Chapter Text
He had begged her not to oppose him. He had wanted her to find happiness in what little time she had left in her world, but alas, her opposition was as unforgiving as he had dreaded it would be. She despised his efforts to destroy the world, foolishly pleading with him to give up what he and he alone could restore. Once, she had believed that their love would prevail no matter how dark the smoke between them grew, and he had wanted to believe it, too. He had wished to the stars that she would find another way, or that she would find him, and strike him down with her magic. He didn’t want this. He didn’t want to watch the world and the inhabitants he had come to care for burn in the chaos that he was destined to create. But he had to do it. It was his duty. It was his fate, and when it was finished, and the veil nonexistent; he would resign himself to an eternity of torment for his crimes. He would fall to his knees in anguish, and beg for her spirit’s forgiveness.
He had known from the start that developing a relationship with Lavellan had been selfish and cruel, and yet he allowed her to persist, he had given in to lust and affection when he should have never encouraged such feelings. Her blood would inevitably be on his hands. He had hoped to avoid such a truth, often sitting in his library, trapped by denial, tearing through ancient texts in the hope of finding some way to save her, and he had shed tears each and every night since the day he had saved her from his anchor, the mark that had doomed her future where she might have lived a happy and fulfilling life in its absence…in his absence. The breach, and the anchor, and their relationship, and all the suffering he had caused her were just more mistakes to add to an already long and insufferable list.
Solas had known that she would fight back, though he had silently hoped to see her give up her pursuit. He had ignored her efforts, for a time, because he did not wish to encourage her with his presence. He had been foolish enough to think that perhaps if he had refused to interfere, she would lose interest, like ignoring an annoying sibling whose only desire was to irritate. But Lavellan had persisted, just as he had feared, and while the Inquisition had been disbanded, she quickly made new allies and they had become a thorn in his side that he could no longer afford to forget about.
He had finally approached her within the fade, quivering with anticipation. For years he had watched, a silent guardian over her dreams, chasing away any nightmare that dared to stray too close, but he had never been strong enough to face her without a crumbling resolve, and so he had fled when his love had attempted to reach out to him. But the day he had finally decided to speak was the day he had determined that enough was enough. He could have never guessed that the efforts of Lavellan and her allies could cause such irreparable harm to his plans. They had hampered him like weights tied to each of his limbs, not entirely preventing him from moving forward, but making things move much more slowly than they should have been.
She had been startled, at first, when he had strode into the glade she so often dreamed of, a place hidden within the confines of Crestwood where he had freed her from the chains she had not known to have been bound by. That was the day he had managed to rip himself away from her, despite his heart screaming in protest, and the cries that had wracked his body on the following nights. For a while, the wolf had not spoken, merely strolled closer while she watched with an expectant and so painfully hopeful expression. That was when he had pleaded with her to stop, to give up, to find a new love and a new life and cease her attack against him. She had sobbed, much as he had wanted to, and with a fierce shake of her head, had denied him with a purpose that shone so clear within her eyes. Her efforts against him only increased after that, and he had stopped visiting her dreams.
When it became clear that there was no hope that she would ever release her grip on their past and potential (though impossible to him) future, he had been forced to finally step into the fray for the first time, with his heart aching against his chest, as her enemy. His spies had given away her party’s location, as they traveled from the city of Minrathous in the Tevinter Imperium, no doubt plotting on causing him more harm. He had ambushed them with a small group of his soldiers, and with a simple sweep of his hand, his opponents and former lover were left dazed and confused by the spell that fizzled with ease at his fingertips. With his enemies subdued, he had ordered his soldiers, with a heavy grief, to end the lives of those that traveled alongside his beloved. None of them had been familiar companions to him, all gathered within the Imperium to defy his plans, but he knew they were friends to Lavellan, and he knew their deaths would pain her.
She was the only one left alive, because he could not bring himself to slay her then, on the side of the road surrounded by the corpses of those she had come to care for. His face had twisted with such agony, that his soldiers had hesitated in their endeavors. He simply informed them to continue in a quivering voice, and to insure that the former Inquisitor’s allies did not suffer the slightest pain. A peaceful death was the best he could offer them. Solas could not afford to leave anyone left alive asides from the woman he had taken as his captive. Their threat had become too great.
Though his spell had put her to sleep before the bloodshed, Solas had the mind to force a sedative down her throat. He knew that if she were to awaken, she would cry, and scream, and beg, and his resolve would shatter like glass, and he thought himself certain to drop to his belly and crawl like a worm to her feet, wanting nothing more than for her to strike a killing blow upon his head. He would not, and could not allow that, and so she slumbered in his arms as he and his soldiers made their way back through the Eluvian he had hidden away within a nearby cavern, and into the base he had established deep within the Crossroads.
