A/N: I finally reworked enough of this story to repost it after taking it down a while ago. Some things have changed, but the central theme of the story and the main love-triangle remain unchanged.
A note about Solas' appearance in this story: It is based on one of the concept art renderings of him; he has dark, shoulder-length hair in braids or plaits, while the sides of his head are faded (like a faded undercut style). Google it if you haven't yet. Chef's kiss. 10/10.
Also, this is a Mature story. There will be sex, and a lot of it starting a few chapters from now. I know not everyone likes that, so I wanted to be upfront about that from the beginning.
Thanks for reading!
~O~
As Solas stirred from his slumber, the world around him felt oddly unfamiliar. His senses slowly awakened, his mind grappling with the disorienting sensation of transition. Faint candlelight danced upon the cold stone walls of the chamber, and the scent of arcane energies hung in the air.
With a gasp, he pushed himself upright, his muscles protesting against the weight of his own body. He blinked, trying to dispel the haze that clouded his vision. Where was he? How long had he slept?
As his eyes adjusted to the dimly lit surroundings, he realized he was in an ancient chamber adorned with indecipherable symbols of magic. The air hummed with latent energy, and the ground beneath him felt cold and damp. Solas reached out, his fingertips tracing the worn carvings etched into the stones.
Memories flooded his mind—of Arlathan, the whispers of spirits, and the power struggles that led to his spell. But this... this was something entirely different. The magic of the chamber resonated with a power he couldn't quite comprehend. The weave of time had shifted, and Solas found himself standing at the nexus of time and space, a bridge between worlds unknown.
Pushing himself to his feet, he stepped forward, his heart pounding with a mixture of trepidation and excitement. With each step, the magical nexus began to fade, its arcane energies dissipating into the air. Solas paused, his gaze lingering on the threshold between the familiar and the unknown. He took a deep breath, steeling himself for the journey ahead.
And then, amidst the eerie silence, he heard a voice—a whisper in the shadows, soft and enigmatic. Turning towards its source, he beheld a figure cloaked in light, her eyes shimmering with arcane knowledge.
"Welcome, traveler," she said, her voice echoing into the ethereal realm. "To a city on the edge of chaos, where the threads of destiny are woven with both magic and peril."
Solas stepped through the portal alone, the woman's voice accompanying him telepathically. He didn't know how to feel about that, but he continued on, determined to explore this new world he found himself in. As he stepped through the magical gateway, he was met with a sight both awe-inspiring and bewildering. Tall spires and medieval architecture adorned the cityscape. The streets were alive with the hustle and bustle of a thriving metropolis, and the distant glow of arcane lanterns illuminated the night. But amidst the medieval charm, there was a palpable tension in the air. Solas observed armored figures patrolling the streets, their large bodies thrumming with an otherworldly energy, and the echoes of distant roars hinted at creatures not of his world. This was no ordinary time in Thedas. In fact, he had no idea where he was. Suppressing his bewilderment, he pressed on into the night.
As he walked through the busy streets, he encountered familiar races, yet also a diversity of beings unlike anything he had seen before.
People with flat ears and broad shoulders bustling to and fro, their voices mingling with the sounds of commerce and conversation. He observed their varied expressions, their hopes and fears etched upon their faces, and he knew them to be human. They were not as primitive as he last recalled.
Dwarves, sturdy and resolute, went about their business, their movements deliberate and purposeful. He had never seen so many at once above the surface. Among them, Solas noticed smaller individuals, their nimble fingers tinkering with contraptions and gadgets. The voice in his mind whispered that they were gnomes, masters of invention and innovation.
Elves, some with appearances so different from what he was used to, crossed his path. Their features were diverse, their attire varied, but their presence unmistakable. Solas took a moment to wonder if he was indeed conscious or ensnared in an intricate dream crafted by the workings of the Fade.
The Dragonborn, in particular, drew his attention. Their scales shimmered with a myriad of colors, and their voices carried an air of command. He couldn't help but marvel at the acceptance of such extraordinary beings within the fabric of everyday life.
