You have grieved as I have.

You, who made worlds out of nothing.

We are alike in sorrow, sculptor and clay,

Comforting each other in our art.

Trials 1: 32-36

The first thing Solas could feel when he awoke was that the grime on his skin was gone. He felt the fact that he had been clothed, from the waist down, and the caress of the spider-silk sheets on his back next…

His markings did not hurt, as he'd expected them to, and the room he was in was just dark enough for the light of day not to sting his eyes yet, by the lavish decorations, he could very well guess where he was.

The Pavus mansion. And probably Veldrin's apartments.

The realisation brought no comfort, and he sat up in freshly rekindled fury – it was only when he was upright, amid the many pillows, that he realised the motion should have made him dizzy, and that the withered muscles of his arms should not have sustained even the little he now thought he weighed. Yet…

He raised his right forearm before his eyes, and beheld it in curiosity; the red lyrium he knew was running though his veins was not showing, but all the scarring on his wrists was gone, and his arm smelled of…birch honey? Milk? The unmistakeable scent of uthenara?

'Andaran atish'an, Fen'Harel,' a remotely familiar voice spoke in a low whisper. 'Finally back among us, I see.'

He frowned at the woman who was sitting at his side, a book open in her lap; he had seen her before, he was sure – but where…

'Ishatoriel, of Clan Ralaferin1,' she said, in the same soft voice; the woman smiled, though some strain was showing. 'The last of Clan Ralaferin,' she added. 'I go by Dalish; the rest is somewhat irrelevant, now.'

'You're one of Bull's…'

'Chargers, yes, and please keep your voice down,' Dalish nodded. 'It is the first time she sleeps through the night since you have been brought here. I do not wish to wake her with a start,' she added, tilting her head to direct his glance to the other side of his bed; Solas' breath caught in his chest.

Veldrin was indeed asleep at his side, on a red velvet ottoman – whatever tome she had been reading and taking notes on had slipped from her hands and onto the floor, along with a few parchments. She's only loosened the top few buttons of her robes, and she still had her shoes on, as if she'd been ready to stand at the most minor movement.

He bit his lower lip and looked away.

'Did you put me in uthenara?' he asked, whispering in his turn.

Dalish shook her head. 'I would not have known how to. Veldrin did. She's learned how from The Forbidden One, but neither of us were sure that it could still work, even for you, so…I am merely helping her keep vigil over you. In case something went wrong, or, indeed, in case you woke up. Did you dream?'

'No, she…'

…took that from me, he thought to say, but swallowed the words. Ishatoriel – Dalish, if she so preferred being called - bore the markings of Sylaise, so her calm demeanour was obviously due to the fact that, whatever she now knew of the Creators, she'd once been strong in the faith, and habits lingered. There was no sympathy for him in her eyes, only mild curiosity, and even deeper underneath that there was a cold hardness…

'…she probably wished to focus my energies on recovery. Thank you, lethallan.'

'By your own thoughts and heart, we are not kindred, and I did nothing for you. I did it all for her.' the blonde woman said, still smiling, but decisively closing her book, and setting it aside on the night stand.

'I suspect the two of you have much to speak of,' Dalish said. She rose to her feet. 'Wake Veldrin up gently,' she added, silently heading for the door. 'She deserves at least that much.'

'Wait,' Solas said; Dalish looked over her shoulder. 'How long was I…'

'Twenty eight sunrises and fourteen turns of a clock's face. I would say dareth shiral, Dread Wolf, but I hope never to lay eyes on you again. Pointless, I know.'

He nodded lowering his gaze, and barely heard the door close. Once Dalish was gone, Solas lowered himself back amid the lush, plump pillows, and put his forehand over his eyes, not knowing what to think or feel.

