In Ellana's mind, Solas' regrets are the colour of purple.
When he speaks of Ghilan'nain's laboratory, the memory is tinged a crimson red. Ellana witnesses his pragmatism at containing the blight, and at the callousness – practicality? – he showed Tarasahl. Help her, do something, leave her be, give her a quick death. Ellana watches, helpless and speechless as he makes his choice. Always unflinching pragmatism.
When he speaks of the spirits that gave their lives on the assault on the Citadel, the memory is green – shame, sacrifice. Above all, means to an end for a greater cause. Ellana watches as devastation and denial crosses Felassan's face. But still, Felassan remained loyal. Kind Felassan, who waited for him while he laid in uthenera, and looked for him in both worlds. Then Solas' face contorts in guilt and sadness at having to kill Felassan at his own hands far later on. The slow arrow breaks in the sad wolf's jaws.
When he speaks of the assault on Elgar'nan's fortress, the memory is bright yellow, effusive, effervescent. She watches as he frees the slaves, breaking their manacles. And she is suddenly reminded of how, even before the fight with Elgar'nan, he rescued slaves from Minrathous. Solas was reminded of elves and spirits — of what he had taken from the People when the Veil fell upon the world.
When he speaks of how Mythal persuaded him to take a physical form, the memory is a cool grey. The spirit in his memory was floating, white, friendly even. And then Mythal bade him to serve her with his wisdom, and he acquiesced, leaving behind the Fade he loved so much for the physical bounds of a body.
When he speaks of the lyrium dagger Mythal had him craft, his lips quiver. The memory is a deep brown, as if Ellana can relive the horror he felt when he rendered the Titans tranquil, severing their connection to the Fade. This is the only memory where Solas breaks down visibly. He had not killed them — but he had broken them, instead, rendered them a fate worse than death. If death is comfort, tranquility is torment. Solas of all people knows that. Ellana has no words but the cold comfort of a reassuring hand on his shoulder. There is nothing she can say, nothing she can offer, to make it better.
When he speaks of how Mythal agreed with Elgar'nan that the nascent Elvhen needed stern leadership, Ellana can sense his disappointment – a pale, ephemeral blue that reminds her so much of the hoarfrost on his staff in battle. The blue continues, colouring his memory as he calls on Mythal to intervene and stop the other Evanuris. And then of his rebellion, of how he pleaded with her to join him. Ellana watches as he prepares the Lighthouse for Mythal's arrival – statues, everywhere, of them; a beautiful duet – watches as he waits for her. And the memory shatters at the end like cracked ice, where Mythal is dead because he beseeched her.
But most of all, whenever he speaks, all Ellana can feel is that his regrets are shaded a pale purple underlying all the other colours of his emotions.
Purple, like regretful sadness. You are quiet, Solas. Your song is softer, subtler, not silent but still. There is pain though, still within you. Echoes of something Cole said, a long time ago.
Purple, like solitude and loneliness and dying alone. The singular dinner setup at the dining table in the Lighthouse. How long he had sat, alone, waiting for Mythal. How she had used him so thoroughly. Ellana bristled.
Purple, like how he was so set on his din'anshiral, so set on correcting what was wrong and fixing and remaking and undoing all his mistakes. One after another, each fix leading to another problem of his to solve, taking it all on until he had finally broken.
Regret after regret piled high.
So to Ellana, Solas' regrets are purple, like his eyes, veiled in sadness and bitterness and guilt.
By the end, she is reeling. Ellana heard from Rook what Solas had done, of course, but hearing the details from his lips…
"It's not your fault, vhenan," are the first words that spill from her lips.
His expression is inscrutable as she reaches for him, hugs him gently, and pulls away, suddenly numb. He doesn't speak. She wraps her arms around herself. "I just need a little bit of time to process this, vhenan. Don't get me wrong. Ar lath ma, sa'lath."
Ar lath ma, ar lath ma, vhenan. Sa'lath.
He nods, but doesn't say anything, and doesn't follow her as she walks away. She meant what she said when she had told him that she forgave him, but that doesn't make the truth of his words not sting. By all accounts, what occurred has had profound implications and startling revelations for the world as she knows it.