It was within his own ancient temple that he finally released her within the confines of a temporary prison. It had all the luxuries of one’s typical room, as he had insured. Her bed was extravagant and comfortable, a marble bath carved into the floor nearby, heated by an ancient fire enchantment. The walls were lined with shelves of books that he was certain Lavellan would enjoy, and upon the walls hung paintings of his own design which he hoped would bring his love some comfort. The room itself was fairly large, with dark walls and vivid crimson rugs and tapestries, but there was no door, and no windows, for the room was tucked deep within the crumbling temple of Fen’Harel, its only exit an Eluvian, smaller than what one might typically find. Its purpose was not as a portal, but a doorway, from one side of the wall to the other. There was only one possible escape for her, and that was by finding the key to the mirror, a phrase he had kept tucked within his own mind and those of his closest advisors, who he had decided would assist him in caring for his Vhenan. They were not words that Lavellan would ever guess, he was certain of it.
He had tucked her within the thick blankets of the wide bed, his eyes glittering with the tears that lingered there, but he refused to let them flow. He stood, straightening himself, but did not move. He simply watched, his gaze traveling over her features with a critical attention to detail. She had changed since the day he had taken her arm. Her features were sharper, her eyes were sunken and dark, and her bones were far more prominent than he was sure was healthy. Had she not been eating enough? Had her depression run so deep, that she was purposefully depraved? The thought sent a sharp pain through his chest. He wondered at what cost she had searched for him. It was not unlike her to devote every little thing she could to her goal, even if that meant starving herself. Whatever money she had, he was certain she had put it forth toward stopping him.
Solas lifted his arm, tugging the blankets down just enough to observe the bare stump of her exposed arm. She had been fitted with a replacement of dwarven make, but he had removed it because the fake limb of enchanted metal could have certainly made for an appealing weapon to his new prisoner. His fingers ran across the naked flesh there, and he found the skin was smooth. He had severed the arm with magic, not steel, and so the cut had been clean, and he had mended it himself with an enchantment upon his departure to insure that she was caused the least amount of pain possible. He was glad to find that there was no scar tissue to blemish the elbow. His hand then moved to her face, and he traced her cheekbones with a frown.
She didn’t deserve to suffer for his mistakes, and yet here she was, in a prison of his own design. He had done everything he could to make it comfortable for her, but a lavish prison was still a prison, and his beloved did not deserve to be punished for something that was not her fault. He knew it would be kinder to kill her in that moment. It would be so easy, to end her sorrow while she slept, blissfully unaware of his intentions. She would drift painlessly into the warm embrace of oblivion. Unfortunately, Solas was a very selfish man. He pulled his fingers away from her face as he realized that he could not find the strength to form the spell. He stared at her with the knowledge that she would soon awaken to despair, no matter his attempts to calm her. He had already broken her down enough, but he could not bear the thought of watching her spirit slip entirely from her body, leaving her as nothing more than a compliant zombie, accepting of her fate. No. He would kill her before that happened. He had to.
He would tell her of her companion’s deaths, because she deserved to know, and because he deserved the punishment. He would not press the burden onto the shoulders of his servants. This was a pain he would carry alone, as he so often did. He remained still as she stirred under his watchful eyes, a fierce yawn parting her lips. Her lids fluttered open, and he was in full view of her. For a moment, she looked confused, before her pupils flew across the room, and she discovered her surroundings with hesitation.
“S-Solas?” Lavellan gulped, and he knew she was trying to process what was going on. A sudden fear had begun to spread across her expression like a plague when she remembered what had happened before her capture. “Where are my friends?” She demanded in such a pitiful voice that it made him want to burst into tears. Though she had forced boldness into her tone, it wavered with obvious and fearful realization. Already, he could see her eyes watering, and she prepared for the truth he must speak of.
“I am…so sorry.” How could he not be? How could he possibly hope for her forgiveness? Did he even want it? No, he wanted her to be furious. He wanted her to attack him, clawing, and screaming and biting at his skin until it was torn from his bones. He wanted her to rip him apart until there was so little left that he was utterly unrecognizable. He deserved all the pain that the world could possibly grant him. He deserved hell. The wolf realized that she was still watching him, desperate to hear some other reply that was not the one lingering within her thoughts, but he could not give her the relief she needed, or deserved, because he was a monster. “They are dead.” He did not dare to mention that he felt forced to kill them, he refused to justify the blood on his hands.
Her wail caught him off guard. She had always been so strong; he had expected a rage unlike any other. He had expected her to be at his throat. Instead, she had rolled onto her stomach, choking on the cries that exploded from her small, trembling frame. In a rush, Solas moved to wrap her within his arms, drawing her against his chest as he pressed the back of his face into her hair. The smell of it soothed him, as he whispered with such melancholy into her ear.
“Ir Abelas. Ir Abelas. I do not deserve your forgiveness, but I am so sorry.” He could not stop the tears that finally found their way sliding down his cheeks, but he could not deny the bitter sweetness of such a release. And so they cried, she because she felt the crushing force of desolation and failure, and he for all the terrible mistakes he had ever made, and all the inexcusable suffering he had caused her, the most precious thing in the world to him. It was only when the darkness of sleep reclaimed her by will of one of his spells that the Dread Wolf managed to stumble toward the Eluvian, and away from her prison.