Vel's friends. Vel's room…Vel's bed. Vel, lying less than two feet away from him, with no bars in between them...There was no clarity to be had; of all the things he could have thought or felt, from fury at her betrayal – for, in the valley of her breasts, on a fine little chain, undoubtedly purchased by Dorian, hung the accursed crystal that took away his free will. Last he had seen the trinket, it had been a plain, lead encasing. Now, a beautiful silver filigree, depicting Tevinter's rising dragons decorated it, their bright ruby eyes cruelly hinting at what lied inside.

And she'd accepted it, and him, all that made him the man he'd once been as if his freedom and the red lyrium had been no more than inanimate gifts, like one might have accepted a vase or a mantlepiece ornament…

Or just like a fine piece of jewellery a spoiled woman had become accustomed to receiving, one valuable enough that it might have fed a village for two months, yet would inevitably come to lie forgotten amid other priceless pieces of jewellery, in a box that might have fed the same village for the entire year.

Once it exhausted its novelty.

Once it became useless…

He would exhaust his usefulness soon enough.

Despite all that, the only thing that Solas could think of while looking around himself, was whether she had lied in these sheets with Dorian…whether she'd fallen asleep while he was reading to her from the very ottoman she was now sleeping on, whether they'd laughed and played cards on the chairs before the fireplace…

Whether Dorian had comforted her, when she was crying because after she'd learned blood magic she could not even dream of wolves…

Veldrin Lavellan's life, as he'd forced her to live it, cornered him from even the little glimpses he could see of it; figments of his imagination, or figments of the returning Fade – it mattered not. The voice he most wished to hear now, the voice that might have told him she had accepted all this because of the spider silk and the black velvet, because of the robes, because of the accursed Magisterial ring...It was calling to him, yet calling from so far away that he barely heard it.

No.

The voice he heard most was the one that told him that she was so fiercely fighting for this world because she had been, and undoubtedly still could be happy within its confines – she was content to not even dream of what there might have lied beyond, if only she…

He turned between the sheets and had the courage to behold her once more, folding his arm under his ear, just as she was. It occurred to him that he had never seen her with her hair un-braided, nor realised how long it was.

Had Dorian? Seen her hair loose, had he touched it, braided it?

He chased those thoughts away, then tried to conjure others - fury and regret could at least sharpen his words. Not his will, as he'd once advised her to do; she'd chosen to leave him no will.

That, above all, he needed to remember.

Solas sighed – she woke up with a start, as if she'd heard a dragon's roar, sat up and almost pushed herself off the chair, long strands of hair still falling across her face and sleep still clouding her eyes. Still, the first thing, the very first thing she did, was grasp the red lyrium amulet in her right fist, and the man was grateful for it. He might have forgotten his fury otherwise.

'Solas,' Veldrin breathed, pulling her hair back with her left hand. 'Solas…'

He sat up in turn, no rush to his gestures and blades of ice in his eyes.

'If you wish that to still be my name,' he coldly said, setting his bare feet on the floor. 'As far as I understand Tevinter law, a master has every right to re-name their property.'

'I thought that I'd made mistakes with the spell, or with the potions, or with how to feed you...' she weakly said. 'It took so long…'

'You've made many mistakes, Magistra Pavus,' he said, looking into her eyes. 'The spell, the potions, and, indeed, how one absorbs food while in uthenara are not among them.'

Veldrin lowered her glance, and sorrowfully shook her head.

'I do not own you, Solas…'

'That little trinket around your neck – and dare I congratulate your husband on his choice of decoration – says that you do, Magistra Pavus. Or am I shared property, and you are simply the one who holds my leash?'

'Would you prefer that they'd made a gift of you to Magister Cassius?' Veldrin furiously fired back; she was waking up now, and her eyes were beginning to glow.

'It might have been less hurtful and less humiliating, yes,' he bitingly said.

'Truly?' Vel breathed, rising to her feet. 'Then why do I not give you proof that I do not own you, grant you your wish, and pass you, amulet and all, to Magister Cassius?'

Solas rose to his feet, in turn, and took a step forward, forcing her to look up to meet his glance.