She feels conflicted – the last thing she wants is for him to feel guilt all over again because she can't control her emotions and thoughts. And so, afraid of saying the wrong words, she decides to remove herself temporarily, walking away from Solas until she can no longer see him, seeking solace instead by herself.
When she is sure she is far away enough that Solas can't see her, she starts sobbing.
How can a person even begin to heal from this?
Her chest hurts. Ellana balls her hand into a fist as she presses her hand against her chest, heaving, willing any way to make the pain stop, just stop just stop.
Just stop. Please stop.
Ellana can't imagine the hurt he's felt for millenia, can't even think of what she can say to make anything better, if she even has words, at all. She has only her mere promise, the simple words of 'Vir shiral malasa, bellanaris', and nothing more. There is nothing she can offer to him but her promise of companionship, and even so –
She isn't sure how her mortality factors into everything. That honestly isn't something she even thought about before deciding to join him, and it is something that weighs at her as she crouches, sobbing quietly. A nagging feeling that pulls at her heart – that makes her suddenly second-guess herself. It is not that she thinks she has made the wrong choice, per se, but that there are suddenly so many finer details and complications in her determination to be with him.
Ellana isn't sure if Solas hears her sobs, but he, thankfully, has not come to find her. She sighs, and stands up, rubbing away at her tear-stained cheeks, new determination rising in her.
The world has done Solas a disservice, demanding so much from one man who gave up everything of himself to save a world that still demands and takes, and takes and takes and takes until he was left with nothing in the end but a shell of himself and a life full of regrets.
It pains Ellana, pains her that he suffered for so long by himself. All she can offer was herself – for however long more she may live.
She starts to meander her way back to him; she doesn't want him to think that he is any less worthy of her affections now that the entire picture is out. If her conversations with Rook about Solas' memories was like painting washes of colours on a giant mural of him in her mind, his full rendition of details and the visions he shared with her have coloured them in, filling up the missing pieces, and rendering them whole.
Ellana hasn't seen how her regrets will look.
Rook told her that hers manifested as physical stone statues.
Solas' regrets shape the look of the entire prison — remnants of elven arches that tumble across the landscape, impossibly towering columns of elven architecture, huge half-buried and broken Evanuris statues that jut out of the ground in odd angles, menacing stone hands that threaten to claw their way up to them…
That Ellana will come face to face with a stone statue of Keeper Istimaethoriel's face contorted in pain is definitely in line with what she expects. The loss of her Clan is her fault — the guilt gnaws at her, even now. Inquisitor Lavellan saved the world from the Breach but First Lavellan was unable to save even her own family.
What she does not expect, however, is the cacophony of screams that overtake her head the moment she touches her Keeper's statue.
"Stop." Ellana says firmly.
The screams don't stop. They are incessant, and loud, a mess of terrified voices from her clan, rising above the clash of metal and battle as they are brutally slaughtered.
"Please stop, please stop." She yells, and she crouches down, screwing her eyes shut as she covers her ears with her hands – albeit futile – to block out the screams.
"Vhenan!" Solas says. In the noise, she didn't realise that he was running to her the moment he heard her first strangled cry. He crouches down to take her in his arms immediately, holding her tightly. "Focus. Focus past the screams."
"I can't. The screams are too loud." She keeps her eyes closed.
"You have to focus. Like that first time when I taught you that Rift spell, remember?"
Ellana tries to steady her breathing, tries to peer past the screams in her mind's eye. Slowly, as her breathing returns to normal – and with Solas still holding onto her tightly, grounding her – the screams grow softer as she regains clarity and focus in her mind. Gradually, the sound fades away, until she is left with just her heartbeat in her eardrums.
She shakes her head, looking at Solas. "It was so real. It was like I was there as they were slaughtered," she whispered.
"The stronger your regret, the more vivid some of these memories can be. You saw mine."
Flashes of red and green and yellow and grey and brown and blue – and purple, always purple, like his eyes.