Seeking respite from the overwhelming assault on his senses by the cacophony of his new surroundings, Solas stumbled into the narrow confines of a dark alleyway. His mind raced with a torrent of questions, each one a dagger of uncertainty plunging into the depths of his consciousness. What had happened to him? What had brought him here, to this unfamiliar realm? And most hauntingly, what had become of Thedas?
His fingers fumbled anxiously at the bag slung across his shoulders, seeking solace in the familiar weight of the sphere nestled within. The precious artifact, a remnant of his past, offered a fleeting sense of reassurance amidst the chaos that engulfed him.
As his hand delved into the depths of the bag, his fingers brushed against the smooth surface of the orb, and a sigh of relief escaped his lips. But his respite was short-lived.
A shadow loomed over him, shattering the fragile veil of tranquility that had momentarily enveloped him. Solas tensed, his senses sharpening as he turned to face the approaching figures—four armed men, eyes glinting with malice, their presence an ominous portent of danger.
They emerged from the depths of the alley, their movements fluid and calculated, their weapons gleaming in the dim light. Solas' heart quickened with a mixture of apprehension and resolve, his mind racing to unravel the nature of their intent.
"Looks like we've got ourselves a lost fancy elf, boys," one of the men sneered, his voice laced with contempt. "And it seems he's stumbled into our little slice of paradise."
Solas tightened his grip on the orb, his gaze flickering with a glimmer of defiance. He may be out of his depth in this unfamiliar realm, but he refused to surrender to the whims of fate without a fight.
"What do you want?" Solas' voice rang out, edged with a steely resolve that belied the uncertainty swirling within him.
The leader of the group, a burly figure with green skin and fangs protruding upward from his lower lip, stepped forward, his features twisted into a predatory grin.
"What do we want?" he chuckled, the sound dripping with mockery. "We want whatever valuables you've got on you, fancy boy. And we're not afraid to take 'em by force if we have to. No one steps into this city without making an offering to the Absolute."
Solas' jaw clenched, his mind racing as he weighed his options. He refused to relinquish the only tether to his past—the orb, his foci, that bore the shattered remnants of his home and the brunt of his power.
He felt the familiar thrum of magic within him, yet its flow felt constrained, as if the very essence of his power had been tempered by the unfamiliar currents of this realm. The voice, ever present in his mind, offered guidance—a whispered reassurance amidst the chaos that threatened to consume him.
"Magic works a little differently here," the voice murmured, its cadence soothing yet resolute. "Feel the weave, embrace it, and the rest should proceed naturally for one such as yourself."
Drawing upon the depths of his being, Solas closed his eyes and surrendered to the ebb and flow of the arcane energies that surrounded him. He reached out, a conduit between the realms of possibility and reality, and summoned forth a surge of power—a mind blast that rippled through the fabric of existence, propelling the assailants back several meters with a force born of determination and desperation.
The dust settled and the echoes of the confrontation surged anew as some of the men got up groaning and cursing, brandishing their weapons. Cursing under his breath, Solas' gaze fell upon a newcomer—a hooded figure whose silhouette cut through the darkness with a grace that spoke of skill and intent. With deft movements, she dispatched the remaining attackers, her red blade flashing like a beacon of defiance amidst the shadows.
Once the threat had been neutralized, the figure approached Solas, her hood falling away to reveal smooth, gray skin with light blue undertones, and a smattering of freckles that danced across her cheeks and nose like constellations in the night sky. Her eyes, a light gray that mirrored the beginnings of a stormy sky, bore into his own with a mixture of curiosity and amusement. Raven-black hair was gathered neatly in a long fish-tail braid.
For a moment, Solas found himself captivated by the mysterious woman before him, his senses heightened by the lingering tendrils of adrenaline that coursed through his veins. The voice in his mind spoke once more, its tone tinged with intrigue.
"A drow... interesting," it murmured. "I have intervened far beyond what I intended. Farewell for now, traveler."
