This memory corresponds to the one Silea left about examining Dalish runes in the Emerald Graves.

So...this may count as "explicit" or "mature adults only," even though I'm pretty sure sex is an appropriate subject for anyone old enough to have an interest in it (or sexually-inclined enough to have an interest in it; not trying to erase asexual people here), and - okay, I'm not getting into my "stupid Puritanical sexual mores" rant. If this ever gets purged, just be aware it's over at AO3 along with one extra-smutty standalone that would definitely violate all the rules here.

Memory: Decision

She is trembling as I make my way up her body, pausing now and then to press kisses to old scars - or what I hope are all old scars. None look especially recent, but there are more than a few I have never seen, attesting to the length of time we have spent apart, and the dangers she has faced during that time. I still taste her on my tongue, complex and compelling, and I wish I had the time to stay here and savor her like wine. I would find and identify every last note of scent and flavor until I could assure myself that I was and would always be the authoritative connoisseur of Silea Lavellan.

That is, of course, not my fate, and regret makes me savage. I sheathe myself within her in a single ruthless thrust, both pleased and somewhat dissatisfied when she moans and lifts her hips to meet mine. She isn't supposed to be so...generous. Wanton. Perfect. She was entirely too right in observing that everything about us fits, except . And where would I even begin with that exception? Perhaps at the point where I break everything I care for. Even now, I am still considering a course that may break her, even as it keeps her safe. We have failed to come to an agreement regarding my plan to hide her within the inor'alas'enaan . My only alternative is to deprive her of choice, of the autonomy that is fundamental to her sense of self.

I lean over and bite her shoulder hard enough to leave a mark. Her eyes open, still a little glazed, but she smiles as her gaze finds the impression I have left on her skin. " Vin ," she whispers. " Sal. "

Yes , she says . Again. I am in awe of her, as always seems to occur when I take the time to look past my regrets and truly see her. I flex my hips, pressing into her a little more firmly, wishing this were more than an act of love, that it were somehow transformative. I want to bury myself so deeply inside her that I become someone else entirely - someone who can remain beside her, who can love her as she deserves.

Instead, I lower my head to her neck and suck, leaving behind a bruise. I bite her collarbone. My mouth on her skin says mine , and suddenly she laughs as though she can hear it, too.

"I know why you don't approve of vallaslin ," she says, her voice low and rough, "but what if I had someone tattoo these marks of the Dread Wolf on me?"

I smirk against her shoulder and bite her again. "As you please, vhenan , but don't complain to me when your Divine has some pointed words for you."

She giggles. "Complain? I fully intend to blame you." She wraps her arm around my neck. "I'll tell her...it was your price for letting me leave."

I refrain from pointing out that Leliana is unlikely to believe her. Instead I bend, my mouth finding the soft skin on top of one of her breasts, and I suck on it sharply. The movement of my body slides me out a finger's breadth or two, and either this or the bruise I leave behind makes Silea lift her hips, panting something unintelligible in a mangled conglomeration of Elven and Common. I thrust into her again as I begin biting and sucking my way back up to her shoulder, trying to force my memory to indelibly imprint upon itself the flavor and texture of her skin. Though I have honed it over the centuries into a worthy tool, I fear nothing is truly capable of capturing the simple, sensuous delight of this moment.

Silea makes a quiet sound of approval - one I want to hear again but louder, and so I withdraw again and thrust harder. Nor do I stop there, because she is hot and wet and perfect as she pulses around me. I am mildly alarmed by how quickly and easily my pleasure mounts even now, after I have had her several times in a relatively short period. Were I to too ardently consider the reality of this moment - of Silea, her body, her smile, her absurdities and kindnesses, and, most of all, her unfathomable love for me - I would likely spend myself in moments. That might have been something like excusable the first time, but I am - I ought to be - too old, too experienced, and too jaded to be overcome so easily.

Then she breathes my name. Her hand finds its way to my jaw. There is a subtle tension in her that tells me she is nearing another peak. "Solas," she says again. "You know you don't have to let me leave."

I shudder as the realization crashes over me that she is, for once, entirely and delightfully wrong.

Long ago I swore I would sacrifice anything and everything at the altar of my duty to this world. Until now, I have kept that vow, though at times reluctantly - and never more reluctantly than when duty demanded I put aside my love for this mortal woman of my fallen people. At this moment, I have found the limits of my commitment. I believed - I believed that I would sacrifice her because I have failed to spare countless others, no less deserving of respect than she is. I believed if I could commit to losing myself, principle demanded that I commit to disregarding her sense of self - if necessary - as well.

There is no reason my error should become apparent at this moment rather than some other. Silea, I realize, has tried to tell me a hundred different ways, using scores of preposterous and insightful metaphors, how wrong I have been - how wrong I am . And though I cannot grant her the victory she wants, I can at least give her this: love is enough reason to set her apart from all those my actions have killed or broken, including myself. I will not immolate her on this altar of a duty she has never bound herself to serve.

Even more unexpected: I find in refusing to sacrifice her, I have saved a small piece of myself from the pyre.

I recognize that this sliver of integrity I find I still retain is no great prize. Were I young and whole, my heart would hardly constitute an equal exchange for hers, and this is an infinitesimal fraction of that. I will not even tell her of the change, because it would hurt her to know how near I came to violating that which is most precious to her, and I can spare her that pain. Nor am I certain she would understand the difference. Though, thus far, I have offered her only the burnt remains of what I was, she has never recognized how broken I am. She sees me as a person, capable of change and growth, rather than as the purpose that is nearly all that remains of what I once was.

This time, when my lips touch her skin, they don't do so as a means of staking a claim. Yours , I tell her silently. I am yours. She holds me as tightly as she can in her one-armed embrace, as though she has once again heard me. Our bodies meet, and she gives a little cry of pleasure. I rest my forehead against hers in response, pressing myself even deeper, smiling as she gasps. " Vhenan ," I chide her when her eyes close, and when she opens them I can see that she has reached her orgasm - and then I find I am the one who must look away. She is incandescent, and I fear she will blind me to everything else if I stare at her for too long.

I press my mouth to her jaw. I have underestimated her at nearly every turn, and I find I must acknowledge the truth as pleasure begins to sweep me away. " Var lath vir suledin ." My lips trace the words almost soundlessly against her neck. She is stronger than I have ever been, and I was wrong to believe she could not carry us forward alone. She can. She will. Everything that remains of me is in her keeping, and I close my eyes and surrender to this one perfect moment.

My thoughts still, and for this small spark of eternity, we are all that matters.

Within the Fade, I curled around myself and wept.

My tears weren't for what Solas had considered doing to me. Based on his earlier memories, I already knew what he had been thinking. Besides, contrary to what he believed, the pain of knowing he wanted to protect me, even in severely misguided ways, was at worst bittersweet - at least when he didn't follow through on any of his terrible plans.

No - I wept for him, for the way he saw himself, for all his wasted potential. I even wept for the society that could both create and then corrupt such a man.

He was the best, kindest, most thoughtful and brilliant person I had ever met, and somehow he also managed to do the very worst things. His existence assembled the entire world into a shape that made sense to me, and then his actions sent it all spinning into chaos again. I was doing all I could to hold the world together, but he was so much older and more powerful than I was, and I feared my efforts would be both fruitless and worthless - a waste of the few remaining years I had with people I loved.

When I finally woke in the first light of dawn, I found my Fade tears had leaked out into reality, and my cheeks were already wet.