out there, they certainly were pointing their finger at him, howling in gleeful laughter. This little creature in front of him deserved so much more than he could give her.
"It has been a long time," he said, averting his gaze. "I… need time to think..."
"Of... of course," she said, her big eyes staring at him longingly yet shyly. "I - I can wait."
For a moment, he almost gave in again, leaning forward, almost kissing her again, but no... he couldn't do that to her. So he parted, released her from his grasp, and stepped back.
"We should go back to camp," he said instead.
When he woke up the next day, he knew he made more mistakes. He shouldn't have left things where they were.
Dorian was already awake, lounging and locked in a book he'd taken with him from Skyhold's library, scanning the pages. He knew how much Dorian and Lavellan cared about each other. If he'd known what he had done this last night…
Bull was busy with his morning workout routine. Dorian was eyeing him from over the rim of his book, as if Bull's soft grunts pulled him out of his concentration. She was still asleep, back to them all. He saw her long braid sticking out from above the blankets. Pieces of bark were stuck to it as perfect evidence for his deeds from last night.
Well… He was glad she was asleep. That allowed him some time to come up with whatever he needed to come up with. He had no way of knowing how she would wake up. Would she still be angry? She had every right to be so.
He got up and walked to the nearby pond to splash cold water on his face and torso.
"Say, Solas, can you scratch your own back?" Bull's voice sounded.
"Is this the prelude to a joke, Bull?" he asked, not in the mood for japes.
"It is a mere observation." There was an amused tone in his voice.
It took him a few seconds to understand what was going on. Last night, as he teased her to her climax, she had dug her fingernails in his back. At the time, he had marvelled in it, fascinated by the effect he could have on her. He had just completely forgotten about it, the slight pain they gave him overshadowed by his remorse.
"Ah," he said.
"I see the marks are also going in the wrong direction," Bull continued. "Your hand can't make that angle. The marks also don't seem to match your hands. There is only one pair of hands here small enough."
Unwillingly, he found his gaze shifted back to her. She was awake now. She was sitting with her back to the camp, working her hands through her hair. She was half turned around and flustered.
"I'm ready for the next Fade rift to engulf me," she said.
Oh no, what had he done. She didn't deserve whatever Bull and possibly Dorian would tease her with.
"If you need someone to be the butt end of your jokes, Bull, use me, but leave her alone," he commented.
"Ho, I'm not about to makes jokes here. Good on you two."
He was silent for a bit. "Thank you, Bull," he said.
"But remember when I joked about finding a man for our Inquisitor in the next village? Who knew he was here right along." He laughed loudly.
"Yes, I'm dying of laughter," she replied sarcastically, still facing away from the others, clearly in discomfort.
"Didn't you also say you were done with men," Bull continued. "That you belonged to the Dire Wolf or something. Well Solas, that makes you..."
"Bull," he said sharply. "Stop it."
He didn't care that Bull almost said a mis-named truth. This truth could be spoken out loud and nobody would believe it, but he did care about Lavellan's clear distress.
"Right. Sorry." Bull said, when he seemed to realize the same.
Dorian had observed everything in silence until this moment, but had gotten up now. "Come Bull, they clearly have something to work through," he said, grabbing Bull's arm, pulling him in the direction of the trees. "Don't do anything we wouldn't do!"
She was still sitting with her back to the camp, most pieces of bark seemingly cleared from her hair. He placed his hand on his own back and healed the scratches. Nobody else would need to witness that. He grabbed his tunic, pulled it over his head, and walked to her.
"It would be easier to talk if you turned around," he said softly.
"Well, get used to my back, that'll all you're getting," she responded, her voice aggravated.
He deserved that.
"I'm sorry for the scratches," she added in a low voice. "I didn't intend to hurt you."
She didn't intend to hurt him? He couldn't resist a chuckle. He had made her do it. "I am quite alright. I only regret that Bull had to see it and make conclusions."
"Yeah, I wish this could have been kept between us," she said. Us. He had done something that made them into an us, and he couldn't easily undo it.
She turned around where she sat, her hair loose, still only wearing the thin shirt.