Solas shook his head, the echoes of the enigmatic voice fading away.
The gray skinned woman approached him with an effortless grace, her cloak stained with the remnants of the confrontation. Despite his centuries of existence, Solas found himself momentarily captivated by her beauty, and he cleared his throat, straightening as he watched her step toward him.
With an arched brow, she stopped a few paces away, her dagger glinting in the dim light as she wiped it clean on her crimson cloak.
She spoke, her voice carrying a hint of amusement. "What do we have here?" Her gaze lingered on him, assessing him with a keen eye. "A long way from home, are we?" Her eyes took in his clothing with a furrowed brow.
Cautious yet intrigued, he met her gaze evenly. "I find myself in unfamiliar territory, yes. And you, who are you, and why did you come to my aid?"
She tilted her head, a smile playing at the corners of her lips. "Names aren't always necessary, but you may call me Arabella," she replied with a small smile. "As for why I helped you, let's just say I have a knack for being in the right place at the right time. Or perhaps, the wrong place, depending on your perspective."
He nodded. "I am Solas. Would you... be willing to aid me in another task?" he asked, his voice betraying a hint of vulnerability. "I find myself in need of guidance, and your knowledge of the city would be invaluable."
Arabella regarded him with a thoughtful expression, her eyes assessing him curiously. After a moment's consideration, a playful smile graced her lips.
"I'd be happy to show you around, Solas," she replied, her tone warm and inviting. "In fact, I know just the place where you can stay for the night. Follow me."
Solas nodded, a sense of relief flooding through him at her willingness to assist him. As they navigated the labyrinthine streets of the Lower City together, Arabella led him through closing markets, winding alleyways, and hidden passages known only to the city's most seasoned inhabitants. He marveled at the ease with which she moved through the city, her resourcefulness and resilience on full display.
As they reached their destination, the drow turned to Solas with a mischievous glint in her eyes.
"Here we are," she said, gesturing towards an elaborately designed building tucked away in a secluded corner of the city. "This is where you'll be staying for the night, should you choose to."
Arabella's gaze lingered on Solas, absorbing every detail of his appearance with an artist's attention. She noted the way the stark lines of his undercut framed his face, the dark braids falling alongside the angular contours of his cheekbones, adding a wild, untamed edge to his scholarly demeanor. The headpiece he wore, reminiscent of an ancient skeletal crown, seemed almost a part of him, a symbol of some unspoken legacy or power. It rested upon his head with a natural grace, the intricate carvings catching the light with a subtle gleam that spoke of mysteries and strange magic.
As she took in his visage, she noted the flicker of surprise that danced across his features as he took in the anything-but-modest building before them. She watched him closely, and she sensed the questions lingering unspoken in his mind.
She waited for him to speak, but Solas remained silent, his expression a mask of contemplation as he absorbed some undisclosed piece of information.
With a gentle smile, Arabella broke the silence, her voice soft yet resolute. "Yes. This is my home," she admitted, her words carrying a weight of honesty that mirrored the openness of her gaze. "I hope you find it to your liking."
Solas nodded, unable to find the words to express the myriad of emotions swirling within him. He couldn't help but wonder why this mysterious stranger would welcome another stranger into her home without hesitation or reservation.
Yet, as he watched Arabella, a sense of reassurance washed over him— aside from her charisma and charm, the way she fought in that alleyway only told him she was more than capable of handling herself in a world where danger lurked around every corner.
Setting aside his reservations, he allowed himself to accept her generous offer, temporarily suppressing his suspicions. He was a foreigner in the realest sense of the word, and his options for finding a safe place to take refuge for the night were slim to none at that late hour. And he was tired.
He stepped into her ornately designed home, feeling a shiver run down his spine as the gaze of grotesque statues greeted him like silent sentinels. Dark energy seemed to linger around the abode, casting shadows that danced along the walls.
As he followed her through shadowy corridors, he couldn't help but take in the darkly decorated interior—the blood-red curtains, the black furnishings, all enveloped in an earthy musk that seemed to seep into his very being, stirring something primal within him.