"I did." She replies. "But I still love you, and I will be here for you. Ar lath ma, vhenan." More words should come to her but they don't. What can she possibly say besides ar lath ma and vhenan?
And so Ellana doesn't speak. Instead, she pulls him even closer, holds him tight, cradles him in her arms as she kisses his forehead, kisses his temple, kisses his cheek, kisses him as he cries once more. To show her love for him in more than words can possibly ever express.
In a couple of days, they quickly settle into a steady routine. They spend mornings facing their regrets around the prison — Ellana's regrets are notably a lot less and more minor than his, so while he sits in quiet contemplative introspection, she spends her time practising her magic. Being in the raw Fade makes her view her magic in an entirely different way. It is as if her eyes are finally open after a lifetime of being blindfolded. The possibilities are immense, and she looks forward to learning how to shape the Fade from Solas soon.
Evenings are spent checking his wounds. Ellana tends to him while he sits quietly, the model patient. By now, Solas is looking better. Despite her protests, he insisted that, yes, they need a bed, and yes, they need some form of 'shelter', even if it is a rudimentary canopy above their heads.
The second part Ellana knows is more for herself. She had found it fairly disconcerting to look up in the sky to see the raw green and yellow and orange of the Fade, wisps of fog that roll across the infinite expanse that make her feel tiny and vulnerable. She didn't quite articulate her thoughts to Solas, but he definitely noticed the way it made her feel uncomfortable. She was used to stars and sky and the canopies of leaves that swayed in the wind, and then later in the Inquisition, had grown used to stone and wooden roofs and rafters. She is pretty sure she will eventually grow to find comfort in the swirling sky that is the Fade, but Solas promised her immediate comfort, and Solas makes right by his promise.
"It looks much better. How do you feel?" Ellana asks, tearing her gaze away from his bare buttocks.
Even after a few days of checking on his wounds daily, the image of his naked self still conjures up some extremely improper thoughts in her mind, but she brushes them aside. Beyond just hugging, cuddling, and kissing, Solas hasn't quite acted on anything, and Ellana – despite her disappointment – thought that she should give him some time to recover, both physically and emotionally. To expect anything else will have been presumptuous of her.
"Better." From his position lying on his stomach, he shifts himself to sit upright. "Actually…I was thinking of a bath."
"A bath?"
"I can shape one. I think I have regained enough of my energy."
"As tempting as an Arlathan bathhouse sounds, I'd rather you save your energy. That bite mark on your bum isn't quite recovered." Her eyes trail downwards, meaning to look at the offending injury in question, but she realises belatedly that he's already sat up, looking at her; her downward gaze seems to imply something else entirely and she quickly looks back up at him lest her eyes betray her.
"What I am hearing is that you want an Arlathan bathhouse."
"I didn't say that."
Solas stands up, and his hands move in the air even as she protests — albeit feebly; deep down she doesn't mind a bath either. She watches, enthralled, as the bathhouse takes shape before her, materialising from thin air slowly. It doesn't help that Solas is still naked, which makes for a fairly odd if somewhat arousing sight.
"You have to teach me one day." Ellana looks at the scene before her. The water is warm, steam wafting above its surface.
"I will. Come." Without waiting for her, Solas walks down the steps into the water. He lowers himself slowly, sitting on the tiled ground under the water, until his chin touches the waterline.
Ellana falters by the steps, lingering. Standing so near the bath is warm, but now her body feels alarmingly hot as she looks at Solas in the water. She hopes her ears aren't too pink.
Slowly, she disrobes. Solas looks away the moment she starts plucking at the buttons of her vest, making to give her some semblance of privacy. Her prosthesis is the last to go, and she places the hand on her folded robes on the ground. She takes a step into the water, then another, and slowly sinks in, gasping in relief as the warmth permeates her skin. She lowers herself until the water laps at her clavicle.
Solas only looks over at her when he hears her working her fingers into her hair.
"Better?" He asks, smiling.
"Almost as excessive as the Minrathous bath." She arches an eyebrow, and with her right hand, begins scooping water over herself. She sighs as the water rolls down her bare skin. She hasn't realised how tired she's been, or how exhausted she's felt.