'Only masters and Gods grant wishes, Veldrin,' he whispered – for all the cold in his voice and eyes he could not stand being so close to her, so he turned away; it was for nought. The room and her mere presence were stifling, more so than Calpernia's dome, more so than his previous cage…

'Besides,' he bitterly uttered, leaning his hands on the windowsill, and closing his eyes, as he felt that even a glimpse at unassailable Minrathous might have caused his heart to cave in, 'there is a reason why Daren'thal gave me to you, not him. She needs me whole, before she pits me against Andruil, and she knows Cassius would find having me in any form of custody too tempting.'

'He would not have been as quite as proficient in restoring me, either,' Solas added, as a bitter afterthought. 'Speed is of the essence to you, after all.'

'You left us no choice, Solas.'

'No choice but this?' he asked, angrily turning to face her once more, and pressing his fingers to the tattoos on his chest. 'You so recently accused me of cowardice, but you could not stand to see this being done... You had the stomach to watch those unfortunates you returned to their chains being clapped in irons. If you had the stomach to watch that, you should have had the moral courage to watch it being done to me as well,' Solas smirked.

'Says the man who delegated every murder he has committed over millennia – you had a choice, Solas.'

'Yes, and when I made that choice, you breezily erased it, as you've erased all choices future, but those that lead to Daren'thal's visions!' the man exploded, throwing his arms in the air. 'You have my soul, you have my mind, you have my body, and if you really wished it, you could have my words too...So, no, Magistra Pavus, let us not call slavery by any other name. It is beneath us both, or maybe just beneath me, nowadays…'

'Oh, do shut up,' she shouted back; his words, as his breath, painfully caught in his throat. 'What is done is now done; in terms of cutting my losses and harvesting my pain to greater goals, I've learned from the best. I can't listen to any more of your tirades, it's so painful, every single time, because you never listen to anyone but yourself, and even then, I get the feeling that you're not hearing yourself…'

The man gritted his teeth and bitterly lowered his glance. She merely rolled her eyes.

'And now what?' she grumbled. 'Think you can make me more ashamed of myself if you play mock obedience? It's just a bloody vallaslin, and it's not mine. You're bound to Daren'thal, not me. Why she chose this path, of all paths I don't know; she could have put you in uthenara herself, but forgive me if the thought of you being in that cell for even an hour longer… If that makes me a coward, then so be it!'

He only briefly met her glance, then lowered his eyes to the floor again. He shook his head.

'Solas?' she asked – that mere gaze had been enough to turn fury to concern. 'What's wrong? If I scream at you and you don't shout back, it's not a shouting match, it's merely hysteria…Solas?'

She doesn't know about the lyrium. They have not told her.

The man breathed out, in fury and frustration, then raised his eyes to hers. He touched the base of his throat, and though the mere thought of touching her amulet gave him shivers, he took a step forward, and gently brushed his index against the small container. Searing pain shot through his arm, so he hissed and hastily drew back.

'You cannot speak because I told you not to?' Vel asked, her eyes wide in surprise and horror.

Solas nodded, his eyes shining with anger.

'So…this thing makes you do whatever…'

He nodded once again, clenching his jaws.

'I'm sorry,' Veldrin whispered. 'Speak,' she added, before yanking the ornate container from around her neck, and ripping the precious little chain asunder. 'I did not know that this is truly binding – I thought it was symbolic…'

'One might think that if a person is dead set on selling their soul to the devil, they might at least read the contract with a bit of care,' Solas coolly responded. 'I am not only bound to them. I'm also bound to whomever holds that medallion. That symbolic little amulet of yours forced me to bend knee to Radonis, for no more reason than that Anaris and Daren'thal found the sight entertaining.'

'I am sorry…'

He laughed.

'If you are so sorry, Magistra Pavus, why are you still holding on to it for dear life?'