Arabella caught his perplexed expression and laughed throatily, her amusement echoing through the dimly lit halls. With a gentle touch, she took his hand and led him through the labyrinthine corridors, showing him to the main living room.
Solas swallowed dryly, feeling the weight of the night's events bearing down on him. The unfamiliarity of his surroundings, coupled with Arabella's mysterious aura, left him feeling disoriented and overwhelmed.
"My butler will be by shortly to assist you with anything you might need," Arabella said, her piercing gray eyes studying his face with an intensity that sent a shiver down his spine. As she made to leave the room, she turned to look over her shoulder at him.
"Oh, please don't attack him," she added casually, her tone betraying a hint of amusement. "He's ugly, but harmless. Unless I say so, of course. I'll be back later this evening."
With that, Arabella disappeared into the shadows, leaving him alone with his thoughts in the dark embrace of her home. As he settled into his temporary sanctuary, he couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to her—and to this place—than met the eye.
Standing there, lost in contemplation, Solas barely noticed the passage of time, his mind a whirlwind of questions and theories about his sudden appearance in this strange realm. Suddenly, the shadows seemed to coalesce into form and substance, revealing the presence of an unexpected visitor in the dimly lit space.
Solas stood still, his gaze fixed upon the strange creature that stood before him. Sceleritas Fel, as the creature introduced himself, bore little resemblance to any being he had encountered in his journeys throughout Thedas and beyond.
With a practiced restraint, he withheld his natural reaction, refusing to betray the unease that churned within him at the sight of the creature's grotesque visage. In his mind, he couldn't help but draw parallels to the horrific creations of Ghilan'nain, the elven goddess of transformation—a comparison that sent a shiver down his spine.
Sceleritas Fel's voice cut through the silence like a discordant melody, its pitch reminiscent of a court jester's shrill tune. Solas listened quietly as the creature offered to have a warm bath prepared for him, a gesture of hospitality that contrasted sharply with his unsettling appearance.
Despite his reservations, he nodded in agreement, his weariness weighing heavily on him as the late hour pressed on. The promise of respite, however fleeting, offered a semblance of solace amidst the chaos that surrounded him.
As Sceleritas Fel led him through the labyrinthine corridors of Arabella's home, Solas couldn't shake the feeling of being watched—a sensation that lingered like a ghost in the shadows, haunting his every step. And as he sank into the warmth of the bath, fatigue washing over him like a gentle tide, he found himself pondering the mysteries that lay hidden within Arabella's domain—a realm of shadows and secrets that beckoned him into the depths of the unknown.
~O~
Arabella's steps echoed softly against the cobblestones as she stalked through the shadowed streets of the Lower City, her hood drawn low to conceal her features. Though she knew her Deathstalker Mantle betrayed her presence to those who dared to cross her path, she found solace in the embrace of darkness, where whispers of fear danced like phantoms in the night.
As she approached Wyrm Rock's Prison, she melted into the shadows, her movements fluid and silent as she navigated the labyrinthine corridors, evading the vigilant gaze of the Steel Watch that patrolled the fortress' perimeter and interior.
Enver Gortash, awaited her in his study, a formidable figure with power and influence that rivaled the darkness itself. Arabella's lips curled into a knowing smile as she entered the room, her gaze meeting his with a hint of challenge.
Gortash loomed over his desk, his demeanor a facade of authority and control as he surveyed the chaos of scrolls and parchments scattered before him. Her presence elicited a mixture of annoyance and amusement as he met her gaze with a grin of his own.
She approached his desk with purpose, sweeping aside the clutter with a casual disregard for order. Gortash's glare bore into her, a silent warning that went unheeded as she arched a brow in defiance.
"Not in the mood for games tonight, my dear," he remarked, his voice dripping with condescension as he turned and poured himself a glass of Turmishan wine, the amber liquid swirling in the dim light of the study.