Solas is watching her, eyes suddenly dark. Ellana feels her breath catch in her throat at his gaze.
And then he is shifting himself to sit closer to her. But he stops short of touching her, as if an invitation for her.
Still holding his gaze, Ellana shuffles herself in the water as smoothly as she can. She is beside him now, but she averts her gaze, focusing instead on gently kneading and massaging at her skin with her right hand.
"I think you missed a spot." He looks pointedly at her right arm. "Let me help."
She nods, not speaking, afraid that her voice will betray her. She trembles as his long, slender fingers begin kneading at her right arm. His fingers are pliant and firm, sliding up her arm to her shoulders. Solas moves behind her, his fingers easing the tension in her shoulders as he rubs and kneads.
She sighs contentedly as she closes her eyes. "Ma serannas."
"Vhenan," he says, and her eyes flutter open at his sudden proximity. He leant in, lips grazing against bare skin, words like a whispered prayer. She flushes, absolutely certain that the tips of her ears are red. Her heart stutters. His fingers are still kneading; if he noticed the pink in her skin he definitely did not show it. "Should I continue?"
"Yes, please."
Solas' fingers continue massaging, moving down her back now, working her body beneath his fingertips until she's sighing contentedly, working the knots out. She hasn't been touched like this since – since him, actually – and she hasn't realised how much she misses him. Or rather, how much her body misses him – the heat from his touch works its way down her spine to her core.
His fingers are back by her shoulders now, drawing firm circles. Ellana feels tension leave her body as she leans back slightly. The soft pads of his fingers work their way down to her clavicle. A contented sigh issues from her lips.
"Solas, I…" She trails off, and turns her head slightly to see him. "Do you want a massage, too?"
He shakes his head, but he remains smiling.
"Then…" She says, but his gaze is magnetic. She adjusts herself slightly to face him, careful and inexplicably aware of their bodies under the water.
Slowly, painfully slowly, she inches closer to him. His breath is on her cheek now.
"Vhenan," he whispers.
She isn't sure who kissed who first – but it didn't matter in the end. Their lips meet in the middle, all curves and contours that meld into another. His mouth is supple against hers, and hers pliant as he traces his tongue into her.
The kiss deepens as his arms pull her closer, and Ellana is vaguely aware that their bodies are touching below. She shifts her legs to rest on his lap, and feels his length pressed up against the underside of her thighs. She wraps her arms around him, her right hand pulling him close as his tongue explores her mouth.
But fuck, she misses him so much.
Misses his touch, misses his kisses, misses the way he makes her feel.
"Ar lath ma," are the only words she can manage, and even so, they do not feel sufficient enough to convey her need, her want, her desire and lust for him.
The kiss grows more frenzied as his hands guide her legs beneath the water, until she is seated facing him, her thighs wrapped around him and his length hard against her.
She allows her hand to slide down to rest on his hips, tracing its way to his groin. His hands slide down to rest by her rear. She chuckles as he kneads at her ass under the water.
Solas lavishes kisses down from her lip to her jawline and to her chin, and lands at the hollow of her throat. He exhales, sending electricity down her spine. She gasps as he nips lightly at the sensitive skin, as his fingers caress her bottom. She slides her fingers down further to touch his length – he is already hard for her.
"You're…" she trails off, her fingers resting on his hardened length.
"Are you sure?" He asks, unequivocal.
The meaning behind his words is not lost on her; he's asking. After so many long years, he's asking. He's asking for something she's dreamt about in late nights at Skyhold – her secret guilty pleasure as she lies awake in her too-empty bed after he left her broken-hearted in Crestwood. He's asking for something that makes her so keenly aware of how much she misses him – all of him.
She wants him, she needs him. And now that the dust has somewhat settled on the start of their lives here, perhaps…perhaps it was time for her to be a bit selfish.
"I want you if you want me." She presses a kiss to his jaw.
Despite the warm waters of the bath, Ellana shivers at his reply next; for his voice, low with hunger and husky with a promise of what is to come ahead whispers against her, sending heat through her body once more:
"I need you."