Veldrin hastily spun around, but, despite the fact that her carelessly tied up hair came undone, for all the flurry of black Tevinter velvet robes, and the mere hint of the neat trim of spider silk undergarments she wore, underneath those, she hesitated before setting it aside; he did not miss the hesitation, though it was minute, and mirthlessly laughed again.

'Should we discuss slavery again, my mistress?' he stingingly asked. 'Then, perhaps, all that you took from me that you can never return, without ever knowing you had?'

'You know what, Solas? I rather we didn't.' Vel rasped. 'I think I really do prefer you silent.'

He expected the chocking sensation to return, as he expected his words would become lodged in his throat once more, but they did not. Veldrin had truly left the amulet on the nightstand.

'Here.' She said, showing him both her hands for inspection. 'I presume that you cannot be bound to the will of the nightstand, so, from my part, go where you wish, do as you please. If anyone stops you, it shall not be me. You have done unforgiveable things for what you thought was necessary, and so have I, but I'm tired of fighting you and losing, and fighting only to lose again. Daren'thal doesn't need me.'

'…and that has nothing to do with the fact she is moving us all, including Archon Radonis, like little pawns along the lines of whatever she decides is the most advantageous future – if you think she did not divine this moment in her clouds of smoke, you are sadly mistaken. She knew all too well that the moment I told you what that thing does, you'd take it off…Or maybe I am flattering myself, yet… Of course she needs you. It does not matter whether you hold that thing or not,' he returned.

'No, Veldrin, I cannot go where I wish, and do as I please – I am as trapped here as I was in that cell, a month past, only now, it is not cage bars or locks or amulets trapping me here. It is you.'

'Because I love you, Veldrin.' He said, in a low growl. 'Because I hate you, Veldrin, and I hate the unbearable, simple, torturous truth of how deeply I love you, the fact that she knows it…And I wish to be rid of the love, I wish for only the hate to remain; I wish to be rid of the constant desire of painting you, as you were, when we first crossed paths, only to behold you once again, then erase you, each line, each contour, each colour, forever…I wish to be rid of the absolute certainty that I would not be able to do it. Do you understand?' he whispered, roughly grabbing her wrist, and not caring that with his physical strength now fully restored, he was most likely hurting her.

No, he thought, violently pulling her close; it was not that he did not care that he was hurting her. He wanted to hurt her.

'Do you understand?' he repeated, between gritted and bared teeth. 'That is how much I love you. That is how much I hate you.'

She did not resist the pull, and the glow of fury in her eyes told him that yes, she did understand. She understood all too well, because the feelings of the monster he'd made out of an innocent young woman perfectly mirrored his own.

'Is this what you want?' Solas asked, burning with hunger and fury.

'Yes,' Veldrin hissed back. 'I too want the love to be gone. I too want only the hate.'

The kiss was almost a bite: no sweet caress of lips against each other, but a battle – they lingered in it, though, until she yielded to the pull of his fingers in her hair, and allowed him to tilt her head backwards. There was a soft moan – of pleasure, or pain, it did not matter – the woman parted her lips in surrender, and he slipped his tongue between them, keeping her prisoner and taking…Heavens, taking what he was due, the softness of her lips, the taste of her, the scent of her, the silky texture of her hair…

'No,' he growled, pulling away when she reached to shyly caress his shoulders in return. 'No, this…'

The minute space between them was enough for his to tear the bodice of her robes open; the little grey pearl buttons were powerless against him, and scattered all about the room. The woven leather straps of her Dalish belt frustratingly held though, as did the thick, black velvet, not allowing him to strip the accursed Tevinter robes from her body in one swift motion, as he'd wished to do…

Even in this, Solas thought, even in lust and hatred and heat, the combined crafts of two nations that could not have been more different from each other opposed him – but then, it did not matter. The sight of Veldrin fully bare before him might have made him lose focus; like this, with one breast and one shoulder exposed, but with Tevinter's dragons still hanging on her other shoulder, he could still…

'Don't touch me,' he grunted, catching her wrist as in a vice when she once more reached for him; despite the fact that he wanted the moment to last as little as possible, he once more lingered simply taking in her frustration – it burned on her skin, it burned on her shallow breaths, on her blushing cheeks and her eyes, allowing him to not think, not feel how much he wanted to kiss her again, to cup her breast in tender fingers. But no; that might have given them both pause, that might have reminded them both of words and tears, that might have given her something, when all he wished to do was take.