Arabella's smile remained unchanged, a mask of indifference that belied the storm of emotions raging within her. She knew beneath the facade of civility lay a web of deceit and intrigue, where alliances shifted like shadows in the night, and loyalty was a currency traded only by those willing to embrace the darkness that lurked within their souls.
As she leaned back on Gortash's desk, her bold gaze laced with seduction, Arabella knew the power she wielded over him—how her allure could cause even the most steadfast of men to dance upon the edge of temptation.
"Why so serious?" she purred, her voice husky and sensual as she ran a hand down and over her long braid, tossing it over her shoulder with a swift motion.
Gortash took a long sip of his wine, his eyes never leaving hers. "Our situation is becoming... complicated."
"Is it now?" Arabella feigned innocence, her expression one of mock concern. "What has you so concerned?"
"We're losing control," he replied, his voice tinged with annoyance. "The violence is escalating too quickly, and we're not making enough progress towards our goal.
It doesn't help that Ketheric's devotion to his daughter is disrupting his focus," he continued, his voice growing more animated as he spoke.
Arabella suppressed a smirk, enjoying the sight of his agitation. His temper was legendary, and she took perverse pleasure in provoking him.
"What do you propose?" she inquired, her tone deceptively calm as she watched him pace the room in frustration.
"I think it's time to accelerate our plans," he replied, his expression hardening as he turned to face her.
"And how do you propose we do that?"
"By removing the obstacles that stand in our way," Gortash said, his voice laced with malice. "We need to strike at those who would oppose us, before they have a chance to organize against us."
"And who might those be?" Arabella pressed, curious to see if his mind had finally cracked under the pressure of his ambitions.
"Ketheric," he hissed, his eyes flashing with hatred. "The man is weak. He lacks the courage to do what needs to be done. His obsession with his daughter makes him a liability that we can no longer afford to tolerate."
Arabella smiled, reveling in the irony of Gortash's words. If only he knew the truth, she mused, knowing that the man standing before her was a fool and a pawn, too blinded by his own ambition to realize he was being manipulated.
"What about the others serving us?" she asked, eager to test the limits of his paranoia. "Do they pose a threat as well?"
Gortash hesitated, his expression darkening as he considered her question. "Perhaps," he conceded, his tone laced with suspicion. "We should keep a close eye on them."
Arabella nodded, satisfied with the answers she had received. She knew that Gortash was a fool, but he was a useful fool—one who could be manipulated to serve her purposes.
"Very well," she said, rising to her feet and moving towards the door. "I'll be in touch."
Gortash watched her leave, a mixture of frustration and desire etched upon his features.
Arabella knew he was not a man who trusted easily, and yet, she had managed to earn his confidence—a feat that had required considerable skill and patience. She smiled to herself as she slipped into the night, knowing that his fears would continue to grow, as would his dependence upon her.
~O~
Solas reclined in the warmth of the bath, the tendrils of steam enveloping him like a comforting embrace. As the soothing waters eased the tension from his weary muscles, he felt the weight of the evening's events begin to lift, his thoughts drifting on the currents of slumber.
Yet, just as sleep threatened to claim him, the sound of water sloshing disrupted the tranquility of the moment. His eyes snapped open, his senses sharpening as he beheld Arabella's figure entering the large round tub.
Her eyes sparkled with mischief, a playful grin dancing upon her lips as she settled across from him, the water swirling around her like liquid moonlight.
Solas, not one for modesty, remained initially unphased by her nudity, his gaze meeting hers with a mixture of surprise and curiosity. Yet, despite their lack of familiarity, he couldn't deny the allure of her presence. However, her brazenness did catch him off guard somewhat, the depths of her confidence and the complexity of her character on full display. But there was something else; beneath the veneer of playfulness, he sensed a vulnerability—a glimpse of the woman behind the facade, laid bare amidst the steam and shadows.
As they sat in the warm embrace of the bath, the silence between them deepened, accentuating the sounds of the night through the open window.