"What did you do, really? With your magic?" she asked in wonder. "I have been with another mage before, as you know, but he didn't… I didn't…" Her voice trailed off.
Another chuckle. He had the displeasure to meet this mage, and not with a thousand years in a Veil-less world could that snake develop such sophisticated uses of magic.
"Well, I have certainly learned some... tricks... over the years. Magic has more practical uses than offence or defence," he said, not being able to hide a sly smile.
"So you learned it in the Fade," she said, eyeing him.
"In… a manner of speaking, yes," he said. Apologetically, he leaned closer to her. He wanted to let her know he was sorry. "I apologize, I should not have sprung that upon you without a warning."
She stared at him, unapologetically, and stood up. Shorter as she was in stature, standing, she was taller than him sitting and she looked down.
"Oh no, you absolutely should have," she declared, amused. "But only because you're the one who's bearing the marks now."
She never seized to catch him off guard. From embarrassed to empowered in just a few lines of conversation? Quick they had turned indeed. Her standing there, in that damned white shirt, was an image that would probably remain in his mind longer than it should.
"I have already healed them."
She shook her head disapprovingly. "Shame."
He couldn't help a grin, before he averted his eyes. "Last night was…" he started, but found that he didn't have a suitable word to add.
"If you say mistake, I will strangle you," she commented.
He looked up again to meet her gaze. He was so, so tempted to bait her into this. He wanted to see her try, with her head-shorter-than-his stature, standing there like she owned the world.
But he couldn't do that to her, so he averted his gaze. He still owed her some truths. "I was going to say passionate. I suppose my boundaries were lowered after that excursion to the Fade."
She crossed her arms. The neckline of her shirt fell down one shoulder. He took a breath, gathered his willpower, and only looked her in the eyes.
"What did you do, visiting me in my dreams like that?" she said in wonder. She changed her expression. "I mean, I am still angry at you for tricking me like that. My Keeper told me that it has been a very long time since there were any Dreamers. So, naturally I thought you were a demon."
"I should have realized," he said. He was foolish not to. "As you know, I have trained hard to have full control over my dreams. I suppose this was a result of that training. Your Anchor makes it easy to find you in the Fade, like a beacon."
He smiled at the memory of how easy it was to find her, a lone soul wandering in the Fade, cloaked in energy from his orb. It had been so easy to guide her to his dream.
In Haven, before she challenged him, she had taken his hands and spun him for a dance, already thinking he was a demon. Then, the way her fingers trailed over his neck to clutch on the leather cord…
"I do have to commend you. You thought I was a demon yet still took me for a dance, and you were unafraid to challenge."
"Why shouldn't I be? If you were a demon, you couldn't have harmed me. Isn't that what you always say? If a demon does not pose a threat to me, it might just as well be a spirit. And why not dance with a spirit? I know when I'm in control of a situation."
He couldn't help but stare at her, letting her words press down on him.
"Evidently," he said.
They shared a charged look.
"Well, next time you visit my dreams, say something weird, like teapot, so I know it's you," she said.
He looked at her, amused. "Teapot? It will be easier to just read my aura. A demon cannot mimic that, while they might figure out a password."
"Well, trickster," she said, walking to the water's edge, the word hitting his soul. "Next time, bring me somewhere exciting. After you've done your thinking, of course. I'll be waiting."
Standing some distance away, but straight in front of him, she took off her shirt and tossed it aside. She stood there for a moment, hand on her hip, fully naked, taunting him to look.
But he wouldn't. He kept his eyes locked on hers. "Now whom is toying with whom, Ennaly? I do not lack in self-control."
"Really?" she said with a wicked grin on her face. "So last night was a grand display of self-control, was it? You started with tongue."
"Well, I did no such…" he started, caught off guard and flustered.
Her grin grew to a genuine smile of amusement, before she turned around to submerge herself in the water. With her back turned to him, he did look. She was right. He wasn't sure if his self-control would be enough a next time. Somehow, he knew he was going to make more mistakes. He just couldn't help himself around her.
Author's Note: This is parts of chapters 10 + 11 from my story "Faded Purple", switched from Lavellan's to Solas' POV. So, if you want to read these events from her POV, please check it out!