Wasn't that what her people said? May the Dread Wolf take you?

He spun her about, and pushed her to the bed, bending her over the side; Veldrin tried to turn and face him, but he pinned her wrist to the sheets, before pinning her body under his.

'Is this what you want? Is this what you wanted?' he whispered in her ear.

She did not speak this time – she simply pushed back against his hardened sex and rubbed herself against it, making him moan with pleasure, and curse under his breath. A yes, if there had ever been one, in all the ages; he felt the heat of her, through the velvet, through the linen of his breeches. The decade long wait, the decade long want…He thought that if he gave her even an inch of room, she'd somehow wriggle herself away from how he wanted her, but it was unavoidable – he let go of her wrist, and slipped his hand between the sheets and her body, feeling her breast in blind, but closing his eyes and remembering how small her nipples were, how the flush of desire had turned them from pale pink to bright raspberry.

Vel did not shift, or at least not how he had expected. She simply propped herself up on her elbows, giving him more room to touch. She didn't look over her shoulder, not even as he fumbled to lift her skirts above her waist, and struggled with how he would keep them up, without outright throwing them over her head – because he could bear doing this without seeing her breasts, he could bear doing this without touching her skin more than he had to, but not…not without seeing her face, not…

The woman minutely lifted her hips, allowing him to tuck the front of her long, heavy skirts under her stomach, while he just pushed the rim of the back part under that unyielding belt of hers. The bed was high, certainly not meant for elves, so she had risen to the tips of her toes, but it did not matter, not once what he had so oft touched, and had long longed to see was within reach, yet Solas reminded himself that he was not only punishing her, by this, he was punishing himself, too.

He did not touch. He did not caress. He simply freed his sex from the linen breeches, not even undoing the top button – his sex brushed, hard and heavy, against the lips of hers, and then he found that she too had her weapons, for if his hope had been to hurt her in this way, which it had never been, he might have been thwarted.

The woman needed no such help from him. Slick and accepting he found her, even before he'd reached between her legs to touch and assure himself of yet another unspoken yes.

They became one just like that; he slipped inside her and she melted in his arms, into his chest, she melted, like the red lyrium, as painful and as intoxicating. She became him, as he became her, and she shamelessly cried out in climax but a few thrusts in.

'Did you just…' he began, forgetting himself and barely stifling laughter.

'Please…' she whimpered.

And then he learned, or perhaps humbly accepted what she had probably known all along… How could he even have imagined that with their lust spent, there would be nothing left… He loved her… in this life, in this world… in any other world, even in the worlds he dreamt of.

Solas withdrew slowly, and the fear in her eyes when she looked over her shoulder frightened and pained him.

She thinks this was revenge, no more, and now that I have brought her here, I'll just…

He leaned in and kissed her lips, her cheek, the corner of her eye, as he once more fumbled with those impossible skirts to turn her to the side, and once more entered her. Gently, this time, his lips on hers, her little hand gripping his wrist, as though if he had tried to pull away once more, it would be her turn to rip his arm off at the shoulder. His fingers found that little island that no one spoke of, the island which rose atop the lips of her sex and he, alone, felt like he had sailed to it, braving Tevinter velvet and Dalish leather…Vel relaxed, and he breathed in her sighs – though she was growing tight and demanding again; she tilted her head back and moaned a little, but this time he could taste it, taste her, and the woman blushed furiously, as if…

'This is embarrassing,' Veldrin whispered, trying to shy away from his glance.

'No, this is beautiful,' he whispered in return. 'I'm sorry that I made you think, even for an instant…did you just…Again…'

'Stop talking, Solas.' Vel breathed, her leg wound tightly around the small of his back, pulling him in.