When Arabella remarked about the water's temperature, Solas found himself instinctively reaching out, his hands emanating a soft white glow as he infused the water with warmth. Her surprise mirrored his own, eyes widening with curiosity as she leaned back into the soothing embrace of the bath.
He watched the water shimmer with renewed heat, his mind buzzing with the implications of this connection to magic that elicited strange sensations within him.
"This place..." Solas murmured, his voice barely above a whisper as he struggled to articulate the sensations coursing through him. "The connection to magic here feels..."
"Personal? Sensual, even?" Arabella interjected, her tone laced with amusement as she met his gaze with a knowing glint in her eyes. "I've heard it can be quite the experience for sorcerers and wizards alike. I suppose even warlocks know the feeling."
His brow furrowed at the mention of warlocks, a flicker of curiosity dancing in his eyes as he regarded Arabella with newfound interest.
"Where are you from, truly, Solas?" her inquiry cut through the silence, her gaze piercing through the veil of his reticence with an unwavering intensity.
Though he found he felt safe in her presence, Solas hesitated a moment, unwilling to divulge a past that felt buried and far from him in more ways than one. For him it had only been mere moments since his spell, but the truth of what came after eluded him, shrouded in mystery and uncertainty, leaving him adrift in a sea of unanswered questions.
As he met Arabella's gaze, he couldn't help but wonder if he would ever unravel Arlathan's fate. The thought sent a shudder down his spine, the weight of responsibility pressing upon him like a heavy cloak. The notion that he might be responsible for its destruction lingered like a specter in the shadows, haunting his every thought and casting doubt upon the path he had chosen. Sensing the weight of her expectant stare, Solas frowned, sighing softly.
He broke the silence with a single word, "Thedas."
Arabella gave him a curious look, her head tilting inquisitively.
"I awoke today in a realm unfamiliar to me. I am not even sure how long I was under the pull of uthenera," he explained, his voice tinged with uncertainty. At her raised brow he clarified, "A very deep sleep, brought about by powerful magic."
"Interesting," Arabella remarked, her gaze penetrating as she considered his revelation. "Do you know how you got here?"
"No," Solas replied, his voice low and troubled. "The last thing I can recall is a strong blast of arcane energy... that is all I feel comfortable sharing for now, if that is all right."
Arabella nodded in understanding. She respected his boundaries, knowing that some secrets were not meant to be shared lightly. A small smile graced her lips as she regarded Solas, wondering what he would make of her true nature and the secrets she harbored within the depths of her own being.
"Rest," Arabella told him, her voice a gentle command as she slowly rose from the bath.
Solas' eyes openly drank in her bare form, water dripping from her curves seductively as she moved with a graceful ease.
In the silent exchange of their gazes, Arabella sensed a wild flicker of desire in his eyes, a hunger from deep within.
As she stepped out of the bath, his eyes followed her intently, lingering on her every movement with an intensity that sent a shiver down her spine. She grabbed her robe and pulled it on slowly, the fabric cascading over her skin like a veil of shadows.
Without a word, Arabella walked out of the washroom and into the adjoining bedroom, her sanctuary bathed in the soft glow of moonlight. She shut the door with a playful wink, while Solas remained in the bath a while longer, allowing the warmth to seep into his tired bones. He couldn't help but let his mind linger on images of her, her presence lingering like a tantalizing whisper in the recesses of his thoughts.
Eventually, he emerged from the bath, feeling refreshed yet strangely unsettled by the intensity of his new reality. As he entered the room prepared for him, his gaze fell upon a clean change of clothes, their fine craftsmanship reminiscent of garments from his homeland in an oddly comforting way.
Solas dressed slowly, the familiarity of the fabric soothing the ache of displacement that gnawed at him. Climbing into the bed, he yearned for the embrace of sleep, eager to escape the tumult of his thoughts.
But as he succumbed to the pull of exhaustion, he was met with disappointment—a black and dreamless sleep devoid of the comforting embrace of his world. In its absence, he found himself adrift in the vast expanse of the unknown, grappling with the uncertainty of his journey and the secrets that lay hidden within the depths of his own being.