'I love you,' he murmured in her ear, but remained silent then, until he could no longer wonder whether she was coming to pleasure in rapid sequence, or she was having a single, extraordinarily long climax. Until he could no longer think that there was truly no key for the cage, for either of them. None but the one that Daren'thal had offered.

Daren'thal was not here, now.

She hissed in pleasure, and rose her hips like those of a long unmounted tigress when he gave in to lust and hope, and finally climaxed, in his turn – they'd sought to chase love, but they'd ended up meekly surrendering to it…

Both slipped to the floor, then, the woman with her little breast out of its shelter, the man with his erection spent, but simmering to rise; they looked to each other, the first of the people meeting the eyes of the last, and they laughed together, and softly kissed, ignoring the words and tears and battlefields they'd both left for contention in their wake.

She rested her sweaty forehead on his shoulder, and he put his arm about her waist, pulling her closer.

'So,' he said, at long length, placing her hand atop his sex, not to hide it, but because he enjoyed the sensation. 'You and Dorian never…'

Vel giggled, and reproachfully glanced up. 'You've actually met Dorian, right?'

'True enough,' Solas surrendered with a shrug and a smile. 'Just…I know it's foolish, but it does not leave my mind.'

'Well, make it leave,' she once more chuckled, playfully running her thumb along his length, and making him moan in pleasure he no longer cared to hide. 'But since we're here…'

'Hm?' he dreamily inquired.

'You and Andruil, eh?'

Solas looked down at her, preparing to scold her, yet Veldrin seemed amused, and he did not wish to darken the mood; heavens knew there would be plenty of darkness ahead. But not here…not now. Besides, her fingers were working some magic on his sex, and he did not want that to stop, either.

'I trust you won't make fun of Dalish legends again,' Veldrin quipped. 'Though, to be fair to the woman, I can now see why she did the business with the tree. If I had known you were this good…'

'Vel,' he muttered, in very poorly disguised pleasure at the compliment. 'You take after Dorian entirely too much.'

'You have to admit you walked right into that one,' she laughed, pretending not to notice that she was making him hard again. 'I mean, you encroached upon her realm, killed her halla…'

'Firstly,' Solas said, cranking his nose, 'it was not her realm, and it was not her halla.'

'Oh, so you killed and ate the holy goat as a freedom statement, and a manifesto against holy goats of all kinds as a rule?'

He seriously glanced into her eyes.

'No,' Solas responded. 'I had far better reason than that.'

'And what might that be?' she purred, all sorts of promises in her eyes.

He took his time with the answer this time – or at least enough time to unstrap her bother of a belt and undo her robes fully, and meticulously remove both. He then leaned in above her, gently pressing her to the thickly carpeted floor.

'Well?' Veldrin insisted, her lips already raw and plump from kisses, but still begging for more.

'I was hungry,' Solas simply responded, before lazily laying atop her, and granting her lips their wish.

It was, he thought, difficult, yet strangely gratifying to kiss a woman who was laughing herself silly.

The world will come for us, whether we laugh or not. We might as well lust, laugh and love.

Life will not let us keep anything, in the end.

Not even ourselves.

1 Bit of an arcane reference here, but Clan Ralaferin are notorious keepers of Elvhen lore. Most of what comes to us about Elvhen and Dalish history is normally transcribed by them through the ages, because, oddly enough, they think that an exclusively oral tradition is harmful. They fight bravely during the Exalted Marches of the Dales (despite their primary religious inclinations having been Sylaise and June), and only withdraw when it's clear all has been lost. However, the clan suffers such grievous losses that they dwindle and almost die out over the next few generations – which explains why much knowledge is lost, and the Dalish return to their storytelling.

We did have a triple L in Understanding's Love's Labour Lost, we might just up it for another L.

Thank you for reading and commenting,

Happy Holidays,

Abstract & IvI